Thank you for the reviews, messages, and slight grammar corrections. Hello and welcome new followers, your support means a lot. A longer chapter for you today, hope you don't mind. Apologies in advance if there are any 'errors' in my history research, but for the sake of the story I'll leave it as is. I kind of enjoyed writing this chapter!

- S


- Chapter 64 -


Her fingers grazed the hilt of her sword fondly, marveling once again at the incredible craftsmanship that went into its intricate design. The tiny engravings of bare tree branches were so well made that no matter how many times she looked at it she was still in awe. Funny, how these tiny silver inlaid engravings reminded her of the stitching on her gowns back in Rivendell. What was the meaning behind them? What did the tree stand for? What was the connection? Surely it wasn't a coincidence, was it?

Lying back on her bed, she hadn't intended to study her sword a little more closely, but the lack of things to do ticked her off and she found herself hiding away in the confines of her chamber. She couldn't ride, she couldn't train...so here she was, sitting on her bed pouting. Arwen asked her to come to tea, but she simply wasn't in the mood.

By her feet, her bow and empty quiver laid. Why had she never realized the same design on her quiver before? Reaching forward, she pulled the quiver toward her and let her fingers trace the pattern from the base to the opening. The leather strap was smooth and showed obvious signs of use; it needed to be oiled and cleaned properly. Did other elves have the same design on their weapons as well?

"A tree," she muttered to no one but an empty room. She would have to ask Ada what the meaning behind it was. Or, maybe it was simply an elf thing. They did like their trees, so maybe it was just as simple as that.

Standing up, she crossed the room and pulled out the rolled up maps she'd borrowed from the library during her latest book raid. Unfurling them, she used her sword and bow to hold down the edges so they didn't curl back up. Sitting crossed legged on her bed once more, she let her eyes find the small patch of trees that were inked in to represent Lothlorien.

Come summer, she would be heading northwest, back toward Rivendell. She was excited about returning home. While she loved her time in Lothlorien, it never truly felt the same as Rivendell did. Since she couldn't return to the border patrol – thank you Lady Galadriel – she might as well spend time studying maps and potentially leave earlier than expected. After all, what duty did she have to stay?

Arwen didn't like this idea, and even though Shyloh asked her to come with and turn their trip into an 'adventure,' Arwen was determined to spend the next few years living under the mellyrn trees. Shyloh didn't blame her for wanting to stay, but part of her also didn't want to leave her behind. She'd come to love the idea of having a sister, and though she found she could comfortably confide in Arwen, she also found herself keeping more things to herself.

For instance, her birthday. Today, she was thirty years old.

"Wow, do I feel old," she snickered to herself.

Old? She was only thirty and while that was a milestone she personally never thought she'd see, it was nothing compared to the elves that surrounded her. Elf children aged much slower, reaching full maturity at one hundred years of age. Thirty? She snorted out loud again. That wasn't anything to get excited about and if she told anyone her true age, she was sure they would only treat her like a child.

She then figured perhaps she wasn't quite as young as she thought she was. In mortal years she was thirty, but her soul was far older than that. Thousands of years ago she was born, and even though she has physically lived in Arda for a total of seven years, the reality of it felt like much longer.

Turning back to her map, she sipped the hot tea she asked her maid to bring her before she dived into her research. Her hand reached up and rubbed the ache in her shoulder, massaging the still stiff muscle tissue that was healing. The Athelas in the tea helped immensely and it filled her room with a heavenly and calming aroma. The tissue was only a little red now, indicating on either side of her shoulder where the arrow entered and exited. It was easy to conceal it with a few higher necked dresses, but the stiffness in her left side was still evident.

She needed to get back to the training field. She knew that would be the only way to get the muscles back into proper shape. Tomorrow she would worry about diving back into training, for now, she wanted to focus on the map spread out before her.

Placing an index finger on Lothlorien, she trailed a path over the parchment through the mountains. The plan was to ultimately retrace her steps and go north, back toward the High Pass. The Redhorn Pass would take her too close to Moria, and she had no intention of traveling near there no matter what.

