Roswehn of Mirkwood

The end of times

Roswehn was admiring the big ruby ​​given to her by Oropher, the little ice dragon which had helped her find her way out of the Misty Mountains.

She wondered if she would ever find the courage to confess to Thranduil that she had baptized a dragon with his father's name.

That was not very respectful to his memory. The Dragons were creatures of Morgoth, like Shelob, they had been terrible weapons used by the ancient demon and his servant Sauron against the Elves.

In recent times, however, the great serpents seemed to keep their distance from their old master, as if they had developed a kind of independence. Smaug itself had isolated himself for years in Erebor.
Like those young people who leave home slamming the door behind them and forget about their parents.

Roswehn was looking intently at the stone: it was amazing, of a superb color red. The color of the cloaks of Kings, in fairy tales.

She had thought of going to the furnaces of the kingdom and ask the Elven smiths to immediately forge a sword for her son, and set that jewel in the handle. But then a comment by Legolas had come to her mind: the Prince had explained how complicated it was to make swords, especially for the handle, for it had to be made to measure, preferably, so as to adapt to the hands of the owner. Like the bows. Therefore, Roswehn had to wait for Haldir to be born and to become an adult.

She was terrified by nightfall.
The demon called Morgoth had warned her: its harassment would not end until Roswehn protected her creature.

Where was the spirit of Calenduin, in all that? If the spirit of the Elvenqueen protected Greenwood, why had it allowed Morgoth to enter their territory?

Yet, Thranduil had told her that his wife in the afterlife approved their union. He had heard Calenduin's voice, in the wind, suggesting him to help the human woman months before ... and Yohlande also had this feeling. At dinner, during the first night spent at Eryn Galen all together, Mrs. Monrose had told her daughter that she had heard the deceased Queen speak to her in her mind, and tell her that Roswehn and Thranduil belonged to each other and that no one had to break that bond.

The world of the Elves was full of mysteries and magic, much more than she had imagined. It was a mystical world, beautiful, but also terrifying for those who had entered it unprepared. Spirits, immortality, reincarnation, voices in the wind, in the mind, telepathy, clairvoyance ... the logic of
a mortal struggled to accept similar concepts.

Her own pregnancy was a big question mark. It would have lasted twelve months, two had already passed. Ten more months of nausea, nightmares, changes in her body awaited her. And then, the birth. What should she expect, to expel a baby attached to her with the umbilical cord, or a kind of egg?

Morath had told her that the elves were born wrapped in a transparent cocoon, similar to that of silkworms ... and then they freed themselves after few minutes. And what would the baby drink: milk, root juice, or neither?

In Greenwood they were all unprepared to welcome a half-breed child: they had never existed there. Morath had suggested her to stay calm and not get too worried. Your child's nature will run its course, you will learn more from him than he from you, she had told Roswehn.

Actually, the girl no longer trusted Nim's mother: her advice on how to live love with a male Elf turned out to be wrong, to begin with. Morath had told her that elvish sexuality and love were made of spirituality and very chaste contacts ... and it wasn't true at all. The first night with Thranduil she had even begged him to stop, at some point. The following times it had gone better, but to say that in the intimacy of the Elves there was nothing but caresses and spirituality was a huge, ridiculous lie.