- Chapter 2 -

Gasping, Shyloh's lungs burned as she desperately sucked in air. Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly it was pulsating in her ears. The air tasted sweet, almost like pine and she drank it in by the lung full, feeling like it would never be enough to sustain her need for it.

"You're not dead." The whisper floated to her and filtered through her ears like a soft and gentle breeze, mumbled at first but still registering in her mind like an echo.

Had she spoken out loud? She licked her lips, but her mouth was dry, and she tasted nothing but the bitterness of her skin.

"You're not dead."

Shyloh's eyes blinked open, still unsure if she'd spoken them herself or...

"It's okay, you're not dreaming."

How familiar that voice sounded, and yet, how foreign. For the last seven years she wanted nothing more than to hear that voice, that sweet, sweet voice. She would have given anything for so much as a whisper but alas, her mother was dead and she was lying here, alone, dying, and clearly hallucinating.

"You're not hallucinating," the voice said with a hint of a smile.

"Yes, I am," she answered automatically, surprised that the words came from her own lips. "You're dead."

She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she stared into. Tiny sparkly dots littered the black canvas in front of her. She realized then that she felt no pain. In fact, she felt oddly calm and warm for someone who was dying. There was a peace about her that she'd never felt before, or if she had felt it, it long escaped her memory.

"You're not dying," the voice said again, this time a little more firmly.

Her voice was as soft as velvet, and it sent a tingling sensation through Shyloh's memories. If this was what it was like to die, then maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

A soft laugh reached her ears and Shyloh suddenly realized she was laying down on the ground. The dampness of the grass grazed her fingertips as she spread her hands out over the earth next to her sides. She felt the hardness of the ground beneath her backside and took note of the little mound of uneven dirt that was just under her left shoulder, making it slightly uncomfortable.

She tilted her head to the right and a sad smile crept over her face.

"You're dead," Shyloh said as her eyes met her mothers. The woman was lying next to her with her hands folded over her middle, fingers interlaced. The same spark that was in the blue-green eyes while her mother lived was remarkably still there. Her auburn hair cascaded in a mountain of unmanageable waves that matched Shyloh's almost identically except for the color, surrounding her mother's fair oval face and reaching out over the grass beneath her slender frame.

"Mom," she whispered softly, and a smile spread over the face of the woman next to her.

"My Shy-girl," the woman said, and Shyloh had to choke back a sob. "You're not dead."

"You keep saying that."

"It's true."

"I have to be dead, because you're here and you're dead." The words hung on the air like a dagger and a tear escaped the corner of Shyloh's eyes. "I've missed you."

"I know you have sweetie."

"I don't feel any pain. It happened faster than I thought it would."

A tight look came over her mother's eyes and she sighed. "I know it might not seem like it, but you're not dead. This is just... the in-between." She raised her hands and gestured to the space around them, but Shyloh couldn't bring herself to stare at anything other than her mother.

"I don't understand."

"Here you're free of pain but once you wake back up, you'll feel it again."

"I don't want to wake back up," Shyloh argued but her mother frowned.

"I'm sorry sweetie, but you have to go back."

Shyloh shook her head. "No, I'm not."

"You are right, I am dead. But you are not. You're very much alive yet and I need you to listen very carefully to me because what I am about to tell you is going to be important, and I don't think we have a lot of time."

Suddenly, the ground shifted beneath them, and her mother gave a worried look.

"We're already running out of time, so I'll be quick about it. It seems someone wants you to wake up."

"What do you mean? I said I don't want to wake up. I want to stay with you."

With a heavy sigh, her mother gave her a stern look.

"Sweetie, I know this is going to be hard to accept but I need you to focus. Now, you are going to wake up because you have to. It's not your time to pass on. I've been sent by the Valar to talk to you about this."

"Who's the Valar?"

"You only know about the world we live in," her mother pressed on ignoring her question, "But the truth is, you were not born there. You were born in the Old Forest, in Middle-earth."

Shyloh opened her mouth to speak but her mother held up a hand and shushed her.

