Roswehn's house was as Haldir had described it to her.

A large villa with white walls and a roof covered with many red tiles.  The door had recently been repainted in blue, it was still shiny.

What caught Goneril's attention, however, was the garden: it was gigantic, almost half a hectare.  She saw the thorns withered in the large granite basins, brambles that would have turned into roses in spring.  An immense rose garden.

Slowly she went up the path that led to the blue door, and the little grass growing in tufts caressed her ankles.  She looked carefully at the windows on the ground floor, but the curtains were drawn to hide the interior.  She checked the rudimentary mailbox: MONROSE, was the name carved on one side.

Now I have to knock on the door.  I have to go inside and avenge Amon.  After that, end of Goneril's story.  I will go to Rivendell.  I'll take the gold.  I'll retire somewhere.  I will die happy.

A final decision. A decision that would have given way to a series of resolute decisions.  She had hidden her golden sword in a barn nearby, at dawn, when there was noone around. She would have taken it back once the job was done.

She knocked on the blue door.

Silence.

She knocked again, and finally she heard the sound she wanted to hear: hurried brief steps, it was probably the girl, Bettie.

Yeah, and how will you deal with Bettie?  Her conscience asked.
The usual way: a clean, fast, painless cut right from the ear to the clavicle.  Throw the corpse in a damp, wait for it to sink.  The end.

The door opened with a squeak.
"Yes, madam?"  A young woman asked.

She could have been twenty.  She had a round, childish face, with big blue eyes and a very small doll-like nose.  She was short, tiny, her brown hair gathered in a knot at the back of her neck.

"Excuse me ... is this Monrose house?"  Goneril asked, folding her hands in her lap, like a true beggar in search for job.

"This is Roswehn Monrose's house, yes." the young woman confirmed, looking her from head to toe. She raised her hand and touched the pendant of her gold necklace. "Can I do something for you?" the girl asked again. She smiled. She had a smile so sincere, and sad.

"I'm searching ... well, I'm embarrassed to say it ... I'm searching for job." Goneril finally admitted.

The girl looked terribly mortified. "Oh ... I'm sorry ... we don't need a maid. I'm serving in this house, and besides me, Ms. Monrose doesn't want anyone." then she smiled again. Goneril saw in her eyes the genuineness typical of good girls.

"Bettie!" a voice was heard. A suffocated and hoarse voice, but firm. "Bettie! Whom are you talking to?"

The young woman turned to answer. "Just a second, Roswehn! It's a young woman! Give me a moment, darling." then she turned to look at Goneril. "I wish I could help you, I am desolate. But perhaps ... you could go to the Royal Palace and offer yourself as a court worker. Queen Sigrid and Princess Tilda are old, maids and servants are never enough. If you have experience they will certainly hire you ... "
Then she stopped. She scanned Goneril's face. "Madam, you are so pale ..."

Goneril, in fact, felt weak. She had put nothing in her stomach since her incarceration in Greenwood. "I'm fine. Don't worry. I haven't eaten in a long time ... I've escaped from my kingdom." said the warrior.

Bettie's eyes widened. "Escaped? Why, what happened to you?"

"... I am a citizen of Rohan. I served the royals at court, one horrible day we have been attacked by Orcs. I managed to escape through the Rhovanion and now ..." she feigned to burst into sobs. "... now I don't know what to do anymore!"

The maid brought both hands to her face. "Orcs! ... oh holy goodness ..." she was impressed. "Come in, please. At least let me offer you some tea."

"You are very kind. Eru bless you, girl." Goneril said, wiping her eyes. "I need to sit down, that's true."

"Sure, oh sure!" the young woman said, opening the door. "My name is Bettie, anyway."

"My name is Idis." She said. It was unlikely that that young maid had ever heard of Goneril, or knew anything about mercenary armies, but the Eastern woman decided not to take risks.

Besides, that's your real name, right? The name that Théoden and that slut of your mother had chosen for you. Time to use it. Maybe it will bring you luck, she reflected.

After entering the old house, Goneril found herself in a dark anteroom.  Before she could focus on the surroundings, Bettie had invited her to follow her into a living room where a stone fireplace had been burning for quite a while.  A small round table had been placed in front of the fireplace, and a ceramic vase with dried flowers had been put over it.  At the windows, bright lilac curtains were hanging, behind which the planters could be seen.  A rather old, but still decorous, sofa had been placed parallel to the fireplace.  There was an armchair on the corner of the big sofa.

A woman was sitting on that armchair.  A woman who must have been in her eighties. She had white hair, on which she had cleverly put a butterfly-shaped clasp.  The clasp was a little crooked, as if about to slide to the ground.  She was wearing a pink brocade velvet dress, a fabric favored by the Elves.

She was looking at the fire.

"Roswehn, dear ..." Bettie said softly.  "... there is a guest."

Then she turned to look at her.  "Take a sit, please."  She said pointing to the sofa.  "I'm preparing tea for everyone. Give me a few minutes. Would you also like some water?"

"You are so kind. Yes, please. I walked a lot."  said Goneril, in her most affected tone.

The warrior sat on the corner of the sofa, right next to the famous Roswehn Monrose.

