Galadriel knew that her eldest brother had been reborn.  She knew that she had been forgiven by the Valar, and unless things had changed very much in the past two Ages, she knew that her parents would trust their judgment well enough to believe that she deserved it.

Galadriel did not, in fact, deserve this rest, but in Middle-earth, she had begun to fade with Nenya.  She needed Valinor, more than she had ever needed to leave it.

She could also reason many things that she did not know.  So many had sailed in the past ages that she would not need to explain the events of the Second and Third Ages first-hand (although many, no doubt, would want her opinion).  Tírion would be more familiar with her than she would be familiar with Tírion.  Then, there was the matter of Mandos—Angrod could well have come back, and Orodreth’s only sins were stupidity and cowardice, both of which were (if her perception of them were not over-colored by her youth, then) easily cured.  She did not know if she would see Aegnor, but if he tarried, he tarried of his own will.

The unexpected, she could not expect, so it needed neither time nor thought from her.

No, there was one question that she could not have answered until she saw it with her own eyes.

And so, Noldo that she was, Galadriel turned from the known and the reasoned, to face the unknown and tame it to knowledge.  Passing other faces over, she looked only for a flash of silver hair and bright blue eyes—her beloved daughter, made whole.

She left the ship last, so that she could watch Celebrían’s reunion with her husband, both happy to tears.  Then, stepping from the ramp onto soil that felt like home, she let familiar hands and smiles guide her far away.