- Chapter 37 -
Shyloh smoothed her skirts and stepped out into the crowded streets with Arossel hot on her heels. The damp stone beneath her shoes told her it had indeed rained that morning, and small puddles were formed in the cracks of the streets. With a full stomach and freshly bathed, Shyloh felt better than she had in days. She did not recognize the guards outside her tent, but figured that since Legolas had returned, his protection detail would be busy watching him instead.
The streets were alive and as Shyloh followed Arossel, they dodged in and out of the crowd. All around them the Lakemen and wood elves were busy with cleanup. Where there had been corpses only days ago, the streets had been removed of the enemy's remains, and large plumes of smoke could be seen swirling up into the sky from the battlefield.
"Where are we heading?" she asked her maid.
"To the King's tent," she said twisting around as she walked. "He asked to see you once you were tended to."
Shyloh pressed her lips together and felt her stomach wiggle a little. She was sure this was not going to be a good meeting. Biting the inside of her cheek, she ran her hands nervously over her skirts once more. She touched her collar bone again, but her necklace hadn't magically reappeared. No, it was gone for good and she sighed through her nose with disappointment.
The yellow flaps of the King's tent were opened wide and the usual guards were stationed outside the entrances. The table in the middle of the space wasn't filled with bottles of wine or goblets, but instead it was littered with rolls of parchment, pens, ink bottles, maps, and more. He sat at the head of the table, his charcoal robes flowing about him once more, replacing the silver armor he'd donned during the battle. The silver circlet upon his brow gleamed and the King's face was pulled into a tight frown as his eyes skimmed over the latest report he'd been given.
Two servants, or perhaps they were messengers, stood behind him and when Shyloh and Arossel entered, their eyes skimmed over Shyloh's frame and she felt herself redden.
Arossel introduced Shyloh, and without looking up and a flick of his hand, the King dismissed her and the others lingering inside the tent. Shyloh stood there and fidgeted nervously while the King finished reading, then let the report settle down on top of the others and stood. He drew a chair from the back of the tent and placed it next to the table and gestured to it.
"Sit, I am sure you must still be tired," he said, finally looking at her.
"I'm feeling much better, actually," she admitted in a small voice, and she sank down onto the chair a little hesitantly.
"I am pleased to hear it," he said, then he tilted his head and looked at her as if he were assessing her. "How does your arm feel?"
"A little stiff, but otherwise it's fine."
He nodded slowly. "I will not pretend to be pleased with your actions and lack of better judgment. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed through to the utmost of one's ability. You disobeyed a direct order to stay with your guards, and in turn, placed not only yourself but them in even more danger than was necessary. As it stands, none of them came to any harm while they searched for you, thankfully, but that does not excuse your actions."
Shyloh felt her face pale and she wrung her fingers together in her lap until they screamed in pain at her. He might not have been yelling, but the disappointment in his tone and eyes was more than enough for her to feel plenty ashamed. The calm and collected tone he was using was almost worse than being yelled at for all to hear.
"I would say I am sorry," she said eventually. "But I do not feel like it would be enough. I was not thinking of myself when I took off. But if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing if it meant I could save my friends."
Thranduil sat back in his seat and frowned but he didn't take his eyes off of her. She stared back, determinedly, but she could feel herself tremble under his stare. Then he leaned forwards and placed his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands together.
"I admire your loyalty to the dwarves, and I will not even try to understand your relationship with them. But when it comes to war, reckless decisions can cost others their lives."
Shyloh nodded and suddenly she was remembering Beorn's words from earlier, and knew this was what he meant when he said that the Elvenking would not choose the life of a dwarf over the life of an elf. There was no point in arguing with Thranduil, but she stood by her decision and didn't regret saving Thorin.
"Speaking of the dwarves," Thranduil said with a bit of annoyance. "It seems the King under the Mountain has requested a meeting with you once you are recovered. Mithrandir has already agreed to allow it, despite my reservations."
"Did he say what it was about?" she asked but he tilted his head.
"I have my assumptions but I will say no more about it. You will be meeting him this evening so long as you agree and are feeling well enough, and it will not be happening without Mithrandir. In the meantime, you are to rest and recover and no more."
Did I just get grounded?...
She nodded, agreeing to his terms even though she felt the added precautions for her meeting tomorrow weren't necessary. The dwarves wouldn't hurt her but she wasn't going to argue; Thranduil was already looking sour about the entire affair and she didn't want to make him any madder than he already was.
