Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as Nimoë's feet reached the firm earth of Ithilien. She turned and smiled up at him, her face shadowed in the half-light of dusk. He returned the smile, then gave his attention to descending the last pitch of the climb. Legolas had taken his group down last, to make certain that all arrived safely.
With a few deft maneuvers, he passed the last tricky pitch, then scrambled the last few meters to the ground. As his feet touched, a great shout went up from the assembled Elves. Every one of them had made the climb. Every Elf had returned safely to the bosom of the land that had once been theirs. Legolas smiled, then turned to pull Nimoë to him and give her a kiss. Caldarion was sleeping, so he did not bother the babe.
"It is too late for us to continue on this night," he called to the assembled Elves. "So let us make our camp here, and in the morning we will travel on to Minas Ithil. Rest well, for I think that the morrow will be a long and difficult day."
It took less than half an hour for the camp to spring to life, and earth-colored tents dotted the ground, looking like natural mounds in the darkness. Legolas handed his pack in to Nimoë, then told her he would be back. Although he was happy to be back on the westerns side of the mountains, his heart was not at rest.
With silent tread, he left the encampment, heading west. He did not know how long he walked, but the moon was high in the sky by the time he came to a stop. Even among the burned out hulks of the trees, naked and charred, with no trace left of the city which had once thrived there, he recognized the place. It was here that his Colony had stood, alight with hope and joy, where he had watched Nimoë grow into a beautiful young woman. Here, where new growth was only just beginning to show its face in the shoots of grass that peeked from the ash enriched earth.
He dropped down and rocked back on his heels, reaching out his hand to run his fingers through the dirt. So much had been lost. So many friends. Surely, though, they had chosen to remain in the Halls of Mandos. Surely they would have known better than to chose reincarnation into such a world as the one they had left behind.
Legolas felt his chest constrict, a sharp tightening in his throat. Instinctively he reached to pull back the tears of regret that threatened to spill down his cheeks, but when he realized that he was at last alone, he dropped his face down into his hands, heedless of the dirt which smudged him, and let the tears come, silent and slow.
A snapping sound pulled his head up and he rose to his feet, spinning around. "Who is there?"
From behind a burned crag, stepped a slight figure, the moonlight bathing her face showing him the visage of Nimoë. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
Legolas turned away, hoping to hide the flame that burst onto his cheeks at having been found in such a position of weakness.
"Legolas, it's alright to cry." Her voice was nearer, light and without judgment.
"I cannot. If I were to be seen ..."
He felt her small hand against the small of his back. "It is only me, love. How many times have you seen me cry?" she asked with a self-deprecating laugh.
"But the Elves are not your responsibility. They are mine. It is up to me to keep us together. To keep our spirits high. They are happy now, and well they should be. We are out of Mordor, which place should be anathema to Elves for all eternity. But when I see this place," he gestured about him, "it makes me realize how badly I failed. If only I'd better guessed what was coming! Perhaps things would have been different. Perhaps more would have lived. You would not have lost your father ..." The words were coming fast now, as fast as a summer torrent, and as he spoke, the tears again began to stream from his eyes. "Nimoë, it's all my fault! I failed in my duty--"
Legolas was brought up short as Nimoë pulled hard on his arm, spinning him around to face her. "Hush!" she chastised. "You did more than anyone could ever have asked. If it hadn't been for you, how many of us here now would have survived, do you think? I'll wager a very small number. You've been our rock, our deep-rooted tree. Yet even a tree sheds its leaves. Cry if you must, but let it be a cleansing, and come out stronger than you began." She took his tear-stained, muddied face between her hands and stared deep into his eyes, then whispered, "I love you."
Faced with such loyalty and unswerving affection, Legolas closed his eyes and dropped down to his knees, overwhelmed by loss, guilt, hope, and most of all, love. Nimoë gathered her sobbing husband's head to her belly and held him close, softly stroking his fair head in soothing rhythm. After many minutes, Legolas felt the onslaught of tears abate. He moved to pull away, to hide his face, but Nimoë pulled him up in front of her. "Never be ashamed with me, Legolas. I've loved you for two lifetimes, and not just the hero, but the man as well."
He gave a final shudder, then pulled her close against him. A thought struck him and he asked, "Where is Caldarion?"
"With my mother. He's fine. But we should get back. The night passes swiftly, and the morrow will indeed be a long day."
Hand in hand, they turned back towards the east, following their keen sense of direction to find the encampment. They walked in silence for many minutes, but then Nimoë broke it, asking, "Do you think that it's all changed so?"
"Pardon?"
"Middle-Earth. Do you think that all of our old homes have changed so?"
Legolas paused only a moment before responding, "Even if they've not been burned, I believe that there has been a fundamental change. This is no longer a place for Elves."
Nimoë gave a sigh, then said, "I've decided that I no longer wish to visit Lothlorien and Mirkwood. I want them to remain pure in my memories; uncorrupted. Will you take me with you to Valinor straightway? There we can start our lives one last time. Safe. Unafraid. That is my deepest wish."
Legolas smiled, although with his back to the moonlight, Nimoë could not see it. "Your wish is my command, my lady."