Or, she could travel south toward the Gap of Rohan, and then west past Isengard and head north through Dunland. The thought of Dunlendings set her teeth on edge. She did not exactly want to encounter those nasty people once more. Then again, if she took the High Pass it would take her close to the goblin tunnels. Either way, she had a slight dilemma.

If she went north toward the High Pass, would she be able to stay on the Old Forest Road through the mountains and not travel even further north toward the Forest Gate of Mirkwood? How enticing that idea was.

Her eyes flicked toward the closet. She hadn't pulled out the letter since the day after receiving it from the messenger. She didn't know if she had the courage to face him. If what he said was true, and he found someone else, she would feel utterly humiliated for showing up on his door step. Then again, she could simply turn west and go home and learn from the Dúnedain alongside Estel. She could learn more about her heritage, she could learn about Estel's lineage, and she could figure out just what it was she was supposed to do in this world.

The Valar brought her back for a reason. Perhaps she should throw more effort into finding out why.

She shook her head. It was not an easy decision after all. But, she decided she did not want to travel to Rohan, so she tossed that idea to the side and focused on the path leading through the High Pass when there was a soft knock on the door.

Recognizing the three taps, she didn't have to look up to know who it was. Arwen once again caught her in her room, and a small frown tugged at the corners of her fair face when she spotted Shyloh sitting on her bed.

"There is an entire city out there, and you sit here alone. Pray tell, why do you feel the need to hide? Do your friends not wish for your company?"

In truth, Shyloh didn't have many 'friends.' She had acquaintances, but as far as actual friends went, Shyloh had always been a loner. She didn't do it on purpose, but even back on Earth she had a small handful of girlfriends she hung out with. She'd always just done her own thing.

During her time in Lothlorien, she'd met many people but aside from perhaps Gilrean, Élane, Arossel, and a few ellith here in Lothlorien, Shyloh wouldn't say her social circle was quite as large as Arwen's.

"My shoulder was bothering me," Shyloh admitted honestly, and she held up the mug of tea in her hands.

Understanding, Arwen smiled softly. "I could smell it from outside your door."

"Arinё was kind enough to make me some, per Sognirion's orders," Shyloh said.

"What are you looking at?" Stepping closer, Arwen's eyes landed on the map spread out before Shyloh.

"I was planning my trip back home," Shyloh said, turning back to the map. Per Arwen's request, Shyloh pointed out the path she planned on taking back to Rivendell.

"I agree with you, heading north would be the best route." Arwen said, sitting down on the bed. Her ruby red and blue gown with gold stitching draped off of her shoulders like a waterfall. She wore her gowns so effortlessly, and here Shyloh was sitting crossed legged in a pair of leggings, a well used tunic, and barefoot. Her hair was drawn back in a sloppy braid, where Arwen's looked ridiculously perfect like normal.

"I have a question, since you're here," Shyloh announced, and she drew the sword and quiver closer together. Arwen tilted her head in interest. "I was wondering, what the engravings on my sword and quiver mean. It's the same pattern on the gowns the seamstresses make me in Rivendell."

Arwen drew the quiver into her lap and let her fingers softly trail over the rounded wood. A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and her eyes held a far off look.

"It symbolizes the white tree of Gondor," she said after a length.

Frowning, Shyloh didn't understand what that meant. "How is the white tree of Gondor connected to me?"

"Ada would be able to tell you the story properly, but the white tree stands as the symbol of the realm of Gondor. It represents your lineage. When your Grandfather, Elros, chose a mortal life, he became the first King Númenor. From his line, would come Isildur, who stole the fruit from Nimloth the Fair before it was destroyed. He planted it in Minas Ithil but when Sauron returned to Arda, Minas Ithil was captured and destroyed. Isildur managed to escape with a sapling and planted it in Minas Anor. The tree stood until the Great Plague spread across Gondor and it died. The third sapling was planted by King Tarondor after the split of Arnor and Gondor. The tree, however, never bore fruit and withered away upon the death of the then ruling Steward of Gondor. To this day it remains standing in the Court of the Fountain in Minas Tirith, guarded by soldiers.

