The Eastern Woman

Vengeance

"Spectacular, isn't it?" asked Roswehn.

Goneril was intent on looking at the enormous ruby, amazing in its thousand scarlet reflections, contained in the casket. It was as big as a plum.

That jewel was priceless. Even trying to imagine the value, she could not quantify it. Two hundred, three hundred, five hundred boxes filled with gold.
For a stone of that size, a King, human, elven or dwarvish, would have gone mad.

"An ice dragon gave it to me," Roswehn continued. "When I crossed the Misty Mountains alone. A little white dragon. I feared he would devour me, but he left me alive. He was generous."

"And you called him Oropher. Yes, I know the story." retorted Goneril. "Thranduil got mad when he knew that."

Roswehn stood up from her chair. She took a wool shawl and put it on her shoulders. Slowly, she approached the warrior. Goneril noticed that her back was curved, as was often the case with the elderly, but overall she had kept a good shape. She didn't even need staffs or other walking supports. The warrior guessed it was the beneficial influence of the evenstar, which was somehow delaying old age.

"Thranduil ... yes, he scolded me. To give a dragon the name of his father ..." Roswehn smiled. "But then he forgave me. He forgave me many times, d'you know?"

"How about your infatuation with the Captain of the Lothlórien?" asked Goneril. "...you even called your son like him. This, in my eyes, is a little more embarassing, Ms. Monrose."

Roswehn looked her in the eyes, and the soldier caught a flash of challenge. In her youth, that old woman in front of her must have had a great temper.

"Don't talk about love, my girl. About love, you don't know anything." She told her. "You are cruel and full of hatred. You have built your little armor against sorrows. You know, once I was like you. I too had a painful childhood, and an even sadder youth. But...I have never lost my enthusiasm for life. And I thank our gods for saving me from moral ruin. I thank Thranduil, and I also thank Haldir, yes. He was the first to steal my heart . But it wasn't love. It was something more spiritual, more tender. It was something you can't understand. "

Goneril made a grimace of sarcasm.  "Say what you want. I heard another version. And I also heard that Haldir of Lórien was not the only claimant to your heart. I heard of a certain Lindir from Rivendell. I heard you cheated on Thranduil with him, and  for this reason the King wanted to lock you up in a cell for three days. "  Goneril said.  "Thranduil really loves to incarcerate human women, it seems. There is a bit of sadism in him."

"What you heard are lies... lies from a renegade Elf. Forget Amon, and his nefarious influence."  retorted Roswehn.

"These are not lies. It is the truth. You did not have a good reputation in Greenwood. This is why you came back here. Thranduil's subjects have never liked you, not just Amon. They had not accepted the human concubine, the  mortal lover of their King. That of old age was a pretext. You did not run away from that realm in the woods because you were getting old ... you ran away because they called you a  ... "

"Oh, stop it!"  Roswehn snapped.  "You weren't there, don't talk. And don't think you know my story. I had many friends in Greenwood, I cried when I left those people ..."

"... friends. An elf girl named Nim and her mother. Those two were your friends. With them you spent your days, Ms. Monrose. For thirty years, only with them. And the nights ... with the  King."  said Goneril.  It gave her satisfaction to push an ideal knife into the wound, since the real one - which she still held - was completely useless.

"Amon may have failed as a healer and as an elf, but I must acknowledge one thing: he was truly an exceptional teacher. He has plagiarized your mind, your heart, your soul. But maybe one day you will also find someone who has  the antidote to all this poison. "  murmured Roswehn.