Early Morning Mystery

The faint light of pre-dawn filtered through the trees, casting long, muted shadows over the campsite. Sir Beringer stirred, as he always did at this hour, half-conscious and preparing to rise. A faint, almost tender caress brushed his brow, pulling him further from sleep.
A smile crept across his face—Vynemmara, of course. But as his eyes fluttered open, his smile faltered, confusion overtaking him. It wasn’t Vynemmara.
It was Aylassa.
She lay there, propped on one elbow, her expression soft and caring—sweet, even. Aylassa. Sweet. The dissonance was so jarring he blinked several times, sure he must still be dreaming. Her usual maniacal grin, her wild energy, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, both of her eyes gleamed an unfamiliar blue—clear, tranquil, and wholly unsettling.
Beringer shook his sleep-addled head and started to rise, his mouth opening to protest, but Aylassa’s voice cut through the haze.
“I think it’s sweet,” she said softly, her tone unusually calm, almost gentle. “You and Vynemmara Gylenda, I mean. Very chaste, and you’re good for each other. Grab hold of those moments, Sir Beringer. Life doesn’t offer many like them.”
She smiled again—soft, serene, completely unlike her—and then, with the swiftness of a startled fox, she rolled back and out of reach before Beringer could even gather his thoughts, let alone form a response.
He sat there for a long moment, staring into the shadows where she had disappeared. His mind churned, trying to process the odd encounter. The softness, the words, the strange gentleness—and her eyes. Both of them blue.
By the time breakfast rolled around, the surreal moment felt like a dream. Thranduil returned to camp, a brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder, the crisp morning air clinging to him. Aylassa crouched by the fire, her grin back to its usual mischievous, almost feral edge. Her mismatched eyes—one wild green, the other smoldering blue—glimmered with a familiar manic light.
She said nothing of the encounter, her demeanor as sharp and chaotic as ever, and no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. Sir Beringer, for once, found himself unusually quiet, unsure whether to chalk the strange dawn up to his imagination or something else entirely.