Upon returning home from the journey, Lasgalen realized that something within her had changed. Her home, once familiar and reassuring, now seemed somehow quieter, as if something was missing. She had never undertaken a journey for the sole purpose of visiting a place.
She remembered how her parents used to talk about it when she was younger, but they had never had the chance.

The Woodland Realm had fascinated and captivated her in every detail.
Every element, the trees, the atmosphere, the way the light filtered through the leaves, left a lasting impression.
Even though she was now back in her room, surrounded by familiar objects and the comfort of routine, she struggled to shake the feeling that there, in the heart of the forest, she had felt more alive than she had in a long time. Perhaps in decades.

The people were simple yet welcoming. They had a direct and sincere spirit. They celebrated with ease, were skilled warriors, and even in their most impulsive gestures, one could sense good intentions.
There was something in them that reminded her of her parents. For a moment, she wondered if her mother might have originated from that land. It seemed unlikely, considering how her parents had met, but she couldn't explain that strong, almost instinctive sense of affinity in any other way.

But beyond the charm of the place, there was another reason that pushed her to reflect on her journey.
She had studied in the past the different Elven lineages and the events of the First Age, as well as the history of Valinor, but she now felt the need to read again, to delve deeper.
She decided to go to the palace's great library in search of answers.
Her intent was clear: to carefully study the lineage of Oropher and the descent of Thranduil.

She walked to the library at a calm pace in the early morning, with sunlight just beginning to rise. After washing, she had taken her water-dampened tunic and made her way to the large hall filled with books.

It took her a while to find what she was looking for, but in the end she sat at one of the many wooden tables with four thick volumes. Thus began her research:

As she already recalled, she read that the Sindar, a branch of the Teleri lineage, had never reached Valinor to witness the light of the Trees.
They had settled in Beleriand, where they founded the kingdom of Doriath under the rule of Thingol.
His house belonged to the noblest of the Sindar, even related to the Maiar. Melian, Thingol's wife, was a Maia, and their union had produced Lúthien, the fairest among the Elves.
Reading those words again struck her deeply.
The Maiar were beings of extraordinary power and beauty, divine spirits who served the Valar.
That one of them had chosen to remain in Middle-earth for love defied all logic.
It sounded like the stuff of fairy tales, and yet it was historical truth.

Oropher, a direct descendant of Thingol, migrated with his people after the fall of Beleriand, along with his son, to what is now the Woodland Realm.
Thranduil was born at the end of the First Age, so he was nearly the same age as Elrond, although the latter was slightly older.
That made the Sindarin prince a young elf during the fall of the kingdom where he had been born.
Moreover, there were no notable mentions regarding his mother, only that she was a noble Sindarin elf.
Though not involved in the exile of the Noldor, those led by Fëanor out of Valinor and later banished by the Valar for defying their laws, the Sindar joined the war against Morgoth alongside the Noldor.

She read about the Oath of the Noldor, and her thoughts immediately turned to Galadriel: her brother had taken part in that oath, and perhaps only now she understood how important it was for Galadriel to be sure that everything they had done had been worth it.
Galadriel was among the rebels, had joined the host of Elves who had left Valinor without the Valar's consent.
She, who had been born in Valinor, born in the Years of the Trees, who had seen, heard, and lived more than anyone else, likely bore more rage toward Morgoth, and his shadow, Sauron, than anyone.
She was even older than Gil-galad.

She was probably one of the few still alive who had known that world in its entirety.

Returning to Thranduil, Lasgalen saw him and his father mentioned in several battles during the supposed downfall of Morgoth.

Even the books expressed doubt about Morgoth's actual defeat.
There were no records of Thranduil participating in the War of Wrath, which followed the fall of Beleriand. But in truth, he must have been very young.
Perhaps it was during that war that his mother had met her end.
There were not many other details, at least none that Lasgalen didn't already know or that weren't part of well-known Elven history.

With a slightly disappointed expression, she closed the last volume and then returned the books to their places.
As she headed for the exit, she found Elrond, and they greeted each other with a smile.

"Strange to find you here" she said sarcastically.

"Just a quick stop, what were you looking for?"

"Nothing much, just dusting off a bit of my rusty memory. Do you know where Galadriel is?"

