An eternity later, Nimoë became aware of something cool and wet bathing her brow. The cut places stung as water melted into the scabs, but she felt a smile beginning as she realized that there was once again strength in her body. The damp cloth moved from her forehead to her cheek, and she opened her eyes.
        “Legolas,” she said, and her voice was once again strong, melodious and full, “No longer do you need to care for me like a babe in arms. I can tend to my own wounds.”
        Relief washed over him like a dam bursting. She was back from the unnatural long sleep, and she had come back to him whole. “I want to take care of you this little while longer, dear heart.” His eyes appeared haunted as he continued, “I was so very afraid for you. Never have I seen a person sleep so long. I began to think that mayhap you would not wake, that you had suffered more trauma than it seemed. Hearing you speak, and seeing the brightness of your eyes, is like the rising of the sun after the long dark of the northern winter.”
        She laughed softly, “I must have frightened you indeed, for you to wax so eloquent.” His hands continued his ministrations to her face, and she did not argue further. “Tell me, where are we? And what has happened?”
        “We are camped past the Fords of Isen, and but a few miles from the gates of Isengard. It is as well that you have been sleeping, for the Fords were a graveyard. Terrible indeed was the battle that was fought there. What is strange, though, is that until but minutes ago, the Isen did not flow in its banks. The riverbed was empty, only a muddy mire following its course. And now the water runs free again. I understand it not.” Legolas shook his head in confusion, then smiled. “You did miss one thing of great wonder. We saw Ents! Those shepherds of the trees walked past us out of the strange forest by Helm’s Deep. Never did I think to see such things as legends walking, but these are strange times. Can you sit?”
        Nimoë nodded. “I can.” To prove her point, she raised herself on her arms, then sat up fully. Her eyes took in the darkness surrounding them, lit only by the glow of the waxing moon. “The Isen runs freely, you said?”
        “I did.”
        She rose to her feet, and Legolas stood with her. “I think that I will bathe. More than just my face is crusted in blood, and I will feel the freer to be rid of it.”
        “Nimoë, the night is cold, and the Isen runs fast. Is that a wise choice?”
        She only smiled at him, with a twinkle in her eye. “I will be quick.” She turned away towards the river, then tossed back over her shoulder, “And you will chase away the chill, won’t you?”
        Legolas could only stare after her in amazed silence as she made her way to the banks of the Isen, then walked along them some distance from the encampment. He broke himself out of his shocked paralysis and chased after her.
        Nimoë was waiting for him behind a stand of trees. “Turn your back while I bathe. I will call you when you may turn around again.” Before he could speak, she raised her hand to forestall him. “Do not worry. I will call you if I need any aid.”
        “As you wish.”

        As Nimoë splashed into the river, the shock of the cold forced a quiet scream from her lips, which she immediately followed with, “It is only the cold, I am fine!” She worked quickly, scrubbing the grime of the past weeks off of her body, racing against the numbness which grew fast upon her in the chill grip of the river. Finally, when she thought she could stand no more, she submerged her head and, with dead fingers, she washed out her hair.
        When she surfaced, she let her breath out in a whoosh, and scrambled back onto the bank. Legolas was still standing nearby, with his face dutifully averted, and she rubbed herself down with her undershirt. Finally, she threw on the rest of her clothing, although she was shivering so hard that she could hardly manage the buttons on the tunic. “I am ready, Legolas.”
        He turned around and cried out in concern, “Nimoë, you are blue!”
        “Then come here and hold me close.”
        He needed no further invitation. He crossed the ground between them with purposeful strides, and pulled her into his arms. Her shivering rattled him, and he rubbed her back and arms with brisk strokes, hoping to get her blood flowing again. She burrowed as close against him as she could, her arms clenched tightly around his back.
        After long moments her shivering slowed, and their embrace became more gentle. The moonlight shone down, sending ghostly beams through the canopy of trees. When Nimoë raised her head off of Legolas’ chest, one of the pale rays fell full across her face. Legolas’ breath caught in his throat when faced with her beauty. The moonlight only accentuated the paleness of her hair, wet though it was, and the soft shadows highlighted the contours of her face.
        “Legolas,” she whispered, softly as the fall of thistledown, suddenly serious after her earlier playful teasing, “Thank you for all that you have done for me. I know that I would not be standing still upon this earth if it had not been for you. You saved my life when the orcs broke through the Gate at Helm’s Deep, and you saved my soul from darkness when all seemed bleakest. That I am as you see me, strong and unbroken, is because of you. I will be in your debt for as long as I live.”
