The crisp autumn air danced through Zillaryn's hair as her dapple grey horse cantered across the wide expanse of grassland. After not being able to sleep at night, her body was weary, but her fea longed to be among the trees, the deep ache driving her forward. The towering giants of nature had always been her solace, her comfort when everything around her seemed too much to bear. The morning sun had just taken its place in the sky as she reached the edge of the treeline.
She slowed the horse to a lazy walk as she entered the forest, knowing that the serenity of this hallowed place should never be disturbed with heavier footfalls than necessary. She dismounted and affectionately scratched the animal between the ears before pulling a bundle of flowers from her saddlebag, fastened her belt around her waist, and sheathed her swords. She left her horse grazing in the meadow as she moved deeper into the forest on foot.
As her arms rested familiarly on the hilts of her swords, her thoughts drifted back to the confrontation with the Elvenking the previous night. She would be lying if she said she wasn't surprised to see her blades remaining on the table where she had placed them the night before. Surely he would've wanted to reclaim the high-quality swords. Even after almost 5000 years, they were still as sharp as the day they were forged; obsidian was truly superior to all other blades.
She quietly traversed the trees, her hand trailing along with the flowers and bushes as she walked the familiar path. She came upon the weeping willow with its long branches twisting and moving in the wind as she entered the shaded dome.
She sat down next to the trunk of the tree and sighed heavily, "Mae govannen, Ada. (Well met, Father)." She set the bouquet of wildflowers next to the makeshift headstone, "I always need you, but I need your counsel more than ever," Zillaryn felt the backs of her eyes begin to sting with unshed tears, "I always thought that I would be ready to face my past… To face what happened to us. To face— to face him. But I wasn't," her voice broke, her lip trembling as a tear fell onto the orange flower petal, "when it all came down to it, I'm still that scared elleth who fell into the water."
Another gentle gust of wind came through the trees, the long vines of the willow wrapping around her as if her father was attempting to hug her from the Halls of Mandos, and it only caused her tears to fall in faster succession.
"I don't know what to do, Ada,' Zillaryn sobbed, "I need your guidance. I need your wisdom, and I need your—"
Her plea was cut short as another gust of wind cut through the tree carrying an odor with it, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword as her eyes darkened.
Thranduil stroked Polodrea between the eyes as the Elk ate his morning meal happily when he felt a presence at his side, "Are you going to simply hover, Lord Alistair, or are you going to speak?"
Alistair stepped the rest of the way to his King's side and cleared his throat, "It was noticed that you did not return to the feast last night."
"Was it?" Thranduil asked, uninterested, "After taking the air, I did not feel an overwhelming desire to return to the main hall."
"It was also noted that the Tavern Keeper did not return."
Thranduil sighed heavily, "If you have something to say, Alistair, I do wish you would get one with it."
"Was it her?" Alistair asked.
"It was," Thranduil stepped away from the elk and began making his way back to his tent at the center of the camp. He held his hands behind his back as he walked through, Alistair falling in step next to him, "She was the only one of the battalion to survive the fall."
"Why did she not return to the palace?"
"It's complicated," Thranduil explained but did not elaborate further as they were approached by several of the soldiers who offered a bow, "Peded, duag. (Speak, soldier)."
"Lord Allistair requested a report on any suspicious activity viewed with the Rahnshell guard."
"And?" The Guard Commander prodded.
"This morning, there was smoke on the horizon. The scouting party has just returned, and it seems that there was another orc encampment along the edges of Fangorn forest."
"Have you informed the Rahnshell Elders?"
"We were on our way now there now that we have reported to you."
"We will accompany you," Thranduil cut in, "We are on our way to a meeting with the Elders this morning."
With a silent nod, the soldiers fell into step behind their Commander and their King as they made their way into the village. As they approached the main hall, Thranduil saw the town Elder speaking with Lady Galadriel as the Marchwarden and Celeborn stood nearby engaged in another conversation with Lord Elrond.
As the gathered group settled into their seats within the hall, another figure strode into the room. "Melanor?" Claanen, the town Elder, asked, "What brings you t the hall this morning?"
The apprentice brewmaster stopped and offered respectful bows to all present, "I received a message under my door this morning from our Tavern Keeper asking that I represent her in this meeting."
Claanen leaned back in his chair, "Why is it that Zillaryn is not able to be here herself?"
The two men did not notice the raised eyebrows and glances in the Elvenking's direction at the mention of the name. Thranduil, however, kept his attention on his morning breakfast that had been placed in front of him.
"She stated that she had to deliver flowers to the graveside this morning," Melanor took a seat, "She had intended to yesterday, but the festival preparation kept her away."
Galadriel pulled her eyes from Thranduil's impassive form, "What graveside? I saw no cemetery on our journey."
"It is a personal graveside. A temporary one of her own making," Claanen explained further, "We know not who it is for, but Zillaryn visits it at least once a month."
Alistair shifted in his seat as he took a drink of his tea, knowing who the graveside was meant to honor, "Where is this graveside?"
Melanor looked to the Guard Commander, "It sits under a weeping willow within Fangorn."
The clatter caused all present to jump in surprise as all eyes turned to the Elvenking, who had dropped his cup of tea to the ground. Before any could speak, Thranduil rose from his seat, eyeing Melanor, "Fangorn?"
The orcs head dislodged and rolled onto the ground as its corpse buckled and collapsed to the blood-soaked ground. Her chest heaved in ragged breaths as she looked around as the ten Orcs lay dead in the field. Sheathing her sword, she limped over to where her other sword stuck out of the Orcs chest. As the blade is pulled free, she spits on the corpse and places the sword back on her hip.