Before either could say anything else, Bard the Bowman entered the tent space followed closely by a little girl somewhere between nine and ten years old. Her soft, round face was outlined by dark curly brown hair. Her little blue dress danced around her legs and in her arms she held a ragged looking doll. Her wide blue eyes looked almost sad as she trotted behind Bard, and she clung to his hand tightly. When Bard spotted her sitting next to the King, he bobbed his head at her and mumbled a 'my Lady,' in greeting before sinking into an armchair opposite Thranduil. He placed a new stack of papers on top of the already high stack before him, but the little girl stuck to his side.
"My Lord," she said respectively in reply, then her eyes fell on the child.
The girl's eyes grew even larger when she saw Shyloh and then ducked around the backside of Bard's chair as if she were shy. Then she leaned up to the man's ear.
"Is that the Princess?" Shyloh heard her ask quietly, and Bard frowned.
"Manners, Tilda," said Bard quietly, then gave Shyloh an apologetic look.
"She's pretty," the girl whispered and Shyloh couldn't help but smile. She clutched her doll tighter when Bard gave her a look, but her eyes kept drifting towards Shyloh. The little girl's face reddened when she caught Shyloh's eyes and she hid behind Bard.
"My apologies, Princess," said Bard. "This is my youngest daughter, Tilda. She is not normally so shy and bashful."
Shyloh leaned forwards and smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you Tilda. Won't you come out to say hello?"
Slowly, Tilda stepped out from behind her fathers chair and smiled shyly. Then she gave a short curtsy.
"Pleasure to meet you Princess," she said quietly. "Da said you got hurt. Are you alright now?"
Shyloh nodded while Bard looked away and to the papers he just placed in front of himself.
"I am feeling much better, thank you."
Thranduil addressed Bard then, and the Lord and King began discussing reports and numbers, leaving Shyloh and Tilda to themselves. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to stay in the tent, or if that meant she was dismissed, but she didn't know where else she was supposed to go.
Before Shyloh could ask what Tilda's doll was named, another young woman rushed into the tent, looking frantic. She was somewhere around fifteen or sixteen if Shyloh had to guess, and when her eyes caught sight of Tilda, they narrowed and she hurried to snatch up her hand.
"There you are," the girl hissed to Tilda. "I have been looking everywhere for you."
"I've been with Da," Tilda complained, then threw her father an unhappy look. "Do I have to go?"
Bard gave the girls a stern look and leaned in closer to them. "Go with your sister, Tilda, I will see you when I can. Try not to cause too much trouble."
"But I want to stay with you," whimpered Tilda, and Shyloh's heart ached. She knew what it was like to want to stay by her father's side all too well.
Bard tapped Tilda's chin with his fingertips gently, as if attempting to make her stop pouting. "These are not conversations I want you to hear. Go with your sister, I will see you tonight."
Pouting, Tilda's head hung low and she took her sister's hand and allowed herself to be led from the tent. Shyloh watched her go with sad eyes, then determined that she, too, should go. There was nothing she could do here, and felt she would only be the third wheel, so she stood and was almost out of the tent.
"Shyloh," Thranduil's voice held a warning to it, so she turned slowly and gave him an innocent look. "Where exactly do you think you are going?"
"Back to my tent," she admitted. "I feel I will be of no use here, and will only be in the way."
Thranduil inclined his head, and she took that as permission granted, so she stepped outside the tent. Unsurprisingly, Arossel was waiting as were her two guards, and the maid fell into step beside her while the guards followed behind.
"Back to your tent, my Lady?" the maid asked, and Shyloh nodded reluctantly.
"I've been ordered to rest, recover and no more," sighed Shyloh and Arossel gave her a sympathetic look. "I already disobeyed orders once, I hardly think I'll get away with my head if I do it again."
Smiling, Arossel walked along quietly but then Shyloh turned to her.
"You wouldn't happen to know what happened to my bow, would you? It wasn't in my tent."
Arossel turned to the guards behind them.
"Ernil Legolas had it recovered my Lady," one guard said.
"Does he still have it?" asked Shyloh.
"I believe so."
"Where could I find him?"
The guard inclined his head down the street towards a series of tents. "He is stationed just down there."
"Which tent?" she asked.
"The blue one, my Lady."
Turning on her heel, she had every intention of heading straight towards the blue tent but she didn't get more than five strides down the street before a tall figure fell into step beside her.
Lord Iamben towered over her, but matched her stride. Hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes peered down his nose at her and she recoiled slightly.
