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Kelwtim2spar - same here and I'm the one writing it!

Guest - sorry for the cliffhanger, but I do enjoy a little suspense...

Rin (guest) - Merry Christmas to you too! Thank you! Yup! she's back in Mirkwood. Couldn't help myself!

Pasorider67 - Happy Holidays to you too! So glad you find it intriguing and that you're following along!

Welcome new followers!

Be sure to check out this story's one shots if you haven't. I plan on posting a few more in the coming days/weeks.

Without further delay...

- S


- Chapter 67 -


Time seemed to stand still and it felt like an age before he finally turned around. She was here, in the Woodland Realm of all places, doused with confusion, disappointment, and... anger. Yes, there was definitely anger. His body tensed right before she spoke, and the room went deathly quiet. Aside from the fire crackling in the magnificent fireplace, no one spoke.

He seemed to take in a breath, before he slowly turned around. His eyes found hers in an instant and her heart pounded inside her chest. She was sure everyone in the room could hear it, there was no way they couldn't. He stared at her for a long pause, and she watched different emotions cross his face. Shock, frustration, confusion, and possibly anger, too.

She stood stone still, her hands barely hidden behind the long flowing sleeves of her silver blue gown. A matching cloak hugged her shoulders and draped effortlessly off her frame while a silver circlet donned her forehead. It was the only gown she brought with from Lothlorien. Snow white hair spiraled around her torso.

To him, she looked changed. No longer was she the inexperienced elleth he met in the woods surrounding his homeland with an arrow pointed at his face. No longer was she the defenseless she-elf that needed to be wrapped in a protective bubble. The few years in Lothlorien changed her. She looked stronger, leaner, and much more aware of herself. It was amazing what a few years of hardcore training could do to a person. The knowledge she gained from the Galadhrim would serve her well.

No warrior braids hung in her hair today, no leather boots were worn on her feet. Her weapons lie the safety of her room instead of upon her back like they had only early this morning when she and Feren arrived secretly within the halls, except for the small dagger tucked inside her dress. Before she even stepped foot within the Realm, her identity was hidden from the guards and curious faces. For her safety, Feren convinced her to keep her head down.

She followed his directions without a word and together the two of them made their way to an antichamber where she was kept until the King arrived, and Feren could disclose his discoveries. The whole thing had been seriously dramatic in her opinion, but the King agreed with his aid. Since this morning, she was kept hidden away inside the Royal Wing. Why, she had no idea, but she figured the King had a good reason for his secrecy. She'd been brought to the King's office a short while before the Prince's arrival, when a messenger informed the King of his son's whereabouts.

She could tell he was surprised by the way his mouth opened and closed, as if he were at a loss for words. Rightly so, Shyloh was sure her arrival in the Woodland Realm was the last thing the Prince would have expected. There was a moment, a slightly embarrassing moment in her opinion, when she reached the point where she felt she couldn't face him, and the uncertainty that amounted within her was so great that her knees shook. A fool she was, too, for allowing the emotion to consume her so much. She hadn't meant to let herself slip, even when she'd been shot with the arrow she kept her mind closed off from the outside world, but she did.

What if he didn't want to see her? What if Feren was wrong and he had written the letter? What if Lady Galadriel was wrong when she said this was the path Shyloh must take? What if Arwen and Haldir were wrong when they said the Prince didn't write the letter? What if this was all one big mistake, and she should hightail it to Rivendell without a backwards glance? So many questions; so many 'what if's.'

Thanks to Feren and his wonderful negotiation skills, he managed to convince her that the Prince did indeed desire a discussion with her, so she had to agree before he would release Boss' reins so she could escape back the way she came. It wasn't fair, really, that he ganged up on her like that. But, she supposed she had come all this way...

Legolas looked tired, if it was possible for an elf to even be tired. Blood – either his or someone else's – was splattered across the front of his tunic. His normally sleek blond hair looked like he'd walked through a rain storm once or twice, and she supposed he probably had. He wore a half empty quiver of arrows and his twin blades across his back, while his long bow he held in his hand. He looked like a warrior, the exact way she'd always imagined him to be. This was who he truly was, not some prim and proper prince though he no doubt knew the customs, and could certainly be a proper dignitary if needed. This was how she liked him best.

If he accepted responsibility for the letter she was leaving, no questions asked. She would never step foot inside the Woodland Realm again. It was as simple as that. She made her mind up during the ride here, even if she didn't voice it to Feren out loud. If he chose someone else to stand by his side, she would accept that fate and live. There would be no fading for her. Not after everything she'd been through in the last seven years. She wasn't going to give up because of a man.

