𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝘚𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥

Lasgalen, Lasgalen, Lasgalen

The name echoed in her head, steady and relentless. Two hundred years were considered a day in the life of an elf, but lived in slavery, it could be an entirely different experience. And so it had been for the elf: she had taken on the guise of Yesenia in an attempt to preserve the image of Lasgalen. A young elf, innocent, kind, and gentle. She was still there, somewhere beneath the ruins of Yesenia. Yet the elf still couldn't find her. She was trapped in a limbo without identity, where she was no longer Yesenia, but not fully Lasgalen either. She likely never would be again, but in time, she would return to a more grown-up version of the elf raised by her parents. She was certain of that. But when you are in a hurry, time seems to multiply.

In the little over two months spent at the Palace of the Grey Havens, Lasgalen had formed bonds. She had discovered the kindness and goodness of the elves, through small gestures, or through those left undone out of respect. Physical contact was still a great wall to overcome, but Galadriel and Elrond seemed to understand her perfectly, and they were the ones she had spoken to the most in those weeks. Occasionally, her enthusiastic personality would emerge. Then she would pull it back, as if afraid to use it. It might not be welcome, it might awaken sad memories of the past, and it made her feel insecure at times; yet, that had always been her nature before her capture.

After speaking with the King, she briskly made her way to the library, where she hoped to find Elrond. He had been the first she had seen upon waking, the first elf she had touched in centuries. It might have seemed silly, but she felt deeply connected to him because of this. As she had predicted, Elrond was sitting in the library with his head bowed over a large book. That elf seemed insatiable for knowledge: everything intrigued him, and he wanted to understand everything. He was also an extremely capable healer, and she later discovered that he had been one of those who healed her from the gravest and deepest wounds. In some way, the fact that he had seen all the horror she had endured on her body made her feel as though he could know her and understand her a bit more than the others.

He knew when to stop asking questions and hold back that desire to know and understand that was part of his nature. To her, that was a great show of strength and respect for her, something that was one of the most important things to her. His hair fell slightly over his face but shifted back into place when he raised his head to see who was standing in the doorway, dimming the light a little.

The two smiled warmly at each other before Lasgalen spoke.

"I met the High King" she said, clasping her hands in front of her, before sitting down across from the elf, resting her arms and the edges of her white dress on the long wooden table.

"Something tells me you have some news for me" he said, moving the book aside without closing it, causing a light dust to rise, shimmering as it met the sunlight.

"Yes, more than one" she added with a raised eyebrow, averting her gaze for a moment. Of course, no one knew her real name, except for the King's very recent discovery.

Let's start with the easier thing

she said to herself. The elf made a playful expression to encourage her to speak, crossing his hands and placing them on the table, leaning slightly toward the young elf.

"The King has agreed to let me be part of the company that will hunt the men, provided Galadriel deems me capable of facing battle." Elrond's usual calm expression darkened. His eyes had dimmed slightly, and the corners of his mouth had lowered. Lasgalen rolled her eyes for a moment, expecting such a reaction.

"Don't start with that look. My father taught me to fight long ago, I just need to brush up on a few things."

"After two centuries of slavery?" he let slip, driven by concern for her life. Her expression also grew more serious, losing some of the light it had gained from the news.