The Eastern Woman

War

Sitting in a chair by Roswehn's bed, Haldir was reflecting.

His mother had gone to bed immediately after her arrival. She hadn't even wanted to eat a meal. A whole night on horseback had exhausted her.

The prince wondered if his father's decision to take her back to Eryn Galen had been right.

Thranduil had done it for him, he was aware of it. The King had seen the pain on his son's face at the idea of ​​not seeing his human mother again, and his paternal heart had broken. He had taken Roswehn away from that house on the hill, in Dale.

Thranduil knew that Roswehn's life was ending. Haldir had heard that humans generally died before turning ninety, in some very rare cases they reached the century of life.

His mother was already eighty-six, and every awakening could have been the last, every day was precious. For that reason the King had decided to have her back with him, again in his Kingdom. Together, until the end.

Haldir was watching his mother's chest moving during sleep. The sun did not enter that underground bedroom. Roswehn, however, was used to the brightness of her garden, in which she loved to sit in the spring. She would have to adapt again, as she had done sixty years before, to darkness, to dampness, to silence.

Of course, the prince was happy to have her there. But he wondered if it was right to oblige the woman to spend the last few years, or months, or days of life, in such an environment. She had already been there, but when she was young and full of curiosity and enthusiasm. Now, there was nothing new to discover, and things with Thranduil had changed. They could no longer be lovers. They were only two parents, united for the sake of their son.

"What will you do now, Mom?" he said, breaking the silence. Roswehn could no longer even go for a walk in the woods, the King would not have allowed it with all the dangers out there.

"And I, what will I do?" He wondered.
There was a terrible attack going on in the south. He had heard Feren and Varian discuss it. The Orcs were setting fire to dozens and dozens of trees and bushes. They wanted to wipe out his father's entire forest, and force him to surrender. Or perhaps, their plan was simply to eliminate the Woodland Elves from Earth, starting with the inhabitants of Greenwood.

Lothlórien had also been attacked, but the immense power of Lady Galadriel had defeated the enemies.

Thranduil didn't have that magic. He could do nothing but resist with his army. Legolas was away, engaged in another battle.

It would be up to me to defend the realm ... the prince thought. He was the second son, it was his very specific responsibility. Except for the small detail ... that his father didn't want. He had categorically forbidden him from approaching the armory, and had threatened to punish those who dared give his son a sword or a bow.

But Legolas has gone to war, he reflected. He is risking his life. I should do it too, if there was any honor in me.

He started pacing back and forth in the cave, caught by an attack of anxiety and frustration. He knew how to fight, he had been well trained by Feren.

Once, during a duel, he had even disarmed his father. Thranduil had remained motionless, looking incredulously at the sword his son had torn from his hand with a precise movement of his arm.

"You have lost, Father." he had said with a smile.

"Go to your rooms." the King had replied, irritated by the defeat.

But then, that same evening at dinner, he had complimented him. "Your grandfather Oropher fought like you. If you inherited his ability, nothing and no one will ever stop you." he had told him.