As winter struggled to give way to spring, with chilly but sunny mornings, life at the Gray Havens began to flow with a different air. The news of the war's end spread like wind through the branches of ancient trees, reaching every corner of the Elven lands. It was met with sighs of relief, tears of joy, and long, almost incredulous embraces. Gil-Galad's speech traveled from kingdom to kingdom, crossing lands and seas, carrying with it a promise of peace to all the creatures of Middle-earth.

Lasgalen felt within herself a conflicting emotion, a feeling divided into two opposite and irreconcilable halves. On one hand, it was wonderful to see life blooming again, children running carefree through the streets, laughter echoing in the clear air. Food abounded on tables, the people thrived, and for the first time in a long time, there was a sense of sharing and hope in the air. There were no more barred homes, nor lost looks into the void, weighed down by the grim thoughts of war.

Yet, a subtle anguish continued to reside in her heart, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. She was so used to living in constant alert, sensing danger around every corner, that the calm unsettled her. It felt unnatural, almost illusory, as if at any moment everything could crumble again. For this reason, she understood better than anyone else Galadriel, who seemed not to have fully accepted the King's decision.

To escape that unease, the blonde spent her days in the training hall, letting the sound of weapons distract her thoughts, or she would venture into the woods, seeking solitude among the leaves. She distanced herself more and more from others, unable to share with them the weight of that oppressive feeling.

She didn't know if her opinion on darkness would ever change.

A journey was approaching. The High King, accompanied by a small retinue, would travel the road to the flourishing Woodland Realm to celebrate the arrival of spring, when the starlight illuminated the nights of Middle-earth with its eternal brilliance.

Lasgalen asked Gil-Galad to allow Galadriel to attend the event. He, initially hesitant for fear that her presence might stir discontent, finally agreed.

She was excited. Not just for the event itself, but also because she would travel with Elrond and Daenor. She had only seen drawings of the Woodland Realm, read ancient tales, imagined its colors and the scent of its wind. Now, finally, she would be able to explore it in person.

Elrond, however, had already been there. And Lasgalen, who considered him a living encyclopedia, didn't miss the opportunity to ask him about every possible detail.

"King Oropher founded the Realm after surviving the War of Wrath. A Sindar who, eager to find a new home for his people, decided to lead part of them to the mountain of Amon Lanc, away from the ruins and shadows that the war had left behind."

Lasgalen listened attentively, almost holding her breath, and he couldn't help but watch her. There was something magnetic about the way her eyes lit up with wonder, as if the words he spoke were pieces of a mosaic she was building in her mind.

Every time he told stories of past eras, of kings and realms, he secretly hoped to spark that spark of awe in her. To be the one guiding her through those distant worlds was a privilege he cherished.

"They built a great castle" he continued, with an involuntary smile, almost pleased that she hung on his every word. "And since its birth, Greenwood has always been inhabited by the Sindar and Silvan Elves."

Lasgalen tilted her head slightly, squinting as if she wanted to imagine that distant past. He followed the movement discreetly, wondering, not for the first time, what could lie behind that gaze.
The Silvan Elves, descendants of the Nandor, were famous for their extraordinary skill with the bow and their craftsmanship. They created works of incredible beauty, weaving wood and gems, bringing forth artifacts of exceptional charm. But more than anything, they were known for their unbreakable bond with the forest: they didn't just inhabit it, they were a part of it.

A light breeze tousled a strand of Lasgalen's hair. Elrond followed the movement with his eyes, involuntarily pausing on the fiery-red strands that seemed to burn in the sunlight. For a moment, words died on his lips. He quickly turned his eyes away, resuming his speech, trying to ignore the fast beat in his chest.

"In my opinion" he added with a barely noticeable smile, "it will remain one of the greatest and most powerful realms of the Eldar in Middle-earth."

Lasgalen looked at him, and he held her gaze just a bit longer than necessary. There was something both sweet and cruel in that invisible distance between them. She saw him as a companion, a brother-in-arms, but he... he was content with those moments. With her enchanted eyes, her lips curving into a distracted smile, the sound of her voice when she spoke with enthusiasm.

And perhaps, he thought with a silent sigh, this would have to be enough for him. He would never want to take a step too far, ruin their friendship, or worse, scare her off. That would have been unbearable. Instead, he could endure this: admiring the light she radiated more and more each day, savoring that brilliance.

"I love when you tell stories, Elrond. You have such a relaxing voice" she said, closing her eyes and crossing her arms behind her head, lying on one of the palace rooftops. She trusted him, now more than ever. With Elrond, she didn't feel the need to stay on guard or feel uneasy.

He smiled faintly, trying to ignore the warmth that her words stirred within him. He didn't want to ruin that balance, that safe space they seemed to have found together.

