Roswehn of Dale

In the King's tent

Thranduil had a large camp tent set up. As the girl approached, she immediately saw Bard standing on his back. In front of him, a gray figure, tall and curved ... an old man? Regan slowed her pace near the tent. She heard distinctly a husky voice protesting about something, probably it was the old man.

An animated discussion was under way. Regan called. "Bard?" 

The Bowman immediately turned and saw her. "Regan, what are you doing here?" 

"I was sent by my father, invested with the authority of my uncle, and my parents asked me to tell you that our family can not be excluded from this meeting." she answered, peering inside.

Bard looked at her, remaining silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Yes. This is true." he admitted. "I heard this morning of your uncle and Archie's death ... I'm sorry, but why is your father not here?"

"He's hurt, he can hardly walk," she said, noticing the skeptical expression of the Bowman.

She was aware of Bard's opinion about her father: he considered him the coward brother of the worst Master Laketown had ever had. The elder brother of a man without morality, the submissive brother who had left the community at the mercy of an intolerable malgovernment, without intervening. Bard was a good man, but Regan was almost certain that her uncle's death did not displease him at all. Had not the Master made him imprison a few days ago?
She was so upset  for that decision! But her protests had been liquidated with a: "These are not your business, go back to walk on the pier, youngin."

Bard looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds. Probably, he had imagined at that time that her father had even preferred to pass the responsibility to his daughter rather than finally show some temper. Regan read displeasure in his eyes, and added firmly: "He is destroyed by the death of his brother, try to understand, Bard."

The man looked deeply in her eyes again: "And you?" he asked: "Don't you cry for your uncle?" At that question, Regan looked down.
Oh Bard. Please.

"Listen Regan," he continued, relieving her from embarrassment. "King Thranduil is willing to help us. Also, a Wizard has arrived, his name is Gandalf, he has brought bad news." 

What other bad news, my goodness! thought Regan. "In this case I would like to listen, I need to know what else is going to happen."

Bard nodded. "Follow me, but be careful when you'll be in front of the Elf."
Everyone seemed to be worried about what she could say in Thranduil's presence. He was certainly a feared King.

Regan followed Bard, but stopped at the threshold of the tent. She waited for the permission of the Elven King, which arrived after an exchange of words with the Bowman. "Come forward." said an atonic voice.

Regan slowly entered the private space of Thranduil, who sat on an improvised throne. She observed him:
the creature must have been very high, judging by his body shape.  He wore a sort of black caftan, embellished by a rich cloak in silver and bronze brocade.

He had the same porcelain complexion as the elven soldiers who still occupied the streets of the city. Regan noticed his blond hair, the piercing blue eyes and the typical beauty of the face, of which all the Elves were gifted. There were not many attractive men at Laketown, but those few who lived there did not come close to the aesthetic perfection of that creature.

In a first moment, she had almost taken him for a female Elf, such was the elegance of his features.

He wore a silver diadem, in the center of which a white gem shone, perhaps a river stone. Many rings adorned his hands; one in particular drew her attention: he wore it on the index finger of his left hand, it was an enormous white stone, surely the gift of the family of his late Queen. The human girl knew that when Elves were getting married, the bride's parents would give the future spouse a ring to wear on the index finger, as a sign of approval for the marriage. Judging by the size of that stone, even his beloved bride had to come from a high-lineage family. How many things can be learned from dusty books, Regan thought.