"Listen! This is really important, and I need you to focus. You were born in the Old Forest of Middle-earth. This world is not like the one you grew up in. Think renaissance, or perhaps the Middle Ages."

"What?"

"Your real parents sacrificed themselves to keep you alive. To keep your spirit safe, the Valar sent you to Earth so you could be protected and grow up peacefully. Your father and I wanted to tell you years ago, but we had no idea of knowing when the Valar would call you home. I know this sounds crazy and completely insane, but it's true."

"That's beyond insane Mom, you know that right?"

Mom sighed but the look in her eyes made Shyloh pause as the words started repeating themselves in her mind.

"Wait-," Shyloh croaked, her throat constricting suddenly. "What are you trying to say? I'm – I'm adopted?"

A pained look washed over her mother's face and the sparkle that was in her eye only a moment ago faded ever so slightly.

"Your father and I, we wanted a daughter more than anything. We were so very blessed with Mack, our beautiful, sweet boy. When we found you in the woods all those years ago, we knew it was meant to be. The moment we laid our eyes on you, we knew you were ours. But we also knew that accepting you as our own would mean that one day we would be parted from you, when it was time for you to come back home. Our dreams that first night confirmed that when the Valar spoke to us both."

"You are my real parents!" Shyloh cried in disbelief, and she scrambled into a sitting position. She twisted around so she could face her mother, fury and hurt mingled on her face. "This is absolutely ridiculous! What the hell is Middle-earth?"

The ground shifted and Mom reached a hand towards Shyloh's face, tucking in a stray bit of pale hair behind her ear.

"We knew that one day we would have to let you go, so that you could come back here and become who you were meant to be. It was only a matter of time. But from the second we saw you we knew there was no way we could give you up. The Valar gave us the choice, to accept you or to decline. There was no going back. So, we took you in and raised you as our own."

"I don't understand." Tears threatened to escape over the lashes of Shyloh's eyes as her mother spoke.

"I know, but you will understand more once you wake up. But first, I just need you to promise you will be strong, and brave, and use your head. You're a smart girl and such a fine young woman. My daughter."

The ground shifted again, and Shyloh felt it give way slightly beneath her.

"I don't understand!" she cried, grasping for her mother's hand.

"Your name is Shyloh, and you are a daughter of fierce warriors and protectors."

"Mom!" she cried out as the ground slipped beneath her again. "Don't leave me!"

"Trust yourself and remember what I said. We will see each other again. Be strong, be brave."

"Mom!" Shyloh tried to grasp her mother's hand, but it slipped out of her clutches as the ground finally gave out and she fell into the blackness underneath her, swirling and tumbling into nothing.

The pain and agony hit her like a tidal wave full of cinder blocks and she felt her body crumple underneath the weight of it. Suddenly, the ground came up from beneath her and her breath caught in her chest, sending her coughing and sputtering, gasping for air as if she'd just taken a punch to the gut.

"There you are," said a voice in the distance but Shyloh barely heard it over her labored breathing and the pounding of her heart, which thumped so loudly it echoed in her ears. Air was filling her lungs now, coming in great gasps, bringing her back to life and farther away from the peaceful moment she'd just had with her mother.

A dream, she thought, it was just a dream. I'm in the woods at Aunt Claire's house. Mack and Tony are going to be so pissed. The EMT's are here, it'll be okay.

"Keep breathing," the firm voice said in her ear again and her eyes pinched closed even more, wanting desperately to go back into a peaceful, painless sleep.

It was just a dream...

"No, no, don't go back to sleep," said the voice. "I need you to stay awake."

She felt a hand on the left side of her face while another tapped her right cheek gently at first, then more urgently. She let out a moan and tried to raise her hand to brush the hands away, but her arms felt like lead weights, and they didn't move like she wanted them to.

The voice started speaking again except she couldn't understand what it was saying.

Where's Mack? Did I have an accident?

Another voice answered the first from off to her right and then a third, deeper voice came from her left.

Why can't I understand them?

She tried moving her head, but pain erupted when she did, and the hands clasped her a bit more tightly.