"I can't wait to get there" Lasgalen added enthusiastically, sitting up and meeting Elrond's gaze. The sunset behind her ignited the coppery highlights in her hair, and for a moment, Elrond felt lost.

"You'll meet the King and his son. Gil-Galad has good relations with him, despite them having taken different paths."

She nodded absentmindedly, already lost in thoughts about the upcoming journey. He, on the other hand, continued to watch her in secret, with a mix of sweetness and melancholy.

Lasgalen was a vision that escaped any attempt at description. Her beauty was unlike anything found in books or the stories told around the fire, those he was used to; it was unique, alive, and it seemed that each time you looked at her, you discovered something new, like a mystery that invited you to know her more and more.

Her fair skin seemed to reflect the light in a way no one had ever seen before. When the sun hit her, it seemed as if every movement of her figure was enveloped in a golden light, as if the whole world became more beautiful every time she smiled.

Her eyes... those green eyes, deep as a mysterious forest, captivated anyone who looked into them. Every time they met another's, it seemed like they overwhelmed them with a warm, enveloping current. But it was when they sparkled with happiness, or softened in a silent thought, that they had something magical. A reflection of honey that darkened, like the twilight caressing the earth. Yet, even in moments of silence, when her eyes became more distant, it seemed that you could see a sweet melancholy within them, a secret she kept, hidden but always present.

And then there was her hair. A river of copper and fire that flowed down her back gracefully. It seemed to change under every light: bright red like a sunset, golden like the first light of day, almost bronze like the sun-kissed earth. Every movement made those locks shine like a flame dancing in the air.

But it wasn't just her appearance that struck anyone who looked at her. It was her presence, the way she moved, her elegant yet natural bearing. Every gesture, every small tilt of her head, every movement of her hands seemed to be drawn with a grace that had no equal. It was as if she had been created to belong to the world, but at the same time, to be above it, like a figure that could never be captured, yet drew you in with an irresistible force.

And so, everyone found themselves looking at her, captivated, as if their hearts beat faster every time her eyes met theirs. Yet, no one knew, not even she, that someone watched her in silence, wishing to be more than just a shadow at her side. But for him, it was enough. It was enough to be there, in that moment, watching her shine like no one else ever could.

Lasgalen was the beauty that had the power to bend time, to make every breath sweeter, every day brighter. And, no matter who they were, whether watching her from afar or up close, no one desired anything more than to stay and look at her, trying to hold that light in their hearts, even though they knew it would never be theirs.

Finally, they set off on their journey, and despite Galadriel's initial reluctance, Lasgalen managed to convince her to go. The redhead would take her to explore the forest, even though the blonde probably already knew it by heart. Gil-Galad seemed very pleased to see Lasgalen so happy at the idea of visiting another elven realm. He thought that, upon their return, it would be time to take her to visit her own realm. Once they arrived in the late afternoon, they would have their first official meeting in the evening, followed by dinner and a long night of celebrations and dancing.

They dismounted from their horses, and it was only the entrance to the castle that enchanted Lasgalen, even though her gaze tended to stray from the seemingly endless forest behind it. They were warmly welcomed, and Daenor seemed to be particularly at ease among them.

"Where is Gil-Galad going?" the red-haired one asked Galadriel as she handed her horse to a Silvan elf with a smile.

"He is going to meet King Oropher. And to talk. About the great peace they have achieved" she said the last sentence in a purely sarcastic and annoyed tone.

"However, tonight they will pretend they haven't seen each other before then. They always do that" the blonde continued as both watched the High King disappear with a brown-haired elf.

Then, the four elves had to separate, going to their respective quarters with the other guests of Gil-Galad's retinue.

"See you later, princesses" said the blonde, putting an arm around Elrond's neck, who laughed, shaking his head. Galadriel grinned, unable to hide her laughter, as she headed with the redhead to their quarters.

Although their rooms were next to each other, Galadriel asked Lasgalen to get ready together. The redhead gladly agreed.

Galadriel was definitely more of a uniform type than a dress person. She could wear them with great grace, but those who knew her understood that it was all a façade. She had brought a green and gold dress for the occasion, which echoed the colors of the frothy leaves of Greenwood. Her hair was slightly styled with a golden circular hairpin. Galadriel sat in front of a mirror, while Lasgalen observed herself in front of another mirror on the opposite side of the room, long and narrow.

She would wear a blue dress with silver embroidery. She had left her hair loose and simple after attempting to style it and being unsatisfied with the results.

As she looked at herself, she fell into one of the phenomena that had characterized her early days at the Grey Havens. Her skin, once flawless, and her pointed ears, now seemed like a disguise of someone with such an ugly appearance that it had to be hidden. She hated herself for this, even then, but she couldn't erase the scars. She wondered if everyone would have looked at her in fear if they had only seen her in her true form. She pushed the thoughts away, turning her gaze from her reflection. She began folding the old clothes when, turning around, she felt the blonde's gaze weigh on her. She was looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

"You think too loudly" she said playfully, implying that she understood what was going through her friend's mind.

