The Eastern Woman

Fire and lead

Goneril used to draw a black line around her eyes.  She used the Kohl, a mineral powder derived from lead, to emphasize her beautiful green irises.  A trick learned from the Haradrim.

That make-up gave her face an even more ferocious and intimidating expression.

Under the rain that poured merciless and icy, the make-up began to melt.  The woman's face was then crossed by several blackish lines, which descended on her cheeks like small rivulets.

That was the grotesque mask that Haldir found himself observing when he turned.

"Do you fancy human women?"  the one next to him asked.

The Elf did not reply immediately.  He let the strange question resound in his mind for a few seconds, before formulating a coherent answer.

"Do you miss your mortal girlfriend?"  the warrior on his left again asked.  "The woman of Dale?"

At that point, Haldir turned completely to look at her.  In front of them, there were two legions of Uruk-Hai.  Ready to attack.  Suddenly, however, the Elf had lost all his interest in Sauron's armies.

"What do you know about Roswehn?"  Haldir asked.  "Who are you?"

"Roswehn ... that's her name, then."  repeated Goneril.  "I knew almost everything ... except her name."

Haldir kept staring in disbelief.  He hadn't spoken to anyone about her for at least ten years.  Since he had gone in person to Dale to look for her, and in the realm of men he had found so much ignorance and hostility that he had to leave quickly.

"I knew you loved her very much ... and you insist, I see."  Goneril continued.  "Really heartbreaking. Someone should inform her of your devotion."

"She is no longer alive. So I was told."  answered Haldir.

"Oh yes, she is. Prince Legolas confirmed that. She is alive, my dear."  the girl said to him.  "And you will die here, instead. Sad destiny."

Haldir reacted to the news differently from what she had expected.  She saw no emotion on his ivory face, no spark of joy in his blue eyes, no sign of happiness.  He seemed almost resigned.

"Good. I hope her last years have been happy. I've always wanted joy for Roswehn."  commented the Elf.

"I'm sure her life has been peaceful so far. After all, she was welcomed for thirty years into a great elven realm, and treated with all honors. Of course, Thranduil must have given her everything she could need to be happy. Including a son. "  continued Goneril.

She turned again to study the reaction of the Elf of Lórien, who that time did not hide a shiver.  "A son?!"  Haldir asked.

"Yes. A little prince, who will become the next King of the Sylvan Elves of the East. Such an injustice, do you agree? To elevate a half-breed to the rank of direct heir to the throne."  Goneril continued, while the satisfaction of revealing the bitter truth caused small shivers at the base of her neck.  The same feeling she always felt whenever she killed her enemies with her sword.  "Poor Legolas."

Nothing hurts more than certain truths, Amon had told her.  It was sufficient to look at Haldir in the face to understand that her healer friend was right.  The Guardian of Lórien seemed bewildered.

Better if you get yourself together quickly, Elf... because now comes a real cannon ball, she thought.

"And do you know how they called him?"  She asked again.  "They called him Haldir. Like you."  said Goneril.  "A curious thing, isn't it?"