Nimoë looked out of her window towards the shipyard.  Elves and Men swarmed over the skeleton of the ship that would carry the Elves to Valinor.  The work had been in progress for three months, and Caldarion was walking.  Every day, as he lost the chubbiness of baby fat, he looked more and more like his father.  The defined jaw, the dawn-blue eyes, the seriousness of his nature.

"Nimi, boat!"

Nimoë felt the sharp tug at her skirt and smiled down at her son.  "Yes, Caldarion.  We'll go see the boat."  She turned away from the window and pulled a small tunic from a chest of drawers and dropped it over his head, tying it at the waist with a short cord.  "There.  Let's find your father, shall we?"

"Legas!"

She offered the toddler her finger and he wrapped his surprisingly long fingers around them, then they left the house which would be their last home in Middle-Earth.  The sun was warm on her skin, but the air was chill and the trees were just shedding their last bronzed leaves.  She smiled.  They would be able to leave before spring came back into the world.

The streets were full, but the Men of Ithilien made space to allow the Elf maid and her son to pass by.  All knew the story of her heroism, and they accorded her every respect, although they'd learned quickly that she preferred anonymity, so what they did was done with quiet dignity rather than with effusive words.

"Legas!  Legas!"

"Yes, dear heart.  He'll be there."  He was always there, supervising the work, lending a hand where needed.  Of all of them, he was the only one who had done such work before.  The days of Círdan the Shipwright were past.  When Legolas had built the ship that carried himself and Gimli into the West, he became the last Elf to undertake such work for centuries.

Nimoë smiled forlornly.  It seemed she hardly saw him anymore.  The construction of the ship was like a fever in his blood, and he pursued its completion with a single-mindedness that found both reassuring and disturbing.  Reassuring in that the sooner the work was completed, then sooner they could leave, but disturbing in that it seemed it was something more that drove him on.  He had not relaxed in the world of Men.  It seemed that he was always looking over his shoulder, and although he did not carry his bow with him, he was never without his Elven blades, and he insisted that Nimoë carry her mother's knife with her at all times.

She'd tried to reason with him.  What was he expecting?  By all signs, the Men of Ithilien were giving them all aid.  She'd seen no sign of treachery.  Indeed, they went out of their way to aid the Elves, many coming to work on the ship after their own work was completed for the day.

Nimoë sighed.

"Nimi?"

Caldarion was a perceptive little thing.  He knew when she was upset.  "It's nothing, love.  We'll go find your father, and then we can take a little hike.  What do you think of that?"

He nodded, and squeezed her finger with his small hand.

Minutes later they came upon the shipyard.

Gil-Ganan was sitting astride a long beam, and he hailed her.  "Good morning to you, Nimoë!  You'll find Legolas in the stern!"

She called her thanks and pulled Caldarion closer to her as she led the way into the skeletal ship.  It really was no place for a child.  Debris littered the ground, and pieces of wood were occasionally dropped, making anyone below a moving target.  "Stay near."

They picked their way across the uneven ground and the climbed the stairs to the partially completed deck.  Legolas stood deep in conversation with Telarion, gesturing with his hands, apparently trying to convey some trick of joining curved beams so they would remain watertight.  Nimoë felt the familiar acceleration of her pulse at the sight of him.  The catch in her throat that made it feel like she couldn't breathe.  She was lucky, she knew, that her husband still made her heart race, that there had been no lessening of the passion between them.  So many found that time dulled the edge of their love, but for Nimoë it only made the blade more keen.

Legolas turned his head slightly and caught sight of her.  He motioned Telarion to wait and strode quickly to her side, taking Caldarion up in his arms and leaning in to kiss Nimoë on her brow.  "So you have come to see me!  Look at how the ship progresses, Caldarion.  See there, do you remember that yesterday there was no floor?"

The boy nodded, his eyes wide.

"Soon enough we will be able to depart from this place, and you and your mother will finally be safe."  Although he spoke those words to the child his eyes were on Nimoë.  "What will you be doing today?"

