[Lalwendë]

Renedwen’s world was falling apart around her and yet the child still slept, wrapped in his blankets and strapped firmly to her chest. He was his father’s son, she thought to herself as the threat of tears began to prick her eyes once more. He was all that was left now. It was her and the child, alone, in this chaos and the heaving mass of struggling, frightened people. She clutched him even tighter as she tried to squeeze towards the gate, and struggled to keep her feet on the ground, lest she go under and be trampled.

As she turned her head about to get a breath of air she saw a garden she had once envied, and fell back from the struggle. It had been a beautiful place, shaded by drooping trees and filled with scented plants, and she had often gazed on it in silent envy. Now it was littered with tumbled masonry. The shrubs were crushed by many feet and the trees had been hacked at. A statue of a woman which once stood in the centre of the garden now lay on its side, its cold stony face gazing sadly on the equally stony face of Renedwen.

She faltered, thinking of her elderly parents not far away. Should she have gone back to them and insisted they join the escape? Or should she have joined them in their defence of their home? She could feel the warmth of her child’s gentle breath through her gown, and she looked from him to the struggling crowd at the gate. Surely the sensible thing to do would be to give him to another woman, bid her to take him to safety? It would not be so bad. After all, he had no father now, no home, and precious little hope of growing up in the luxury she had planned for him. Now she was no better than any other widow who struggled to get through the gate and to safety; all notions of wealth and status meant nothing now.

Renedwen had almost decided that the child would fare as well away from her when he stirred within his swaddle of blankets and opened his eyes for a moment. She suddenly found herself looking into the eyes of her husband and her heart seemed to turn within her. Wracked with grief and love she turned back to face the gate.

The cold screeching which issued from somewhere above filled her with a sudden need to be out of there, to take her child and get to safety and cold determination surged through her bones as she set herself amongst the crowd. Her deep blue eyes were intense as she tried to work out how best she could get through this gate as quickly as possible, and as she looked over the crowd, planning her escape, she noticed a tall elf with dark grey eyes watching her. He was a King’s Councillor, reduced to trying to escape as much as she was, and she watched him as he made his way skilfully through the crowd.

She was not watching what was coming from behind her, and no sooner than she heard the cries, the creature was upon her and she seemed to fall into a stairwell for protection. Then the walls started to come down and all she could do was cower with her arms covering the boy’s head. She did not even have time to cry out, and time seemed to halt as she stumbled forwards, only knowing that she had to move, had to get away, had to be elsewhere.

Renedwen looked into the eyes of a young soldier who was watching her, horrified, and then she fell. She did not put out her hand to stay her fall, as she could not bear to let go of her son, and winded, she lay in the rubble, shaking her head in despair. All the thoughts of who she missed, her husband and family who had suddenly been taken from her, whirled about her and she felt as though to give in was the only thing she wanted. She thought of meeting them on that green field and what bliss it would surely be. A hand touched her arm and she thought she might already be dead and that it might be the welcoming hand of her husband, but as she opened her eyes again, she saw the young soldier, somehow bright on his horse against the backdrop of smoke and dust.

She barely noticed as he urged her onto a horse with the child. She thought she must be smiling, but she was numb with the horror of realising she was alive after all. She automatically hooked her fingers through the halter and urged the horse on with a squeeze of her knees, but it did not seem as though it was herself who was doing anything. She felt that somehow she had left her real self elsewhere, that she ought to have been out on that green field, not here, urging a horse on in blind terror.