Another day passed on horseback. In the evening, they decided to stop to let their steeds rest and give their own backs some relief. Everyone was silent, and no one seemed to dare speak first. Galadriel and Elrond had led the group during the last part of the afternoon, followed by Lasgalen, and finally Syrìa and Armond, who were carrying the body of the poor elf.

They tied the horses to the trees and lit a fire. The makeshift stretcher they had created to carry the elf's body was lifted and placed on a couple of rocks so that it wouldn't touch the ground. No one ate that evening, gathered around the campfire. Galadriel stood guard while Elrond was searching for some healing herbs to help treat Syrìa's arm, at least until they could reach the city.

At that moment, Syrìa and Lasgalen sat close by the fire, watching the flames flicker unevenly. Elrond and Galadriel had seen what those men had done to her, but the other two were likely only now realizing what she had endured, and they both looked at her with eyes filled with fear and compassion.

"I didn't think men were capable of such atrocities" Syrìa said softly, without taking her gaze off the flames. Lasgalen looked at her for a moment.

"Not all men are like that. Thankfully, most are not. My father once told me of meeting kind men, good-hearted souls who embrace the light. I can hardly believe they belong to the same race."

"Was it really as you said at the last meeting? Were they men of Sauron?" This time Syrìa looked at her, her face slightly fearful.

Lasgalen let out a long sigh, shaking her head slightly.

"I can't say for certain. None of them ever declared themselves as such. And yet, their way of acting and thinking is unmistakably recognizable. We know Sauron was not defeated, or at least those who are willing to see know it. He merely fled, and such evil does not disappear never to return. It will happen. Sooner or later, it will happen. Just that small pack of orcs who wiped out the camp where I was held captive should make one think." She paused briefly, while Syrìa turned her gaze back to the fire in front of her.

"For now, we can only speculate. But at least, they're all dead" she said, struggling to get the second sentence out. They were dead, yet the evil they had done persisted. In the lifeless body of the elf, in her scars.

Shortly after, Armond approached the two of them. Both looked at him until he knelt before Lasgalen. The red-haired elf was confused, but her expression only conveyed grief and the pain of knowing they had witnessed the horror that had existed for some elves.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for even thinking certain things. And I'm sure that when we return and I tell Numos what I've seen, he will sincerely apologize to you" he said, never taking his brown eyes off Lasgalen's green ones. Numos was likely the elf who had been expelled from the company by Gil Galad. His face was focused, his tone sincere, angry, and sad; not with her, but with what he had witnessed. Many elves probably didn't believe what Lasgalen had recounted, things considered too absurd, too surreal.

Lasgalen bowed her head in acknowledgment, accepting his apology.

"It would have been hard for anyone to believe that after all these years, such evil still exists in Middle-earth" she said, then lowered her gaze, her heart pounding heavily.

"I'm sorry you had to see it as well. I'm sorry we didn't arrive in time for her" she added, unable to look at the body of the young elf.

The two lowered their heads in turn.

"I suppose we should just be grateful that we eliminated this threat and that you are alive. You are proof that light, in one way or another, ultimately prevails" Syrìa said with a bitter smile, her almond-shaped eyes looking at her with sincere appreciation.

"I agree" added Armond, who spent the rest of the night watching over the body of the elf they had found too late.

Neither of them went too far into the details. They didn't speak of the chains, the raw flesh on her wrists and ankles, the lashes on her back, or even wonder what other wounds she bore beneath that heap of rags they had given her to wear. Lasgalen wasn't surprised and was grateful for it. She wouldn't have spoken about it with someone she barely knew.

Elrond arrived shortly after with a calm smile on his face, kneeling before Syrìa: he had found the herbs he needed and made a paste to apply to the wound.

"Once we're in the city, we'll properly take care of it. You just have to endure the pain a little longer" he said as he removed the bandage, revealing a cut that looked far from reassuring. The blade that had wounded her was probably dirty with who knows what, and it had started to become infected. Lasgalen remembered how men amused themselves by catching rats and gutting them for sheer fun, using the same swords they fought with. Afterward, they would feed them to the dogs.

Lasgalen stood up, moving a little away, finding a glimpse through the trees that revealed the waxing moon that night.

She was soon joined by Galadriel, who must have swapped shifts with Elrond. Both stood in silence for a while, gazing at the stars.

"You know, despite loving the sunlight more, as a child, I always wondered where the stars came from or what they were" the blonde began, without taking her eyes off the bright sky.

"I've always liked to think that they're the souls of mortals or elves who fell in battle, watching over this land. They're immortal too, in a way."

Lasgalen smiled slightly, continuing to gaze at the stars.

"That's a beautiful theory" Lasgalen added, lost in the intricate details of the night.