She took a step away from the corpse and winced in pain as she looked down to see blood seeping through her green tunic where the blackened arrow protruded from her side. She didn't have time to remove the arrow and dress the wound while still being exposed; she didn't know if there were more Orcs in the area. She let out a sharp whistle and heard the responding call of her horse as it broke through the treeline and trotted towards its owner.
"Good boy, Sador (Faithful one)," She muttered as she pulled herself onto the horse's back.
As she began her journey back in the direction of Rahnshell as she took stock of her injuries. Aside from the arrow, she could feel her lip bleeding from a punch to the face, as well as feeling the blood trickle down the base of her skull and her neck.
Sador moved at a slow walk; anything faster shifted the arrow in her side too much. Zillaryn knew it wasn't ideal, and she could only imagine the look on Claanen's face when she came to him for healing.
As she continued on her path, the loud horn call causes Sador to rear back, causing her to fall onto the ground, and she cried out in pain. She felt the ground tremble beneath her as she quickly drew her sword and scrambled back to her feet. She spun quickly on her feet, raising her blade as it clashed against another blade.
"DARO! (STOP!)"
She froze at the Elvenking's order as she met the widened eyes of the Marchwarden of Lothlorien. She stepped backward and lowered her weapon as she looked at those who now surrounded her.
A half dozen Woodland soldiers were on horseback, not including the Elvenking atop his elk and Lord Alistair, whose gaze she could not meet. She looked back to meet Haldir's gaze, his brows furrowed at the sight of her, his hands raised slightly, "Hidh, Zillaryn. Na van yrch? (Peace, Zillaryn. Where are the orcs?)."
"Gwand (Dead)," Zillaryn answered, her chest still rising and falling heavily, "Ten of them. Back along the easter treeline of Fangorn."
"Duag (Soldiers)," Thranduil called, "Investigate further and ensure that there are no others in the area."
Zillaryn felt Sador nuzzle her shoulder, and she suddenly felt light-headed as the adrenaline of the last hour begins to waver. She almost doubled over as another shot of pain went through her side where the arrow was, and she fell to the ground. She heard hurried steps towards her and a strong hand on her back.
"Colo hen, Zillaryn. (Hold on, Zillaryn)"
Thranduil's murmured plea was the last thing she heard before falling unconscious.
The sun warmed Zillaryn's face as her senses began to awaken. She felt the coolness of her sheets wrapped around her, and she slowly opened her eyes. She immediately recognized her own room. They must've brought me back here, she thought to herself. She pushed herself up and audibly winced as pain shot from her side once more.
"Posto hi, mellon nin. (Rest, my friend.)."
She looked in the direction of the voice, startled that she wasn't alone. The sun cast him into a silhouette that she recognized immediately, and she immediately felt a pang in her chest as she spoke softly, "Cano. (Commander)"
"I'm not your Commander," Lord Alistair turned and looked at her, "Not for a long while now."
Zillaryn looked at the man she had once considered a second father as he walked over to where she was laying down and sat down in the chair that had been set next to her bed, "Claanen dressed your wounds and left a salve for you to reapply to your side to ensure it heals properly."
"Oh," Zillaryn murmured, "Thank you."
There was another long pause between the pair, "I've known you since your birth, Zillaryn," Alistair began, breaking the tense silence, "Did you not think I would care to know you survived? I grieved you— both of you."
"I—" Zillaryn began, but her voice caught in her throat, "There isn't anything I can say to express how sorry I am." Zillaryn shifted uncomfortably, "I was unconscious for several weeks after I was found. I started so many letters to you but every time… The more time passed, the harder it got to write."
"I'm not angry with you, Zilla," Alistair leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "It brings me joy to know that you survived that horrid day."
"But?"
"But," Alistair continued, "What will you do now?"
She opened her mouth to reply but was silenced by a knock at the door. A moment later, the door opened as Claanen and Melanor entered.
"I am relieved to see you awake," Claanen said as they stopped at the foot of her bed, "Never scare us like this again."
Zillaryn let out a soft chuckle, "I will try to keep my near-death experiences to a minimum as not to inconvenience you further."
"See that you do," Claanen smirked back, "Are you feeling up to a brief conversation?" Zillaryn nodded, and he continued, "Part of the trade agreement we've made with the Woodland Realm is we would provide them with wine and other spirits. When the Woodland Realm delegation departs, they have requested that wine be sent back with them. Do you know how many casks can be spared?"
"We have a lot in storage currently," Zillaryn explained, "We can spare 10 casks."
"Our cart can transport 5 casks," Alistair explained.
Zillaryn looked to him, "We can send a cart and horse with your delegation to carry the rest."
Alistair looked around the room and back, "Would you be agreeable to having you or Melanor travel with us to the palace at Greenwood. Our soldiers are not as careful with casks as they should be. I would feel much better if someone who knew the proper care of the casks would accompany us."
Melanor spoke up, "I would be more than happy to accompany you on the journey."
"Nonsense," Claanen cut in, "Melanor, your wife is due to give birth any day now. I will not see you taken away from her or your firstborn."
Zillaryn's jaw tightened as the realization sunk in. She knew what decision would be made to accommodate the new trade agreement. She was the only other logical choice to accompany the casks.
After 150 years, she would see the forests of Greenwood again.
She was going home.
The thought terrified her, and anxiety prickled across her chest. She glanced around the room, her gaze falling onto ice blue eyes that had remained in the hallway.