Seven years was hardly a notch in the hatchet compared to the ages of the ellyn in the room with her, but to her it seemed like an age in itself. For seven years she'd been forced to accept this was her new life. For seven years she'd been forced to accept there was no going back. The only thing she could do was move forward and follow her feet. Whether Legolas was included in that path, she had yet to find out.

Despite being his 'soulmate,' she still felt like she had no real reason to claim him as hers. Who was she? She was a Princess of a kingdom long sunk within the depths of the sea, a Princess of Arnor and Gondor; two broken realms without a King to guide and reunite them. A Princess of elves? Hardly. What had she done in this world to deserve such a title? What had she done to deserve to stand by his side? He was a mighty warrior, and while she was on the path to becoming one, it could take her a lifetime before she became any such thing.

Blinking, she drew herself back into the present moment. Her mind wandered way too much in the short amount of time they stood there staring at one another.

He took a slow step toward her, his brows pinching together in the center of his forehead. He clearly didn't understand why she was there, and it made her even more uncertain. Would he tell her to leave? Would he confirm her deepest fears and tell her Lastril was his chosen?

It wasn't the title or the glory or even the fact she could be Queen of the Woodland Realm that drew Shyloh to Legolas. It was something deeper, something she couldn't quite explain. When he was near, she felt secure. When he was closer, she felt peaceful. When he kissed her, she felt things she'd never felt before in her life; a fire in the pits of her stomach that made her weak in the knees.

"You're here," he said, surprising her. She blinked again but her jaw was clamped shut and she honestly didn't even know what to say. What did you say to someone in this kind of situation?

"There are important things we need to talk about," the King said softly behind his son, but Legolas didn't even flinch away from her. "Your arrival home is earlier than anticipated, and it is well that you are here."

"You did not write back," Legolas said after a pause, still staring at her. His eyes look almost strained, as if he were holding back a tidal wave of emotions she couldn't fully understand.

Did he think she was the one rejecting him?

"I did not receive a letter in which to respond," she replied, her tone level and low. "Except one."

His eyes darkened and he finally turned away just the slightest. "So I was right, our letters were being withheld."

"It appears so," the King said softly. "However, I am afraid there is more to it than that."

Now Legolas turned around to face his father with a questioning look. "I do not understand."

The King's eyes flicked to Feren who then looked to the Princess almost hesitantly, before he looked down and withdrew something from inside his robes. The parchment confused him and Feren stretched out his arm toward the Prince, inviting him to take it.

"What is this?" Legolas demanded.

"Something you need to read," Thranduil said carefully. The edge in his tone was something Legolas caught and he did not like it one bit. Was there a hint of accusation in his voice or was it confusion? He could not tell.

Stepping forward, Legolas took the parchment and turned it over, leaning his bow against the polished wood of Thranduil's desk. The red wax seal was broken but Shyloh's name was scrawled over the top in his handwriting.

"One of my letters?" asked Legolas, shooting Shyloh a confused look. He was surprised to see the hardened expression in her gaze, her mouth set into a thin line.

"It is the contents of the letter that hold all the questions," she said stiffly.

He didn't understand. What he wanted to do was toss the letter aside, wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly; to wipe the anger from her eyes, but first he needed to understand why she seemed so upset. What had happened?

He was furious on the inside. His hunch was correct, they were being kept from each other. But why? Who would stand to gain from withholding their letters all of a sudden? They'd written each other since his departure well over three years ago.

Turning back to the letter at hand, he wondered what he could have possibly written that would make her look so upset. He opened the folds and his eyes scanned the parchment. He recalled every letter to her by heart so to say he was confused would be an understatement. He stilled when he read the first line. As his eyes scanned the page, a cold feeling of dread and disbelief clouded his entire being, though it was quickly replaced by anger and fury. He snapped his head toward her but she hadn't budged, not once. If anything, she looked very pale and almost scared. Her eyes watched him carefully; calculating his entire reaction, every movement he made, and every breath he took as if she were waiting for some sort of confirmation that he indeed was the author.

He drew in a breath and searched the letter once more. This had to be some sort of mistake.

"I did not write this," he snapped a little too harshly, stepping toward her.

"It has your seal, your handwriting, and your signature -," she countered, but he spoke over her.

"I did not write this!" he growled angrily, stopping just short of her. He held up the letter before him. Her hands balled into fists beneath the sleeves of her gown.

Feren said the same thing, but she hadn't exactly believed him. She blamed Feren's smooth talking and excellent negotiating skills for the reason she was standing here at all.

Damn elves.