"We didn't arrive in time to save her, and it wounds my soul more than you can imagine. But I know she is happy that this calamity has finally ended. That there will no longer be stories like hers, or like yours. I can't explain it, but I feel it" Galadriel concluded, the starlight reflecting perfectly in both of their clear eyes. Lasgalen nodded, gently squeezing her friend's shoulder.

"I hope that's true" she replied simply.

_____

The next morning, they set off at dawn's first light. Everyone was eager to return home, to isolate themselves in their rooms and try to shake off the horrors they had witnessed. To lay the elf to rest among her kin so that the story could finally come to an end.

But not for Lasgalen. She wasn't certain her story would ever truly end. After all, a simple wave of her hand was enough to make her scars reappear, to show the reality of her disfigured body. It would be a chapter of her life that was indelible, but in a way, perhaps that was for the best. She would never forget, and she would never allow it to happen again. Now that they were returning and nearing the Grey Havens, they could better ration what food remained, and Lasgalen gave a large, juicy apple to her mare as they walked. The horse seemed to enjoy it, and Lasgalen stroked its mane with a gentle smile. These animals had helped her stay sane during her years of captivity.

They reached the Grey Havens soon after. Instead of using the city's main entrance, they took a secondary gate that led directly into the palace. Of course, they would have to report to Gil Galad.

As everyone dismounted, Galadriel addressed the group.

"I'll go make my report to the High King. You all go rest, and Syrìa, head to the infirmary."

"I'll come with you" Elrond said, approaching the blonde.

"No, focus on helping Syrìa, you're one of the best healers in the city" Galadriel whispered to him. Elrond nodded in agreement.

"The King will surely summon you afterward" she added before turning away.

Galadriel briefly explained to the guards what had happened, which had led to the transport of the unknown elf, and asked them to prepare her for the funeral mound.

Then she turned to Lasgalen with a smile.

"Go take a nice bath and rest. We'll see each other tonight" she said, placing her hands on Lasgalen's shoulders. The red-haired elf agreed and headed toward her quarters, looking down, not really seeing where she was going, as if her legs were moving on their own, already knowing the way.

Once in her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. She looked around, disoriented.
She was back in what had been her safe haven during her time in the Grey Havens.
She locked the door, and after taking a few hesitant steps forward, her head filled with countless thoughts, she did what Galadriel had told her, as if it were an order.

One always obeys the orders of a captain.

Her father had told her that many years before. It would have probably made the task easier. She took the bow off her back along with the quiver that now contained only two arrows; then she set down her sword and removed her boots, which had hidden daggers.
She took off the uniform that had become sticky, almost clinging to her skin. The clothes were stained with blood, mud, and who knows what else they had found in the forest. She couldn't help but think and rethink of all the places she had seen.
Although it had not been those who had kidnapped her, the places they moved to periodically were always the same.
She had seen again the tree with the bark scratched off, where they would tie up prisoners to whip them, and they would cling to the tree in search of strength. She had seen the holes, the identical carts, the instruments with which they had tortured her. Yet that was not the main thought tormenting her: she feared that before her, there had been many other prisoners. And she was the only one left alive. All had been bound by the same fate, yet they were no longer alive, while she was.
This thought weighed on her chest, terrifyingly heavy.
Guilt permeated her, and it seemed there could be no thought, walk, or exchange of words that could shake it off. She immersed herself completely in the warm water, only to surface shortly after. She began to wash, scrubbing her body with soap and her hands. She started to wash herself with increasing force: her arms, her legs, her back, her chest. She had begun to scratch herself without realizing it, and her once white, unblemished skin turned red because of it. A liberating cry broke out among sobs and groans of pain. She hadn't felt such a strong nostalgia for her parents in over a century. She rocked back and forth, hugging herself tightly. She gritted her teeth while rubbing her eyes and thought of her parents. What would she give to see them just once more? To hold her mother's hand again, to cling to her father's back, to hear their warm, comforting voices giving her advice on how to move forward.

What would Nana say? What would Ada say?

She began to think.
Her mother would probably have simply held her tightly until Lasgalen herself felt ready to be let go. They could have spent an Era like that; her mother would have done it.

Her father would probably have tried to comfort her with some wise words. That perhaps the worst was over, that those monstrous creatures called men no longer existed, and that she could start anew. A new life, a life that both her parents would have wanted. Full and fulfilling.

She got out of the tub after a while, imagining that the warm water enveloping her was her mother's embrace.

