Ithildin grew to love Mirkwood more than Lothlórien and she had not thought that possible. Lórien was a beautiful land, but even she had felt its magic fading. Mirkwood on the other hand, was of a quiet beauty and its people were merry for the most part. Thranduil was kind to her; kinder in fact, than he had been to most of the strangers that had wandered into his realm in the past years. The Mirkwood elves had good reason to be suspicious: Much of their beautiful home had been taken by the Dark Lord, who had set up fortresses and dungeons, and dirtied the clean air with his foul stench. In previous years, high screams of torture could be heard from down south and the elves shuddered and did not like to think what might be happening.
Ithildin was content to spend her days in the forests singing and dreaming, but that is not to say she did not enjoy the company of the other elves. During meals, they would talk and laugh, and she would tell them stories about Mindon Enedh and they in turn would tell her stories of Mirkwood. For the elves of Thranduil's realm were not descended from the High Elves of the West, and their ways of life were much simpler and easier to appreciate. Many of them lived in small huts and houses upon the edge of the forest and spent their days hunting. But they were as loyal as any High Elf, and possessed much the same grace and beauty. They loved their home as much as the Lórien elves and their love was not tinged with sadness.
It happened one day that Ithildin was alone in a rather remote, southern part of the woods. She had decided to stray from the path and explore the area. The afternoon was young and soft sunlight filtered through the leaves high above, making the silver in her hair shine. She had strung a small wreath of juniper berries upon her head and wore a simple lavender dress that the elves had given her. She was feeling quite content at that moment and was inspired to sing a song she had often sung:
The trees are singing and nothing mars
Their dance of joy with the stars
What could be lovelier than this
To hear of trees and see their bliss
The trees! The trees! How lovely they are
My home! My home! Oh how I journey far
Her clear voice echoed throughout the forest and birds stopped to listen. She had sung the song once, and was about to sing it again, when a strange feeling overcame her. She was being watched. Ithildin ceased her singing and turned around slowly. Standing, not more than a hundred feet from her, was an elf. She had never seen him before, but something told her he belonged to Thranduil's realm. His face was fair, fairer than any she had seen, save Celeborn and Galadriel. His hair was golden; soft and silky. He wore a grey cloak over a soft green tunic that was the color of the leaves upon the trees she stood beside. On his back were a long slender bow and a quiver of arrows. He regarded her with an expression of wonder and curiosity and his eyes were bright and blue.
Ithildin stared back, fascinated by this beautiful elf. A spell of a sort seemed to come over her, rooting her to the ground, disabling her from doing anything except breathe. After a moment, the elf began to walk towards her and she found that she could not move nor speak. The distance between them closed and he reached out his hand to touch her. At that moment, the spell broke, a thought flashed in her head not to let him near her, and she ran, quicker than the breeze away from the stranger that had stirred her heart.