"She should be in the training hall, as always" he said, shifting slightly with a somewhat worried look.

"Thanks" she said with a smile and a wink before leaving the library behind, her scent drifting to Elrond like it was carried by the wind.

Lasgalen headed briskly toward the training hall, while several pieces in her mind connected, forming a perfect picture that, although not initially sought, had become clear from some references in the books she had read. She passed the hall, but as she suspected, Galadriel was not there. Usually at that hour, she went just outside the palace, into the woods, much more isolated and quieter, to train alone. As if she needed it: she was the best warrior she had ever seen.

She found her exactly where she imagined she would be, as if every step had inevitably led her there. The blonde figure was unmistakable: elegant and powerful, immersed in a calm appearance while spinning her sword precisely against an old gnarled tree. The air around barely vibrated from the speed of the strikes, but the elf's face was still, focused. She had already sensed her arrival. Perhaps she had heard her with the elves' keen hearing, or maybe she just intuited it.

"Hey" said the redhead cautiously, almost testing her mood.

"Good morning, Lasgalen" Galadriel replied without turning around, her voice warm and courteous but distant, as she continued to practice as if the world around her did not exist.

Lasgalen descended from the slight rise where she had been watching, moving gracefully until she reached the clearing where the other was training. Their eyes met briefly before the sword cut through the air once again.

"I wanted to ask you a couple of things" she began. Galadriel did not answer immediately but with a fluid and deadly movement cut two branches as if they were made of simple moss, not living wood. The gesture was lethally beautiful and frightening.

"Go ahead" she finally replied, with the same calm tone, as if the conversation was background to her exercise.

Lasgalen stopped a few steps from her, hesitating. Then she found the courage.

"Is your husband really dead?"

It was like breaking the balance of a spell. At the sound of those words, Galadriel froze. The precision of her stopping was almost unnatural, and the blade of her sword slowly lowered as if it had become heavy. She slowly turned toward the redhead, her clear, piercing eyes.

"What kind of question is that, Lasgalen?" Her voice was low, measured, but every word carried an emotional charge that left no room for misunderstanding.

Lasgalen stepped forward, determined not to back down.
"It's because of that... because of the Oath of the Noldor, your brother... that you don't give up, right? That you can't let go?"

The tension between them became almost tangible, as if the very air had grown denser. A shadow fell over Galadriel's face, a mixture of ancient pain and restrained anger, something Lasgalen had never seen on her face before. For a moment, it seemed she might explode. But she didn't.

"Are you suggesting that I put the lives of dozens of elves at risk for... sentimentality?" she asked, with a sharp tone, filled with offense but also a desperate need to be understood.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I asked you a question. That's all. I'm no one to judge, Galadriel."

The sincerity in Lasgalen's voice was like a balm, and Galadriel sensed it. Something in her features relaxed, if only slightly.

"Lasgalen" she finally said, with a different, more intimate tone.

"I'm not asking you to understand what I feel. I'm asking you to believe me. Evil... has not been defeated. I've seen it. I've seen it in its cruelest face. I know how it acts. I know when it stays silent just to strike again. It already happened in Valinor, yet... everyone seems to have forgotten."

This was not the proud, detached Galadriel Lasgalen knew. Before her was an elf deeply troubled, perhaps even frightened. An elf who had lost too much and now feared losing even more.

Lasgalen took her hands in hers, looking straight into her eyes.

"You should be the wisest of us all" she murmured gently.

Then, more slowly,
"I believe you, Galadriel." Each syllable was carefully enunciated so the blonde could fully absorb them.

Galadriel said nothing. But in the silence that followed, her arms moved, and she pulled Lasgalen into a strong, sincere embrace. An embrace that spoke of gratitude, relief, and a loneliness that, for a moment, was broken.

"What do you want to do?" Lasgalen asked quietly.

"I don't know. Maybe part of what Gil-galad said was true... You can't defeat what you can't even see. And with a broken heart... I fear that any action now would be like fighting blind. Evil must strike first. Only then can I truly strike back."

The two then sat on the ground, letting the ever-present wind caress their hair as the sun filtered through the tall branches. The war in their hearts was not over yet. But at least in that moment, they did not feel alone.

