Rosiekay- your review literally made me snort in my drink! Thank you for it!

LDiana - words of wisdom right there.

ro781727- I think she's still figuring things out

Life has been crazy and I'm swamped with work before the holidays, which is keeping me super busy. Thanks for following along and for the wonderful messages and kind reviews. Love hearing from you all.

- S


- Chapter 62 -


The branches of the mellyrn were wide enough to walk across, so she made quick work of dashing through the canopy of trees toward the second outlook post.

Upon seeing her approach, the two guards were clearly in the middle of breakfast when they jumped to their feet and snatched up their weapons as if she'd already told them orcs were roaming under their branches.

"How many?" the ellon asked. She didn't even have to say anything for thin to know something was wrong. His long dark hair fell across his front and he looked down at her with worried eyes.

"Twenty from what I could see," Shyloh replied.

"Orcs? Goblins?" asked the elleth.

"Orcs, most definitely. No more than three quarters of a mile out," Shyloh said.

Without a word, the ellon twisted and – with the ability Shyloh envied – he quickly walked across a single rope bridge leading to another talan. It did not take long for word to spread and a messenger was quickly sent deeper into the forest to sound the alarm and warn Haldir and the guards on patrol. Shyloh watched the messenger go, then turned around and crouched down. She hoped they would make it in time.

"We will wait until they pass us, and then trap them," the dark haired elleth said.

Nodding, Shyloh silently agreed and together, they nocked their bows and waited patiently for the troop of orcs to approach. All around them, elves took up their positions. The orcs were following a slightly worn path through the trees, nothing more than bridle-path used by deer and other forest creatures. They marched in a cluster, not caring about what kind of path they themselves were leaving behind.

She could smell them when the wind shifted, and she wanted to gag. She could see the elleth next to her tense up once the smell reached her too, and the elleth wrinkled her nose in disgust. They shared a brief look of hatred and then didn't move a muscle.

She was ready for this, they'd done this countless times before, but there was an odd feeling of dread that swirled around the pits of her stomach. What it meant, she didn't know, but it made her uneasy and her lips formed a thin line. The building anticipation of the fight was almost unbearable. Only a few years ago she was the one cowering behind a tree while her brothers fended off a small group of orcs that threatened their lives. Now, she was a capable elf. She was prepared.

Right?

This was no time to second guess herself as she so often did in these situations.

Her body screamed at her as her muscles tensed up. Unlike the elves around her, she was not one to sit still. She bit the inside of her cheek just to keep her mind focused on the task at hand, which was not disclosing their location. When the last orc ran beneath their feet, only then did they shift around. At the signal, they open fire on the troop below.

Clearly they were not as taken by surprise like the elves hoped, because the orcs scattered in every direction once the first arrows rained down upon them. True to their mark, the arrows sank into their targets easily, but the first round wasn't enough. Shyloh let loose another arrow, piercing the orc in the crook of the neck. He dropped instantly but when arrows started shooting back, they were forced to retreat behind the cover of the trees. They held the advantage up in the canopy of trees, and the elves blended in better with their environment compared to the blackened bodies of the orcs below, but that didn't stop the orcs from fighting back.

Orc after orc dropped like flies. Shyloh prayed that this massacre would be over before Haldir's backup arrived. She took aim once more but an arrow zoomed by her partner, narrowly missing the elleth by mere inches. She slumped back just as Shyloh retaliated. What she should have done, was aim for the orc that spotted them in the tree, not the one making a break for it through the bushes.

Though her arrow aimed true, so did the enemy's.

It hit her with a sickening thud and she was knocked backward onto the planks of the talan with a force like she'd never experienced before. The air completely escaped from her chest as she gasped for a breath and landed on her left side. Her eyes locked on the shaft of the black arrow protruding from her left shoulder while fear and realization rippled through her as a crippling pain took over.