"You need to lie still," said the first voice. She could tell it was a man's voice, but she didn't recognize it, or the others.

"Mack," she mumbled but the words came out as a slur. Her eyes fluttered open slowly and the light stung, making her wince from the shock of it.

"There we go," said the first voice gently. "Keep those eyes open for me alright? No, do not try to move, just rest there for a moment."

She tried raising her arms again, despite the weight of her limbs and she managed to graze her fingers over the side of her face in an attempt to brush his hands away. His fingertips gripped her head gently, but his hands didn't budge at her poor attempt at freedom.

"What happened?" she managed to say despite the pounding in her head. Her constricted throat loosened more as she drank in the cold air and the burning in her chest eased somewhat.

"You fell from your horse," said the first voice but she gave him a pinched look.

Why was he talking so funny?

"What happened?" she asked again, thinking he hadn't heard her the first time, and the man's brow furrowed slightly.

"I just told you," he said patiently.

"I don't speak Italian," she grumbled.

"I don't know what Italian is, mellon nin."

As her eyes began to focus, she found herself face to face with... an angel? His deep gray eyes were flooded with concern as he met hers and she blinked back at the piercing gaze. He had long, blond hair that was swept back from his face. He looked young, not too much older than she was but at the same time his eyes told her he was much older than he looked. His handsome face was creased with worry, and she frowned at him.

"Who are you calling a melon?" she half grumbled, half snapped, and a smile threatened to escape the corner of his mouth.

"Mellon," he corrected. "And I'm calling you one."

"You don't hear me calling you names," she muttered.

"I was only calling you friend," he said with a slight frown as he released her head finally and settled back from her a bit.

"Do you always call strangers friends and melons? We hardly know each other."

"You hit your head pretty hard, if you think I'm calling you names." he said, and her frown deepened.

"What does that mean?"

He studied her for a long minute, as if she had been the one speaking a different language.

"Do you understand what I'm saying to you right now?" asked the man, and Shyloh scowled.

"I told you, I don't speak Italian," she said impatiently. "I'm pretty good at Spanish though, but that's as far as my foreign language skills go."

"You do not speak Sindar?" the man asked, and he looked shocked and confused at the same time.

"Is that like French?"

"What about Quenya?" he asked.

"Kenya...That's in Africa. Don't they speak Swahili?"

His bewildered look deepened.

"I don't know what Swahili is."

"That's okay, neither do I." She raised her hands to her head, as if trying to decide if her head really was attached to the rest of her body or not.

Seriously, who was this guy?

"Well, then," the man said slowly. "I have never met an elf that didn't speak the tongue of their own language before. And to answer your question, you fell off your horse."

"See, there you go calling me names again. Do I look like I come from the North Pole? What did I ever do to you?"

"I – I don't know where the North Pole is." He was starting to look really worried now.

"Are you sure I'm the one that fell? Maybe we should switch places. You lay down, and I'll ask the questions."

A low laugh came from her right side.

"See," she said and waved a hand lazily in the air. "Your friend agrees."

Angel face cleared his throat and settled back on the ground.

"You are the only one that hit your head Lady, and you lost a bit of blood as well. We have stopped the bleeding and healed it to the best of our abilities, but you will need someone with more skill than us, I am afraid. Your left side took the blunt of the fall, but we didn't find any broken bones."

She tried to lift her head so she could see the rest of herself, but he put a hand on her shoulder and gently made her lie back down.

"I wouldn't recommended moving too fast for a while. I do not think you cracked your skull open, but you will only hurt yourself more if you try to move too quickly."

She let her eyes search his face for a moment, and really looked long and hard at him. "Who are you?"

Mr. Angel face was probably one of the strangest looking people she'd ever laid eyes on. He was dressed like he'd just come from the Medieval Ages.

Why does the Medieval Ages sound so familiar? Was there something I was supposed to remember about it?

"I am Glorfindel. What is your name, Lady?"

"Glorfindel? Is that Russian?"

"Again, I have no idea what you are talking about." Impatience was forming in his eyes. "What is your name?"

Glorfindel? Seriously? What kind of name is that?