"Celeborn is not dead."
She said it with a calm but firm voice, after a long silence heavy with thoughts. The words, spoken almost in a whisper, struck Lasgalen like a sudden cold breeze. She averted her gaze from an indistinct point on the horizon and turned it back to Galadriel, curious and at the same time worried about that statement.

"I can feel him" the blonde continued, fixing her eyes on a point in the void, as if trying to peer through the invisible folds of time and space.
"But I don't know where he is, and I don't know how to find him."

Without saying a word, Lasgalen squeezed her hands again. Her fingers were thin but strong, hands used to hardship, decisions, and the sword. She stared at the ground for a long moment, as if she could find there, among the blades of grass and damp earth, an answer or at least some relief.

She wondered how it must feel to have one's heart split by a distance that was not made of space alone, but of uncertainty. Neither dead, nor alive. Just vanished. Only silence. For elves, love was sacred, all-encompassing. Once they had given themselves to one another, there was no going back. Their bond united body and spirit in an indissoluble way. Even death did not entirely break that union: it left a void, yes, but a definitive void, accepted with respect and solemnity by the other. But Galadriel lived in a subtler, crueller prison: a limbo. A hope that did not die out, but slowly consumed her.

There were still many questions Lasgalen wanted to ask, but she held back. She felt that touching that pain any further would be like pressing on an open wound, with no remedy or cure.

"I know you know" Galadriel said after a moment, with a faint smile on her lips, as if she had read her thoughts.

"What?" asked Lasgalen, surprised.

"About my daughter."

A shiver ran down her spine. It was not the first time she wondered if Galadriel truly possessed some faculty beyond those common to elves. Because it was to her daughter she was thinking. It had been an almost accidental discovery, among old texts on elven lineages she had consulted out of mere curiosity.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to" she said then in a gentle voice, almost a whisper. She did not want to force her.

Galadriel just shook her head slightly, with a melancholy smile.

"That's not the problem. It's just that... I miss her."

Her eyes suddenly seemed clearer. More distant. They seemed to lose themselves in a memory, perhaps in a room, or a faraway garden, where a young elf ran to embrace her.

"Where is she? I've never seen her here" Lasgalen asked instinctively, letting herself be guided by genuine curiosity.

"She is in a city not far from here, hidden among the hills."
Galadriel's voice was quiet, but every word seemed heavy.
"I didn't want to keep her at the Grey Havens. I have... this feeling that they are not entirely safe for her, at least not now. And then... I know how much I could worry. Too much. I would risk suffocating her. And I don't want that. I know I'm overly protective, I admit it. And I don't want my fears to imprison her like a golden cage."

She paused, taking a breath. The wind gently lifted a corner of her cloak, and Lasgalen felt that subtle breeze on her skin, almost in tune with the moment.

"Her name is Celebrían. She has her father's eyes. And every time I look at her... it feels like I see him."
Lasgalen smiled, she couldn't help it.

"I'm sure she's as beautiful as her mother" she added sincerely.

Galadriel laughed softly, a rare and precious sound.
"She's just a little younger than you, you know?" she remarked with a knowing look, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, please, stop it!" Lasgalen huffed. "If you keep reminding me, I'll end up remembering how terrifyingly old you are."
They laughed together, as if lightness had finally found a crack to slip through that morning heavy with memories and fears.

For a moment, they said nothing, letting the clear, fragrant air fill the space between them.

"Celeborn is a Sindar, right? Cousin of Thingol?" Lasgalen asked, becoming serious again but with an interested tone.

"Yes..." Galadriel was about to answer simply, but then she stopped. Her lips parted in an expression of sudden surprise, then a smile appeared on her face, as if she had just discovered something.

"Now I understand this sudden interest..." she said mischievously. "You were looking for information about Thranduil!"

"No! Not about him!" Lasgalen stammered, caught off guard.
"Maybe... just about why you didn't like him..." she added uncertainly, averting her gaze.

"And don't say it's only because of that, because it really isn't!" she tried to justify herself, but her words only fueled the other elf's amusement.

Galadriel looked at her with a sweet but sharp gaze, holding back a laugh.

"It's not that I don't like him. It's that his father has disappointed me lately. He called our missions 'a waste of time'." Her tone darkened, tinged with disappointment.