There were shouts in elvish that flooded her ears but it was quickly drowned out by the ringing that suddenly filled her head from its collision with the planks beneath her. She blinked in surprise and tried to move her right arm. Pain erupted through her entire chest cavity and she felt the stab of it press against her flesh as she rolled instinctively onto her backside.

It was a bad move. The barbs were shoved backward into her shoulder as her weight pressed down on the tip and she let out a strangled cry. Apparently the arrow went all the way through her shoulder. She clamped her jaw shut and tried to swallow another cry that was building in her throat.

It burned!

White hot pain poured across her chest and down her left arm as if someone took a hot branding iron and stuck in into her flesh instead of an arrow. She gasped again and then suddenly there were hands on her. The elleth that was crouched next to her was staring with wide eyes as round as saucers. Her bow was still held in her hands but no arrow was at the ready. She was quickly forced out of the way as someone took her place.

Shyloh coughed as black dots started lining her vision, and a warm wetness pooled beneath her. She could smell the blood, her blood, and from the way it was spreading she was obviously loosing a lot of it.

Someone said her name but the ringing in her ears was growing louder, making it hard to concentrate. Their blurred faces moved above her and hands grasped her limbs. She rolled her head to the side, attempting to find a new way to breath when hands clamped down on her temples, restraining her from moving. Her chest convulsed involuntarily and she spit up an irony tasting liquid.

Was I shot in the lung? she wondered.

The taste of blood on her tongue told her it was a good possibility and she coughed again without control, this time the liquid trailed down the side of her face toward her ear. She was rolled onto her right side and even though she struggled to move, the hands that held her tightly refused to let her move on her own free will.

Did someone just say they needed to snap the arrow?

Surely she was imagining things, but then it felt like someone was shoving the arrow through her and she gasped as a new wave of pain and nausea hit her. More blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth when she opened her lips, spilling onto the silver floor boards and staining them red. There was a nasty tug then someone shuffled closer to her front and a loud crack of splintering wood met her ears.

When they withdrew the arrow from her shoulder was when she was certain it would be the end of her. Black dots clouded her vision again and she blinked furiously to try and see better.

Someone told her to breath and she tried desperately to suck in air, but she only coughed up more blood instead. Voices swirled around her and she tried to understand what they were saying.

Keep your eyes open!

Breathe!

Where is that cursed healer?

I'm here! Let me through!

Clear some space.

Don't let her move, she keeps struggling.

There was tugging on her shoulder and then more hot, searing pain spread across her chest. She couldn't see because someone's arm was in the way but perhaps that was done on purpose. She coughed again and spilled more blood beneath her cheek and despite their attempts at keeping her conscious, her body had other plans. The heaviness of her eyelids wasn't something she could control. She'd been in this position before; one where she laid helplessly while her body crumbled and shut down; one where blood pooled beneath her head and she briefly remembered the dew on the grass that day of her accident. She should have died that day.

She was dying now.

She knew it.

Why wasn't he here? Why did he write that God awful letter? Why had he strung her along? Why did Elrond have to tell her about that fucking vision? She wanted her real father. She wanted her mother. She wanted Mack. She didn't want this.

Drifting off into oblivion was where she was heading, and with more voices shouting in her ear, the black dots grew in her line of vision and no matter how hard she struggled, it consumed her.


The first thing to register in Shyloh's mind was the fact that she wasn't dead. The throbbing ache that coated her entire left shoulder threatened to engulf her in blackness once more as she tried to blink and and regain consciousness. The second thing to register in Shyloh's mind was the fact that she was lying down, and the most amazing smell was on the air, surrounding her, bringing her warmth and peaceful feelings between the burning inferno that filled her chest. She recognized the smell, despite the fact that her mind was cloudy.

Muttering met her ears faintly and the shuffling of feet. Whatever form of consciousness this was, she didn't like it.

Sleep. That was all her body desired.

So she did.


Her eyes refused to open and her body felt like a heavy paperweight. She couldn't even move a finger. What the fuck happened? Where was she?

