They made their way slowly back to where Gandalf, Theoden, Merry and Pippin awaited them. Gandalf’s hand moved slowly back and forth over the smooth surface of the palantir, which was covered by his white robe. He looked up at their approach and smiled. “I see that you have been found, Nimoë. From the looks of you, there was more happening at Orthanc than was obvious to me. Do you know anything about a stone thrown out of a window?”
        Out of the corner of her eye, Nimoë saw Aragorn and Gimli returning, and, keeping her voice low, for guilt still ate at her, she nodded. “I am afraid that was my doing, Gandalf, at least indirectly. I used my magic against Wormtongue. I poisoned his mind into insanity, and he destroyed the room he was in, trying to find the source of his torment. He threw the stone, thinking that perhaps if it was gone, his suffering would end. I am ashamed to say that it did not end until he slammed his own head in a door.”
        Laughter sprung forth from the old wizard. “Aha! A mystery made clear! I cannot say that I am sorry for what you have done. This palantir is a great boon to us, for now the Dark Lord can no longer communicate with Saruman. His thought will be bent here to Orthanc, and he will be thinking that Saruman has turned against him. You may have bought us some much needed time.” He sprang up then and beckoned to them all. “Come now! We must ride quickly from this place. The servants of the Dark Lord will be on their way, and we must not linger to be found. Away!”
        They all followed Gandalf back towards the gates of Isengard, where the horses had been left. Nimoë leaned heavily upon Legolas and Eomer, and she shook her head despairingly. “I am afraid, Legolas, that I will have to abandon poor Finduél again. May I ride with you until I am recovered?”
        He squeezed her gently. “If the choice were mine, you would ride with me always. I will be happy to have you near me.”
        They mounted up then, Gimli behind Eomer, Pippin with Aragorn and Merry in front of Gandalf. As soon as all were mounted, they thundered away from the ruins of Isengard, happy to leave the place, and the memories it held, behind.
        Gimli shouted to Gandalf, “What will become of Saruman? How will he be kept holed up in his fell tower?”
        Gandalf called back to him, “The Ents will see to Saruman. They have long memories of his atrocities. Do not fear for his escape. Trust the Ents.”

        Throughout the long day they rode hard. Nimoë rested against Legolas’ chest, and concentrated on regaining her strength. Never before had she wielded the amount of power she had used at Orthanc, so she had no idea how long the terrible, crushing weariness would be upon her. She bristled with impatience. It had been such a short time since she had finally regained her strength, and now had she lost it again. If it came down to it, she was not sure that she could muster any magic at all right then and there. Fine thing to decide you could use a weapon, only to discover that you did not have the strength to wield it.
        The hours stretched onward towards darkness and, finally, Nimoë found the strength to lift her head off of Legolas’ shoulder. Shadows were stretched long across the earth as twilight descended upon them. “Will we ride all night?” she asked.
        Legolas shook his head. “I do not know. Are you feeling more like yourself?”
        She stretched as well as she was able, testing her muscles, and smiled. “I am. If ever we do stop, I will be able to ride on my own.”
        He nuzzled his face into her hair and sighed, “I will miss you.”
        A light laugh burbled out of her like a clear spring. “You may miss me, but I wager that Arod will not. Poor horse, he has been hard put to these last days.”
        Legolas did not reply, but smiled in rueful agreement.

        Finally, Gandalf drew Shadowfax to a halt. “We will rest here tonight. Your horses are weary.” He did not need to say that Shadowfax was still as strong as if he were fresh, for all knew it and marveled. He handed Merry down, and the others dismounted quickly, and tended to the horses.
        Nimoë found a comfortable mossy bed and burrowed into it, content to close her eyes and drift into peaceful slumber. Legolas followed her soon after, and together they lay, warmed each by the other, and for a while forgot about the troubles still facing them.
        Nimoë was deep in a dream of fragrant glens, radiant with a golden aura, where she walked hand in hand with her Elf Prince. Birds sang about them, but even their pure song was as nothing when compared with the beauty and tranquility she felt at being in Legolas’ strong and welcoming presence.
        Her dream self lay back upon the fragrant grass and she pulled him down with her. Kisses as sweet as nectar at dawn grew passionate, more insistent, and she welcomed the look of smoldering fire she saw burning in her Prince’s eyes. Willingly she gave herself over to him, reveling in the power of his caress, and she drew him closer still.

