The Eastern Woman

In the dark forest

"Great news."  she answered.  "But I won't tell you anything, old man. The story of my life has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe you're right ... but I'm old, you said well. And we old people feel lonely and bored from time to time. I enjoy indulging in other people's business. So," he began to ask.  "... you said you come from the Blue Mountains, in the North. I guess you were born there?"

Goneril did not answer.

"No, I don't think so. Northern mortals don't have your features. You look like the people of the East. What was your father's name?"  Gandalf continued.  "... if whoever raised you was really your father."

The girl turned around to look at him.

"I am right, eh?"  he went on.

"I was adopted, it is true. The couple who raised me was surprised and surrounded by four men in armor as they were looking for mushrooms in a wood, near the village where they lived. One of the soldiers placed a bundle in the arms of my future mother and said: she's yours now. I was in that bundle of rags."  told Goneril.  "Satisfied?" 
Her eyes burned with anger.  "Do you like tearful stories? Here I am. I assure you that there is no more painful story than mine."

"It's really sad. Your real parents have repudiated you. You must have felt desperate when you realized it."  Gandalf answered.

"I heard about it at the age of four. My dear mother kept repeating it to me: you are a renegade, you are not mine, I didn't even want you ... I didn't do anything else but hear that woman say things like that since I can remember. So it wasn't painful at all. It was the life I lived, the only one I've ever known."  Goneril retorted.

"But they kept you. They could have abandoned you." Gandalf reasoned.

"That man, who should have been my new father, decided to raise me so he could use me as a servant when I grew up. On my seventh birthday I was forced to wash dirty clothes from morning to night."  She said.

Gandalf was impressed by the woman's absolutely calm tone.  Those bad memories produced no effect in her.
"I'm really sorry," he told her.

"Sure. You're sorry." Goneril retorted with irony.

"Your father ... how did he treat you? Like your mother... did he mortify you?" the Wizard continued.

"He wasn't my father. Those two were nothing to me. I already told you." answered Goneril. "Now get over with it."

Gandalf knew he had to stop. He would have gone deeper in another moment, and in another place.

At that moment there was more to do. There was someone coming. In fact, he heard a hoarse and gruff voice in the distance. The Dwarf, for sure.

"Here they are." the old man said.

Goneril turned and drew her sword.

"Don't be alarmed, there's no reason. They are my three friends." Gandalf muttered, with a smile.

⚜️⚜️⚜️

Goneril saw immediately the Elf.
He was blond, pale, thin but snappy. The color of his hair suggested that he must have been one of the Teleri, perhaps a Sindar, or a Nandor.

Then she saw the Dwarf: she recognized his family from the helmet he was wearing. A descendant of Durin, a probable resident of Erebor. He certainly didn't come from Mória, which had been sacked by Orcs, Goblins and Trolls. Moreover, its mines were infested with the presence of a Balrog. It was probable that that place had become an underground cemetery, and its Lord, Balin, was rotting in some tomb.