She didn't want to believe this had all been some sort of simple misunderstanding, a plot to hurt the both of them, to break the two of them apart. Why? What had she done to anyone? Did Legolas have enemies – aside from the evil creatures lurking in the world – that wished to hurt him?

"This was not written by me," he said, determined to ease her worries. His tone softened the longer he stared at her. She was clearly ready to do battle, dress or no dress, and he could see the fire in her eyes. She wanted an explanation, she wanted to understand. And damn it all, so did he.

"I do not know how this letter came about, but I swear to you I did not write this. I have no intention of having any sort of relationship with Lady Lastril," he said, spitting out the she-elves name as if it were poison.

The King's stance seemed to relax, and it was apparent the other two ellyn in the room believed Legolas. Shyloh was still on the edge; silly perhaps, but understandably so.

"Then who did?" she asked, finally breaking the silence in the room.

He forced himself to turn away from her and stared hard at his father and Feren. "I do not know."

"I have my suspicions," Thranduil said, stepping closer. He took the letter from his son and held it up once more to review. "But none that I will share at the moment."

Legolas recoiled slightly at this announcement. "Do you believe it could be someone here? A messenger?"

"I will say nothing more until I know more," the King answered, but Legolas did not like that at all. "My spies are already in play. Princess Shyloh is here and safe. The two of you need to speak privately, but before you do, you should know her arrival has not been announced yet. A feast is being prepared for tomorrow night. She will be announced then. In the meantime, aside from us and Arossel, no one else is to know she is here."

Legolas straightened. "You are looking for a reaction."

A simple dip of the King's head was all the confirmation Legolas needed. No doubt her arrival would be a shock to all, but perhaps someone might slip up. He could only hope.

Without another word, the King gave the two of them a promising look before he exited his own office, but only after tucking the letter safely within his charcoal robes with Feren following behind like the devoted aid he was. It still didn't make sense to Shyloh, but her mind was swirling with all kinds of possible scenarios, many of which involved this suddenly private meeting between the two of them going up in flames, and not in the good way either.

He waited until the door closed before he slowly turned back around to face her. She was trembling, both with anger and confusion. Someone was withholding their letters, but it wasn't just that: someone was out to hurt Shyloh deliberately, or perhaps even the both of them.

Most likely any evidence of their stolen letters was destroyed and they would not find anything, at least, if the thief was smart. However, her years of watching Criminal Minds on television prior to her arrival in Arda told her that sometimes murderers liked to keep trophies of their victims. She wondered, did that theory apply to people who wished to break up a relationship as well?

He watched her carefully. Someone wanted her out of the way. May Eru save the one that did.

She drew in a steadying breath, doing her best to calm her nerves. There were so many things she wanted to say. The fire inside her was slowly dying, and he watched it fade ever so slightly from her eyes.

If his own father and Feren believed he did not write that letter, it meant someone had taken a lot of time out of their schedule to mimic his handwriting so elegantly. Even the way it was written made it seem more like him. The choice of words – aside from what was actually written – was unnervingly close to his usual mannerism. It meant the person who wrote it was close to him.

His mind worked over the entire scenario. Their letters were being withheld by an unknown person, yet this letter – this one letter – made its way into her hands. A letter he did not write. Maybe it wasn't the messengers in general, but someone else who knew the Prince and Princess were exchanging words. The realization that this was more than one person was like a stab in the gut to him.

"I need you to believe me," he said, forcing himself to speak calmly and gently. In truth, he was raging inside. That infuriating letter was suffocating to even think about. Would she believe him? For her sake, he needed to keep himself reined in. He did not want to scare her.

He stepped closer when she didn't answer, her lips pressed together once more. When he was a foot away she had yet to move anything other than her eyes and it was killing him. The pain she must have went through after reading it, the heartbreak she must have felt, was not something he could understand. Given her entire reaction, it clearly tortured her.

"Say something," he pleaded, and he reached out a hand to brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. "I told you twice now, that I could choose no other. Have you forgotten that so easily?"

Pain flashed across her eyes and for a split second her bottom lip trembled. Blinking, she looked down but he cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her head back up.

He shook his head slowly. "Never in a million years could I hurt you like that, Shyloh. Never in my lifetime would I write something so sinful. Never."

She licked her lips and he could tell the battle within her was still going. Believe or don't believe? How could she not?

"Lady Lastril would be a good ch-,"

"No!" he snarled, cutting her off. "No! I will have none of that. She is nothing to me, nothing at all. She never will be and never has been. I have you, and that is all that I want."