        With a start, Nimoë was jerked back to consciousness. A terrible scream pierced the night sky. It was a scream of utmost terror, and she sat up abruptly, Legolas a moment behind her. They looked at each other with baffled expressions. “What was tha…” she began, but was cut off by another traumatized wail.
        Legolas leapt to his feet and ran towards the source of the scream, grabbing up his bow and arrows as he ran. With only a moment’s hesitation, Nimoë followed behind him, and saw that most of the camp had been roused and were also searching for an explanation.
        What they found was the very last thing they might have expected. Pippin lay sprawled on the ground, his hand resting upon the palantir, his eyes pasted open, but unseeing, and his mouth moving soundlessly.
        Nimoë went to his side and laid her hands upon his brow. “Pippin, can you hear me?” Concentrating her strength, she began to sing, allowing the threads of song to delve into his mind, to try to find a way to bring him back to them, for he was surely in another place. The dread that greeted her was intense, and she almost shied away, but Pippin needed her. She would not relent.
        She closed her eyes so that she would not be distracted by the physical world, but she felt Legolas lay a supporting hand upon her back, offering his strength to augment her own. She breathed deeply and then began to sing her way past the barrier which she could sense had been erected around Pippin’s mind. It did not feel malignant, so he must have put it there himself, trying to protect himself from some terrible evil, at which Nimoë could not guess.
        Slowly, stone by stone, she bored her way through the barrier, pleading with him to return to them. After what seemed to her like an eternity, she felt a flicker of life from within him. The flicker then took flame, and his mind burned brightly in her vision. He was back.
        Nimoë withdrew immediately, unwilling to see more than he might wish her too. Opening her eyes, she took her hands off of his brow. Looking up, she saw the tall figures of men towering over her, concern for the Hobbit plain in their features, even in the dim starlight. Gandalf, whose white robes seemed to mirror the glitter of the stars, knelt down next to her, seeing that her work was done.
        “So here’s the thief!” he spoke. “What possessed you, Peregrin Took? Tell me, what did you see within the stone?”
        Legolas offered Nimoë his hand to assist her to stand, and she took it, then sidled up next to him, pleased that she had been able to bring Pippin back, but afraid of what was about to transpire. They watched as Pippin’s face transformed, from guilty to fearful, and back again.
        His voice trembled as he replied to the wizard, “I am sorry, Gandalf. I didn’t mean to do it! It was as if some strange compulsion was upon me. All I wanted was a tiny peek, just to see those colors dancing again. When I looked into the stone this time, though, it seemed as if it was a great, flaming red eye, lidless, boring straight into my soul.” He paused and took a shaky breath. “Oh, Gandalf, it was awful. I tried to look away. I tried not to see, but then he was there! The Dark Lord! I trembled before him, as he questioned me. “What are you?” he wanted to know. I tried not to answer, truly I did, but I found that I could not resist him. So I said, “A Hobbit,” I said. A Hobbit! And then he laughed. “I will take it from you, Hobbit,” he said. “You will suffer endless torture in Minas Morgul, and I will wrest it from your screaming body. You seek to destroy me?! Such a small little thing you are. I will crush you with my breath and you will blow like the dust before my passing.”
        “Gandalf, it was awful! I know not how I managed to escape, but believe me when I tell you that I want nothing to do with that stone ever again! I have brought us to ruin!”
        Terrible fear spread through Nimoë and she burrowed closer still into Legolas’ protective embrace, feeling the presence of the Dark Lord close about them, seeking reassurance that all would be well. They watched as Gandalf shook his head in resignation. “It is a foul thing that you have done, Peregrin Took, yet there is no punishment that I could set you that would be worse than what you have undergone. But take heart! In doing this one thing, ill-advised as it may have been, you may have given Frodo a greater hope of completing his task. From what you have said, Sauron has made the mistake of thinking that you are the Hobbit that bears the ring. He knows that you used the palantir from Orthanc, and so he must believe that you are in Saruman’s keeping. That, in fact, Saruman plans to steal the ring for his own purposes. He will not be as watchful of his own borders as he should, for he believes the ring to be found.” Gandalf nodded to himself. “Yes, Pippin, I think that this may have worked out for the best, although for your sake I wish it had not.”
        The wizard turned then to Aragorn, who stood nearby. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and Elendil, will you take the palantir into your keeping? It is yours by right, and has proven too dangerous to be left to the keeping of others.”
        The heir of Gondor nodded. “It is indeed a dangerous thing, but powerful as well. I will take it, as is my right, and I will keep it safe.”
        Relieved, Gandalf stood and pulled Pippin to his feet. “I am afraid that now we must ride quickly away from this place. We will go as fast as Shadowfax can bear us to Gondor. The rest of you follow as best you can. I will await you there!”
        Almost as soon as he had spoken, he brought Pippin to Shadowfax and set the shaken Hobbit upon his noble back. The wizard leapt up after him and with a great pounding of hooves they were gone.