The darkness of the chamber robbed Nimoë of her sight, so she closed her eyes and tried to melt into the warmth beneath her that was Legolas. His arms around her were solidly reassuring and she surrendered herself to his care. Her body softened as the overwhelming strength of his love seeped into her with a shimmering radiance that melted away pain.
        Nimoë was content to float there, in the beguiling haze of unreality and comfort. Only a small part of her mind screamed at her that this bliss was only temporary, and she shoved it back from her consciousness, wanting only to treasure what time she had. Those minutes could have lasted as long as the turning of the seasons, or as briefly as the flap of a butterfly’s wings, but to Nimoë it seemed to be a moment frozen in infinity.
        A light rapping upon the door broke ruthlessly into Nimoë’s awareness and she lifted her head from where it lay, nestled in the hollow of Legolas’ neck, tucked under his chin. “Is it time?”
        Hama’s voice answered her soft inquiry. “The men of Rohan make ready to ride forth. You must come now and find horses.”
        Legolas offered his hand as a firm grip for Nimoë to lever herself off of his lap, then arose as well. He held her in front of him, her shoulders gripped tightly between his hands. “Whatever happens, know this now. I love you, Nimoë. I love you like the bird loves the breeze, like the fish loves the stream. You sustain me. I will do everything in my power to see us both safe through the day, but I fear that even my best may not be enough.”
        This time Nimoë was the one to place her fingers against his lips. “Hush, my heart. I put all of my trust in you.” Then she took his hand from her shoulder and pressed his long fingers tightly, wishing that they could have just a few more precious moments alone with their hearts beating close together. Firmly she put those thoughts aside, and pushed open the door. “The sun will not wait for us. We must be on our way.”
        With Legolas’ arm wrapped around her waist to support her, Nimoë was able to walk down the flights of stairs on her own two legs, although she leaned on him heavily. How long had it been since she had rested? Eaten a full meal? The emptiness in her middle came not only from the depth of her emotions, but also from her state of near starvation. What would it feel like to experience the swell of passion without the interference of physical discomfort? Her breath came out in a sigh as she accepted that she may never truly know.
        They came at last into the base of the Hornburg, which had been converted into a makeshift stable, and looked about for their friends. Legolas spotted Aragorn, sitting tall and proud on the back of a chestnut stallion, and he led Nimoë towards him.
        The horses were close packed and they moved erratically, the tenseness which pervaded the large room making them jumpy. Legolas guided Nimoë carefully, so as to avoid being trampled in the crush. Finally they reached Aragorn’s side, and Legolas spoke, “Aragorn, we are here. Do plans remain unchanged?”
        Aragorn nodded down at the Elves. “They do. We will ride forth with the dawn and make for the Dike. The main bulk of Saruman’s army is encamped there. Arod is here in the citadel. I think that you will find him ready for you near the front gate. Mount up and await me there. Theoden and Eomer will also join us and together we will lead the charge.”
        Once more the two Elves set out across the large room, and Nimoë pressed herself close to Legolas’ side, overawed by the powerful beasts snorting and stomping around her. The smell of them was potent and alive, but within the enclosed space it seemed to bear down upon her, and it smelled like fear.
        They reached the gate and found Arod waiting for them. He stamped his forepaw in greeting and Nimoë managed a small smile as she reached out to stroke the beast’s nose ridge. Legolas turned and dropped a soft kiss onto Nimoë’s lips. “You must ride behind me today, dear heart, for I will need my arms free to do battle. Hold tightly to me and do not let go.”
        “I will not let go. I shall cling to you like a vine.”
        Legolas vaulted then onto the horse’s back, and extended his hand down to pull her up after him. Before Nimoë had a chance to accept it, however, she found herself lifted high from behind and settled onto the horse.
        She turned her head and found Eomer standing at her side. He took her hand and bent his head over it reverently before placing a soft kiss on its back. “Lady Nimoë, you have been a blessing to my people here. I thank you for all that you have done. I wish I had some way to repay you, but since we ride into battle it seems that there may never be a chance.”