"Shyloh," she said finally. "Shyloh Hanson." She hated the thought of telling a complete stranger what her name was, but if he was an EMT or something she figured she could trust him... right?

The man blinked a few times as if he was still trying to grasp what she'd said.

"Shyloh?" he said, not bothering to hide his surprise, and his eyes darted away from her. She had yet to see his companions, only seeing them shift in and out of her peripheral vision now and again but never enough to grasp their faces. She'd been able to hear them shuffling around but it all went silent.

"Look," she said, "Thank you for your help, but I really need to be getting back. I think I'm okay to get up now."

The man stared at her for a moment and then frowned when she tried to ease herself upwards. Even though the earth continued to spin a little, she struggled against his hand.

"No," he said as if snapping out of a trance. "You should stay still; the herbs are still working."

"I need to be getting back," she argued. "They'll be getting worried. My house isn't too far from here."

Wait... did he just say herbs?

He shook his head. "There are no dwellings around these parts for many days. And I say that with ease, because I know these lands very well."

"What are you talking about? My aunt and uncles farm is just back down the path."

"There are no farms around here until you reach Bree, and there are no clear paths through these trees."

"It's a twenty some acre wood, I couldn't have gone that far," she huffed.

He looked at her as if she'd gone crazy. "This is far from a small wood, Lady, for the wilds stretch for many miles between the Misty Mountains to the east and the lands of Bree in the west."

"What mountains? The only thing east of here is farmland."

He leaned back from her looking completely bewildered. One of his companions spoke to him but she couldn't understand him or see him. Glorfindel shook his head then frowned again; a trait he seemed to do very often. He replied to the other but again, his words came out as a foreign language, and she started to get frustrated.

"Look, my horse knows the way home, I just have to find him."

Glorfindel sighed. "Your horse is long gone I am afraid. Even though we attempted to catch him he was well on his way out of here."

She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she took a deep breath and turned her head to the side, taking in more of her surroundings. She couldn't figure out why none of this was making any sense. Surely something would look familiar that would help point her in the direction of home. What kind of EMT was this guy anyway?

She'd never seen trees quite like the ones she was looking at now. They were huge and old, and the air underneath them felt heavy as if the very woods themselves had many ancient secrets that floated on the air like invisible fog.

"Where am I?" She didn't realize she'd spoken the words out loud until Glorfindel's voice answered her.

"You are on the northwestern border of the Trollshaws," he said with a strange note in his voice.

She blinked at him. "Where is that supposed to be? I've never heard of the Trollshaws before." Worry started to creep into her voice as she spoke, and a bad feeling began settling itself in the pits of her stomach.

He didn't say anything but once again sent a look towards his companions. He was probably thinking she was completely crazy, but the strange dream crept back into her mind again, and her breath hitched. There was no way that dream had been real. This didn't make any sense. Cold realization flooded her insides, and she felt her face pale.

No way.

No fricken way.

"Is...is this...Middle-earth?" she said in a really small voice and Glorfindel fixed her with a look. Before he answered, he studied her closely. She didn't meet his gaze at first, half scared to death that she'd find the answers written on his face before he even said anything, and half terrified that she'd really gone crazy and would be on her way to a mental hospital any moment now.

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, this is Middle-earth."

Her mouth opened as if she were going to say something but then she closed it only to repeat the action again before clenching her teeth together and squeezing her eyes shut.

"This is not real," she muttered, half choking on her words. "It was just a dream. I hit my head, and I'm dreaming I'm in a foreign country."

No matter how hard she squeezed her eyes closed, when she opened them back up, she was once again face to face with Mr. Angel Face.

"This cannot be real. There's no such thing as Middle-earth."

Glorfindel pressed his lips together and she didn't think his frown could get any deeper, but it did.

"I'm afraid this is very much real," he said patiently. "Are we to assume, you do not belong in Middle-earth?"

She bit her lip, unsure of how to answer. Of course, she didn't belong in Middle-earth! This was absolutely ridiculous. Where was Middle-earth anyway? Was she still in the United States? Maybe she really had ridden farther than she thought and hit her head a long time ago and any moment she'd wake up and find herself back in the woods she'd grown up in.

