𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝘈 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥

In the following period, Lasgalen focused solely on training. She was at the field almost all day, training both alone and in groups. During the hours outside of practice, she would retreat to work on activities that didn't necessarily require an opponent. The young woman discovered she was very skilled with a bow and arrows, although face-to-face combat was what she preferred. It had always been that way, even when her father had taught her.

You must look your enemy in the eye when you kill, otherwise you'll forget the weight of taking a life

He had repeated to her. But she had discovered something else: that life could be taken in many ways, and that there was no right way to do it, only the one that came easiest to you. At night, she would collapse into her soft bed in an instant, the moment her head touched the pillow.

One afternoon, Galadriel was watching her as she sparred with an elf in the open field, observing the scene from a wooden portico set high above for a better view. She wore a green dress, not very long, with flowing sleeves. She was soon joined by Elrond, who stood by her side, also watching the elves fight.

"I don't want to question your judgment, Galadriel, but what if she was the wrong choice?" said the elf, looking at his friend with a concerned expression.

"Are you watching her?" she replied without turning her gaze, emphasizing the elven woman's combat skills. Her tone was flat, as though it was a reply that didn't even need to be said.

"And are you truly watching her?" he countered, searching for her eyes, and this time the blonde turned with irritation.

Elrond acknowledged Lasgalen's exceptional skills, but the emotion driving her worried him greatly, and it was obvious.

"I wasn't the one who chose this path for her. Only the Valar know the reason. I was asked to assess her combat abilities, and she can defend and annihilate perfectly. I see the anger with which she fights and the desire for revenge, and I have no idea if this path will lead her to death, but if she doesn't witness justice with her own eyes, I fear life itself will kill her, along with her remorse. We are no one to deny her the sight of their death, and no one to condemn her to her own" said the elven woman, looking into the eyes of her friend, who had turned his face toward the square. After a moment of silence, Elrond spoke again.

"I fear... you are right" the brown-haired elf whispered.

"Of course I'm right! And you're not being helpful at all!" said the blonde, turning fully toward him, even with her torso, in a swift and unexpected movement, resting an arm on the edge of the portico.

"If it's the only path she can take, you should try to help her in every way possible, instead of doubting and retreating into dark, rational thoughts"

Galadriel decided to reprimand him. She wasn't a fool; she had seen that rage, that look, that thirst for vengeance before. She wouldn't have behaved any differently from Lasgalen if she had been in the same situation. If she had had the real opportunity to destroy those who had killed her brother and his accomplices, she wouldn't have thought twice before setting off.
If she had had the chance to annihilate those who had killed her brother and his accomplices, she wouldn’t have hesitated for a single moment to act. She could understand her perfectly.
Therefore, Elrond's constant reminders of how dangerous it was, of how rage could turn into a double-edged sword, were of no help to her. They were of no help to anyone.

The brown-haired elf sighed, shifting his gaze from the blonde to the redhead.

"Do you know who her parents were?" he asked, trying to change the subject and realizing that, perhaps, his friend was right. Galadriel resumed her initial position.