Looking down at the blade of cold steel poised to run her through, Nimoë cursed her foolhardiness. She dropped her hand from the hilt of her sword and raised both arms away from her body with her hands open, showing that she bore no other weapon, but she did not move to retreat, all too aware that the horseman could sever her head from her shoulders before she could move towards the protection of her companions.
        Legolas’ voice was cold behind her as he spoke, “He does not stand alone. If you move strike him, you will be dead yourself before you can complete the blow.” His bow was drawn, with an arrow trained at the rider’s head.
        Gimli had also hefted his axe and he raised it menacingly. “How dare you to speak ill of the most wondrous of all creatures in this world. I will enjoy showing you the error of your ways with the sharp end of my axe.”
        Several of the men who rode with the blonde giant drew their own weapons and moved forward threateningly. Nimoë closed her eyes and waited for death to fall.
        Things might have gone ill then, had not Aragorn leapt between the Elf and the Dwarf, pushing their weapons aside, crying, “Peace! Peace, we are not your enemies. If you had seen the things that we have seen, you would understand my friends’ reaction to your words. I beg you, drop your swords and let us continue on our way. We have friends who were captives of the orcs you have slain. We must discover their fate.”
        Nimoë opened her eyes and watched as the sword at her throat dropped slowly away. Once it had reached the hip of its master, she leapt backwards, anxious only to be farther from cold death. In her haste, she stumbled over her own feet and toppled backward. Legolas moved to catch her, but was too far away. She crashed to the ground, her head flung backwards by the speed of her fall.
        When she moved to rise, the hood of her cloak fell away, and in her shock at the impact of the fall, she did not realize what had happened. Legolas reached her side and offered his hand to help her rise, hoping to shield her from the eyes of the others. It was, however, too late.
        The blonde rider almost choked in amazement. “A woman? I am set upon by a woman?! What sort of joke is this?”
        Aragorn and Gimli were also regarding her with stunned expressions. Aragorn was the first to speak. “Nimrodel, what witchery is this? Surely Galadriel did not send a woman on this perilous quest?”
        Anxious to distract attention from herself, Nimoë replied, “This is not the time to discuss it. We must find out what has happened to poor Pippin and Merry, and these men here still have reservations as to our motivation. I am sure that they have good reason to be suspicious of us. Their lands are so close to Isengard that surely they must keep ever vigilant.”
        Again the rider spoke. “This lady has the right of it. Now that I see you travel with a woman, though, I believe you to be on the side of good. Neither the servants of the Dark Lord, nor Saruman, would be so foolish. I am Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark.”
        Aragorn finally tore his stern gaze from Nimoë, who was trying to hide behind Legolas. “My rightful name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am heir to the kings of Gondor. Those whom I seek are Hobbits, Halflings from the Shire. Tell me, when you were killing orcs, did you see any of their ilk?”
        Eomer shook his head. “Nay. All we saw were orcs, and all that we saw, we killed. We lost fifteen men and twelve horses. It was a black day.”
        “Do we have your permission to continue through your land? We are in great haste and cannot afford to lose more time.”
        Eomer considered Aragorn’s request. “I give permission for you, the Dwarf and the male Elf to continue. I will even give you horses to speed you on your way. But I cannot allow the lady Elf to venture onward with you. The danger is too great. My own sister Eowyn is determined to fight the forces which come against us. Greatly do I fear for her safety, and I think that you would be also distracted by a woman among you. The urge to protect is often more overpowering than the dictates of common sense. She will come with us to the city of Edoras. I will keep her safe there until you come for her.”
        Nimoë sprung forward, hands outstretched beseechingly to Aragorn. “No, my lord! Please! Galadriel sent me to aid you in your quest. Have I ever once slowed you down? Have I not aided you in ways that no other could?”
        Reluctantly Aragorn nodded. “It is true that you have been more an aid than a burden. I would not send you away, if the choice were mine. It seems, however, that you must accept the hospitality of the men of Rohan.”
        “Aragorn, no!” cried Legolas. “I fear more for her safety among these men that we do not know. At least when she is with us, I can keep her from harm! Who is to say what these riders may do?”
        Aragorn cut Legolas short with a brisk slash of his hand. “Enough! The men of Rohan are honorable and I will not have you speak against them. Also, this is their land. They have the right to say what goes on here. If it is their wish that Nimrodel accompanies them, then so be it!”
        Nimoë dropped her head in acknowledgement of Aragorn’s decision. “Would that I could follow you, son of Arathorn. I would aid you in any way that I could, even unto my death. Still, I will go with the men of Rohan. Yet before I leave, I would have you know my true name. I am Nimoë, daughter of Naldor. I have had the honor of aiding the three men in Middle Earth of the strongest spirit, boldest souls, and most stalwart nature. I hope that when next we meet, you will be able to see me for who I am and what I offer, rather than as some mysterious enigma. I would show you my worth.” She smiled then at Gimli, and for a long moment at Legolas, her nearest friend. “Now hurry. Take the horses and rescue Pippin and Merry. I will await the time when you will come to Edoras. I pray that it will not be long.”
        Men of Rohan began preparing horses for the three companions who would continue on. Aragorn offered his hand to Nimoë. “You are a brave woman, Nimoë. When the time comes, we will travel together again. I thank you for what you have given to us.” He then leapt onto the back of the horse offered to him.
        Legolas then stepped before her, concern writ plainly on his open features. “You will be alright?”
        She smiled at him reassuringly. “Do not fear for me. Rather I shall worry about you until I see you again, for you are riding into danger. Go now, Legolas. The Hobbits are waiting.”
        Impulsively he took her head between his hands and bent forward, placing a kiss on her brow. “I will come for you.”
        “I know.”
        Then he also mounted a mighty steed. Gimli steadfastly refused to get onto the horse which was offered to him. “A dwarf does not ride a horse! I shall run, as I have this far.”
        Legolas offered him his hand. “Come up behind me, friend Gimli. Then I shall be the one riding the horse, and you can hold tight to my back. You will not fall.”
        Gimli harrumphed, but agreed, and was hoisted up and pushed from below onto the horse behind Legolas. As one the two horses turned, then galloped off down the orc trail.
        Nimoë watched them go with regret. There was nothing she could do to change her path now, however, so she turned to Eomer. “Take me then to Edoras. I would like to meet this sister of yours.”