Old Roswehn's corpse had burnt quickly.
A high orange flame had wrapped around the bundles of dry wood on which the Elves had laid her corpse. The scene reminded the prince of something: those sheaves of hay that Haldir had seen many times in the cultivations of the realm. Often in summer, under the sun, they suddenly burned down. A strange phenomenon of self-combustion that had always fascinated the prince.
But the slow crackling of the flames that consumed his mother's body had nothing fascinating about it, it was a torment to the eyes, the heart and the ears. Those round, small ears, which he had inherited from her.
Why don't I have pointy ears like you, father, like the other Elves? I don't understand this, he had asked the King, when he was just six years old. He had begun to observe his image in puddle reflections, and he had immediately caught that important difference between him and the other inhabitants of Greenwood.
Thranduil had seemed a little uncomfortable with that question. Because you are a SPECIAL Elf, son. The most special Elf in the world ... he had replied. He had closed the matter without another word.
Just like he had tried to do a few hours before the funeral ceremony, when Haldir had asked him about the prophecy. His father had always been like that: his answers were dry, synthetic.
Kings do not act without a purpose and do not waste words, Haldir had heard him say once.
He observed his father.
Thranduil stood motionless, facing the great funeral pyre on which the body of the human woman burned. Silent, an expression of dignified pain on his face, and not even a tear. Legolas had told him that, in his life, he had seen their father cry only once: when, after the victorious battle of the five armies sixty years earlier, his eldest son had announced that he would have left their territory for an indefinite time. His brother had explained to him that the King did not like to show his feelings, and for that reason he had earned the reputation of Icy King, but that did not mean he was really icy.
Our father loves, and suffers, in a completely private way. But his sensitivity is great. Don't judge him wrong, Haldir. His cold temper is just a facade, Legolas had told him.
The prince looked around. He saw Morath and Nim, they were both crying and clinging together. He saw the great multitude of Elves, those who had known and loved Roswehn, with their heads bowed and their hands clasped. He heard the funeral lament that some of the were singing.
He saw Lord Celeborn, next to his father. A noble Elf, husband of the great Galadriel: he was united with Thranduil by a very distant kinship. And therefore, he was also his relative. A kind of uncle of infinitesimal degree.
The King had decided to celebrate the funeral in a hidden area of the Forest, due to the presence of Haldir. There were still Orcs in the woods, his soldiers were trying to chase them all, but he didn't want to risk one of them attacking the prince.
The smoke rose, high and black. To cover the acrid smell, Thranduil had ordered to have a perfumed oil, rose oil, poured over the body of his beloved. But it didn't help much.
When the air became unbreathable, the King ordered everyone to go away, and let the fire finish its work. Two soldiers had to wait until the end, to collect Roswehn's ashes in an urn.
Haldir saw Celeborn put a hand on the King's shoulder, and say something to him. Then they both turned to watch him. Embarrassed, the prince lowered his gaze.
"Haldir, please come closer." his father called him.
The trembling young Elf joined the two elven Lords.
Celeborn gave him a warm and sincere smile. "Here you are, then."
"Lord Celeborn, it is an honor to meet you. My father often tells me about you." said the prince.
"I too have heard great things about you. You are already a legend." replied the Lord of the Lothlórien.
"Really?" Haldir said, looking at Celeborn. Then he turned to his father. "In addition to the prophecies, now we have legends, too."
Celeborn caught the sarcasm of that comment. "You don't know anything yet, do you?" he asked Haldir.
"No. No, in fact. I was just about to ask my father to tell me everything." answered Haldir. "Many facts need explanation, and the right time has come."
"Stay here, Celeborn. I would like my son to also listen to your stories. You and Galadriel gave hospitality to Roswehn in the Lothlórien, you saw with your own eyes what happened to her. You know what I mean." Thranduil asked him. "It is important that Haldir believes everything I tell him, confirmation from you will be fundamental."
The prince, meanwhile, watched them confused. "My mother ... what happened to my mother in the Lòrien ?! I don't know anything about it! ... And what does it have to do with me ?!"
Celeborn nodded. "Roswehn was a victim of Morgoth, Haldir. The Elf from whom you took the name and Gandalf the Gray had saved her life. It was a terrible story. Your mother chose to call you Haldir in honor of the late captain of our Galadhrims." he explained.
Haldir replied: "I didn't know this fact. I mean, I knew that an Elf from your kingdom was a great friend of hers... but I didn't know the rest." then he turned pale, as if he had realized something in a flash. "... M-Morgoth ?!"
"Yes." commented Celeborn. "I think it is right that your father tells you the rest. The future of Greenwood, your in particular, will be very important. I, Galadriel and Elrond will go to Valinor, may Sauron win or be defeated. But you, your father and the people of this realm, you all will stay. You will be the last representatives of the elven race in Middle-earth. "
"One moment, Celeborn. I still ask you to be present while I explain to my son everything. Do it as a personal favor." Thranduil asked him.
"No. My task is over. I have helped your army, I have honored the kinship between you and me. But you have the responsibility to guide your son now. You have to do it by yourself." Celeborn told him. "There is no better person than his father to explain to him what will happen."
Haldir, meanwhile, shuddered. "But ... what does it mean that my mother was a victim of Morgoth? How did the old demon come into contact with her? What did he do to her ?!" he almost shouted.
