The next weeks were a blur for Nimoë and Legolas.  Little Caldarion proved to be quite demanding.  What time he did not spend nursing or sleeping, he wanted to be held, and not just sitting in a chair.  If he was not being walked, he screamed lustily.  On those nights when Nimoë felt that she could no longer think through her exhaustion, Legolas came to her, gently removing their tiny son from her arms.  "Sleep, love.  I can care for the baby well enough.  You will be no good to him if you drop from lack of sleep."

Seeing the little fair head rested against her husband's shoulder, sucking eagerly on his own wrinkled thumb, Nimoë smiled, then tried to stifle a yawn.  Tired as she was, she was still somewhat reluctant to leave the babe.  "What if he is hungry?  You cannot nurse him, Legolas."

He grinned wryly.  "Nay, I would hope not.  I think, however, that he will last for a few hours.  I promise to wake you, when he is truly hungry."  Still supporting little Caldarion with his right arm, Legolas reached out his left to pull Nimoë against him in a quiet embrace.  Once she was close, he pressed his lips to her brow.  "Love, Caldarion is my son, and I love him dearly, but you are still the princess of my heart.  I will not allow you to suffer more than is necessary, for his sake, or for any other."  He allowed her to pull back a short distance, but captured the curve of her cheek in his hand.  "Please, love.  Let me take care of you both."

She lowered her eyes, unable to deny the fact that only her will was keeping her upright.  "I will.  Thank you, Legolas."  She raised her hand to her brow, cataloging all she needed to tell him, then said, "His changing rags are in the chest by the door.  Blankets are in the cradle.  He likes to be walked…"

"Nimoë!" he interrupted, pointing imperiously out the door of the baby's room.  "I can handle him.  Go!"

Raising her hands in defeat, Nimoë turned and left the room, although she cast a glance back.  Legolas stood staring down in wonder at little Caldarion, and the baby was staring straight back, apparently entranced by the lights he saw shining in the Prince's eyes.

With a satisfied sigh, Nimoë walked quickly to her own bed.  After pulling the covers up to her chin, she was asleep before she had time to wonder if she could.

Caldarion was only two months old when the scouts returned from over the Mountains of Shadow.  He had learned to smile and, as long as his every wish was being met, he spent his time bestowing the cherubic grin upon every person who spoke to him.  Aside from his parents, the people he loved most to spend time with were Gilmin and Raven.  Less formal than the Elves, the Hobbit and the Dwarf were exuberant in their play, making exaggerated faces, and cooing with great vigor.

On the day that the scouts returned, Caldarion was off playing with his "uncles" by the Sea of Nurn, while Legolas and Nimoë took a much needed respite.  The two Elves walked some distance up the river that flowed down from the Mountains of Shadow, to a place where the cold water fell down abruptly in a long series of cataracts, sending white mist into the air.

Legolas and Nimoë sat comfortably together upon a well-rounded stone, watching the rushing water of the waterfalls.  Their hair; the one golden, the other moon-pale, blew in the crisp wind, mingling together caressingly.  Nimoë leaned in against Legolas' shoulder, feeling the restless strength held there.  She reached out to wrap her fingers around his, enjoying the solitude, and the chance to have time alone with her husband, away from the constant demands of Caldarion.

"Nimoë," asked Legolas, pensively, "Are you happy?"

Startled, she pulled away from him, looking up at his strong face, so dear to her.  "What do you mean?  I have you.  I have Caldarion.  What more could I need for happiness?"

He gave her a half-smile and raised one eyebrow.  "True, the love of family is all that we really need, but are you happy?"

Her hands tightened imperceptibly on his fingers, and he gently stroked them with his thumb.  "I do not wish to sound selfish…"

"Never, my love."

Her grey eyes took on a far-away look, and she sighed.  "I miss so many things, so many places.  I miss Ithilien, where I spent my youth in your shadow.  I miss Mirkwood, my first home, both in this life and the last.  And Lothlorien…  I miss Galadriel and Celeborn.

"I have grown used to this place, but there is so little of beauty, of life.  We have survived here because we must, but I wish beyond anything to go once again into the western world, to smell the pungent cedar, feel clean rain again.  It is as if there is a great wound in my heart.  I know that you feel it as well.  But it is no use to ponder these things, Legolas.  Not until we know what is happening on the other side of the Mountains."

Legolas reached out to trace the curve of her cheek, his fingers then softly caressing the full swell of her lips.  "I do feel it, Nimoë, but another longing is on me as well.  I have been to Valinor.  I have dwelt among the Valar, with Galadriel and Celeborn, and with Gandalf and Elrond.  I cannot begin to describe to you the wonders of that place.  It is as if all the air is suffused with light, radiant and alive.  The suffering of this world is but a vague memory.  Everywhere there is music, sweet and pure, like the singing of birds and the murmur of the stream.  There is a reason that those who have sailed west do not return, for what could be more important to them in this broken world?"

"Yet you came back."

"I did."  He bent down and laid a tender kiss on her upturned lips.  "I came for you."

"Oh, Legolas," she whispered, "What suffering you have endured!  Watching the world fall apart at you feet, when you could have been safe in Valinor."

His voice was fierce when he responded.  "And what would have happened to you?  If the colony in Ithilien had not existed, where would you have gone?  Or any of the others?  When I found you, alone and frightened, I knew that I had made the right choice.  The only choice.  If you had died again because of my own selfishness, I could not have borne it.  I did all that I could to make a safe haven for you, yet in the end it was you who saved me.  Who saved all of us."

"Nimoë," he paused, "I want to return across the sea.  I want to take you and little Caldarion.  The others as well.  I want to live again in that peace and freedom, without fear, where we can spend our days rejoicing in love and beauty.  Will you come with me?  If we find a way, will you come to Valinor?"

Leaning in close, she pulled his head down to hers, cloud-filled eyes never leaving his own.  In answer, she placed her lips on his, allowing the longing of her body to speak for her.  When she finally pulled away, flushed and breathing heavily, she replied, "You need never ask.  I will follow wherever you lead me.  Did I not willingly go to Orodruin?  How much more would I rather journey to our destined home!  Find a way and I will go with you.  All I ask is that if there is a way, I would dearly love to visit again my homelands before I leave the eastern lands."

"Anything, Nimoë," he whispered breathlessly, drowning in her intoxicating eyes, in the innocent trust she gave to him.  "I will find a way…"  And then there was no more speech, only the language of heated kisses and touch as tender as breath.