“Give that to me, fool of a Took!” spoke Gandalf, holding his hand out for the stone orb which Pippin carried. “I did not ask you to handle it.”
        When the stone had been launched out the window of Orthanc, it had crashed to the ground not two feet from the young Hobbits, who had been standing some distance apart from the others. Once they had recovered from the shock of the attack, Pippin walked over and picked it up. It was strangely heavy, as if it was denser than normal stone, and strange lights pulsed through it. Odd that it had not shattered on impact with the hard stone stairway where they stood, he thought.
        As he carried it back to the others, he was taken by a strange compulsion to gaze closely into it, to search the lights that danced within for some secret meaning. His gaze grew unfocused and he swayed slightly on his feet. That was when Gandalf spoke, and Pippin tore his eyes from the stone.
        There was a strange emptiness within him, but he ignored it and held the stone out to the wizard. “Here it is then, Gandalf. No need to get touchy about it.”
        “Let me be the judge of that,” Gandalf growled. The wizard then beckoned to the others with a wave of his hand. “Come away from here. We will do better so speak of things far from this evil place.”
        A sense of troubled triumph was upon the company as they moved away from the tall tower. They had prevailed. Saruman had been sent back into his tower in disgrace, but there was now a greater foe to be faced. Saruman had only been a pawn of the Dark Lord Sauron, and the time had come to join the fight against him.
        As they walked, Gandalf began to chuckle. After some time, Gimli, who walked beside him, finally blurted out, “Are you going to tell us what is so blasted amusing, or must we guess?”
        In wonderment, the aged wizard shook his head. “I know not what possessed Wormtongue to throw this thing out the window, but I believe that he may have done us a great service. He could not have known the value of this stone, but I believe that had we gone into Orthanc ourselves, we could have found nothing that Saruman would miss more sorely.” He held the stone out in front of him briefly so that all could see it, then hid it away under his cloak. “This is a palantir, one of the seeing stones of ancient times. Not all of them are accounted for, but this one must surely be the palantir of Elendil, set here by the Kings of Gondor. My guess would be that this is how Saruman communicated with Sauron.” He shook his head again. “Old fool. Probably he thought that he could reason with the Dark Lord, and sought him out himself, but when Sauron set his eye upon him, Saruman was lost. In a way I pity him.”
        The wizard was interrupted by a shriek of anger from the tower and again he chuckled, “It would seem that Saruman has discovered his loss. I think that Master Wormtongue will have some explaining to do.”
        The company finally arrived at the spot along the wall of Isengard from which they had set forth. Legolas glanced around him, eager to tell Nimoë that the encounter had come out in their favor. Not seeing her where they had left her, he spun about, swinging his keen eyes along the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.
        A deep sense of foreboding crashed down upon him as he thought back to her words before he had left her, “I will not come with you to Orthanc… Saruman will not see me…” With one final glace, to be certain that she was nowhere to be found, he left his companions, and scrambled up to the top of the nearest tall structure, a gatehouse that was half standing.
        From this higher vantage point, it was clear that she was gone. What had she done? His hands began to tremble and his mind spun, thinking frantically. If she had followed them to the tower, she would have known that the confrontation was over. She would have returned, and arrived ahead of them, for she would not wish him to know of her subterfuge. Something had happened to her. Something evil.
        He leapt down off of his perch, and called out, “Nimoë! Answer me! Where are you?”
        Eomer spun around and called to him, “She is not back from the tower? Can you not see her approaching?”
        Legolas shook his head and laid his hand onto the hilt of his Elven blade. “She is nowhere nearby.” Suddenly he realized what the horse-lord had said. “You knew? You knew that she would follow us to Orthanc?”
        Eomer nodded he as strode to the Elf’s side. “It was as clear as daylight. I do not understand why you did not see it.”
        “Nor do I, now that I look back on it.” His hand was shaking with rage. “If anything has happened to her…”
        The Elf Prince did not finish the thought, but Eomer understood the stain of self-disgust which he heard in Legolas’ voice. He clapped his hand to his friend’s shoulder and said, “Let us not waste time. We will split up and we will find her. Do not worry. I am sure that she is well.” Even as he spoke the words, Eomer knew them to be a lie. If she was well, she would have been waiting for them at the wall.
        Aragorn and Gimli had been standing nearby and they both volunteered to aid in the search. Within moments, the four friends had moved off in different directions, shouting Nimoë’s name, searching the ground for any sign of Elf-prints. The others remained behind, waiting in case she should return.
        Legolas strained his ears as he walked, hoping for any sound that might alert him to Nimoë’s presence, and his eagle eyes scanned the ground ahead of him minutely. As the minutes passed and he found nothing, his heart began to pound as loudly as thunder in his chest. Every so often calls of, “Nimoë, where are you?” reached his ears, so he knew that none of the other searchers had found her either.
        He had almost reached the moat surrounding the tower when something strange caught his eye. Footprints approached his location from a different direction, and they led to a downed pillar. There were muddy tracks upon it and it looked as if they had gone up twice, but never down. Some distance from the pillar was a body sized imprint in the muck with a trail leading away from it that looked almost as if it had been left by a snake of unnatural size.
        Legolas knelt down next to the strange trail and ran his fingers over it. The sensitive pads of his fingertips found subtle indentations, which even his Elf eyes had not seen. Someone had crawled away on their hands and knees. Someone light and slender. Nimoë.