"And Thranduil... well, he seems to think exactly the same."

"But he told me that once they received news about the trolls, they thoroughly searched their territories" Lasgalen tried to mediate.

Galadriel raised her chin slightly.
"Exactly. Their territories. As if what happens outside those borders doesn't concern them. As if evil could be contained by a line on a map."

Lasgalen nodded slowly, understanding. The elven world was made of many nuances, and wisdom did not always go hand in hand with foresight.

"I see" she murmured, meaning it truly in that moment.

Lasgalen was satisfied with the information she had gained. She was finally able to understand the origin of that coldness Galadriel showed whenever Thranduil was mentioned.
It was not simple disapproval, no, there was more. A previous divergence, made of accumulated silences and opinions never quite aligned. At least now, Lasgalen could put a name to that distance, and that was enough for her to accept it.

"Would you like to come visit Celebrían with me next time?"
Galadriel's voice slipped gently into her thoughts, carrying them away like a warm breeze.

Lasgalen looked up, surprised. Flattered. She had never expected such a proposal. Galadriel was not known for opening her heart easily, nor for sharing her family with others.

"It would be a great pleasure, Galadriel. Are you sure?"

"Of course I am" replied the Lady with a genuine smile, more open than usual. There was one less shadow in her eyes, as if speaking about her daughter had freed her, even just for a moment, from the invisible burden she had carried for centuries.

In time, Lasgalen would understand how much Celebrían was present in Galadriel's thoughts. It was not just any thought, but a deep, burning bond that she protected with stubborn discretion. Celebrían was her heart, hidden behind appearances, shielded from the eyes of strangers. She guarded her like one does something rare and fragile, something the world had no right to contaminate.

Almost everyone knew about her, it was true, but no one dared speak of her. She was a silent presence in the Lady's life, as important as she was invisible. Only a few privileged shared that private fragment of her world: Gil-Galad, the High King, for obvious reasons, and Elrond, for deep trust. Now also Lasgalen, although younger and tied to Galadriel for a much shorter time, had earned that rare honor. And it warmed her heart, dispelling the austere and distant image she had initially formed of the Lady, especially after the unflattering words about Thranduil.

As for him...
Months passed, but Lasgalen couldn't stop thinking about him.
It was as if his figure had imprinted itself on her thoughts with the delicacy of a dream but the persistence of a mark. She remembered every detail: the deep blue eyes, almost transparent at times, like ice under the moon; the silver hair, falling smooth as silk over those tall, always straight shoulders. His bearing, elegant and distant, but not without grace.

She recalled how his people loved him, and that smile that appeared rarely, but when it did, seemed to bring light itself among the trees.
And then... she remembered that moment. That look before they parted. That brief instant, perhaps imperceptible to others' eyes, but vivid for her. It was a gaze filled with something she couldn't define.
Regret? Perhaps.
Shame? Also.
But certainly emotion.

As much as Thranduil tried to maintain control, there were cracks in his self-discipline. Cracks in which Lasgalen had glimpsed a fragment of truth. Not words, but emotions barely contained. Maybe... he was more involved than he wanted to admit.

But she felt foolish, thinking about it still. Foolish to hope.
He was a prince, a ruler. Surely he had already forgotten her.
Yet, there was something too authentic in that look, too real to ignore. Even if only for a moment, Lasgalen knew, felt, she had seen something true.

While struggling with these thoughts, the day came to visit Celebrían.

They set off alone, she and Galadriel, each on her own horse, silent at first, then with light words, interrupted only by the rustling of the wind among the leaves. It was a short journey, little more than half a day if they didn't linger too much.

When they arrived at the city, the sun was high, and the houses of light stone gleamed under the light like pearl shells. They headed toward a white building, elegant in its simplicity. There were others along the same street, but that one seemed to stand out for harmony and care.

They dismounted, and as soon as Galadriel set foot on the ground, the elves of the area recognized her immediately.

"Lady Galadriel, what a pleasure to see you! Please, your daughter is upstairs" said an elf with a kind face and a brown apron, approaching to take the reins.

"Thank you, Eolor. I present Lady Lasgalen, she will stay with us during my visit. She is a friend of mine."

