Legolas fought the urge to run to Nimoë's side as she lay, pale as death, on the hard earth.  Instead, he dropped down beside Gilmin, who was groaning and clutching his pierced shoulder, just above his breast.

The Dwarf grabbed Legolas' hand and squeezed with ferocious strength.  "Did we win?" he grated.

Legolas nodded.  "It is over.  Lie still.  I will bind your wound, but you must not injure it further."

He tore strips of fabric from the nearest Easterling's garments and wrapped them around the Dwarf's shoulder.  The natural ruddy hue of the Gilmin's skin faded to a sickly yellow, and blood flowed freely from his wound.  Had the blow struck lower, Gilmin would likely be dead already.  As it was, unless Nimoë woke soon and could channel her song to the Dwarf's aid, he may well die yet.

"Is it bad?" Gilmin asked.

Legolas shook his head.  "Nothing to worry about.  Just stay still.  Try to rest."

A light touch on his shoulder startled him and he spun on his knee to find himself face to face with his son.  Caldarion's wide eyes glistened with unshed tears and his lower lip trembled.

Without a word, Legolas opened his arms wide and the child fell forward into them.  His small arms coiled around Legolas' neck and he clung with surprising strength.  Legolas felt the child's body trembling and whispered soft words, "It is done.  You were magnificent.  You saved us all."

"My true godson, you are," Gilmin rasped and tried to raise a hand to reassure the boy.

Caldarion pulled away from Legolas and knelt by the Dwarf's head.  He leaned over and kissed the grizzled brow.  "Are you dying?"

Gilmin shook his head slightly, biting back a groan against the pain.

The Elf child turned his gaze to meet his father's and his eyes held disbelief.  Legolas found he could not hide the truth from his son.  The Dwarf was not looking his way.  He nodded.  Gilmin was dying, slowly, but without more aid than he could give, he would go to the halls of his fathers before the sun set.

Caldarion cradled Gilmin's head in his arms and wept silently, his tears washing clean trails in the dirt crusting the Dwarf's face.  Legolas squeezed his eyes shut.  Too much death.  Too much pain.  He feared for his friend, and he mourned for his son's lost innocence.  Even if they reached the Undying Lands, this memory of soul-deep grief would shade Caldarion's spirit for all the long years of his life.

A rustle brought Legolas' eyes back open.  Raven groaned and rolled up onto one elbow.  "Aah," he moaned and brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the light.  "Where am I?"

"With your friends," Legolas replied.  "How do you feel?"

Blinking furiously, Raven moved his fingers over skull.  He winced as they grazed a large bump, blood trailing from the split skin down his face.  "I'll live.  What happened?  How did we --" he gestured at the field littered with the bodies of the Easterlings.

"Nimoë."

Raven nodded.  "I am sorry.  I failed you."

Legolas reached across the ground that separated them and gripped the hobbit around his upper arm.  "You fought bravely, Raven.  You failed no one."

"How is she?"

Legolas' gaze leapt to Nimoë's still form.

"Go to her," Gilmin croaked.  "There's nothing more you can do for me."

Legolas pressed his lips together, then nodded and rose gracefully to his feet.  He leapt over the bodies of the dead, slowing only when he reached her side.  Her skin was as white as parchment, her breathing shallow.  He dropped to his knees and brushed her silken hair back from her face.  Bruises marred her skin on her arms and neck.  He kissed his fingers then traced them over each injury.  "Nimoë," he called softly.  "Nimoë, we need you.  I need you."

Her eyelids fluttered but remained closed.  "Love, you saved us.  Your family and friends are alive.  But Gilmin...  Gilmin is sore injured.  He needs your song.  Please, Nimoë.  Find your way back."  He pressed her fingers, distressed at the chill of them.

Her breath came out on a sigh.  "Legolas."

A wave of warmth swept through his chest at her voice.  "I am here."

"You came for me."

"Always."

She gripped his hand harder and squeezed her eyes, then they fluttered open.  "You could have died."

"I would give anything for you, Nimoë.  I would give my life."

She shook her head and a faint blush like the petals of spring roses began to seep back into her skin.  "I would not ask it of you."

"All the more reason I would give it.  Can you stand?"

Nimoë blinked.  "I do not know."

"You must try.  Gilmin needs your aid."

Her eyes flew wide.  "Gilmin?"

"He lives, but his time is short."

Nimoë placed both hands in his own.  "Help me go to him."

Legolas pulled and Nimoë lurched upright, then collapsed against him.  "Nimoë?"

She clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder.  "The world is spinning."

As she gathered her breath, Legolas drank in the smell of her.  No smell in all of Middle Earth was as sweet.  The feel of her body pressed against him was a homecoming.  Much as he longed to rest in the moment, he pressed her away, supporting her firmly by the arms.  "Are you steady?"

"Yes," she said, although she swayed as she spoke.  "Take me to him."

Together they crossed the field of bodies towards the three gathered together in the center.  Legolas heard Nimoë suck in her breath and felt her tremble at the sight of the Easterlings littering the ground, dead by her hand.  The last time she had used her song to do harm, she'd fallen into a despair like none he'd seen before.  He could only hope she would be stronger this time.  At least she kept moving, even if tears slid silently down her cheeks.

At last they reached Gilmin, Raven and Caldarion.  Nimoë sank to her knees beside the wounded Dwarf.  She laid her hands against the blood-soaked bandage and closed her eyes.

"Can you fix him, Nimi?" Caldarion asked, his eyes red-rimmed.

Legolas watched as Nimoë focused her thoughts upon the Dwarf.  She drew in a shuddering breath and began to sing.  Her voice was hoarse, but the melody rang clear.  Legolas held his breath, waiting for some sign that the magic was working, but something felt different.  The music was as pure as ever, but the tingle of power that had radiated from Nimoë as she sang in the past was gone.  There was only song.

She fell silent, then began again, a different melody.  And another.

Her hands fell from Gilmin's wound and her shoulders collapsed.  She stared up at Legolas, a mingling of horror and acceptance written in her storm-grey eyes.  "To save you I profaned the deep magic.  Galadriel warned me against such an act, but she did not tell me the consequences."  She spoke then in a voice like a lost child.  "The Elfsong has forsaken me."