"It serves as a reminder to you, that you are half-elven. The Dúnedain of the north and those of Minas Tirith are your kin as well as the elves. You are called Nimbrethil, not only because you are known as the White Princess, but because it also represents the word 'white' or 'silver birches.' In the First Age, Nimbrethil was a birch-tree forest in the southern lands of Beleriand, close to the Havens of Sirion and the Bay of Balar. The birches were used by Earendil to construct his ship, Vingilot. The Havens were served as a refuge for those that survived Nirnaeth Arnoediad (Battle of Unnumbered Tears), which would lead us to the story of the birth of Elros and Elrond. Nimbrethil is a Sindarin word, although, brethil can also be interpreted as 'princess.' You are a Princess of both Gondor and Arnor."

"So, to sum it all up, there's a rhyme and reason for everything elves do, even if it's confusing?"

Arwen laughed, her voice like a musical melody in the quiet confines of the room. "Yes," she smiled. "You could certainly say that."

"Well, I guess some of it makes sense, although I wish I didn't have a headache now."

"That is the way of elves, muinthel (sister)," Arwen said, still smiling.

"You know, I've never really given my birth parents much thought. I suppose you don't know anything about them?" Part of Shyloh was hopeful, but she knew it would be a long stretch.

"Afraid I do not, other than Atanalcar was my cousin. He died long before my brothers and I were even born."

Shyloh nodded, feeling a little sad. It appeared not much was known about her birth parents. Perhaps that was just how it was going to be. She knew there was no King of Gondor, maybe there never would be, but a tiny part of her wanted to see this white tree Arwen spoke of. Maybe that would be a journey she would take one day.


The horses were anxious as the trees of the Woodland Realm finally came into view. Come mid morning tomorrow, they would be stepping under the first eves of the forest. Legolas could hardly wait. Unfortunately, their journey was slow going as a heavy rainfall that morning made the roads slick and greasy, forcing them to let their mounts choose the pace and allowing the horses to step carefully.

Surprisingly, very little complaints from his company about the weather were heard, and it almost seemed too good to be true. Aside from the normal grumbling of his troops when the first drops of rain fell upon them from above, the entire company remained quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of hooves and an occasional snort from an irritated horse.

Looking back over his shoulder, he drew his cloak around him even tighter. The cold and damp didn't bother him or his company like it would perhaps other races, but it was still inconvenient to be so wet. A hot fire would surely lift the spirits of his soldiers and perhaps the two ladies tucked into the folds of their entourage.

He frowned when he met Sidhel's annoyed gaze and he almost smiled to himself. Sidhel hated getting wet, but even he was unusually quiet about it. Perhaps he also saw the trees in the darkening skyline and was hopeful for a quick return home. Legolas didn't blame him for his eagerness, he too wanted nothing more than to ride under the grand doors of their homeland, and rest in the safety and comfort of his kin.

His excellent eyesight allowed him to scan the road ahead and rest on the entrance of the forest. The elven road would lead them straight to the front doors, but it could also lead him straight through the grand forest...

No, he shook the thought from his head. He already was gone too long from his duties, it was time to return home. He could not allow himself to think about giving his already weary horse the task of whisking him away to the western borders of Mirkwood and toward the south. How he longed to walk beneath the grand trees of Lothlorien once more.

One day, perhaps, he would be able to return and marvel at the beauty of the mellyrn trees, but not now. No doubt his desk was piled sky high with reports waiting for him to review, and no doubt his father would require him to disclose the new trade agreements between the elves, dwarves, and men of Dale. He, himself, believed the new agreements were pleasing, and part of him was glad his kin could offer aid to the men and women of Dale. The dwarves, he could have easily done without, but they were neighbors and – unfortunately – allies against the growing darkness. Should war creep upon the realms once more, they would have no choice but to rally their forces together again to survive.