        Her words moved him and he brought his fingers up to trace the line of her jaw, which glowed in the moonbeam’s light. “There is to be no talk of debt between us. You are a part of me. I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”
        “I feel the same way.” She hesitated for a moment before asking, “Does it not frighten you?”
        He cocked his head to the side. “Frighten?”
        “Yes, frighten. We have known each other for such a short time. How can we feel as strongly as we do? How can love blossom in the space of a few short weeks? We have lived for centuries, and not known love like this.” Her words tumbled out of her like a cataract, not to be stilled once begun.
        “Hush, dear heart,” whispered Legolas, and he gathered her again into his arms, holding her cradled against his heart. “I understand why you are frightened. Listen to me now and hear my words. For centuries I have heard the tales, sung in ballads in the halls of our people, telling the story of love, stronger than life, that springs between two souls. I have heard, but I have not understood. Such a thing seemed as alien to me as growing a third arm.
        “My mother always counseled that some time, when I had given up all hope of love, I would find it come to me when I least expected it. Unlooked for. Unsought. Like all young men, I did not heed her words, and I went often with friends, searching for love, as if it were something I could hunt down and capture. My companions found wives; women that were beautiful, that they respected and valued as friends, but I saw that their hearts were not wholly given. I could not reconcile myself to such a love, and so I finally gave up the hunt, resigned to a long life of bachelorhood. My mother, it appears, was right, for even before I knew you to be a woman I felt myself drawn to be with you, to spend time talking with you and sharing my thoughts, although love was the last thing I was looking for.”
        He stroked her hair comfortingly as he continued, “I believe that there is within each of us a spirit, a soul, which waits patiently until it finds the one other with whom it is perfectly matched. And when it finds its mate, it clings to it like iron to a lodestone. We are powerless to resist it even if we wished, which I assure you I do not. You are the other half of my soul, which I did not know was missing until you came into my life. I will move heaven and earth to keep you with me now that I have found you.”
        Nimoë raised her head off of his chest and gazed up at him, her eyes swimming with tears which glistened it the moonlight. “Legolas, you move me beyond words. That you would liken our love to the great loves sung in the halls of kings...” A smile born of springtime spread across her face. “I will fear no longer.”
        He placed a soft kiss upon her upturned lips and then, regretfully, he moved to guide her back to the encampment. “Tonight you must try to rest. I know that you have done little but sleep for the past day, but more rest cannot harm you. There is still another hour or two before daylight.”
        “I will not argue with you. I would like to be as strong as possible before coming in front of Saruman. That is a name with the power to make me tremble, simply to hear it spoken.”
        Legolas laughed. “Gandalf hints that things might not be well with Saruman. Ah well, we shall know soon enough.”
        They nestled down to the mossy ground together, near to Gimli and Aragorn, and Legolas fell swiftly into slumber. Nimoë, however, found that sleep would not come easily, despite her still present, though greatly diminished, exhaustion. It seemed to her that things were too perfect, and despite Legolas’ reassurances, she worried that soon something would happen to upset the beautiful, surreal wonder in which she now dwelt.
        She nestled close against him, absorbing the rhythm of his breathing, and watching the moon slide relentlessly across the jet black sky. Without warning, a dark shadow fell like a curtain between the ground where they rested and the pale moon, which was blotted from the sky. A great dread gripped her heart as the darkness swept past overhead, swirling like dead leaves in a great storm, and inhuman wails sounded throughout the still air.
        Startled cries sounded from the men sleeping nearby as the cold fear seeped into their dream states, and they woke to the chilling vision of black and crimson clouds, flowing like blood across the sky. Nimoë shrank back, trying to melt into the ground, to hide herself from the sentient menace of the night terror. She felt Legolas’ hand grip her arm, and she turned her eyes away from the horrible sight, to meet his own, which were hard, almost black in the night. They did not register fear, only the bravery of one ready to defend his love from any threat. His jaw was tight, and Nimoë felt the fear recede at the promise of protection she read in his face.
        Then, as quickly as it had come, the shadow passed onward to the west. Moonlight again illuminated the camp. Murmurs swirled about in the air, as the men sought reassurance in the fellowship of their friends. There would be no more sleep that night. The darkness had been to thorough, too alive and full of hostility, to allow for innocent shutting of eyes.
        Legolas did not release his grip upon Nimoë, and his face did not lighten. Anger burnt within him, like a smoldering flame, that the shadow dared to come so near, to bring fear to this precious woman who looked back at him so trustingly.
        “Legolas, Nimoë, let us break our fast early. I think that there will be no more rest this night,” spoke Aragorn, who had approached them unnoticed.
        Legolas stared for a moment longer into Nimoë’s wide grey eyes, promising her that he would keep her safe, then he turned to Aragorn. “We will join you shortly.”