Now her bottom lip really was trembling, and her hardened eyes were turning misty. Lord he wanted to kiss her, to taste her sweet lips on his once more, to hold her in his arms until the world ended.

Did she not know she could break him?

To his relief, she slowly nodded and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she blinked her tears away. He cupped her face in his hands and drew his forehead to hers.

"I have been worried for months," he said, his voice straining. "I now realize my worry has been nothing compared to your heartbreak." He drew back from her, and she looked up at him from under her dark eyelashes. "For that I am so sorry."

The pain in his eyes sent another wave of misery through her and the faint trace of a smile disappear from her lips. She believed him when he said he didn't write it, but the shock of it was what was overwhelming to her.

He didn't write it. He still wanted her.

She repeated that mantra in her mind as if she had to convince herself this was in fact, real. She'd been prepared to walk away if that was what he wanted. She literally hadn't bothered to unpack the travel bag she brought with except for the dress specifically for that reason despite Arrosel's insistence. She'd lost others before, why not him too?

Now it was different. He was here and he was righting someone else's wrong. He shouldn't have to, but he was. She knew how much her own heart shattered, but what about his? Why did he think she wasn't writing back to him?

"You shouldn't have had to worry like you did. It wasn't your fault," she said quietly and he drew back so he could look at her better.

"I should have come to Lothlorien a long time ago; the moment I thought something was wrong," he said, brushing her hair back behind a pointed ear with his fingers.

She shook her head slowly. "You have a lot of responsibility here."

"That is no excuse," he snapped.

She stepped closer and placed her hands on his sides, drawing him closer once more. Now that the air was cleared between the two of them, the only ones they needed to be angry at were the ones who attempted to hurt the both of them in the first place. She did not want to see him angry, even though he had every right to be.

He stilled beneath her touch. He was like a solid wall of muscle beneath her hands, and her mind couldn't help but wonder what he might look like without his tunic...

Shaking her head mentally before she could blush. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger on her skin before drawing his arms around her shoulders and pressing her body against his tightly. The warmth from her seeped into him and he closed his eyes, hardly believing he was holding her once again. The past few years had been long and agonizing without her.

Someday, they wouldn't have to be parted from the other. Someday, she would be his completely and he could keep her safe and close. Despite the fact he knew those days were a long way off, she was here now, in his arms, smelling like lavender. He buried his nose in her hair and drank her in while he could before he realized he was still in his travel clothes and still wore his weapons.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist to hold him close, and the thought of drawing back from her anytime soon was a bit agonizing. The blood on his front was long dried, so he knew it wouldn't get on her gown, but still, it was a bit morbid in a sense.

Her cheek rested on his chest and her eyes were closed. He smelled like the forest, a scent she always mentally linked back to him someway. She was a little confused when he drew back but he looked down at her.

"I still have spider blood on me," he said quietly, and she looked down at his tunic.

Ah, so it was spiders he had battled. Then her eyes widened. "I should have asked if you were okay!"

He smirked. "You have no reason to worry, it was just an unfortunate mishap after I beheaded the spider."

She breathed a small sigh of relief. At some point, being pressed up against a bloodied shirt might have made her squirm, but she was stronger now, and as long as it wasn't his blood, she didn't care. She just wanted him.

"I need to get cleaned up," he said, following her gaze to his front.

"I don't mind, really," she said softly, and she really didn't.

He smiled and he noticed how her eyes briefly flicked to his lips. He couldn't help himself. It was all the invite he needed. Travel worn or not, he drew a hand behind her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, then his lips were on hers.

The second their lips touched, a flame was lit inside the pits of his stomach, and it threatened to take hold of him. He'd never known desire like this before when he kissed her. She reacted to his kiss by opening her lips, allowing him entry, and her tongue grazed his bottom lip, inviting him to go further. He didn't hesitate and pulled her flush against him, allowing his other arm to slide down her back while his fingers continued to lose themselves in her hair.

She completely melted against him, and one of her hands roamed up his chest, sending pleasant shivers through his torso, and the other clung around his waist. It was a kiss full of need and desire, full of promises and passion. It set her nerves on edge like live wires. God, how she missed him.

He drew back when he sensed she needed air, and he put his forehead to hers, the both of them breathless.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asked.

She smiled and breathed a laugh, her cheeks flushed. "I have a good idea."

His mouth found hers again, this time their kiss was more gentle and soft. How long they stood there, they didn't know, but they had no interruptions and for that, they were both thankful. For a short time at least, they were simply happy to be with each other, and all thoughts of letters and thieves temporarily disappeared from their minds; topics to be worried and thought upon at a later time.

How would he ever be able to let her go now that he had her back?