She took a long towel to dry herself, and while she dabbed her long, wet red hair, she saw her reflection in the room's mirror. Those ears were truly beautiful, yet something was wrong. Her perfect skin was unblemished, on her wrists, her back, her ankles. Despite having begged for them to disappear, the elf reflected back at her no longer seemed like herself. Everything felt like a lie, a false Lasgalen who hadn't suffered what she knew. She hardly recognized herself at all. Perhaps it was because her captors had convinced her that she was the worst version of herself. Perhaps it was because she hadn't felt like an elf since the day her ears had been severed. She was in a limbo where describing herself seemed impossible: neither an elf, nor human, nor a dwarf; she had become a nameless creature in Middle-earth and didn't know how to come to terms with it.

Slowly, she got dressed and lay on her bed until the sun had set and the stars were high in the sky. She got up, seeing the moonlight filtering through the window, which she opened. A cool breeze caressed her face, and resting both elbows on the windowsill, she gazed at the stars. Who knows what time it had become. She heard a knock at the door. With bare feet, she slowly headed toward it. It was probably Galadriel or Elrond looking for her. She unlocked the door and found her blonde friend standing there, smiling at her, initially not too calmly since the redhead hadn't shown up for dinner, but upon seeing her looking at least outwardly clean, well-dressed, and unharmed, she immediately relaxed.

"There you are, I was starting to worry."

"Forgive me, Galadriel, I lay down and lost track of time" the redhead said, placing a hand on her forehead and massaging it with her palm.

"Don't worry, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Think about resting, but tomorrow morning I'd like to see you at breakfast" she asked with a raised eyebrow, maintaining her sweet smile. Lasgalen smiled back. Galadriel was trying to encourage her to react and get her out of her room, which was more than sensible, as a true friend would.

"Tomorrow at seven, you'll find me already seated" the redhead replied, before saying goodbye and closing the door again, this time without locking it. She returned to her beloved stars and their contemplation. Just looking at them seemed to give her relief like water to the thirsty. She could believe in Galadriel's theory for that evening: two of those stars were her parents, and now they were looking at her. She smiled faintly; the thought comforted her.
________

As Galadriel had foreseen, the High King summoned Elrond to speak with him. Not in the council chamber, but in the same square where days earlier Lasgalen had been admiring the beauty of the trees and the sea of the Grey Havens, which overlooked the cliffs. When Elrond arrived, the King was already there, facing away, intent on observing the crescent moon.

"High King" said the brown-haired elf, and shortly after, Gil-Galad turned, bowing his head in a sign of greeting as soon as he saw him.

"I know that Galadriel has already reported to me, and I fully trust her abilities. However, I have doubts and questions that I believe you can help me clarify" said the elf with the golden laurel crown, taking a few steps closer.

"Certainly, my lord. What do you wish to know?" Elrond, in his heart, already knew what the King wanted to ask, but it would have been too brazen to say it to his face.

"About Lasgalen and what you think you saw on this journey" the King said seriously. Elrond remained silent for a few seconds before speaking, trying to find the right words to express what he had experienced and seen.

"What I saw, the creatures we killed, were not men, my lord. Their appearance deceived us, but I have never known a man with such inherent evil and wickedness within himself. They were equipped with instruments of torture of every kind; they had a ferocity unlike anything I have ever seen, and the hatred towards us was strong and overwhelming" he paused briefly, swallowing hard and looking away.

"They seemed more like orcs than humans, my lord. So if you are asking me whether I believe Galadriel's theory regarding their ancient alliance with Sauron, I cannot dismiss it. Not after what I have seen, not after witnessing Lasgalen return to those places of torture. It was not a place of punishment: they took joy in torturing. Such evil is innate in the nature of men. They can be greedy, arrogant, proud, and touchy, but this was something else, my King. And Lasgalen would tell you the same" Elrond concluded, looking back at Gil-Galad.

"It may not be a malice already marching toward us, but it is not extinguished, my lord, not in my opinion" the King paced back and forth in the square incessantly, as his mind processed a thousand thoughts.

"As for Lasgalen, she is an extremely strong elf. She is shaken at the moment, and I would find it absurd if she weren't, especially after the discovery of the unknown elf. I believe she just needs time and no pressure" Gil-Galad then stopped and looked at the brown-haired elf.

"She trusts you, just as she does with Galadriel; I have seen it in your eyes. Can you promise me that you will keep an eye on her?"
The High King wanted to do more; Elrond understood this, but at the same time, it would have been counterproductive. Elrond was already her friend; he already had her full trust and would gladly protect her, even though, after everything she had been through, he wondered if there was anything worse from which to protect her. Perhaps, only from herself.

The brown-haired elf smiled at the King. "I will, my lord, both Galadriel and I" he said, as the King gave a murmured agreement with a hint of a smile.

"You may go now; you must be very tired. Just try to rest, and thank you for your report."

Thus, Elrond took his leave of the King, wishing him a good night, and with aching feet, he headed toward his chamber, where he would dedicate himself to rest.