In Valinor, the days slipped like threads of light through the leaves of the trees. Time had no grip, no urgency. There were no clocks or harshly marked seasons, only the gentle cadence of the golden sun rising and falling as if dancing in the sky.
The early years were like a soft song. Childhood in Valinor unfolds slowly, without the need for dates or seasons to hasten the passage of time. Each day was a dance of discovery: the colors of the lichens on the stones, the sounds insects made at dusk, the creaking of wood beneath bare feet.
Annarrgeal was calm from the beginning. He never rushed, but he was always on time. His eyes observed everything, not out of simple curiosity, but out of respect. When he touched the leaves or picked up a stone from the river, he did so as if asking permission first. His mother called him an "old soul." His father said he was simply wise, like the trees.
Galadriel, on the other hand, was pure energy. She would climb anything with a root. She would dive into the water without checking if it was cold. She wasn't afraid of heights or awkward questions. When she spoke, she spoke with conviction. And when she laughed, the sound could be heard all the way to the neighbors' house.
But the day she met Annarrgeal, something inside her seemed to pause.
He was sitting under a willow tree, a book between his legs and a strand of grass in his mouth. He didn't look up when she ran up, covered in mud up to her eyebrows.
"Why aren't you playing with the others?" she asked, frowning.
"I'm reading," he said, without taking his eyes off the pages.
"And that's fun?"
He nodded, and she looked at him as if he'd just spoken another language.
"What are you reading?"
"A tale of stars that fell from the sky."
Galadriel blinked.
"Did they really fall?"
Annarrgeal looked up for the first time. His eyes were so calm that the girl felt, for a moment, as if the world had stopped too.
"Perhaps not. But in the story, they learned to fly again."
She didn't know what to say. But she didn't leave.
From that day on, they began to meet more and more. In the orchards, in the gardens, among the roots of the trees. They didn't plan it. It just happened. Finrod sometimes watched them from afar, with a resigned smile. He had tried to teach his sister strategy games, but she preferred to build mazes with branches and name every stone she found.
"It's not normal for you to get along so well with someone so quiet," he would say to Galadriel.
"You don't talk that much either," she would reply. "But I still love you."
Finrod couldn't argue with that.
The parents of both children grew accustomed to it as well. Eärwen treated Annarrgeal sweetly, inviting him to drink starflower juice in the evenings and teaching him songs from the Teleri ships. Írien, for her part, laughed whenever Galadriel appeared covered in scrapes, and healed her with wise hands.
"He has a power that draws," Írien would say to her husband. "And our son does not resist."
"Perhaps that is what makes him so strong," Lenwë would reply. "The light does not always need to scream. Sometimes, it only needs to be near the right fire to shine brighter."
The years passed in the slow measure of immortals, and with them grew Annarrgeal and Galadriel, inseparable as the day and the moon. When he laughed, she laughed. When she ran, he ran too, though he pretended to let her win sometimes.
In a clearing surrounded by trees with shining leaves and tall grasses rustling in the wind, two little elves played, unaware of their surroundings beyond that instant. Annarrgeal, with hair as golden as the flames of a dawn, walked barefoot, his hands open like wings. At his side, a little girl with a clear laugh and a sparkle in her eyes like crystal-clear river water followed closely behind: Galadriel.
"You can't catch me!" Annarrgeal cried, laughing, running along the path covered with wildflowers.
Galadriel chased him, breathless, her pale dress fluttering around her as if it too were playing. When she finally caught up with him, they both fell among the flowers, laughing with that reasonless joy that only children know.
"I let you win this time," she said, her tone feigning importance.
"It's not true." "I ran faster because my feet already know this path," he replied, so seriously that Galadriel burst out laughing again.
Not far away, Lenwë watched from a stone bench, carving a wooden flute with slow movements. Every so often, her eyes lifted to make sure the children didn't stray too far. Nearby, Írien was delicately sewing a new tunic for her son. Her gaze, though attentive to her work, softened as she heard their laughter.
"They seem like small flames, burning in a forest that has not yet known the night," she murmured with a smile.
"And may they not know her for long," Lenwë replied, laying her flute aside and closing her eyes for a moment.
In another part of the glade, Galadriel climbed a tree with the instinctive agility of the Elves. Annarrgeal watched her from below, frowning.
"Be careful!" he called after her. "You cannot fly, even if you think you can."
"I will not fly!" she replied with a laugh. "I only want to see if I can see the sea from up there!"
"The sea is very far away..." he said, but he approached the trunk anyway and began to climb as well, unwilling to leave her alone. Now on a firm branch, they sat side by side. The wind stirred their hair and their feet dangled in the air. From there they could not see the sea, but they could see the golden fields, the roofs of the houses, and the gardens where they often played.
"Do you think the stars sing when no one is listening?" Galadriel asked suddenly.
Annarrgeal thought for a moment.
"I think they're always singing. It's we who sometimes don't hear well."
She looked at him sideways, silent, and then nodded. As if no further explanation was needed.
That evening, in Galadriel's parents' house, Eärwen was making sweets of nectar and honey, helped by her eldest son, Finrod, while Finarfin read an ancient poem in a low voice.
"Where are the little ones?" Eärwen asked, looking out the window.
"With Írien and Lenwë, in the clearing," Finrod replied. "It seems they are growing closer every day."
Finarfin smiled without looking up from his book.
"Friendship forged in innocence is stronger than steel. For it needs no promises, only shared moments," Finarfin replied.
That night, already in their beds, Annarrgeal and Galadriel slept soundly in their respective homes. Outside, the stars twinkled over Valinor, and somewhere in the forest, the soft chirping of crickets caressed the air.
Írien entered her son's room silently. She sat beside him and smoothed his hair with a caress. Her gaze rested on Annarrgeal's sleeping face and then she looked up to the window.
"May this world always protect him," she whispered.
And in Galadriel's house, Eärwen did the same. She touched her daughter's fingers with fearful gentleness, and without saying anything, she simply closed her eyes and smiled.
For in Valinor, where time flows slowly, the days of childhood are not counted. They are lived, one by one, as if they were eternal.