𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘴

Lasgalen tried to compose herself. She inhaled slowly, as if a single breath could calm the turbulent sea inside her. She had always been a sensitive person, which often meant that her emotions guided her actions more than reason. A virtue at times, because it made her sincere and transparent, but also a flaw, because it left her exposed and vulnerable.

Yet, no one had ever shaken her soul in that precise way, with that silent force that touched chords she didn't even know she had. The novelty frightened her. Because what is new is not always beautiful: sometimes it is simply unknown, and the unknown brings fear. She felt it mostly inside, where her heart and mind seemed to speak two different languages. Her heart, impetuous, pushed her toward a path; her mind, scarred by painful memories and deep wounds, searched for every excuse to tell her that what she desired was not right.

Perhaps she had responded too hastily. Perhaps he had truly meant what he said, when he claimed that the forest of Lindon was more beautiful because she was there. It almost seemed like a confession, and for a moment, she believed she glimpsed sincerity in those words. But a few minutes later, the same prince had called her "vulgar," and that word weighed more than anything else.

For Thranduil, it might have been just an offhand remark. But for her, it was not. That term carried a meaning from far away, from all that she had lived through.
For over a century, she had truly felt that way: dirty, unworthy, reduced to little more than bones and rags, abandoned to a fate that seemed sealed. She had stopped considering herself an elf, and felt ashamed to be called one, convinced she brought dishonor to her lineage.
Hunger and wounds had been constant companions, and more than once, she had thought they would be the ones to end her existence.

Hearing that word from him was like a blow to the chest. Because even if she didn't want to admit it, Thranduil's opinion mattered. More than she was ready to acknowledge, even to herself.

She would have liked to talk to someone about it, to untie the knot that tightened her throat, but the only person she could confide in was far away, somewhere in Middle-earth. And on top of that, they had parted on bad terms, with half-spoken words and an unresolved argument. It was not in their nature to quarrel, and perhaps that's exactly why the wound had remained so sharp.

The next day arrived quickly, as it always does when the night brings no peace, only thoughts. At first light, Lasgalen announced that she would stay in her chambers, citing the excuse of the Woodland Realm wine being too strong for her body. Something that would have inflated King Oropher's pride, but also gave her a day away from curious eyes and questions. A double victory.

She immersed herself in a long, endless hot bath. The steam rose in delicate spirals, enveloping her like a mist that isolated her from the world. The scented water slid over her skin with a warmth that, for a few moments, gave her the illusion of being protected.

"When I feel broken, I take a nice fragrant bath. Taking care of my body makes me feel better, pampered."

It was Idril's advice, overheard in some ordinary conversation between her and Silwen, which now seemed almost like a small gift.

She stayed in the water as long as it held its warmth, letting herself be cradled by that quiet. She lathered the soap slowly over her skin, and the soft sponge gave her a sensation of gentleness she hadn't felt in a long time. She washed her hair too, letting the water run over it for a while before massaging it with a rejuvenating oil, the same one Silwen said was the secret to her shiny locks.

Once dressed, she spent the rest of the time lying on her bed, staring out the little window that opened onto the forest behind the palace. From there, she could catch a glimpse of the sky, blue and clear, with sunlight filtering through the branches. She played with her hair between her fingers, while her mind wandered far away, sometimes among the highest clouds, other times into the deepest abysses of her thoughts.