The woman who had been the lover of an Elf King.

The woman who had ridden a dragon.

The woman who had challenged Morgoth twice.

The woman who had given birth to a half-blood prince destined to change the history of Middle-earth.

The bastard who had been the cause of Amon's unhappiness.

Of that legendary human, however, there wasn't much left.  The years had passed, and they had been many.

"Ms. Monrose."  muttered Goneril.  But there was no movement in the woman.  She was intent on watching the flames crackling in the fireplace.  She seemed lost in a state of catatonia.

Bettie disappeared into the kitchen, and started working with kettles and cups.  "Were you born in Rohan?"  She asked suddenly.

Goneril answered, without taking her eyes off the old woman.  "No, actually. I come from the North. From the Blue Mountains."  then she lowered her voice, almost turning it into a whisper.  "Ms. Monrose ..."

"Oh! It's cold up there, isn't it? They say it's beautiful, though!"  Bettie chirped, happy to have a guest to chat with.  Spending days with an eighty-year-old lady wasn't exactly the funniest thing on earth, even though the payment was high.  Queen Sigrid, who adored Roswehn, had covered her with gold to care for her.  And for a girl daughter of peasants, that money was a fortune.

"It depends on the season. In winter, your nose will freeze as soon as you leave the house."  answered Goneril.

She heard Bettie's laughter.

"Ms. Monrose, I came to tell you three things."  She whispered again.  A whisper that was turning into a snarl.  Goneril's hand slowly moved behind her back, searching for the knife.  Her thin fingers touched the handle.  "The first ... is that your friend Haldir, the brave captain of the Lothlórien, is dead. The Orcs killed him."

She scrutinized Roswehn's face, which remained impassive to the news.  This woman has a rotten brain, she thought.  Never mind, she won't suffer.

"And what brought you to Rohan?"  Bettie asked from the kitchen again.  "...tea is almost ready!"

"Oh ... I wanted to travel, above all. I wanted to see the West. And Edoras is a lovely place, you know." Goneril explained, as she drew the dagger.

Then she hissed again. "...the other Haldir, the son you had with the great King of the woods, misses you. He asked me to tell you that he loves you ..." she grinned.

"Have you met King Théoden? He has always been very generous with Dale. A few years ago he sent us a dozen of his best horses as a gift!" Bettie kept talking. "Sugar and milk in your tea?"

"Just sugar, thanks." the warrior replied aloud. Then her cold eyes returned to stare at the wrinkled face of the old woman. "The third ... is that Amon sends you his greetings."

"Bettie!!" Roswehn shouted suddenly. "Come here!"

Goneril froze. That kind of mummy had magically come to life. She had woken up from her torpor, her lethargy.

The girl ran into the living room. "Yes, Roswehn, what is it?" She said, alarmed.

"Where is the lemon cake?" the old woman asked, turning her eyes full of capillaries towards her. It was a stern look. It reminded Goneril of Thranduil's icy gaze.

"The cake...it's finished, but we have cookies, Roswehn. I bought them yesterday at the market, the cinnamon ones." said Bettie. "Remember? I think they are good with tea ..."

"How many times have I explained to you that with the morning tea I demand the damn lemon cake ?! When will you learn my habits, silly girl?" Roswehn scolded her.

Goneril meanwhile had leaned back against the sofa, to hide the hand that still held the weapon. She was confused. Had that woman heard her words? Had she just feigned to be catatonic?

"Oh dear, please ... I'll have to return to the baker ..." Bettie tried to protest. She had an exhausted expression on her face.

Goneril intervened. "Go, Bettie. I'll stay here with Ms. Monrose. As I told you, I worked as a maid. I'm familiar with the elderly."

"Ha!" Roswehn snapped.

Both Bettie and Goneril looked at her. The wrinkled mask of that face seemed to deform into a smile for a moment. But then she turned back to the fire.

"Don't you mind, really? It will only be for a few minutes ..." Bettie said. "... Roswehn has her.... habits."

That time Goneril's smile was more convincing. "Go Bettie, don't worry. And you don't need to run at breakneck speed."

With a sigh, the girl took a heavy coat, scarf and hat and walked out the door.

Once they were alone, Goneril turned slowly towards the old woman, who had sunk back in her oblivion.

"Thank you for making things easier for me, Ms. Monrose." the warrior then said. "I had long wanted to meet you."

Goneril was holding the dagger, ready to vibrate the fatal blow that would have sanctioned the end of her days as a murderous criminal. Only this time, one last time to keep a promise made to a friend. And that's it. Enough forever. A new beginning. A new life and why not? A new name. Idis. I like it, after all.

"I spoke to Captain Haldir, a few moments before he was torn to pieces. We spoke about you, Ms. Monrose. He loved you, you know? He loved you all his life. He never stopped loving you. Until he died." revealed Goneril. "It is fair that you know the truth at this point. Now that you are about to reach him."

"You're just an ignorant brat."  the old woman muttered.

Again, Goneril stopped, surprised.
So...that woman was conscious. She was perfectly lucid.  She was just pretending to be senile.

"Nobody told you ... that the Elves never die?"