Legolas dashed through the violently quaking tunnel, his footing sure, his body given new strength by the knowledge that if he did not run as fast he had ever run, he would not live to see another day, and neither would Nimoë. Gilmin and Raven staggered behind, clumsier than the agile Elf, but with dogged determination. Gilmin brought up the rear, and he shouted out to the leaders, "The lava is rising in the cracks! Faster!"
With unerring accuracy, Legolas chose the correct turnings, following the path they had entered towards the new dangers of the plains of Gorgoroth. Even outside of the mountain they would not be safe from its wrath.
Just as the dim light of the day swam into view ahead of them, Gilmin let out a terrified yell. "The lava is in the tunnel! We are lost!"
"Not lost, Gilmin!" cried Legolas, knowing that the Dwarf could not yet see the exit. "The mouth of the tunnel is nigh. We must run only a few hundred meters more."
Raven muttered under his breath, "Few hundred meters, he says. That's nice when you're an Elf. Legs as long as my body."
Even in their dire circumstances, Legolas could not suppress a wry grin at the Hobbit's comment. It must be difficult to keep up with him, even burdened as he was. He readjusted Nimoë on his shoulder and ran on, not turning to look behind him. Seeing the burning danger seeping closer would not make him move more quickly. Better to watch his footing and be certain not to stumble.
Only a minute later he sped forth from the mouth of the tunnel into the deep chasm they had followed through Gorgoroth. Raven and Gilmin came through at his heels, and finally Legolas risked a glance behind. The leading edge of the lava flow was mere meters behind them, and approaching rapidly. If they remained where they were they would be trapped just as certainly as they would have been within the mountain. They had to get out of the chasm.
Legolas peered up the steep edges, searching for a path that they could all follow. Nothing presented itself, but the white heat of the molten river was so near now that the Elf could feel perspiration beading on his brow. "We have no choice. We must go up."
Grasping the crumbling earth with the fingers of his right hand, while still holding Nimoë firm over his left shoulder, Legolas started up the wall. With each step it felt as if he lost half of the distance he gained, as his feet slid back down through the brittle dirt.
He could hear Gilmin and Raven toiling to his right, a little ahead, since they had the use of both their arms. A glance down told him that the floor of the chasm had been swallowed up by the steaming lava. One good slip and they would be dead, burned to a crisp.
He tested the stability of his footholds, then reached up again with his right hand. Just before he could get a firm grip, the ground beneath his left foot gave way and he began to plummet downward. Grasping instinctively, his right hand found a solid hold, and he managed to stop his fall, although Nimoë's added weight nigh ripped his arm from its socket.
A strangled cry sprang from his throat as he struggled to find footing, to relieve the terrible weight on his right arm. He felt Nimoë begin to slip off of his shoulder, and struggled more desperately, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes as he fought to save them both.
When he thought that he could not hold on another instant, some of the burden was suddenly relieved. He looked to his right and saw Raven, his face strained, grasping him by his leather belt, pulling upwards, allowing him that much more strength to find his footing. With the burden lightened, he was able to lift his legs higher, and at last he found first a left foothold, then a right.
For a moment he simply leaned in against the wall, breathing convulsively, resting the strained muscles of his arm. Then he gasped, "Thank you, Raven. You have saved us both."
The Hobbit's voice was brusque as he replied, "Do not thank me yet. The lava is rising. We must continue. Now."
Grimly, Legolas again began the grueling climb. A meter from the top, he heard Gilmin's voice call down to him, "Hand her up to me, when you are close enough."
With two more moves, the Elf gladly allowed the sturdy Dwarf to pull Nimoë's limp form the last way. Finally unburdened, Legolas was able to scale the final feet easily.
At the top, all three men lay panting, trying to regain their strength to continue their flight. Around them lay the dead plains of Gorgoroth. Bare and colorless, strewn with boulders flung from Orodruin in past eruptions, there was little to recommend it to them, but that the lava might take longer to reach them there.
After only five minutes of rest, they staggered again to their feet. Legolas bent to again pull Nimoë over his shoulder, but as he did so, her eyes fluttered open. "Legolas? Are we alive?"
"Aye, love, though not for long if we do not flee," he replied, his hand caressing her cheek.
She nodded weakly, and whispered a few words, so quietly that Legolas could not hear them. "What was that, Nimoë?" he asked.
A look of joy spread over her face, and her grey eyes lightened as she repeated herself, more strongly this time, "I carry our child, Legolas. We are going to have a baby."
Legolas stared down at her in amazement. "How can you know this, Nimoë? It is too soon…"
A small shudder went through her at the memory of Morgoth invading her body. "I cannot tell you now, but when we are safe then I will tell you all. Just trust me that what I say is true. We must survive, if not for our sakes, then for the sake of our child."
Legolas gathered the frail maid that was the soul of his heart to his breast, holding her with all the gentle ferocity of his emotion. A baby! It was too good to be true. In the midst of all of this turmoil and terror, Nimoë would bring forth a child, the most innocent and pure of all things. He pressed a kiss into her hair and rocked her back and forth, overwhelmed by her declaration.
Gilmin's gruff voice broke into his reverie, saying, "Congratulations to the both of you, but if we do not leave now, I cannot say that the child will live to be born."
With a shake, Legolas brought his mind back to their present dangers. "Are you strong enough to run, Nimoë?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really."
Legolas offered his hand to his wife and pulled her to her feet. Then, casting his eyes to their other companions, he said, "We run."
The ground still shook sporadically, so their flight was difficult, but there were no other natural obstacles to their path. The groans and explosions coming from Orodruin were enough to keep their feet moving, even when utter exhaustions should have borne them to the ground. Nimoë gathered enough of her strength to sing her sustaining song and under its influence they were able to cover a great distance quickly.
After eight long hours of running, they finally began to feel safe. Legolas dropped his pace down to a slow trot, allowing some small amount of rest for his numbed limbs. They were drawing nearer to the southern mountains, where the clear path lay into the land of Nurn. A high ridge rose to their left, covered with boulders, and after a glance at Nimoë, her face haggard and her feet stumbling, Legolas about to suggest a rest when a large black shape loomed out from behind a nearby stone.
A Warg! Legolas cursed under his breath. If it wasn't one thing, then it was another. When will we be free of all this fighting? When can we walk in the gardens of Valinor?
Raven pushed to the front and glared out at the beast. "You master is gone, foul creature. Gone as well is his minion. It would be wise for you and your kind to retreat back into Gorgoroth, for only there will the people of Middle Earth leave you free, and not hunt you down and kill all of your breed."
The Warg rumbled deep in its chest and its upper lip curled back, revealing sharp pointed teeth, and a line of saliva hanging from its jaws. Without warning it sprang, its massive paws aimed for Raven's chest, its teeth for his exposed throat.
Before it could reach him, however, it was knocked back, dead, with Legolas' arrow sticking through its skull. A howl rose up all about them, raising the hairs on the backs of their necks, and Nimoë, Gilmin, Legolas and Raven stared up at the hillside. From behind each of the strewn boulders crept a Warg.
We are dead, thought Legolas. There is no way we can fight so many at once.
Then, to their utter surprise, the black beasts turned and ran, their tails tucked between their legs, strange, sorrowful whines coming from their throats.
Nimoë dropped from her erect position, hand clenched on her mother's knife, and fell to her knees in relief. Unable to move another step, she looked about her, and her eyes opened wide, as she made a realization. "Legolas," she whispered, "Where is Caldarion?"