Darkness now was encroaching upon the riders and they were forced to stop for the night. Though the elves could have continued on, the horses – swift and surefooted as they may be – needed rest before the final length of their journey.

The tall grasses would provide them minimal coverage overnight, but the clearing sky told Legolas that no more rain would dampen their spirits any longer. Three scouts swept the surrounding hills with what little daylight was left, and once the all clear was given, only then did the riders dismount. No orc or enemy boot prints littered the ground, which eased the riders minds just a little.

The horses were left saddled, though they were led to a stream to drink and the elves were able to refill their water skins. Once darkness was fully around them, a fire was lit to cook the three hares killed on their ride earlier that morning. The fresh meat went well with the vegetables provided by the dwarves, and it made for a good meal.

Unfortunately, stopping meant he was once again pulled into the mix of his company and dragged from his thoughts of traveling west. His heart longed for a certain elleth with snow white hair and round blue eyes, and as he sank down onto the ground, he pressed his back against a boulder. He faced the west, as if his eyes could see through the boughs and brindle's of the forest. Instead, he turned his gaze skyward, allowing the stars to distract him with their twinkling display. Sidhel sat across from him on the ground, picking at his own supper but he said nothing.

At one point, one of the guards began singing softly and Legolas recognized the tune immediately. No one spoke until the song was finished, and by then the back of his head was resting on the bolder behind him.

Across the campsite, Lastril and her maid were returning from changing with the she-elves assigned to guard them. Lastril's hands floated along the contours of her delicately stitched tunic. In his humble opinion, though the garbs were well made and of fine quality, they did not belong on a journey such as this. The clothing was far too elegant to be used for sleeping under the stars after a heavy rainfall. There was no one here to impress with finer quality items.

His own tunic was simple, much like his guards, designed for an active schedule and thick enough to hold in the warmth of their bodies. Their cloaks allowed them to blend into their environment, while Lastril's cloak was a rich burgundy. Farril's own cloak was of a mildly lesser material but it mattered little to Legolas. All he had to do was ensure they got back to the Realm safely, no matter what they were wearing.

Lastril met his eye and he realized he'd been staring. How foolish of him to spend so much time considering her wardrobe. She offered him a small smile before sinking down to her knees next to Farril, whose gaze was apparently focused elsewhere. Following the maids line of vision, his eyes came to rest on the fame of Ganir and a thought crossed the Prince's mind.

What a match the two of them would make, and he smiled inwardly at the idea. He had not known the guard fancied the maid, but why not? She was young, beautiful, and a hard worker from what he understood. He only wished – and maybe it was the selfish and childish part of him that wished this – that she was not so closely associated with Lady Lastril.

Farril had served Lastril for many years, and was clearly the favored maid for the Lady. While it was not a bad thing necessarily, he also knew that maids liked to gossip, and Lastril was like a sponge when it came to that sort of thing. Ganir was also one of Legolas' preferred warriors, always one of the first ones called along with a select few for certain tasks that included the Prince himself. His troops were bound by an oath of secrecy, an oath they took the moment they were appointed as guards, that they not repeat what was said or done, particularly involving the royal family. Ganir, being part of the royal guard, knew this as well as the others, but perhaps he would have Sidhel give them all a firm reminder of what being part of this particular company meant without singling out one specific elf.

He trusted Ganir, hence the reason he'd been chosen to come along on this specific journey, hence the reason he'd been selected as part of Princess Shyloh's protection detail during her stay in the Woodland Realm. He had no problem if Ganir chose to move forward with a relationship with the maid, so long as he remembered his oaths.

He would have to be careful not to mention the Princess in front of anyone aside from Sidhel and Nodron, for safety's sake. No doubt if Farril overheard him speaking about the Princess, she would easily relay that information to her Lady. After all, she was the one that overheard the Prince and Princess speaking in Dale. It took Legolas and a few of the King's trusted spies to finally determine where the start of the rumors came from. Poor Farril should have been a little quieter.

