Legolas' arms tightened perceptibly around her.  "Did he see you?  Did he acknowledge you?"  His voice was tingled with worry.  If her presence was known to the enemy, then their danger had increased tenfold.

She nodded, and he could feel the motion against his shoulder.  "He tried to mark me.  The way that Caldarion is marked."

The Elf Prince's eyes flashed to meet Caldarion's.  "It was the Balrog who marked you.  Do you think that Morgoth could have hurt Nimoë in her state of trance?"  His hands traced reassuring circles down his wife's back, reassuring her of his steadfast presence, and the protection he offered.

Caldarion raised his hands in a gesture of ignorance.  "I do not know.  The Balrog touched me physically, but his power is bound to this world.  Morgoth's strength is more all-encompassing.  It is possible that he could work his will through the mind."

Gilmin stood peering out from under the overhang into the darkness of the night.  "I do not like this.  I think that we should move on.  The enemy will expect us to rest, to gather our strength on the way.  It seems our only chance at surprise is to move faster."

Legolas was surprised when Nimoë pulled away from him, gazing distractedly towards the Dwarf.  "You are right," she said.  "We will be exhausted when we reach Orodruin, but if Morgoth and the Balrog have time to set their traps, we will have no chance.  We must press on."

She cocked her head to the side, as if listening to a voice that was inaudible to the others.  Then a small half grin crossed her face.  "My memories come flowing back to me quickly now.  I know a magic that can help us."  She turned her face up towards Legolas.  "You remember our long journey into Rohan, when we sought for Merry and Pippin?  I used the essence of nature to bring strength to our bodies.  I can do that again.  Even here in this barren place, the very dirt has power.  We will not falter."

A relieved smile crossed the Elf Prince's face.  "I remember.  I think that it was then that I began to fall in love with you.  You gave your strength without complaint, although it weakened you…"  His fingers reached out to stroke her cheek, seeing the memory before his eyes.  With a shake he brought himself back to the present.  Helping her to rise, he addressed their companions.  "She can do this.  We may still have a chance, but we must not rest.  Surprise is our most valuable weapon."

Gilmin and Raven quickly donned their packs and, after a moment's hesitation, Caldarion followed suit, although his fingers still strayed to the place where Raven had struck him.  Legolas held up Nimoë's pack so that she could shrug into it, then hefted his own.  "When you are ready, love."

Nimoë closed her eyes, remembering, then began to sing, a low, lilting melody.  Almost immediately the companions began to feel the effect of the song.  Gilmin voiced the thought that ran through most of their minds.  "Let us run."

Caldarion felt a taut smile cross his marred features.  If they did not stop, there would be no way to make his nightly meeting with the leader of the Wargs.  There was a chance.

All through the long night they ran, passing farther into the depths of Gorgoroth.  An inner sense like iron towards a lodestone drew Caldarion unerringly towards Orodruin, following paths that might have been overlooked by others.  There were deep rents in the earth, yawning wide, in a pattern like a fractured eggshell.  It was into these chasms that he led them.

The climb to the bottom was treacherous.  The steep walls were not solid, and many times, thinking a foothold was solid, one of the companions would fall, their footing suddenly eroded away.  Gilmin suffered the worst, for he was not slight like Raven, nor possessed of the uncanny grace inherent to the Elves, who could even walk on the surface of snow.  In the end, he rolled down the last meters to the bottom, where he lay unmoving.

Legolas called down in a loud whisper, "Gilmin!  Are you injured?"

The gruff voice of the Dwarf reached their ears, frustrated but not strained.  "Confounded wall!  Trying to kill me!  I am well enough, but I think that I shall rest here until you join me."

Many minutes later, the remaining companions reached the bottom.  Gilmin rolled to his feet and, without pausing except to take a drink to refresh themselves, they were off again.

Caldarion led them through the maze of paths which had been ripped into the landscape.  This was the path he had followed when he had returned to Núrnelven and, even if his memory had been lacking, a throbbing awareness of the mountain was within him, and he knew that he could not have gone astray, even if he wanted to.

In the chasms the sensation of being watched dropped dramatically.  The Wargs could not follow them, for the walls were too steep for the fleet-footed beasts.  Caldarion guessed that the creatures did not realize that their presence was already known, for they seemed to be taking pains not to be seen.  Having to stay back from the rim made following the fast-moving company much more difficult.  If they could keep up their pace, there was every chance that they would arrive before full warning was given.

His smile grew more broad.

Nimoë ran near the head of the column, just behind Caldarion.  Her voice remained low, but she sang earnestly as they went.  She could feel the power coursing through her, easing the aches of her body away, but knew that the cost would be steep.  Such an extended use of the power required great effort, although she could not feel it through the spell she was weaving.

As the brighter grayness of morning began to penetrate into the deep places where they traveled, she felt her throat growing hoarse.  She stopped singing long enough to hiss at Legolas, "I cannot keep this up indefinitely.  I must rest my voice.  Do you think that we can run for a while without my aid?"

He nodded.  "We will do what we must.  You must have strength left to use when we reach the mountain.  Do what you think best, love."

So she ran on in silence, looking about at her surroundings in the new brightness.  The walls of the chasms were growing higher as they penetrated the north, and they were tinged with a distinct reddish hue.  It looked almost as if the very earth bled.

For three long hours they ran in complete silence, and by the end Nimoë and Caldarion were staggering.  When she felt that she could not go on, she again began to sing.  Immediately, her faltering steps were strengthened and her breathing eased.

Thus was the pattern established for the next two days.  When, at the end of that time, they had run themselves into an almost hypnotic trance, Caldarion raised his hand, signaling a halt.  In a hushed voice he indicated the sharp bend ahead.  "Around this curve the chasm leads into the base of Orodruin.  I know that we cannot see the mountain, but that is only because of how deep we are beneath the surface of the earth already.  Orodruin is there.  If you listen with your senses of smell and touch, you will know this is true."

He paused, waiting for them to become aware of the significance of the heavy stench of sulfur and the strange vibrations in the ground beneath their feet.  They had been steadily increasing, but now the smell was almost overwhelming.

Seeing the understanding in their faces, he went on.  "There will be a guard, whether or not the alarm has been spread of our approach.  Be ready to attack.  If we are lucky and quick we should be able to neutralize them without raising awareness to our presence.  Then we must rely on stealth, for if we are found, I cannot vouch for what will happen."

Even as he spoke, he was aware of the lies.  Yes, there would be a guard, but their presence would simply be a foil, making them think that their entry was unwelcome.  They would find no other resistance on the way to the chasm.  That was where the trap would be sprung.  Where his friends would perish and he would sign the death warrant of all the children of Ilúvatar, save Men.

If they were very lucky, the Wargs would not have returned to their home yet, and the orcs would be slow to respond.  That would leave only the Balrog and the will of Morgoth himself.

He stifled a morbid chuckle.  Only!

He drew his bow.