As if the numbness was lifting from her body, she felt a strange tingling sensation flow through her veins, as if her body had fallen into a numb state and it was waking up. The feeling mirrored a foot that might have been sat on for too long and had fallen asleep, and the blood flow had been cut off. It was like pins and needles, and it crept through her entire body.

The flowery smell was like heaven, and as she breathed it in it seemed to sooth the needle like sensation that clouded her entire being. It was uncomfortable for a while but as the pain lessened, her mind cleared slowly, drawing her back into the reality that was her world.

Her healing skills had been set aside for a long time now, but she knew the weed and it's abilities. Elves loved Athelas.

She turned her head and the smell only intensified, and it was like her nose was drawn to the flowery fragrance.

"She is waking up," a velvety voice hummed softly from her right side. "Welcome back, Princess."

Shyloh winced, but her eyes still wouldn't open.

"She will be alright now," a familiar voice said in reply. She felt a hand or something touch her wrist, then slide down and intertwine with her prickling fingers.

The room fell silent and all she could hear was the sound of her own gentle breathing. When her lids finally managed to cooperate, the golden white light of an early morning sunrise was what met her. Above her, golden leaves of the mellyrn trees swayed gently but she felt no breeze float across her skin.

Where was she?

A frown creased her forehead as she tried to piece together not only where she was, but what happened. Drawing in a deep breath, the flowery smell coated her lungs and she felt more at ease the longer she laid there. Her vision cleared slowly and her senses came back. A hand still held her own, and when she turned her head to the side, Arwen's smiling face greeted her. Her long brown hair rippled down the front of her emerald green gown, her forehead lacking any sort of circlet.

Her smile was tight and her eyes were filled with a heavy amount of concern.

"Welcome back," Arwen said softly, and she reached a hand up to Shyloh's head and brushed aside a strand of white hair, tucking it behind her pointed ear.

Shyloh blinked.

"How long?" she asked, and Arwen knew exactly what she was wondering.

"Four days," was the answer, and Shyloh grimaced. It felt like longer. "You lost a lot of blood, and the poison was quick to spread."

Nodding her head slowly, events of that day came back to her. She'd been shot by an orc arrow through the chest. She remembered now. She remembered the blood, the searing hot pain, the voices shouting that she couldn't understand.

"You are healing well, despite the injury you suffered. The healers in Lothlorien are very skilled, and were able to get to you right away."

Shyloh licked her lips but her throat was dry.

"Two others were injured as well," Arwen said, and that drew Shyloh's attention back. As if that was going to make her feel any better.

"Two?" she croaked, and Arwen nodded sadly.

"One did not make it, and the other was released last night." Arwen brushed the back of her fingers along Shyloh's cheek soothingly. "I am happy you are awake, dear sister. It did not look good for a while. Drink this," Arwen reached over and grabbed a mug that was steaming from off the side table. "Athelas tea."

With shaky fingers, Shyloh attempted to hold the mug after she struggled to sit up, but Arwen was one step ahead of her. She tucked pillows up beneath her torso and helped her grip the mug and drink. Her left shoulder burned and a tightness in her muscles made her visibly wince.

The drink was hot and almost burned her tongue but she didn't care. She was thirsty and the tea eased the pain in not only her head but internally as well. It was reviving and she felt much better after the mug was emptied. The tingling sensation in her limbs was subsiding even quicker now.

"You're going to be just fine in a few days," Arwen said softly.

"They got the jump on us, then," Shyloh said, leaning back against her pillows.

Nodding, Arwen drew the blanket up to cover her more. "Yes, I am afraid so."

"Who was killed?"

"Carvedir," Arwen said. Shyloh didn't know him very well, but she knew of him. He was obviously a skilled warrior to have made it as part of the border patrol, and though she didn't know him as well as some of the others, it was still a heavy blow. He was a member of the troop she belonged to, and no doubt the rest of the troop was feeling the sadness of his loss. "Miwon was shot in the leg, but his injury was minor compared to yours."