Lasgalen smiled, and the blonde approached, taking her hands.

"You're enchanting."

The time for dinner arrived, and Gil-Galad's retinue gathered in one of the palace halls. Daenor and Elrond were already there. The former wore a scarlet red outfit, the latter one in royal blue. The blonde pretended to be struck to the heart at the sight of the two.

"Will you be the fool even with the poor innocent wood elves?" Galadriel asked sarcastically.

"Not everyone has good taste, I don't blame you" he replied, winking at her. At the arrival of the High King, everyone headed toward the large garden that would host the celebration. The starry sky was already vivid and clearly visible. Many elves were already present, but with Gil-Galad's arrival, they all bowed, forming a path leading straight to the King of Greenwood and his son.

"I thank you again for the invitation, Oropher, it's always a pleasure to attend these celebrations" while Lasgalen let her gaze wander, she ended up focusing on the figure of the new King: a tall elf, like Gil-Galad, but with hair white as diamond threads. His proud and noble look, dressed in wide, soft, and striking garments.

"The pleasure is all mine, High King, you know it's always an honor to host you. You will remember my son, Thranduil."

"Of course" the High King bowed his head, as did the prince. Then the brown-haired one stepped aside to make room for his four protégés:

"With me are Daenor, Elrond, and Galadriel, whom you will remember, while she is Lasgalen" he said, pronouncing the words slowly, especially when he had to introduce the redhead.

At that moment, he caught the attention of the sovereign, who smiled at her, bowing his head, while Lasgalen curtsied.

"It's an honor, my lord" she said, inclining her head with practiced grace.
When a hand was offered to her, she froze.
Her breath caught in her throat, her body tensing instinctively. The simple gesture, a hand extended in courtesy, should not have unsettled her, yet it did. A familiar unease curled in her chest, the old fear whispering in the back of her mind.
She had long since learned to avoid unnecessary touch, to step back before fingers could graze her skin, to move as though it were effortless rather than calculated. Contact had always felt too raw, too exposing. Even the thought of it sent a shiver along her spine.
Her first instinct was to refuse, to withdraw her own hand before it could meet his. But she hesitated.
That was not the moment to shrink away. Not there, in front of so many eyes.

As she lifted her gaze, surprise flickered across her features. It was not Oropher who stood before her, but the prince.

She watched him in the soft glow of the lanterns, the light casting delicate patterns across his features. In that moment, he seemed almost otherworldly; his long, platinum-blonde hair cascading over his shoulders, each strand catching the faintest glimmers of light. His skin, pale and smooth, bore an ethereal quality.

He was adorned in a robe of the deepest forest green, embroidered with intricate golden patterns that shimmered with every slight movement. Small gems had been carefully sewn into the fabric, catching the candlelight and making it seem as though he carried the stars themselves upon his shoulders.

But it was his eyes that held her captive, clear and piercing, deep as the endless sky at dawn. They framed her within their quiet intensity, as if studying her, memorizing the moment. His dark eyebrows lent an air of gravity to his expression, yet there was something softer lingering in his gaze.

And then there were his lips; fine, sculpted, touched with the barest hint of color. A subtle smile played at the corners, unreadable yet inviting.

She barely had time to steady herself when he did something unexpected.

Still holding her hand, he lifted it with the utmost care, his movements deliberate yet effortlessly elegant. His fingers, cool yet firm, cradled hers as he slowly lowered his head. She barely had time to react before his lips brushed against the back of her hand.

Steeling herself, she forced her fingers to move, to bridge the small but daunting space between them. She expected the usual discomfort, the rush of cold panic that always followed. Yet, as her palm met his, she found herself surprised.
She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe as she let him help her rise.
She might have let her hand go slack in his grip, might have taken a step back to reclaim the space between them, but before she could, he did something unexpected.
With the same quiet patience, he lifted her hand, cradling it carefully as if he understood it might break. He moved deliberately, but not slowly enough to draw attention to her hesitation.

A warmth spread through her skin, foreign and unfamiliar. The contact was brief, almost weightless, yet it lingered, like a fleeting moment of reverence.
For the first time in a long while, she did not recoil from a touch.

Reality returned in an instant. She withdrew her hand, curling her fingers as if to preserve the warmth left behind. But even as she straightened, as she composed herself, the ghost of his lips remained upon her skin. She might have remained lost in that moment had it not been for Oropher's voice, rich and commanding, cutting through the quiet spell that had woven itself around them.