"Do you remember what I told you? You'll have to be strong now. Follow me, then, if you think you're ready to hear the truth." replied Thranduil.
"Of course I am!" replied the prince.
"And you too, Thranduil." Celeborn told him. "You must be strong." he looked toward the prince. "Nothing is easy in our long life. It is a hard test, the one you will face now. Do not tremble, as you did not tremble before a Nazgûl."
Then, he watched father and son head for the palace in the woods. He hoped the King could find the right words.
⚜️⚜️⚜️
"Sit up there, my son." Thranduil encouraged him.
They were both in the great main cavern, in the center of which stood the fabulous oak carved throne of the King.
"There... on your throne? Are you sure, Father?" asked an amazed Haldir.
The King nodded. "It will be yours one day. And from up there you will have to make important decisions. Your yes or no could mean life or death for someone else. You better get used to power." said Thranduil. "Power, son, can be dangerous. I have to talk to you about this, now."
Haldir timidly climbed the few steps leading to the throne. He sat down, his heart pounding in his chest. He had always observed his father's seat from afar, with fear mixed with reverence. The place occupied by Oropher, first of all. The place that, by right of succession, should have been reserved for Legolas. He felt terribly embarrassed up there.
"First you asked me what happened to your mother many years ago." the King continued. "Celeborn has already mentioned something to you. In fact, Roswehn lived a tragic, incredible experience, which marked her ... but which, after all, led to the birth of love between me and her. Or rather, to the acceptance of that feeling on my part."
Haldir listened, concentrated to the max.
"... Morgoth. This horrible name will soon become your nightmare, Haldir. Unfortunately there is nothing I can do to save you. I could only preserve you from anguish, delaying this revelation as much as possible. But you stubbornly demanded the truth, and you leave me no choice. "
The prince began to tremble again. Thranduil felt his heart go to pieces at the sight of his son shaking like that. "... so, do you want me to continue?" he asked him.
"Yes. Please. I need to know." said Haldir.
"You have studied a lot in these years. You know what the Dagor Dagorath is, therefore." the King continued.
"The final Battle. That is, it is a prophecy about the end of the world as we know it, and the beginning of a new Era, made of Harmony." said Haldir.
"Exactly. According to this prophecy, Morgoth will start a war. And to do so, he will use an instrument. He will succeed in acquiring physical form, he will put himself at the head of the multitude of evil beings created by him and ruled over the centuries by Sauron." the King explained. "He will therefore need a body. Radagast the Brown, an old Sorcerer, had an intuition. I questioned him, worried by the nightmares that your mother had during her pregnancy. He claimed that Morgoth himself tormented Roswehn, and he wanted something from her. He wanted you. "
Haldir began to understand. The trembling that shook him turned into a spasm in the stomach.
He managed to stammer, "... I...I... I'll be Morgoth's instrument ?! Are you telling me this?"
"According to Radagast, yes. His interpretation of the prophecy went right in this direction. Roswehn believed him right away. I kept my skepticism, perhaps because the perspective is too tragic." confirmed the King. "Haldir, you asked me to talk to you about the future, and in your future there may be this horrible thing."
Haldir jumped to his feet. He was shaking, like a willow tree in the wind. "So ... then ... I don't have to stay here! I have to leave, disappear!" He screamed.
"Why?" the King asked quietly. He had expected that reaction.
"Why?! ... because you said it yourself ... I'm a predestined ... Morgoth will use me! I'll become him!" the prince stirred. "I will go with Celeborn and the others to Valinor. Yes ... I ... I will not let him use me to start a war ... I will disappear!"
"No. Your destiny is to continue living here. And let me finish the speech ..." Thranduil went on, trying to maintain self-control. He wanted to run to his son, hug him, reassure him. "... Morgoth, according to the prophecy, will be defeated. A Man will destroy him forever ... and later, it will start a new wonderful time."
"I will be killed, therefore!" the prince snapped.
"No. Morgoth will perish, not you. He will leave you free. And then you will be the last great King of the Elves. The most powerful, because you'll be the lord of a vast realm. No more wars, no more enemies. You will be even greater than me, than your grandfather and than Gil-Galad himself. You don't understand this vision. " Thranduil explained. "Therefore you must remain, and wait for the triumph with confidence. Yes, there will also be pain, war. A great war. But after ..."
"... how do you know that he will leave me free, father? How can you say that he will simply come out of me? And if I died too?" said Haldir trembling. It seemed like a bad dream.
"Because I've seen it happen before." answered his father. "He tried to do
the same thing with Roswehn. He tried to use her before you."
"Like... what?" his son asked, sitting down again because he felt his knees bending. He leaned back in his throne and inhaled, closing his eyes. He had to make an effort to stay calm.
"This is another story. Your mother made me swear not to tell you anything about her. She didn't want to upset you. And she, too, wanted to forget." replied the King.
".... well, I am already quite shocked, Father. I want to hear everything, to the end. Don't keep anything hidden from me, please." Haldir asked.
Thranduil removed something from the pocket of the long funeral caftan. He looked at the object he held in the palm of his hand, in silence, for a few seconds.
"As you wish, son." he answered "... and this is yours, now."