They greeted each other with the traditional hand-on-chest gesture, and Lasgalen gave him a cordial smile.

"Mother!"
A clear voice echoed inside the building, followed by quick footsteps descending a zigzag staircase.

At the sound of it, Galadriel's face lit up. Her eyes became liquid and warm, her arms instinctively opened, and within a few heartbeats, Celebrían threw herself into them, embracing her fully, almost childishly.

Lasgalen watched the scene discreetly, with a hint of emotion. For a moment, she thought of her own mother, and how much she missed her. If she were alive, would they have embraced like that? With the same passion? With the same love that seemed to envelop the two figures before her?

Celebrían was enchanting. Her very long, golden, wavy hair fell down her back like strands of light. Her skin was fair, slightly rosy, perfect, as were her slender hands. She was petite, like Lasgalen, and there was a natural grace in her, an elegance not learned but innate.

"Oh ammë, ùvanyeliel nàne."
"Oh mother, I missed you."

"Nai elyë yàvë, melda-nya."
"You too, my darling."

When they finally parted, Galadriel took Celebrían's face in her hands and gently kissed her forehead. Celebrían caressed her wrists with a tender, familiar gesture.

Then they turned toward Lasgalen.
It was then that their eyes met.

Celebrían was everything Lasgalen had imagined, and perhaps even more. Her eyes were like her mother's, almond-shaped, deep, but colored gray, and there was something different in her smile, a lighter glow. And in her posture, in the hue of her skin, it was clear she was not just the daughter of Galadriel.

"Celebrían, this is Lasgalen."

They bowed respectfully, maintaining their smiles. And in that instant, Lasgalen realized she was facing someone special, not only because she was Galadriel's daughter, but because she carried within her the reflection of two great lineages, united in perfect harmony.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lasgalen" Celebrían said with a shy but sincere smile, her eyes trying to capture every detail of the other elf.

"The pleasure is all mine, Celebrían."

Celebrían turned slightly toward her mother, an ironic flash crossing her gaze.

"My mother has spoken of you often. Of course, it wouldn't have been necessary if I had been directly at the Grey Havens."
The last part was said with a tone of veiled reproach, while her eyes settled on Galadriel with unmistakable expression. The elven lady, impassive as always, returned the gaze with equal firmness.

"Don't start with this again" Galadriel sighed, but her tone carried a note of resigned sweetness.

"Well, at least you introduced me to someone" Celebrían said more lightly, taking Lasgalen's arm and holding it affectionately. The latter continued to smile, a smile that grew spontaneously, as if that simple closeness had been enough to ignite a new light in her heart.

"Obviously it's never some young elf... what's the name of that charming half-elf I saw in a portrait at home? Elrond, right?" the blonde asked with a pretend distracted air, casting a glance at Galadriel. Lasgalen tried to hold back a laugh but failed. Her friend's face was a picture of exaggerated seriousness.

"Nothing's ever good enough for you, huh, miss?" Galadriel replied as she climbed the steps leading to the entrance. But her voice, though admonishing, was full of affection.

The inside of the house opened before them like a small timeless refuge. The air was fresh and perfumed with floral scents. Green plants with thin branches and glossy leaves decorated every corner, creating a harmonious contrast with the white-grayish walls and polished stone floors. The slender, light columns seemed sculpted by the wind.

"I'll prepare some tea. Please, sit down" Celebrían said, gesturing fluidly toward two red velvet sofas. She elegantly released Lasgalen's arm and headed toward a small shelf for preparing drinks.

Lasgalen followed her with her gaze, then relaxed onto the sofa. Meanwhile, she observed Celebrían: step by step, she was beginning to understand Galadriel's decision.

Celebrían's touch was light, almost intangible, like silk brushing water. Her gentle manners and calm speech revealed a sheltered life, far from the scars of war. It was obvious she had never had to face Morgoth's creatures, nor seen the horrible face of an orc or fought the blind and monstrous hunger of a spider in the dark undergrowth. She had cried, yes, and probably the pain for the loss of her father still burned inside her, but she had never been wounded by a broken world.

It was a beautiful thing. Lasgalen couldn't help but marvel that such pure souls still existed, untainted by blood or fear. Her very existence was a wonderful sight.

