Author's Note:

Disclaimer: All rights belong to Tolkien. The plotlines are mine.

Enjoy!

Doriath,

First Age.

Sunshine streamed down, breaking between the branches of the forest. The leaves were light green in shade and the trees were light brown. Moss grew on the ground, light and springy under his feet. He took in the fresh breath of earth in the mountain air and searched for his quarry.

"I know you are out there!" he called. "That red dress cannot keep you hidden!"

He heard laugher surround him, teasing him.

"Come on, Oropher!"

He looked up and sure enough he saw an elleth in a crimson dress, shifting from one tree to another with a practised ease. Her fair hair shone in the sun, streaming behind her, fingers grasping branches expertly as she balanced her weight and moved to another branch.

"You are not going to catch me if you are going to just stand there!"

Oropher galvanized into action. Already she was far away but he was faster on the ground than on the trees, as much as he was loath to admit it. He picked up the pace, but she was faster indeed. They went on, her laughter and jests continuously taunting him. Finally he saw an opportunity. She jumped on to a low branch, close within hand reach if he jumped up. He raced forward, straining until he reached her.

Jumping up, he grabbed her foot, causing her to shriek in surprise. He tugged but at the same time reached out, not wanting her to hurt herself. She stumbled into his arms. Unprepared of the weight, he stumbled backwards. He hit the ground on his back with a grunt.

She laughed, breathless from the race before rolling away and sitting up.

"Well, that was a bit slow." She said, picking the fallen leaves from her hair. He laughed as well, getting up. His green tunic was dirty, but he wiped it carelessly.

"You shouldn't have gone on the low branch. I caught you."

"Ah, but maybe I wanted to be caught."

"Did you?" He asked, wanting to hear an answer.

She stood up and he did so as well. Slim fingers toyed with the leaves in her hand, the other hand reaching to comb through her hair for the last of the leaves. He was well past his majority and she was younger than him. He wished to wed… or more importantly wed her but looking into her laughing eyes and her free stance, he restrained himself from voicing his wish.

Soon, he promised himself.

She laughed again and this time she threw the leaves at his face, causing him to blink. In a flash, she made her way up a tree, the red split skirt parting with the white loose trousers showing underneath.

"Come on! Another game before we go back! Or are you too old to chase around in the forest?"

Oropher never liked to be challenged. Immediately he raced after her.

oOo

Greenwood the Great,

Second Age.

"Father," Thranduil asked softly, placing his papers aside. They could hear the steady beating of the rain against the wooden shutters closing the window. The study was lit with many candles, most of the light as well as the warmth coming from the fireplace they were sitting closed to. Both he and Oropher was busy at work, scribbling away as they took care of papers that needed their attention.

"Yes, my son?" Oropher turned to look at Thranduil. His son had aged, he noticed. The grey eyes were the same as his own, the mischief and the playfulness were still there, but tempered by the horrors he had witnessed in the Sacking of Doriath. Thranduil inherited much from him when it came to looks, his height, prowess, build, but there were times when he saw glimpses of his wife in him, especially when he cocked his head to a side and sat back in his chair. His laugh was bright and merry, much like his wife's was.

Was.

Oropher resumed writing.

"Do you remember Doriath?"

The sounds of scribbling halted, quill held loosely in his hand few inches from his paper. He looked up and saw the pain and the longing in Thranduil's eyes. He had lost many childhood friends in the Sacking, the same way Oropher had lost many comrades and brothers in arms. And they had both, of course, lost the same family member.

He looked at his son and once again remembered his dear wife. He had proposed to her soon after one of their games in the forest. He remembered being lost of words, reduced to stuttering and becoming more and more flustered. Distraught, she had left and he pursued, until, trembling, he knelt on one knee and asked her father the permission to wed his daughter. He still remember his father by marriage telling him no, his heart breaking at the words and missing the well-meaning and jesting twinkle in his eyes until he was admonished by both his irate wife and daughter.

Thranduil watched his father turn his face towards the fire. His grey eyes closed, face caught in the fiery glow coming from the lit fireplace. Since it was night and they were in a private study, his father dressed in a simple light blue tunic and black trousers, the only luxury was the embroidery done over a neckline that was so wide it exposed his clavicles. Oropher smiled, eyes still closed. Thranduil knew that smile; one so beautiful caught in glare of the fire and yet so sad.

"Simply the memories of my youth, my son."

Author's Note:

I intend to write youth and childhood of many characters, including canonic characters who are briefly mentioned in the books.

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