The Eastern Woman

In the dark forest

"So... what do you want from me?"  Goneril asked, after her soldiers had left.

Gandalf had forced her to stay there with him, in the middle of a dark forest.  The woman paced back and forth, like a tiger in a cage.  She knew she couldn't get away, or the wizard would push her against a tree trunk with his magic.

"We'll wait together for the three travellers I told you about. And meanwhile ..." Gandalf answered, watching her.  "... I want to chat a little with you."

"I talked to you already! I already told you I have no time to lose. Let me go to Isengard, to deal with Saruman."  she said.  "I'm not kidding."

"Yeah, and this is really a great pity."  the Wizard said good-naturedly.  "You should joke every now and then, laugh, live life more lightly. Instead, I fear that the shadow of a real smile hasn't passed on your face for a long, long time."

Goneril frowned.  "I won't stay here and listen to this nonsense."  She told him.  "You interrupted my bloody mission, and you're making me lose a bunch of money."

"Éomer would never have paid you, you know, even if you had killed Saruman for real. And besides, you don't want money from Rohan."  Gandalf answered, lighting his long pipe, which he carried hanging from the belt of his robe.

"What are you talking about?"  the woman retorted.

Gandalf sat on a large boulder and inhaled a mouthful of smoke, and then looked at her thoughtfully.  Goneril felt her conscience opening in front of the old man's eyes, as if he was trying to get inside her through the doors of the mind.  The woman tried to resist, but the Wizard managed to break through her thoughts.  She felt him spying in her memories like a child spying from behind a door ajar.

"Where are you from?" he asked her suddenly.

"From the North." she answered, turning and giving him her back. That was not very polite, but Goneril had never been particularly attentive to good manners.

"From a village by the Blue Mountains, right?" Asked Gandalf.

"You spy in my mind, sorcerer? Don't ask me questions, then, if you know the answers." the woman said.

"I know almost all the answers, actually. But there is a small corner of your soul that you insist on keeping closed, barred, even to yourself." confirmed Gandalf. "You need help, and I can give it to you. But you must open yourself to me."

"Really generous of you." she smiled, turning to the old man. "And what do you want in return? What can I offer you, so that you can save my lost soul?"

"Nothing." Gandalf answered simply. "Have you ever thought that sometimes our help can be given to others without expecting anything in return?" he asked. Then he sighed. "No, you don't even think of such a thing, right? Your mercenary spirit cannot rise so high as to understand. You are ready to sacrifice the life of your men, even of young boys like that Lassalle, in exchange for chests full of gold. How could you understand ... "

Goneril pushed a strand of black hair away from her face. "Precisely. You can't blame me because I chose this path. In this world, living with cynicism is the only way to move forward."

"You're wrong. Oh, you're wrong," Gandalf commented. "It is the weapon of the mediocre, instead. Like sarcasm." Then he folded his arms, holding his pipe in his right hand. A long wisp of smoke rose through the air. "I want to ask you another questions, now."

Goneril leaned against the trunk of a tree, then she remembered what had happened to the boy and moved away immediately. "Fear not, I have formulated a counter-spell to cancel that of Saruman. The trees will no longer move." Gandalf told her.