Of course, Galadriel hadn't left her unprepared. Celebrían had been trained since childhood, with dedication and rigor, by her mother and trusted elves. She knew how to handle a weapon, albeit not with the fury of one who had to use it to survive. After Celeborn's death, she had remained confined in that city, a golden cocoon where she could grow without breaking.

"You'll have eternity to explore Middle-earth. It's for your own good, and you know it" Galadriel repeated every time her daughter returned to the subject.

"I know, mother" she seemed to say with sincere understanding, though sometimes a flicker of unexplored desire sparked in her eyes.

They spent the day and night chatting, laughing, sharing stories, memories, and hopes. On the second day, they wandered through the town, observing shops, buying small things, savoring the pleasure of shared time. On the third day, early afternoon, it was time to leave.

Celebrían said nothing, but the way she looked at her mother spoke louder than words. Her eyes pleaded: take me with you. But they also expressed another, quieter desire: come back more often. Galadriel, as always, did not reply with words. She remained firm. But deep inside, the promise to return was already forming.

"It's been a great pleasure to meet you, Celebrían. You're a wonderful, welcoming, and radiant elf. Your mother has every reason to be proud of you" Lasgalen said, hugging her spontaneously.

"Oh, Lasgalen... the pleasure was mine, too. You are a beautiful and kind soul. The time spent with you has been enchanting. I truly hope to see you again soon" Celebrían replied. Her lively eyes met the redhead's, and at that moment, Lasgalen felt a sudden, unexpected wave of joy, a warmth that spread through her heart.

When the two left, the blonde stayed watching them disappear. She had a lump in her throat, as always when parting from her daughter.

"Your daughter is an absolute wonder, my friend. She's kind, wise, generous, loving. And she adores you. She looks at you as if she desires nothing more than to be like you" Lasgalen said affectionately.

Galadriel smiled slightly, her eyes half-closed, holding back an emotion.

"I hope she takes after her father, too... though, when it comes to stubbornness, I'd say the blood of both of us made quite a formula." They laughed. Then a calm silence fell over them like a cloak laid by the sun itself.

"Tell me... do you still think of him?" Galadriel suddenly asked, with disarming naturalness.

"Of course not" Lasgalen replied too quickly.

"Yet you clearly understood who I meant" her friend countered, smiling knowingly.

"Why would I think of him?"

"Exactly, why would you?" Galadriel said with feigned innocence, receiving an exasperated look in response.

"I know you, Lasgalen. You're far too transparent a soul. But I still wonder: him, of all people?"

"Are you done?"

"No."

Lasgalen rolled her eyes and promptly changed the subject.

"What about Elrond? Celebrían seems very impressed, even just after seeing his portrait. They have similar temperaments... they might get along. Maybe more than you think."

"I don't want too many visitors from outside. Hiding her here would lose its meaning. And besides... I don't want her to get hurt."

"Celebrían? Why would she?"

"Because I suspect Elrond is interested in someone else."

"What?? He told you that?"

"Of course not. Shy as he is, if he had confessed such a thing, I would have taken him straight to the infirmary" she said laughing.

"If you made them meet, you'd confirm their incompatibility. Celebrían is strong. Stronger than she seems."

"Who knows. We'll see."

The sun was setting as they returned home. At the stable were Daenor and Lindir, probably back from a visit to town.

"The two rays of sunshine are back!" exclaimed Daenor, arms wide open. But the two elves silenced him with a glance and handed him the horses' reins. The blond raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's your influence" Lasgalen said laughing.

"I wonder if they'll get along with the horses of the Woodland Realm" Lindir asked.

"Wasn't the King supposed to arrive on a giant stag?" Daenor added.

Galadriel and Lasgalen, already halfway up the stairs, stopped. The redhead was confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, right. Yesterday they announced it while you were away. The Sindar. Oropher and his retinue will visit in a few weeks for spring."

Lasgalen froze, stunned.

"How wonderful" Galadriel commented, giving her a light push on the shoulder.

Fantastic.

"Ah, we should bring the prince to visit, Lasgalen. Remember that" Daenor added before turning away, his knowing smile meeting Galadriel's.

"Sure... who would forget" she muttered under her breath.