"I didn't even see it coming," Shyloh admitted shamefully, but Arwen shook her head.

"It is not always something you can control. Even the most skilled fighters can be slain by a single arrow. We are not invincible."

Arwen's reminder hit her hard. Of course she never considered herself invincible, and Shyloh of all people knew how quickly your life could be taken away. She'd faced death on more than one occasion. This was just another stroke of luck.

"You need rest and time to finish healing," Arwen said, once again brushing her fingers along Shyloh's cheek. "I will write Ernil nin Legolas for you."

Shyloh's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Please don't," she begged. "There's no need to."

A slight frown creased Arwen's perfect forehead. "No need?"

Elrond's vision wouldn't come true, Shyloh was certain of that despite the nagging feeling inside herself that told her something was off about the whole thing. Right now, she didn't feel like she had the strength to discuss his last letter. It still burned too much.

"Speak with me about it," Arwen pressed. "I have felt something was amiss for a while now."

Shyloh shook her head. She really didn't want to talk about it. Then again, maybe her sister was wise enough to give her the advice she was desperately missing, the advice she would have normally talked with her own mother about. Arwen certainly wasn't her mother, but maybe, just maybe, Shyloh didn't have to always feel so alone in this world if she just let someone in.

Maybe it was the Athelas, or maybe it was her own soul finally giving in, but she slowly told Arwen about the letter he wrote, ultimately severing the connection between them. She told her about how he stopped responding, and how she convinced herself it was because time moves differently for elves and that she was used to being in more direct contact with people in her old life and that she was simply impatient, but Arwen looked upset.

"I do not feel like that is something he would do," Arwen said, referring to the letter. "But if you do not wish for me to write him about your injury, then I will not."

"I would rather you didn't," Shyloh pleaded. "I'll be fine after all, no permanent damage." She sniffed, but Arwen only gave her a sympathetic look.


The healing ward of Lothlorien was a peaceful place to rest, Shyloh had to admit, but she was growing restless. Used to living on a set schedule, she quickly ran out of things to do, like sleep, eat, sleep some more, read a book (or three), listen to the healer drone on about how well her shoulder was looking, sleep, and oh yeah, sleep.

She had company throughout the entire week she was awake, most of them being Arwen or members of her patrol. Haldir even made an appearance but it was a quiet one and he didn't linger long, throwing her some excuse about having to get back to patrol. She rolled her eyes because she could easily see right through his facade. Was it possible for an elf who was probably thousands of years old, someone who had ridiculous skills with a bow and blade, someone that commanded armies and led patrols and trained his fellow soldiers, to act like a child?

Yup.

When she finally was released, it wasn't without a fight. Sognirion, the head of the healing houses, scowled when he found her attempting to pull on a slipper Arwen previously brought her that morning for when she was finally released. He begged her to return to her bed, but she argued that she could lay down in her own bed just as easily as she could in the healing houses. Reluctantly, and not without making a dozen promises not to push herself unnecessarily or do anything in his long list of no-no's, Shyloh happily stepped out of the healing houses and into the fading afternoon sunlight.

Freedom was bliss.

She did her best to avoid stopping and talking with anyone, and put her head down; attempting to look as invisible as she wished she could be.

It didn't work.

The entire city knew exactly what happened to her – of course – and every single elf seemed to stop and give her a warm 'welcome back' much to her displeasure. It took forever and a lot of forced patience before she finally closed the door of her private chambers and collapsed on the top of her bed, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted.

"I was wondering when you would make your escape," Arwen's head peeked through the now slightly opened door and her sister stepped inside, closing it behind her.

"It wasn't without difficulty, I promise you," Shyloh grumbled. She sat up on the bed and fixed her skirt.

Arwen's smile helped ease her troubled mind and they sat together on the bed. Shyloh looked down at her shoulder and examined the damage. Now that the bandage was removed, an ugly red mark was all that remained. The stiffness of her upper torso and left arm were heavy reminders of how lucky she got.