"Princess, how pleased I am to see you awake and moving around. Still a little pale but nothing a good long rest won't cure. Poison is nothing to mess around with. Trust me, I have been in your shoes before."
She took a deep, steadying breath.
"Lord Iamben, a pleasure to see you," she said politely and he raised his eyebrows.
"I have been wanting to speak with you for some time now," he said, then eyed Arossel suspiciously. "I find you rather difficult to corner."
"Afraid the timing has not been right for us to meet properly," she said stiffly.
"How unfortunate, but what better time than the present?"
"I am afraid I am on an errand at the moment, and under strict orders to rest."
"Then perhaps you should not be on the errand at all. Come, sit with me for a moment and rest. My tent is only right here."
"I would rather not."
He stopped walking and peered down at her. "I only have a few concerns I wish to discuss with you, it'll hardly take more than a couple of minutes."
She pressed her lips together. "I'm well aware of what you wish to discuss with me. Perhaps your concerns would be best if brought up to the King."
"The King is already aware of my concerns and refuses to acknowledge them."
"Then perhaps the concerns you have are minimal compared to the concerns he is now facing." She looked pointedly around them at the war ravaged city but he only smiled softly.
"The concerns of the future of our Kingdom is certainly a high priority, Princess."
Shyloh could feel her temper start to rise, and she wasn't sure if she wasn't feeling well because she'd finally come face to face with him, or if she still wasn't quite well from her injury. It didn't help either that the King had literally grounded her from doing anything. Either way, she was in no mood for politics or – frankly – Iamben.
"Perhaps you should speak with my uncle about some of your concerns as well. I am sure Uncle Elrond would be interested in listening to the accusations you have placed against him in regards to my arrival with the dwarves. I assure you, my travel with the dwarves had absolutely nothing to do with the Woodland Realm. I might also advise you to speak with Mithrandir, since he is the one that all but tricked me into meeting with Thorin and his company in the first place. If neither of those options are satisfactory to you, then I would recommend discussing my arrival in Arda with the Valar themselves, since it is they that called me home in the first place."
Iamben's upper lip twitched and he took a step towards her. "You -,"
"Lord Iamben," came a voice suddenly and Iamben froze. Straightening, he looked down at her with narrowed eyes but his snarling expression was wiped clean within a second. "What seems to be the problem?"
Sidhel stepped up to Shyloh's side with a scowl on his face. The guards tone was snippy but he stood ramrod straight, matching Iamben height for height.
"No problem, Sidhel. I see you are no longer tending to the Princess," Iamben smiled as he glanced at the two guards who were looking rather affronted at the current situation. "Perhaps you have been dismissed from your duties, since you could not keep her safe as ordered. She is only a little thing, yet you let her slip right through your fingers. How embarrassing. Fortunately for you she is alive and well, otherwise I would hate to think of the consequences."
Shyloh sucked in a breath as she saw Sidhel tense next to her. She didn't even notice Arossel's disappearance from her side.
"I believe I told you she is skilled with a bow and blade," replied Sidhel.
"And yet she still managed to get hit with an arrow." Iamben's eyes floated over her again as her face flamed. "A near miss don't you think?"
"Very few of us came out without injuries."
"It wasn't Sidhel's fault or anyone else's!" she argued but neither ellon heard her.
"And now because of your lack of attention, we are without a healer. Was that not the reason for her being here in the first place? Think of how many she could be saving right now but instead must stand aside while others do the work."
Sidhel's hands balled into fists and his face darkened immensely but Shyloh shrank back; struck hard by his last words. He was right; she should be helping in the healing wards but because of her own foolishness she was now rendered incapable. She never felt more helpless than she did right then and there.
At first, she worried that the two of them would start brawling. Iamben was looking rather smug and didn't seem to care how his harsh words cut through her like knives. He knew he was right. Desperately she tried to think of a way to pull them apart from the other, to change the topic or to break up their party but she was literally rooted to the spot with guilt and humiliation. She could be saving dozens, maybe even hundreds of people. She should have stayed in the healing tents with Galdiron instead of running to help protect the city. Instead, her actions saved the life of one but cost her the lives of many.
Now she understood Thranduil's words a little better. A lump welled up in her throat as the guilt flooded her and without thinking, she turned on her heel with every intention of running to her tent, except she slammed head first into a very solid person.
"Ernil nin Legolas," Iamben said, straightening up. Sidhel followed suit and stood tall and straight but his eyes were dark and thunderous.
