The Eastern Woman

The Lady of Elves

"You came here, with the intent of threatening me, but you don't know that I'm already dead. I died thirty years ago." murmured Roswehn.

"They also say that about me, Ms. Monrose. Therefore, do not think I feel pity for you." Goneril answered, raising Haldir's dagger, so that the old woman could see it. "This belongs to your son. And on this blade your life will end. It's paradoxical, isn't it? But beautiful. Really perfect."
An expression of exalted satisfaction passed over her face. "I am giving you a great death. A legendary death, as was your life."

"Then do it quickly, before Bettie arrives. I knew it, I sent her away on purpose. And let her live, that girl. She is innocent." Roswehn told her; she was not at all intimidated by the knife that shone at thirty centimeters from her face. She seemed placidly resigned. "I have lived my life. I am ready. Do it quickly, and at least use the courtesy to clean the blood when you are done."

Goneril had not expected such compliance. She had imagined that the old woman would have tried to defend herself. But she did nothing. She kept watching that fire, which was dancing in the fireplace.

"The flames ..." she murmured, suddenly. "... those red flames always remind me of Smaug. Oh I was there ... I was there when the Dragon attacked Lake-town. I ran with all the strength of my twenty years to escape that disaster. Those screams ... " she brought her hands to her head. A silver jewel shone on the left ring finger. "... still torment me in my nightmares. Those poor people who ... burned alive ..."

Goneril tried to keep the coldness necessary to do what she had to do, but the arm that held the dagger seemed blocked. The story of Smaug and the carnage he had performed in Esgaroth was in the annals. She had heard that story countless times, but never from a direct witness.

"There was a dog, it was still a puppy. It was caught in the melted iron of a door ... oh, it was whining so terribly! I wanted to help it, but I couldn't ..." Roswehn continued, as if lost in a vision. "... and that pregnant woman, covered with her own blood ... but I had to run. Run ... under the pier."

The warrior suddenly remembered why she was there.  "Ms. Monrose, I give you a minute to collect your memories, and say your prayers. I have come to kill you, you have understood it. And Bettie is coming back. I will fulfill your last wish: I will leave her alive." She said, raising her knife.

Roswehn turned and smiled at her. She still had all her teeth.  How is it possible that she has all her teeth?  She is eighty-six years old.  Goneril wondered.

"Kill ... you know everything about death, don't you? You're not a servant like I'm not a dancer. You're a warrior, and an expert one ..." Roswehn said.  "Trained properly."

Goneril was surprised.  How the hell did she get it?  Her questioning look urged Roswehn to continue.  "Thranduil ... he had ordered Legolas to teach me how to fight, and with all the weapons. Poor prince, he tried ... but then he gave up. It wasn't for me ... to kill, it's not something I ever wanted to do ... but I know how to hold a knife ... and you hold it in the right way to vibrate the lethal blow. Right here in the throat, right? "  The old woman laboriously pushed herself forward.  Her eyes for a moment shone defiantly.  "... so...come on! Move, kill me!"

The generaless knew how she should have done. First, bend the woman's head backwards to locate the jugular.  Hit quickly, then withdraw to avoid the blood spilled out like a geyser due to heart pressure.  Let her bleed to death.  And then, Roswehn Monrose would have finally left behind those long years of her extraordinary life.  And she would have avenged her friend and savior, Amon.

Still, she couldn't do it. A mysterious force was stopping her.  The arm was blocked, as if held in place by an invisible grip.

"But you can't. You can't."  Roswehn smiled again.  She had a sly look.  Then she continued: "You met my son, my sweet boy."