𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝘈𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

Lasgalen pondered deeply that night, and unlike the previous ones, she was filled with beautiful sensations.
She felt comfort, serenity, and perhaps even moments of happiness.
She had the support she had long needed, she lived among her people, and was treated as an equal to everyone else. She had seen the city for the first time, with its colors, sounds, and scents. The light that had filled that day seemed to illuminate her soul, weakening the deep darkness that had lingered in her heart for centuries. She realized it was possible to have a sweet life again, a life full of affection, and perhaps even love, in all its forms. It wouldn't be the life she had before her abduction, nor the life she would have led if her parents had never been killed. But it could still be a good life. She could live for the pure pleasure of doing so, and serve her people whenever needed. She had to admit that the sensation from her first kill had not left her body or mind. She still had that nauseating sense of death and the taste of iron in her nostrils. However, she knew it wouldn't stop her from killing again if necessary.

She thought back to Gil-Galad, and how he and her father were connected. She had never imagined it, not even in her wildest dreams, and honestly, she had never thought of it during her years of captivity. She had forgotten that somewhere in Middle-earth, there was an elf who would consider her a relative if only he had found her.

She put on a green dress and donned a cloak of a similar color, fastened by the magnificent brooch of Elrond, and beneath the dress, she secretly wore Gil-Galad's pendant, with only the silver chain visible.

Before she could have breakfast, she ran into Galadriel on the porch where the bedrooms opened.

"Good morning, just stepped out?" the redhead asked with a smile.

That elf, when she thought about it, probably had less of an age difference with her father than with her. Galadriel had lived during the First Age and had witnessed its horrors. Lasgalen had probably not even glimpsed what Morgoth's evil must have been like, a powerful evil that devoured everything in its path. But the light had triumphed. The light always triumphs, her mother used to say.

During her years of captivity, she had stopped believing in it. She had stopped believing in anything. She lived only because her body kept moving and her heart kept beating. But in the end, the light had triumphed over her as well and had led her right into the arms of the elf her father had wanted to take care of her. How strong must the elves of the First Age have been to fight until the end with the will and hope of triumphing? Perhaps it was because they were absolutely certain of the power of the light that they kept moving forward.

"In fact, I was just coming to knock on your door, I want to show you a new structure" the blonde said with a smile, leading the curious redhead.
Would there be something new every day?
But after all, what did she know of the world, having lived until recently in her seemingly safe grove? They circled the palace until they reached a wide garden. The sun was already high, and the golden trees amplified the light considerably, creating a breathtaking view. That light seemed to pierce through your chest and soothe you, warm you, and make you feel safe. Soon, she saw how most of the trees were carved. Those towering wooden trunks were home to large statues carved to resemble warriors or ancient lords. It was a place of memory. Lasgalen was fascinated, and she noticed how Galadriel seemed perfectly at ease in that environment. They stopped in front of the statue of a young elf holding a sword.

"Hello brother" said the blonde, kneeling briefly before the tree.
Lasgalen watched the scene with both sadness and surprise. In all those years of life and part of the war, it was obvious that Galadriel had lost someone. She couldn't imagine what it was like to lose a brother; she had never had one. But she knew what it meant to lose someone deeply loved.