𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝘕𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳

It was the least she could do for them. She couldn't argue, nor could she refuse, since the matter had been decided without her consent. After they had saved her life and given her a chance to be reborn, spending a few months as a guest in an elven realm, one that had utterly enchanted her, was a small price to pay.
And yet, the news left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Of all the people Gil-galad could have sent to a land on the far side of Middle-earth, to a people not known for their fondness of the Noldor, he had chosen her. Without asking, without even warning her.
And Elrond had known. He had known and said nothing.

Apparently, his loyalty to his King outweighed friendship, and that,
she admitted, was admirable in its own way.
Still, the thought unsettled her.
She felt like any soldier sent on a mission, as if she were no longer... herself.
Perhaps she was just letting her pride swell too much.
After all, she was merely one elf among many, noble only because the High King, long ago, had chosen to bestow a gift upon an old friend.
She was no princess, no queen, no sacred being.
So why should she think herself of such worth?

She returned to her chamber, shaken and annoyed, to prepare a small satchel that could hold a few clothes and personal belongings.
Passing before her dresser with its mirror, she caught sight of her reflection. Something told her that King Oropher was not particularly fond of her, and now she was to live in his realm for two months.
Worse still, she would see Thranduil almost every day. She had gone back to addressing him formally again, trying to rebuild some distance after recent events.
But in her mind, he remained Thranduil, the elf with whom she had spent one of the most beautiful days of her life, exploring a wild, untouched forest filled with wonders and with a people kind and generous.
The Silvan elves were wary of strangers, and after visiting their forest, Lasgalen could only agree with them: if she had such a place to protect, she too would have hidden it from all possible threats.
She wondered if Thranduil had heard about her departure.
If he had, what had he thought?

The night before leaving, Lasgalen walked to the cliffs near the forest, where the moon cast its pale light upon the dark blue sea. It was almost as dark as the sky.
Once she left for the Woodland Realm, she wouldn't see it again for some time.
She sat right at the edge, breathing in the air heavy with salt, while the sound of distant waves broke against the rocks below.
Footsteps, intentionally heavy, made her realize someone was approaching.
Turning, she saw the figure of the prince. She looked back toward the sea, the wind gently brushing her hair as if it were a caress.

"Good evening, my prince."

"Good evening" he said, letting his eyes drift between the sea, the edge, and her.

"You're standing rather close to the edge, aren't you?" he asked.
Lasgalen couldn't help but laugh softly.
She rose gracefully, the tips of her feet still hovering over the void.

"I know this cliff well" she said standing up, walking along the edge itself, right on the brink of the precipice.
He reached her in a few strides and pulled her back toward solid ground, his arm firm around her waist.
Their faces met, close enough for her to see the crease of concern on his brow.

"You're not worried, are you?" she said.

"We are immortal, not indestructible."

"I said I know the cliff well."

"Accidents happen anyway. All it takes is a moment's distraction."

Yes, he was worried.

Lasgalen looked straight ahead, at the blue fabric of his robe rising and falling with his breath.

"In any case, a fall from here wouldn't be fatal" she said lightly, as though such a fall carried no real danger.

Through all this, Thranduil hadn't released his hold on her.