Shyloh recoiled a little out of Legolas' arms, but he didn't let her go immediately as he assessed the scene before him. Without looking up at him, she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over her eyelashes, determined not to cry in front of him. His hands were wrapped firmly around Shyloh's shoulders almost protectively, preventing her from stepping back anymore than she already had.
"What seems to be the issue?" Legolas asked, as his eyes darted between Iamben and Sidhel, then down to the white headed elleth he held close to him. The brief scent of lavender drifted to him among the stench of the city around them and it was almost surprising yet, refreshing.
Shyloh caught sight of Arossel standing off to the side, her face like carved stone.
A flash of something crossed Iamben's eyes as the Lord looked at the Prince and Princess standing together but just as quick as it came it disappeared, and Legolas had a hard time discerning what it was.
"No issue my Lord," Iamben said stiffly, and his eyes sent a glare towards Sidhel.
"I highly doubt that Iamben," Legolas said sourly. "Sidhel, please see that those reports are delivered to my father promptly, and report back once you have gathered the new numbers from Nodron and Ganir. Iamben, you will see me later this evening. You're both dismissed."
Without another word, Lord Iamben and Sidhel exchanged a scowl with the other but then went in their own directions. It was clear the two of them had drawn quite the crowd of elves and men alike but once Legolas' glare met those of his kin, the lingering elves quickly dissolved back into the crowd.
His hand trailed down her right arm to her elbow, sending a shiver up her arm. He drew back and looked down at the top of her head, but her chin was lowered and he could not clearly read her face.
"Come with me," he said quietly, then he was leading her towards the blue tent and reluctantly she let him, despite wanting to disappear. He sensed her hesitancy, but she let him lead her nonetheless.
Once under the cover of the tent, their guards stood outside while the flap closed behind them, engulfing the two of them in the freshly lit lamplight inside. For once his tent was clear of messengers and his aids but he knew it was only going to be short lived. There was still much to do.
She looked around slowly, her eyes taking in everything. It was different from the King's tent. Instead of the opened flaps and bare walls, there were instead large maps hung from the beams, showing intricate details of the surrounding area including Dale right up to the front gates of Erebor. There were scribbled notes here and there in scratchy handwriting, while some places were crossed off; some circled.
On the wooden table were mounds of neatly stacked rolls of parchment and unused sheets of paper. A goblet of what looked like clear liquid sat untouched in front of the seat, as did a cold, abandoned plate of food. Across the tent, armor was placed carelessly on top of a side table, forgotten by its owner and servants. She hadn't seen him wear any armor like his father, so perhaps it belonged to someone else.
A flap along the back of the tent told her there was another room, but she couldn't see inside as she slowly circled the space, her eyes lingering over the maps. She'd completely forgotten the reason for coming to see him, and she could sense him watching her every step.
"How are you feeling?" he asked as he stepped away toward the table and sank down into a chair she was pretty sure wasn't his usual seat. It wasn't nearly as nice as the other one that sat opposite him.
She looked over at him, and noticed the tired look on his face. When their eyes met, she felt her cheeks redden so she looked away and down at the armor on the table she came to stand in front of.
"Fine," she said quietly, not looking toward him. "You?"
Not only was she embarrassed by slamming into him out on the streets, but aside from their conversation on Ravenhill after the battle, this was only the second time they were actually alone together. Regardless of the fact guards stood outside, they really were only a few feet away, and she felt they could hardly have a private conversation without someone listening in.
Plus, he was her soulmate and a complete stranger at the exact same time. If that didn't make things awkward, she didn't know what did.
"I'm fine," he said eventually. When she looked back, he was rubbing his hand over his jaw like she'd seen Thranduil do on numerous occasions.
Like father like son.
Compared to Thranduil, Legolas' work space was a bit tidier than his father's. The table top, while still cluttered, had at least some sort of organization to it and she could actually see the surface of the rough boards underneath its contents.
Perhaps they weren't completely the same.
"Although," he added after a pause. "I was not the one poisoned."
She grimaced, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I don't think it was as bad as Galdiron made it seem. He didn't need to knock me out for two days either," she grumbled unhappily.
Legolas almost smiled. Perhaps Galdiron had been a bit excessive when it came to the sleeping tonic, but even though she slept for two days she still looked unwell.
"He is good at what he does, though he tends to fret excessively."
"Note to self: do not drink anything he gives me again."
This time Legolas did crack a smile but it faded quickly, and he watched her carefully as she picked up a book from another side table.
