Dawn broke over the tower of Minas Ithil, sending ribbons of scarlet and pink over the city.  The line of Elves moved steadily up the slope, staring at the buildings with no small bit of awe.  It had been many long years since they had laid eyes on the monumental masonry of Men.

A high stone wall surrounded the city, and colorful banners flapped in the breeze, while long streaming ribbons were waved by the Men who lined the defensive wall.  Nimoë smiled.  This was the way she remembered Men from before.  The valiant soldiers of Gondor, the citizens of Minas Tirith, as they welcomed the victors.  Hope rose in her breast that she would leave Middle-Earth in the hands of Men worthy to sustain it.

As the Elves of Ithilien passed into the shadow cast by the wall, a fanfare of trumpets blew, crisp and clear in the autumn breeze, and the vast gates were swung open.  Telarion, who walked beside the Prince and his wife, whispered, "It seems that Eomiren truly does wish to make amends to us, Legolas.  This is the best way that he knows how.  He gives us a royal welcome to his city."

Legolas looked up at the colorful display and nodded.  "I would rather have the welcome of friends and allies, but all that has passed between our peoples make that impossible.  I look forward to meeting this Eomiren.  We have much to say to each other."

"I think that you will find him to be a worthy man, Legolas.  Believe me, I was ready to hate when I came here last, but I found the world greatly changed, and the Prince of Ithilien perhaps most of all."

They had passed beneath the portal into Minas Ithil, and now the entirety of the city lay open to view.  It was akin to Minas Tirith, in its age and construction, although the slope of the city was gentle, where Minas Tirith perched on the sharp side of a mountain.  Straight ahead of them rose the Tower, piercing through the rising sun.

An honor guard of Men dressed in shining armor approached them and dropped to their knees in front of the Elves, while their leader appraised them, then asked, "Which of you is Prince Legolas?"

Nimoë felt pride swell in her as her husband stepped forward, his bearing that of royalty, back straight, head held high.  Among the Elves, he had been content to be one of many, but when placed in the role of ambassador and Prince, he fell easily into the persona.  "I am Legolas."

The captain bowed from the waist, saying, "Forgive me, Highness, but your people are travel-worn and weary, and I could not tell you apart."

"We have suffered much and traveled far.  We have no possessions to signal our positions.  Neither would you, had you been driven from your homes and forced to live in exile in the realm of Mordor."

The captain flushed scarlet.  "I didn't mean…  Forgive me, Highness."

"My name is Legolas, and I would be addressed as such."  He reached behind him and beckoned Nimoë forward.  As she took her place at his side, he laid his hand on the small of her back.  "This is Nimoë, my wife.  It is to her that you owe your salvation, for it is she who defeated Morgoth."

There was a rush of murmurs round about them and Nimoë pulled closer to Legolas.  She had never been one to enjoy notoriety, preferring to remain in the background, allowing others to bask in the harsh warmth of fame.  She raised her hand to forestall their words.  "Please, do not speak of it.  I did what I had to do.  I do not ask for gratitude."

The captain of the honor guard rose, motioning his soldiers to follow.  "You do not ask it, but it is freely given.  Please, won't you all follow us, and we will bring you to meet with Prince Eomiren.  He is awaiting you."

Nimoë, Legolas, and the rest of the band of Elves, along with the Dwarf and Hobbit, followed the gleaming band of soldiers towards the base of the Tower of Minas Ithil.  She could still feel eyes upon her, and she ducked her head, watching the cobblestones pass beneath her feet, rather than acknowledge the stares of the curious Men.

At last, they passed into the fastness of stone, and were hidden from prying eyes, although shouts still rose up from below.  The Tower was lit with torches, and they followed the hallway through to the center, where a large open room stood, firelight casting dancing shadows across every face.  A throne sat atop a wooden dais, and the man who sat there rose as they entered, and dropped to his knees, bowing his head.

"Prince Legolas.  Elves of Ithilien.  It is with abject humility that I welcome you to my city.  I know that you have suffered greatly at the hands of my people, and for this I cannot ask pardon.  This ill that was done was too horrible for forgiveness.  I can only ask for understanding.  What was done was wrought by a power greater than my own.  Greater than any of us."  Prince Eomiren raised his face, and Nimoë saw a tear roll down his cheek.  "What can I do to help make amends?"

Eomiren was a tall man, with broad shoulders, and long golden hair.  Indeed, very closely did he resemble his ancestor of old, Eomer, King of Rohan.  Eomer's sister, Eowyn, was the first Princess of Ithilien, wed to Faramir of Minas Tirith, and Nimoë could see the remnants of power those three had worn like a mantle still upon this one man, although generations separated them.

Legolas stepped forward, the firelight making his hair glow with orange light, and Nimoë went with him, as he did not release her.  "We have suffered much in this realm, Eomiren, that much is true.  All of us here before you lost loved ones when your people drove us from Ithilien.  We have no cause to love you.  Yet, we will grant you pardon, and forgiveness.  The power of Morgoth is something greater perhaps than even you know.  I witnessed it with my own eyes.  Watched as he possessed my beloved wife, yearning to use her body to bring himself forth again into this world."

Eomiren's eyes widened, for Eredir and Gil-Ganan had spoken no word of this part of the tale to the Prince of Ithilien.

"It was her bravery and strength that sealed the entrance to the Void for all eternity.  You need not fear for Morgoth's return."

The tall Prince of Men stepped down from his dais and crossed to Nimoë, taking her slender hands in his own.  "Then you are our deliverer.  How can I ever thank you?  What can I give you that could even begin to mirror what you have given to us?"

Nimoë dropped her eyes, suddenly shy, but Legolas squeezed her gently, and she raised her gaze to meet that of Eomiren.  "We ask but one thing, Highness.  Our people long to only to cross the great western sea and pass into Valinor, the ancient home of our race.  Give us a place to stay, while we build a vessel to carry us forth.  Give us supplies and aid.  Speed us on our way, and we will consider the debt paid."

"It is such a little thing, Lady.  Surely you would ask more.  Gold?  Jewels?"

Legolas replied, "My wife has asked for the thing most precious to our hearts.  We need nothing more."

Eomiren retreated a step and looked around at the faces of the Elves staring back at him.  He nodded.  "So be it.  Rest here for a few days to recover from your journey, and then you will be taken to Emyn Arnen, nigh unto the Anduin, where a great sailing vessel will be constructed.  You are our honored guests, my friends.  We will see to your every need."

A high wail rose from behind Nimoë, and she smiled.  Caldarion was awake.  "I'm afraid that I must see to that need.  Please excuse me."  With that she turned and found her way to Tinunél's side, where she took back her son.  Legolas and Eomiren remained in conversation, but Nimoë felt no need to hear it.  Soon enough, they would depart Middle-Earth, and she would be reunited with those who had left before her.  She longed to see her first birth parents, and Gandalf.

Caldarion burrowed his face against her shoulder, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes, and she smiled.  Soon, son.  Soon you will be safe in a world of everlasting light.