Ultimately the secret would have come out sooner or later, he just wished Shyloh and himself had been a little more prepared.

When he turned back, Sidhel was giving him a hard look. His eyes flicked over to the frames of Lastril and Farril briefly before coming back to stare at Legolas once more. Had he seen the smile Lastril offered him only a moment ago?

From the look on his face, yes, he had.

"Think nothing of it," Legolas said quietly so only Sidhel would hear.

"Or perhaps I should think something of it?" Sidhel's voice was low and deep and held a slight hint of accusation, making Legolas' brow furrow.

"She holds hope in something that could not be," Legolas said, looking off toward the dark hills instead of at his friend. Legolas was well aware of how Sidhel felt about Lastril, and he honestly didn't feel like getting into a heated conversation once more.

The Prince was still furious with her for the open display of affection during their final meeting. Not only had Sidhel heatedly questioned him about it afterward, but Legolas was once again forced to command his own best friend to stand down and be silent. He had no romantic interest in Lastril, which was why he had no choice but to distance himself from her as much as possible, despite her attempts to speak with him.

Now, he had clearly slipped up and was once again paying the repercussions of his actions. A simple observation had his friend reeling, and when Sidhel stood without a word and slipped off into the night, only made him long to take the elven road to the very end. Speaking with Sidhel about Ganir would clearly have to wait another day.


The training grounds were empty when Shyloh approached them in the early morning hours. A light frost covered the ground, and the blades of grass crunched beneath her light footfalls. The city was still asleep for the most part, and the sun was only just starting to make itself known.

She was on a mission, and if she was right, she wouldn't be the only one here. The archery range was just ahead, and the soft thud of an arrow hitting its mark made her a little more confident in her decision. The deep blue cloak was clasped at the hollow in her throat, and her white hair was loose and draped down her front and back in the normal curls. The hem of her dress was now damp from trailing over the ground, but that was the least of her worries.

The ground leveled off and she drew in a deep breath when she spotted the one she was looking for. She was suddenly nervous. Her former commanding officer drew back the string of his readied bow, took aim, and released. With a thunk the arrow sank into the target across the range. A perfect shot. There was only one other elf she knew that could possibly rival the marchwarden's skill with a bow.

As if he could hear her approach, his back stiffened and the bow lowered. He was facing away from her and she came at him from behind. It was a threatening approach, she knew, coming upon a warrior from his blind spot. She didn't exactly plan on attacking him, but she hoped he wouldn't leave.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low and deep but he still didn't turn around to face her. He rested his hands on the tip of his bow.

She stopped walking a few paces away from him but said nothing, hoping he would turn and acknowledge her appropriately. It took a few moments, before he drew in a breath and slowly turned on his heel.

When he was fully facing her, she slowly let out the breath she was holding. Haldir looked down at her with a curious expression when she still didn't say anything.

"Should you not be resting?" he wondered, his tone stiff and accusatory.

"I'm fine," she finally managed to say. "I wanted to speak with you before you left again."

His eyebrows rose but now he was the one to remain quiet, and she pressed her lips together in frustration.

"Is this how it's going to be now? Avoiding each other?" she wondered, letting her fists clench beneath the cover of her cloak. She stepped closer and drew an arrow from the quiver that sat upright on the ground, and ran her fingers through the feathers at the end.

He frowned while he watched her fingers for a moment, then turned away.

"I am not avoiding you," he said quietly. He reached out and took the arrow from her hands carefully, so as not to prick her with the barbs at the end.

"If I led you on, if I did something, or if it was something I said, I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you," she said. Her cheeks reddened slightly at the confession, but his frown only deepened and he turned away, facing the target once more.

He nocked the arrow he took from her. "You did nothing," he murmured, then fired. The arrow sunk into the center of the target; a perfect shot.