        He shouted her name again and again as he chased along the trail. It was easy to follow through the fresh mud, and he moved quickly on his fleet feet. The path veered off to the side, and onto a solid stone patio in front of a demolished building. Mud trailed along the stone, and he raced inside.
        Nimoë was there, lying on the bottom steps of a staircase which led to nowhere, and she was sobbing with great, wracking heaves of grief. She was oblivious to his presence and he stood for a moment stunned. It was the matter of a moment before he found his feet and went to her side. “Nimoë, what happened?”
        Startled, she jerked her head up and saw him. On trembling arms she moved to lever herself away from him. “Get back! Get away from me!”
        Shock flooded through him, and he reached out to touch her arm.
        Her whole body flinched at his touch, and she bit back a sob. “Please, Legolas, let me be! Forget that you ever knew me!”
        “What?!? What has happened to you, Nimoë?”
        He reached to gather her into his arms but, with a strength that she did not know that she possessed, she pushed herself away, falling ungracefully down the few stairs which she had lain across.
        “Get away from me before I hurt you too. Before I do it again…” Then her face crumpled and she buried it in her hands.
        Ignoring her protests he caught her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. “Nimoë, what are you talking about? What could you possibly do to me?”
        In great, hiccupping sobs, she answered him, “I did it… I sent him mad… I could feel it… I lived every moment with him… It was like the world was ending…” Then she stared straight at him, daring him to make an offer of comfort. “Legolas, I almost killed him!”
        “Saruman?” he asked, although such a question seemed ridiculous. He had been cowed, but certainly not mad.
        “Nay.” Her voice shook as she spoke and her eyes were haunted. “Wormtongue. I saw him there, peering out of the tower, and before I could think, before I even knew I had begun, I was singing. I used the ancient words of power. I sent him mad, and through it all I was there with him, inside of his mind, watching the torture he underwent. And still I did not stop! I struck out at him with a strength that is never to be used in anger...” Her hands reached out and clutched the front of his tunic, trying to draw strength from him, even as she strove to prove why she did not deserve it. “He slammed his own head in a door to end the torment. He might have died! I almost became a murderer this day!”
        Dark fury began to simmer inside the Elf Prince against the vile man, who, even in his defeat, still managed to bring pain to his love. He brought her head back up to face him. “Nimoë, listen to me. You did nothing wrong. All that you did was give him back his own foul medicine. For did he not torture you as well? Did you not almost pass from this world? I tell you truly that your actions were justified. Had I been the one to see him, he would surely no longer be breathing, so it may be for the best that you were the one to repay him for his crime.”
        “You do not understand, Legolas. What I did profanes the Elven magic. I should not have allowed my emotions to take control of me.”
        A shadow fell over them and Legolas looked up and saw Eomer standing in the doorway. He wondered how long the horse-lord had been listening. Eomer leaned up against the doorframe and spoke, “I am not an Elf, so I cannot speak definitively, but I see nothing wrong in your actions. Wormtongue is an enemy, not only of yours, but of all the free people of Middle Earth. As an enemy, it is our duty to hunt him down. Legolas and I fight with weapons. You cannot do that. Your weapon is your song. You wielded it skillfully, and I only wish that you had managed to finish the job.”
        Seeing Nimoë flinch at Eomer’s last sentence, Legolas hushed him briskly. “Eomer speaks the truth, although I am glad that you did not kill the viper. It will give me the pleasure when next we meet.” He offered her his hand, “Please, won’t you come back with us?”
        “Even now, after you know what I have done?”
        He smiled down at her tenderly. “Especially now. I was afraid that in the heat of battle you would not be able to protect yourself. I see now that you are far from powerless, if you will allow yourself to use the weapons at your command.” He clasped her hand tightly in his and gave her the best advice that he could. “This is a time of war. What you were taught was realistic in a time of peace, but we must all be ready to make changes. I think that if Galadriel were here, she would understand, and even encourage you to harness your magic to the side of right. What say you? Will you join your strength to ours? Will you wield it in battle?”
        As she looked up into his encouraging gaze, her eyes began to clear, as if a new day was dawning within her. “Is this what you truly believe?”
        “It is.”
        She smiled then, and laid her free hand on top of their joined ones. “If this is your counsel, my heart, then I will do what you ask. I will join my strength to yours. I must warn you, however, that while I am powerful, I do not have a broad range of skills available to me. I am still a novice. But what I can do, I will.” She turned her face to include Eomer. “I will go with you, and I will not falter if I must use my power.” She raised her hand, though, cautioning them, “I will only do it in utmost necessity. It goes against all that I have learned to hold dear. But if all else has failed, I will sing. I will do what I must.”
        Legolas and Eomer locked eyes over her head and they smiled with relief. This frail bird, so innocent and pure, had grown. She was ready to fly on her own. They need no longer fear for her overmuch. Her weapon was at the ready and, though she was loath to wield it, they knew that she could. A great weight lifted off of their shoulders, and together they took her hands to pull her to her feet.
        With Legolas upon her left and Eomer upon her right, each with an arm about her waist to support her, for the magic-weariness was still upon her, Nimoë stepped out of the dark, broken building into the bright light of day. It felt to her like a rebirth. She had met the darkest part of her soul and, with the help of her love and dear friend, she had come back from the brink. It was not a part of herself that she was proud of, but she found that she could accept it.
        A lone bird flew low over the ruins of Isengard, and she watched its carefree flight. Never again would she match its innocent joy, but neither would she hide her face from it. That would be enough.