        Nimoë looked down at him and, while he smiled at her, she perceived that he was hiding some deep hurt. “I require no payment for my healing skills, Eomer.” She smiled brightly at him then, hoping somehow to lift the shadow which hung heavy over him, and she spoke with a pert optimism. “I will discuss it further with you this evening, however, when we have beaten back the forces of Saruman.”
        The corners of his mouth pulled back in a bemused smile. “I look forward to it.” He turned his attention then to Legolas. “I know that you do not need me to tell you this, Elf, but keep her safe. If there is any possible way, keep her from harm.”
        As Legolas regarded the horse-lord, a sudden dawn of understanding swept over him, and he knew the man’s heart. “You may be assured, Eomer, that I would give my life to keep her safe.” He took a deep breath to strengthen himself before continuing. “If I should fall and you should live, I want you to look after Nimoë. I see now that you would never have knowingly brought her into danger. You are a good man and true.” He proffered his hand to the horse-lord. “I offer you my hand in friendship, Eomer. Please accept my apology for the proud way I have behaved towards you.”
        Eomer gripped the Elf prince’s hand firmly, acknowledging the Elf’s recognition of his innermost thoughts. “There is nothing to forgive. I am now, and will remain, your friend. If we survive this day I look forward to spending time learning more about so worthy an Elf. And you need not fear for Nimoë. If needs be, she will be safe in my care.” He released Legolas’ hand then and went to find his own horse.
        Nimoë watched him go, perplexity written in the tightening of her brow. Something of import had just happened, and she did not understand exactly what it was. Still, she was glad that Legolas seemed to have come to his senses regarding Eomer, whom she had always deemed to be a worthy man.
        Arod began to prance with nervous energy and Nimoë was forced to bend all of her thought to remaining on his back. She felt Legolas reach around behind him to pull her close, and she was glad for the added support. Her head swam and she swore that, if she was still alive when the day was over, she would sleep as long as her body would allow. She almost could not remember what it felt like to be free of the terrible weight of weariness that beset her.
        A loud voice rang out through the room, “Make way for Theoden, Lord of the Mark!” Riders sidled their horses away from the center of the room, clearing a path for the aged monarch to pass through. His horse pranced with energy and vitality, and the king’s face shone with a youthful joy, which belied his infirmity, at the prospect of riding forth into battle.
        Aragorn followed behind him, and Eomer reined his mount around to join them at the gate. When they arrived at the gate, Theoden held up his hand for silence. All conversations were immediately stilled, and even the horses quieted their nervous nickers, seemingly anticipating the words of the king.
        Finally he spoke, in a voice which commanded attention with its fearsome intensity. “Men of Rohan! We ride forth against the army of one who would bring darkness down over the whole of Middle-Earth. Already he has set flame to the grassy plains of our fair country. If we are to stop him from bringing his evil down upon our mothers, sisters, wives and children, we must fight as never an army has fought before. Show no mercy. Show no fear. Forth Eorlingas!”
        Theoden thrust his sword high into the air as he shouted the final cry and the Hornburg echoed with the voices which took up the call. A lone man stood atop the citadel and when he heard the shouts rising up to him, he took breath and placed his lips to the mighty Horn of Helm.

        The sound which rang forth was as loud as a full score of silver trumpets sounded simultaneously, and it echoed off of the walls of the Deep, reverberating tenfold for seemingly endless moments. The army of Saruman paused in its assault, and fear came over their dark souls as the sun broke forth from its slumber in glorious majesty while the Horn heralded its coming with overpowering splendor.
        In the momentary silence which followed the sounding of the Horn, the army of Saruman stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed. Then the great gates of the Hornburg burst open and with fearsome cries the army of Rohan began to pour forth, crushing any orcs which did not move aside quickly enough. They rode with deadly purpose towards the Dike, silver swords glinting like flame in the crimson light of the newly risen sun.