A Chance Encounter

First Age: 127

The first frost had come to Doriath, the chill in the air was as crisp and sharp as ever. Bright, cool sunlight highlighted delicate webs on expertly carved bushes, the pearls of water dancing in the near winter morning.  The wan yellow light filtered through the hazy clouds, reflecting off the gently moving water. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze the flowing water, but it would be cold to the touch.

The ground crunched under Thranduil’s feel, the frost crusted grass bending slightly as his passing. He knew he should stick to the paths and walkways but there was something delightful about the noise. It reminded him that the seasons were to be savoured for their different merits and not to be yearned for after they had passed. He did miss the heat of the summer sun on his back, but there was also something rather lovely about wrapping up in a warm cloak and filling his lungs with the cold air of the early winter morning.

Although he was less than impressed with the task he had been ordered to do by his father, he had made no complaint. The basket hanging on his arm merely served as a reminder that he was not yet old enough to undertake defensive duties. He was One Hundred and Seven! He was an adult and as such, should be able to go with the archers and swordsmen on their rounds. Instead, here he was with a basket on his arm to gather fresh fall for the table. It was beneath him! No amount of arguing would change his father’s mind however, and so he had left. Previous experience had told him exactly how that would go.

Still, the air was fresh and the day young. There was some joy to be had in that at least, and later on he would be able to read some more of the books he’d stashed away and perhaps even some time would be spent with his mother.

Chores first, always that.

As he walked towards the low shrubs towards the woodland area, he thought about his father’s wisdom in that. Oropher was a kindly soul, one who cared for the people he knew. He was inspiring, and Thranduil hoped that when he was older, he would be the same. He also made sure that everyone did something to assist the others, no matter how small. His mother wove the finest cloth; he was wrapped in some of it now, not that he had really noticed how cold it was.

The berries and herbs he had been sent to fetch glistened with hoarfrost, the red looked sharper for it, though the green of the leaves appeared grey. Perfect. They worked and tasted so much better after a frost. The berries would make a delicious jam, and the herbs would be used for healing. They would leave his fingers smelling earthy, a scent he favoured.

Pushing loose strands of hair from his face, Thranduil began looking for the berries that were ripe and ready for harvesting. He had to resist eating them, they were sweet and gorging on them would make him feel unwell – he had learned that in previous years all too well. Before long, half the basket was full and he started on the herbs.

It was then that he realised that he was no longer by himself. Someone had approached without him realising. Thranduil sighed, “If this is your idea of humour Caseriel. It is not funny. It wasn’t funny yesterday, and it won’t be today either,” he said, not keeping the sourness from his tone entirely.

“What’s not funny?”

Thranduil looked up from the leaves he had been cutting, straight into the warm blue eyes of an elf he had never met before. “You’re not Caseriel!” he exclaimed.

“Would you rather I were?” she asked.

“No, I mean yes.” He shook his head, “I am not sure if there is a right answer to this.”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, auburn hair the colour of leaves flowed over her shoulder. Her skin was as clear and pale as the wintery morning. She was dressed as he was, for the cool weather and for a walk out. “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

Thranduil indicated the basket on his arm. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You’re not out with the other elves patrolling? Why is that?”

He felt his ears burning and his cheeks flushed, “I think I would prefer it if you were Caseriel,” he said. “I am out here gathering berries and herbs at my mother’s behest. She asked me to do this and so I am here!” He tossed his head, hair fluttering with the motion. “Who are you anyway? Why are you bothering me?”

“And I am out here simply to catch the morning air. I heard that there was great beauty to be seen in this part of the woodland, but here I only find you,” she shrugged again and a smile split her face. Thranduil thought that it was a most lovely smile, not that he was ever going to tell her that. The rest of her was quite unbecoming. Although she wasn’t exactly dishevelled, she wasn’t tidy either. She looked as though she had just returned from a romp through the mud and forgotten to dust herself off. It was decidedly unelflike.

“Well, perhaps you should go then, see if there is something better to look at through the trees,” he said. He bent back down and picked some more of the leaves that he required, trying to ignore her in the hope that she would go away.

“What else have you got in that basket?” she asked. He didn’t respond, instead showed her the contents. There were a couple of larger fruits to one side that he had pilfered for a snack later if he wanted one. She leaned over the bush for a closer look; thankfully she wasn’t able to reach in and take it herself. “You have a picnic, how quaint,” she said.

“Just in case I get hungry,” he said, sure she was taunting him for it.

“Of course,” she said. When she didn’t say anything else, he paused, unsure whether he should speak or not. He didn’t know what to say to her, now did he want to appear foolish by opening his mouth and saying something moronic. It felt odd to be silent however, so he coughed.

“I didn’t get your name,” he said.

“I didn’t give it. What’s yours?”

“Thranduil, son of-“

“Oropher, I know,” she said.

“Why did you ask then?” he said before thinking.

“I wanted to see if you would give it freely,” she said. He snorted and shoved the last of the leaves into the basket. Getting to his feet, he picked it up again.

“It is given,” he said.

She nodded then and looked in the direction she had been walking. “As lovely as this exchange hasn’t been, I really should continue on my way,” she said gesturing towards the wilder part of the forest.  It was safe, for the boundary of their lands was far to the south. Thranduil shrugged.

“Pleasant day to you then,” he said.

She smiled again, and Thranduil felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards without thought. She bade him a gesture of farewell with her hand and left him standing there in the middle of the path watching her go. What an unusual creature she was. She had reached the edge of the forest when he realised that she had not told him her name. He wasn’t about to chase after her for it, so he raised his voice instead. “I didn’t get your name!” he yellowed.

She turned back, “I never gave it to you! Let me have one of those shining apples?”

Without hesitation, he plucked one up and threw it at her head. She caught it nimbly before pulling it in and taking a huge bite from it. He waited a moment. “Well?” he asked.

All that came back was joyous laughter. “Perhaps next time!” she called back before walking into the forest. Thranduil was left puzzled at the exchange, but found that he wasn’t angered by it. Perhaps next time he was here, he would see the she-elf again and learn who she was.