Another World

Chapter 4

Dinner had progressed with awkward silence, with neither Charlotte nor the Elven King quite knowing what to say to each other. Charlotte sensed that Thranduil was sulking. He was not happy, that much was obvious, and Charlotte knew she would be, too, if she were in Thranduil's situation. The worst part was that Charlotte didn't know what to do to make things easier for him.

Clearing away the dishes, Charlotte placed them in the sink with the rest of the growing pile to presoak before she worked up inclination to tackle them. She was regretting the fact that she let them go unwashed for so long - another reminder at how inept she was as a functional adult. To Thranduil's credit, though, he didn't make any comment on the messy state of the kitchen, and had simply stood up and strode back to the living room.

Sighing, Charlotte hung her head as she leaned against the counter and waited for the sink to fill up, the soapy suds expanding and floating on the surface of the water like fluffy trails of dissolving clouds.

Charlotte knew they needed to talk and try and figure things out. Only problem was: how could they go about resolving this mess when neither had any clue as to how all of this happened?

Charlotte turned off the faucet and made her way to the living room. Thranduil was standing tall and resolute by the window, staring aimlessly out at the night shrouded countryside. Charlotte paused in the archway, momentarily enthralled as his hair glistened like a silvery waterfall that cascaded down his rigid back. His stance was sure and proud and he held himself in such a regal manner, that there left very little doubt as to his claims of being the Elven King of the Woodland Realm.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked softly, reluctant to disturb him. "Or maybe coffee?"

Thranduil turned gracefully to face her, his hair barely stirring with his movement, and raised a thick, dark brow. "What is coffee?"

"It's a warm beverage, like tea, but it's bitter and gross. Well, to me it is anyway. Though many people like it," Charlotte said, fully aware that she was babbling. She couldn't help it. Thranduil was intimidating. "Do elves drink tea?"

"Yes," Thranduil replied, turning his back to her in a dismissive manner. "We drink tea."

Charlotte didn't linger, and went to prepare the hot beverages. She made her tea the way she liked it, with two sugars and plenty of milk, and laid Thranduil's on a tray with a bowl of sugar, cream and milk.

When she returned, Charlotte was unsurprised to see Thranduil still in the position she had left him. He was like a statue, cold and unmoving and completely lost in his sombre thoughts.

"Tea's ready," she stated as she lay the tray down on the coffee table. Taking her own mug, Charlotte went to sit on the cream color sofa, sinking into the plush cushion. Thranduil let out a wisp of a sigh, almost as though he was just tolerating her presence and going through the motions to get through this whole ordeal.

Charlotte studied him from the rim of her mug as she blew on the hot liquid. Thranduil paused at the table and stared down at the contents in silent contemplation. He then knelt down and prepared his tea, adding one sugar and a dash of cream, before sitting down on the matching armchair.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked as he blew on his tea.

Charlotte, realising that she had, indeed, been staring, felt the traitorous blush creep onto her cheeks. "It's not every day an elf appears in the real world."

"Hmm. But my world is as real as yours. You and I are living proof of that," he pointed out.

"I suppose," Charlotte murmured, taking a sip from her mug. "But in my world, this world, elves are definitely not real. So to see a real elf is...fascinating."