She was clearly upset, though he knew not how to make her feel better. Something Iamben had said no doubt was eating at her. If she didn't tell him, Sidhel would have to spill it later and he knew his friend disliked Iamben very much. It was no secret the two of them didn't get along, but he would have thought the two of them would have had a bit more respect in front of her at least.
Iamben had never been a favorite of Legolas' for various reasons either. The most recent reason, for wanting Legolas and his daughter to marry. The thought of an arranged marriage made his stomach churn. His father's idea of entertainment left much to be desired, and Legolas would have no more married Lastril than a goblin. Perhaps that was too harsh a comparison, but he'd had enough elleths fawn over him over the years to know better. They were all the same, and he held no attraction to any of them. Lastril wanted the title and position that came with marrying him and the benefits of being part of the royal family. Nothing more.
The one that stood before him, closely examining the contents of his command central tent, seemed different than anyone else he'd ever met before. She was quiet, watchful, wary, complicated, unique, and strange all at the same time.
"I heard you spoke with my father," he said, breaking the awkward silence.
She twisted her face into an unhappy scowl. "Yes. He grounded me."
He smiled and bit back a laugh. If that was all his father had done, then she should consider herself extremely lucky.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and he saw her cheeks flush a little when she looked at him again. "For saving me. Twice."
He nodded his head but didn't say anything. The haunted look in her eye tugged at him. He wasn't one to beat the bush until it was dead, so he straightened in his chair and fixed her with a look.
"Are you unwell?"
"No, I said I was fine," she said, tucking her wild hair behind her other ear this time.
"That is not what I meant. Won't you sit? You still look tired." He gestured to the chair across from him and she seemed to hesitate before accepting it.
She looked at him curiously then and tilted her head. "What did you mean then?"
Lord, she's beautiful, he thought. The deep blue of her dress brought out the color of her eyes wonderfully. Even in the glow of the lamplight, they sparkled brilliantly but yet there was an unease and disappointment set inside them that made him uneasy.
"I meant that you look troubled."
She pressed her lips together again, a habit it seemed she did quite often, and turned away; her eyes scanning over the maps hanging from the poles of the tent once more.
He shifted in his chair irritably. If she were one of his soldiers this would be a lot easier, but alas, she wasn't and the stubborn set of her jaw told him it wouldn't be as easy to pry her troubles out of her like he hoped.
"I only wish to help," he said after she didn't answer. "Did Iamben say something to upset you?"
"Iamben spoke nothing but the truth."
His face darkened. "I highly doubt that."
She shrugged. "Doesn't make a difference now," she sighed. "It's done."
He shook his head. "What doesn't make a difference?"
Before she could answer, a call came from outside and Legolas closed his eyes in frustration. Of course, the marchwardens from the North and East would arrive right now to see him.
"Enter," he said and the flap pulled back.
Two tall, dark haired ellons in battle gear entered, their quivers and long knives strapped over their shoulders. One held his long bow in his hand and they didn't seem to notice her though as the flap closed behind the two guards that flanked them.
"Ernil nin," they said and bowed curtly.
"We tracked the orcs that fled into the North. They fell right into our trap and will no longer be a concern. We piled the carcasses and burned them. Only one minor injury to report and he is being seen by the healers as we speak," said the taller marchwarden, and he motioned to one of the maps along the far wall where the bodies were currently smoldering.
"A small band was seen attempting to escape into the forest to the southwest but we were able to flank them and prevent their escape," said Ristedir. He drew a line of their path from the corner of the battlefield to the edge of Mirkwood. "No injuries to report although we did notice that some orcs must have escaped into the trees prior to our arrival. No telling just how many are hiding out but we believe they are headed to the old strong hold in the South. We've sent scouts to follow but-,"
The marchwarden was cut short when Legolas raised a hand to stop him, and then the Prince turned back towards Shyloh. All eyes suddenly fell on her and their eyes widened in surprise.
"Our apologies my Lady," the taller marchwarden said quickly with a bow of his head and they placed their hands over their hearts. "We did not mean to interrupt."
"No need to apologize," she said. "We were finished anyways."
She rose then, and Legolas followed suit.
"Thank you for your time," she said to Legolas, but she noted he did not look overly happy. "If you'll excuse me."
They bowed their heads respectively and she escaped the confines of the tent for the bustling streets outside.
everything-is-black-and-white - thanks ;) I like to think I'm clever sometimes.
I had something entirely different planned for this chapter but I didn't like it so I rewrote it. Hope it works out alright.
-S