While she was in the healing houses, the city held a service for their fallen loved one without her. She'd listened to the soft singing of the Lothlorien elves the remainder of that day, shedding tears now and then. It wasn't hard for her to remember how lucky she had been, and how unlucky Carvedir was. His poor family.

The heartache she swallowed after his service was replaced by firm determination. She was going to be better, train harder, and learn as much as she could. If this was the life she was condemned to, she was going to work her ass off. Not that she hadn't already done that, but the sting of disappointment in herself at her lack of attention during the small fight made her insides bristle.

"The gears are spinning in your head once more," Arwen said softly, and Shyloh smiled to herself. It always made her happy when others used her favorite phrases; phrases that popped out of her mouth more regularly as the days passed, like certain swear words that would have made Mack laugh and her mother scowl, especially when Sognirion tested out the muscles in her left arm.

She didn't care who you were, that shit hurt!

"Tell me what is on your mind," Arwen suggested, drawing a pillow into her lap and hugging it against her. She ran her delicate fingers along the fringed edges, making the tassels dance.

"I'm just glad to be out of the healing houses and away from Sognirion," Shyloh said, but the frown on Arwen's forehead told her she didn't believe that. Sighing, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm just not sure what I'm supposed to be doing now. I'm not allowed back on patrol for at least four weeks. What do I do in that time?"

Arwen reached over and took her hands in her own, allowing the pillow to fall back to the bed softly. "You rest, and plan your next move."

"My next move?"

"Perhaps returning to border patrol is not what you are meant to do."

A frown tugged at the corners of Shyloh's mouth. "I'm supposed to be patrolling for the next few months. I do not plan to leave until summer."

"Which is why you will speak with the Lady Galadriel on the morrow," Arwen said, squeezing her fingers gently. "You planned on removing yourself from the troop when Haldir selected a new patrolman, did you not?"

She nodded. "Yes, but -"

"He has already selected a replacement for you."

Shyloh stilled. Why had she not thought of that? Of course, Haldir would have had to select someone to replace her and Carvedir, and perhaps even find someone to fill in for the other elf who had been shot whose name she couldn't recall even if two out of three were only supposed to be temporary.

"I feel like I am turning my back on them though," Shyloh admitted. "Like I'm skipping out on my duties."

"It was never your duty to serve on the border patrol to begin with, it was merely a temporary occupation until it was time for you to depart."

"So, what your saying is that you're trying to get rid of me sooner?"

Arwen's eyes grew wide but when she saw the mischievous smirk on Shyloh's face her eyes softened with a smile. "I would wish to keep you with me until it was time for me to return home, then we could do so together, but I believe Eru has other plans for you."

Shyloh sighed loudly. "I wish someone would tell me what these damn plans are. It's driving me crazy not knowing."

Arwen let a slow grin spread across her beautiful face. "I already know what one of those plans are."

It took Shyloh a moment to understand that her sister was talking about the vision Elrond saw, and she shook her head. She suddenly saw no future with the Prince. "That ship sailed, I think."

Arwen disagreed. "Consider this a minor hiccup. I believe it will work itself out in the end. I have a lot of faith in my father's visions, particularly this one. If it was meant to be, it will be."

Shyloh wasn't so sure, but she wasn't in the mood to argue with the Evanstar, so she dully nodded her head in agreement. The letter was tucked away in the back of her closet. None of it made sense to her, but maybe Arwen was right, maybe things would figure themselves out in the end. She had no idea what the future was supposed to bring, but dwelling on Elrond's vision wasn't something she could afford the luxury of right now. If Legolas wanted a future with her, he would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

She drew herself into her mind for only a brief moment, touching the thread that connected the two of them. Surely if Legolas had decided to choose another to be beside him, the bond between them would have been severed. Or, it would serve as a permanent reminder of a love that would never be.