"I thought to take Caldarion for a walk into the hills.  He's been cooped up in the house too much.  He needs to stretch his legs.  To breathe of the forest.  He'll begin to think he is a Man and not an Elf."

"Darion Elf!"

Legolas smiled and ruffled his son's blonde head.  "You are indeed, and do not forget it.  You come from a brave lineage."  He looked back to Nimoë.  "Will you not wait until I can join you?  I like not the idea of the two of you out alone."

"Legolas, there is nothing to be afraid of.  I do not understand your concern.  And even if we should run into some sort of trouble, I have my knife, and I am not without other skills.  Rest your mind.  We are fine."
A voice called from high up on the mast, where they were attaching the spars, "Legolas!  We need your help!"

Regretfully, he handed Caldarion back to Nimoë, and waved an acknowledgement.  "Do what you will then, Nimoë.  I know that it is no use my trying to stop you, but keep your wits about you.  I sense that all is not as it should be."

Nimoë leaned in and kissed him full on the lips.  His eyes widened, then fell closed, and he reached his arm around her waist, pulling her in closer, losing himself in the kiss, then firmly drew away.  She smiled.  "I love you, Legolas."

"And I love you.  Please, don't do anything rash."

"Go," she gestured to the Elves above.  "They need you more than I.  We'll be back by nightfall."

"Bye, Legas!"

"Goodbye."

Several hours later, Nimoë and Caldarion were seated by the side of a swift-running stream, munching on cheese and rolls that Nimoë had brought with them.  It had taken some time to get as far from the city as they'd come, as Caldarion could not walk quickly, but Nimoë had not pressed him.  The expressions of wonder and joy that crossed his face at the few birds that flew by overhead, the frost still clinging to the earth in the shady places, brought a smile to her face, and she would not hurry him through this time of discovery.

"Go up?"

Nimoë glanced up at the hill that rose above them.  The trees grew denser there, and the whole ground was swathed in shadows.  "Are you sure you want to go?  It will be colder there."

"Go up!"

She sighed, and gathered up the last of their meal and dropped it into the pockets of the apron she'd brought to serve as a blanket.  "Give me your hand then, and don't stray."

They crossed into the shadowy brush and began the hike up the hill.  Something about the place didn't feel right to Nimoë, but she shook her head to dispel the feeling.  Nature had never been against them.  It was only that the pall of winter death was upon the ground.  Nothing more.

They climbed in silence, and Caldarion looked as if he wanted to stick his thumb in his mouth to suck, but stopped himself.  He was a big boy now, and thumb-sucking was beneath his dignity.

As the trees closed around them, Nimoë felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she glanced about, eyes searching for anything that might be out of place.  Although she saw nothing, she reached down and pulled Caldarion into her arms.  "I am sorry, love, but I think we should not climb this hill.  We'll find another."

Her voice sounded hollow in the dim light, and Caldarion did not protest, clinging to her neck.  Nimoë was not reassured.  He could feel it too.

She had not taken three steps down the hill when a heavy weight crashed down upon her sending her sprawling to the ground.  She managed to roll, thereby sparing her son from being crushed beneath her, but before she could gain her feet, hands were grabbing her roughly, tearing Caldarion from her arms, shoving a gag into her mouth.

She tried to scream, to lash out, but was dragged to her feet, her hands bound tightly behind her back.  Still, she kicked and struggled, Caldarion's screams giving her strength.  One of her attackers fell to the earth, clutching at his groin, and others cursed loudly as her feet bruised their legs.

"Nimi!"

Nimoë flung her body hard against the Men who struggled to subdue her, and managed to knock the captor on her left side free.  In desperation, she pulled hard to the left, dragging the two Men on her right arm after her, but as she passed the one she'd felled, he grabbed her around the ankles, and she crashed hard to the ground.

Two of her attackers piled on top of her, pressing her face into the stony earth and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.  Legolas!  Elbereth, aid me.  I should have listened.  Caldarion, what are they doing to you.  Why have you stopped screaming?  Caldarion!!