"It's truly a pleasure, Lasgalen" the King gave her a much wider smile before speaking again.

"Please, friends, let's sit down to dinner" declared the King aloud, and only then did she realize she was still holding Thranduil's warm hand, smooth and soft. She awkwardly withdrew it, making the prince smile even more.

Under the endless, star-strewn sky, a great tree stood at the center of the festive gathering. Its roots sank deep into the ancient earth, while its majestic branches reached upward, intertwined with shimmering lights, as if the very stars had drifted down to rest among its leaves. The silver glow of the stars blended with the warm light of the burning fires, their golden flames dancing, illuminating the faces of the elves gathered around the banquet.

The gleaming wooden table was covered with a variety of vividly colored delicacies: golden fruits, fragrant bread, cheeses exuding intoxicating aromas, and the most delectable sweets. Crystal and silver dishes reflected the flickering firelight, while goblets filled with sparkling drinks were raised in joyful toasts. Wine and laughter filled the air, thick with music, lively melodies interwoven with the rustling of leaves and the sound of laughter, played gracefully on lutes, flutes, and drums, like a sweet symphony born from the very heart of the forest.

The elves wore light tunics in vibrant colors: reds, blues, greens, yellows, and oranges shining under the firelight, creating a mosaic of hues that reflected the warmth and energy of the celebration, a warmth the Silvan elves reserved only for their own kin. Their movements, as light as the wind, intertwined in harmonious dances beneath the starry vault, as if the sky itself responded to every step.

The atmosphere was so warm and welcoming, even more so than the Grey Havens, and Lasgalen immediately fell in love with it. There was no distinction between guest and host; every smile, every word, every glance was an invitation to be part of this celebration of life. The music continued throughout the meal, slightly subdued to allow the elves to converse among themselves.
Gil-Galad and his retinue sat at the King's table along with his son and two other elves: the Captain of the Guard and his second-in-command, who engaged in a quiet conversation.
Galadriel studied the prince sitting across from her, deep in conversation with Daeron. The latter, of course, was perfectly at ease. Nothing seemed to disturb him, and he even appeared to be teasing the young prince, who, however, maintained an impressive composure, combined with great self-control and a charismatic, sarcastic manner that often silenced Daeron and amused Elrond, who occasionally joined the discussion.

"Lasgalen, you're doing that again" Galadriel whispered to her friend as she delicately lifted a piece of fruit to her lips, her voice barely audible over the murmur of conversation and the soft melodies of the musicians in the background.

"Doing what?" Lasgalen asked, feigning innocence as she reached for her goblet, though she already knew the answer.

"Staring at him." Galadriel's lips curled into a knowing smile as she cast a brief glance across the table. "Once might be incidental, but staring at him throughout the entire dinner? That might raise some suspicion." She arched a delicate brow, clearly amused.

Lasgalen felt warmth rise to her face, the fair skin of her cheeks betraying her. She looked down at her plate, suddenly finding the arrangement of fruit and bread far more interesting. "I'm not staring at anyone" she protested, her voice a touch too quick to be convincing. Galadriel chuckled softly, leaning closer as she nudged her friend playfully under the table.

"Of course not" she teased.

The young prince glanced at the red-haired elf several times throughout the evening, without her noticing. He did so while She was laughing at a joke or speaking passionately about a topic with another elf. Her smile had caught his attention, as had her light; slightly different from the aura that all the other visitors carried with them.

As dinner came to an end, the festivities began in earnest. Goblets of fine wine passed from hand to hand, the heady aroma of honeyed mead filling the cool night air. The melodies grew livelier, coaxing the elves into motion. The dancing began naturally, fluid and unstructured, a celebration of the moment rather than a rigid display of skill.

Galadriel laughed as Lasgalen took her hand and pulled her onto the wooden platform where others had already begun to move in rhythm with the music. The dances were not the formal, carefully rehearsed steps of court gatherings but something freer, something that felt alive. Here, among the flickering lanterns and under the vast canopy of stars, they danced not as nobles or warriors but simply as elves, unburdened by duty or expectation.

The ready head caught sight of Daenor. Of all those in Gil-Galad's retinue, he seemed to be the only one enjoying himself as much as Lasgalen was. More than once, their paths crossed in the whirling sea of movement, and for several dances, they remained together, laughing and spinning through the night.

The music was unlike anything played in the Grey Havens; where melodies were refined, solemn, and steeped in tradition. This music was something else entirely. It was bold, unrestrained, full of life. It wove through the gathering like a thread, binding them all together, even those who had never spoken before.

At that moment, Lasgalen felt true happiness; the kind that was carefree, beautiful in its purest form. No titles or reverence, no battles or bloodshed.
Only steps, laughter, and Thranduil's gaze, watching the young elf with a curiosity he had never felt before.