Her shoulders sank a little and she felt her resolve slowly die away at his response. She didn't know exactly what it was she was expecting, but she hoped at least he would be willing to have a steady conversation with her about it. She respected him as a captain of the guard, and admired him as a friend. Even if their friendship was never renewed, she at least felt the need to clear the air.

"Many of us go through life hoping Eru will bless us with our soulmate," he said finally, his posture unmoving from when he fired the last arrow. She held her breath and waited for him to continue. "Those of us that are fortunate enough to find our other halves at first sight, are few and far between. It is a gift that should be treasured above all else."

She blinked, then tucked her hands back inside the warmth of her cloak, not completely understanding. If this bonding thing was so special, as others have stated to her before, then why was she feeling so miserable about it? Why had he written that letter?

"It was not something you said," he continued, now finally shifting on his feet to look back at her. "It was not something you did, either. It was my own foolishness that I am ashamed of, and for that I wholeheartedly apologize."

Alright, now she was confused and it clearly showed on her face because he actually smiled. It was a small, slightly painful smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"I don't understand," she admitted, and he sighed.

Letting the tip of the bow rest on the ground between his feet, he gave her an apologetic look. "Coming between someone that is bonded to another," he shook his head and looked at the ground, unable to finish as a muscle twitched in his jaw. "I am embarrassed and you should know you have nothing to apologize for. I did not mean to drive a wedge between our friendship and I did not mean to make you upset or make you think you are the one at fault."

She blinked in surprise, completely not expecting this at all. She opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find the words, and ended up looking like a fish gaping for air.

"It's not fair to let you take all the blame," she said, her expression becoming stern. "I should have explained things right away. I just assumed people knew, that's all. I'm still learning about this whole bonding thing. It's actually a lot more confusing than I realized."

His brow furrowed but he looked as though he were confused.

"You have been blessed to find your soulmate," he said. "Yet now that you speak of him, you look quite sad. Pray tell, why is that?"

She hesitated and bit her bottom lip, then reached down for another arrow, drawing it out of the quiver slowly. "Can I ask you something?"

He nodded once, firmly.

"What exactly are the rules when it comes to having a soulmate?"

Now he looked even more confused and he tilted his head to the side, his long silver hair draping over his front. "I am not sure I understand your question. What kind of rules do you think surround having a soulmate?"

She grimaced and twirled the arrow in her fingers. "Does that mean the person you have bonded with is the one you will be with for the rest of your days?"

His confusion only deepened, and she wondered if she was making any sense. "Generally speaking, when your soul bonds with another, that tie can never be severed, and it only continues to grow stronger as your relationship grows. You were born to be together, to be united as one."

She bit her lip again and curled her fingers gently around the barbed end of the arrow so as not to cut herself. Haldir followed her movement and looked disapprovingly at her actions.

"What if you choose someone who is not your bonded?"

Haldir was in the middle of reaching his hand across to remove her fingers from the tip of the arrow when his movements stilled. When he didn't say anything, she sucked up the courage to look at his expression, but what she saw wasn't what she was expecting. He looked upset, and a muscle twitched in his jaw, then she realized she didn't word her question quite properly.

"What if he chooses someone else?"

Haldir's hand recoiled and he was suddenly angry. "Has he chosen someone else?" He stepped closer to her and she drew back and blinked furiously.

"I-I'm not sure."

"What do you mean by that?"

She shook her head. Maybe asking Haldir about bonding was not such a smart move on her part. After all, he was the one to confess he had feelings for her. What she hoped would be a simple enough question wasn't going the way she imagined. "It's just – I mean – what if he decided to set aside the bond and choose someone else? What would happen then?"

"You cannot set aside the bond," he said rather harshly. "Some of us wait thousands of years for our soulmate. It is not something one would willingly go against."

"But-but if he did, metaphorically speaking, what would happen?"

"Metaphorically speaking, if he was to enter a marriage with another that is not his soulmate after finding his true one?"

"Yeah, let's go with that."

He drew himself upright and shook his head, his eyes filling with a clouded emotion she couldn't completely understand. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear his answer.

"You would fade."