It was just a dream, it was just a dream, it was just a dream...

"I think it's safe to sit you up now," he said, and she nodded weakly. "Just do it slowly."

He gripped her elbow and gently helped her up into a sitting position. The world spun for a few minutes, so she took a few deep breaths. The pain in her left side had grown considerably and the throbbing in her head was making the world tilt at an odd angle, so she closed her eyes and rubbed her hands on her face.

"How is the shoulder?" he asked.

"Feels okay," she lied but it must have been a poor one because she felt his hands gently prod her left shoulder again, feeling for any broken bones or a misplaced joint.

"I don't think anything is broken," he said but she just groaned in reply.

Everything felt broken.

Her shoulder, her back, her head, and she sucked in another deep breath before opening her eyes. She felt very similar to how she'd felt after her accident, while she'd been waiting there for help, bleeding out all over the dewy grass. A sort of pain filled numbness had come over her then and she wondered if she'd feel that now.

It was only after she sat up, that she finally got a look at his companions. One was crouched in front of her along the tree line, a long bow in one hand and another resting over his knee. He watched her with strange gray eyes, but it took her a full minute of staring to realize that he was dressed all wrong, too. He looked like someone out of a renaissance fair; dressed in leather armor, deep brown trousers and tall boots. His long hair fell past his shoulders and was sleek and – she had to admit – looked perfectly well kept. He wore a long sword and quiver of arrows on his back but what struck her the most was how handsome he was.

Think renaissance, a soft voice echoed lightly in her ears.

Seriously, what the hell?

He turned his head just the slightest and her breath caught in her chest. Were his ears...pointed? No way...that just...couldn't be.

A trick of the mind. Eyes are still adjusting, she thought.

She blinked, thinking maybe she was seeing things but there they were, the tips appearing through his hair. He frowned as she continued to stare and she realized she was being rude, so she turned to look back at Glorfindel but he'd turned away and was rummaging through a small pouch.

The third companion stood just behind him; his tall frame towering above them on the ground. He was dressed much the same way as the others and as he stared off into the woods, she took note of his ears and stunningly handsome features. He looked like the second almost identically. The only difference, aside from different shades of pants and boots, were the braids he wore in his hair that fell down his back.

She leaned towards Glorfindel, feeling really stupid about what she was going to ask but unfortunately, she had no choice.

"Um...are they...elves?" she whispered. She must not have whispered quietly enough because all three heads turned to look at her simultaneously, and she felt her cheeks go pink. Glorfindel gave her a completely baffled look and he blinked a few times, as if trying to register what she asked.

You idiot, she thought, there's no such thing as elves, and they sure don't look like Santa's little helpers.

"Yes. Do you not recognize your own kind?" he finally asked in disbelief.

Companion number three said something, but she didn't understand it. Glorfindel shook his head before mumbling a reply, not breaking eye contact with her.

"What kind?" she asked almost stupidly.

"Elf kind."

"I'm not an elf!" she huffed, and his face went blank, as if he'd used up his emotional quota for the day.

"Your ears and hair say otherwise, Lady."

"There's nothing wrong with my ears!"

"You do not know what you are?" Companion number two spoke to her for the first time. His face was pinched into a look mixed with disbelief and impatience; like she was some incompetent child that wasn't paying attention.

"I knew you hit your head," Glorfindel said, "but I did not think you hit it so hard that you would have forgotten you were an elf."

She froze and her mouth snapped shut. Slowly, his words registered with her, and her face went pale. With trembling fingers, she grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled it over her shoulder. It was longer than it had been, and it was...white? White hair? No way! Had she somehow grown older? She raised her fingers to her ears, carefully tracing the outline of them but they were not the same.

Pointed ears and white hair!

Glorfindel was saying something, but she wasn't listening. Loud ringing began echoing in her ears, drowning out their voices. Her lungs gasped for air but refused to cooperate as the world began spinning, causing dots to cloud her vision. Before she could do anything, darkness edged its way into her mind, and she knew no more.