Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Tomorrow…

  ….

  "Forward, forward, side, arc, down! – Again, forward, forward, side, arc, down! Again…"

  They had been at it for an eternity and Legolas now understood why they wore only breeches and boots, for sweat dripped from his body as it had never done before. His throat was parched and his long hair stuck to his neck, albeit he had braided it as his tutors had shown him.

  Idhreno and Ram'en were in a similar state but the three were nowhere near their limits. Many recruits had faltered or even stopped, and had received the most spectacularly embarrassing tongue-lashings, both in Sindarin and the Silvan dialect, and all the while, the strange Avarin lieutenant, Lainion, watched from afar.

  "Stop. Five minutes for water!"

  The recruits groaned and threw themselves to the floor while others ran to the barrels and scooped water into wooden bowls, drinking greedily.

  Ram 'en turned to his friends and grinned, before jumping twice and showing them he was nowhere near exhausted. Idhreno and Hwindo laughed merrily as they drank sparsely, throwing the rest of their water over their heads.

  One unfortunate recruit had drunk too much too fast, and was now paying the price as he vomited his water miserably.

  Hwindo placed a hand on his heaving shoulder, but said not a word. It was enough though, to draw attention to himself and he soon heard his name called – his new name.

  "Silvan!"

  Slowly, Hwindo turned to see a smirking recruit, two others behind him, staring impertinently.

  Within seconds, Idhreno and Ram 'en were behind him, staring just as intently as the three before them.

  From afar, the tutor, realizing there was a potential situation unfolding, made to break them up, but Lainion's strong hand stopped him.

  "Wait," he ordered simply.

  "They may fight," started the tutor but Lainion interrupted him.

  "I take responsibility, just wait."

  And so the two instructors watched and analyzed, tucking the valuable information away for future use.

  "What is it you want, Sinda?" said Legolas, his lovely face now straight and set, his large green eyes glinting dangerously.

  "Oh, just a question, nothing of import. Tell us – why a Sinda wishes to be Silvan – are you ashamed?" asked the recruit, that annoying smile still plastered falsely on his angular face.

  "Your deduction is incorrect, Sinda. I am Silvan, you will it or not."

  "Oh yes, yes, we can see that – look here. Long long hair of pale wheat, skin whiter than white, eyes of green moss – you are no Silvan," he sneered.

  After a while, Legolas responded calmly, no signs of the turmoil he felt on the inside.

  "Think what you wish, Sinda. Tis of no import."

  "Oh but it is – see we think you, are a half-breed," he smiled again.

  "And your point is?" retorted Legolas, still calm.

  The smirk vanished and the recruit walked towards Hwindo until he was almost nose to nose.

  "You are arrogant, can you not just answer a simple question, boy?"

  "And what is the question?" asked Hwindo, his eyes never faltering from those of his antagonist.

  "Pray I do not need to fight alongside you on the battle field, half-breed," spat the elf.

  "You may have to, one day."

  The recruit held Legolas' gaze for as long as he could, but soon looked away, the intensity of it too much.

  "Pray I do not, for you will find no help from me," he sneered.

  Legolas simply smiled, and watched as the Sinda and his group of friends walked away.

  "Well done," murmured Idhrenohtar, as Ram en Ondo's massive hand slapped him on the shoulder.

  The tutor turned to Lainion then, a question in his eyes.

  "That is Turion's find. They call him the Silvan."

  "Well, for one so young and – green – he holds himself well," said the tutor, still watching as Legolas now sat with his friends.

  "Yes, he shows potential. He shows the promise of command…"

  "Well, we could do with more Silvan officers," said the tutor, turning to leave.

  "One more thing," added Lainion, turning to face the instructor.

  "Watch and report – to me only. There is a song upon the air, it comes from the trees…" added the Avari, almost to himself now. The tutor watched him for a moment, used as he was to his Avarin colleague's strange ways, before nodding and striding back to the group.

  'Tis a song of welcome… a proclamation…

  Prince Handir sat in the family room of the royal suite, distractedly reading a book on Avarin lore.

  It was fascinating enough, but today, his mind was elsewhere and so he closed the heavy tome, a little too fast, sending a plume of dust into the afternoon rays of sun. It was a testimony to how little this book had been read in recent times.

  He sighed, his warm, blue eyes turning to the window and focusing on the activity below.

  He saw the warriors and the craftsmen, the tutors and healers, the statesmen, lords and ladies decked in finery, but his eyes did not focus on any of them, for today his thoughts were for himself and what tomorrow would inevitably bring.

  He had studied long and hard, had excelled in history and strategy, practiced the art of rhetoric and logic until Councillor Aradan had been satisfied, for Handir was the king's son and so, it was not enough that he be good, the royal councilor had argued. One day, the boy would council his own father, their monarch no less; he could not afford to be anything less than perfect.

  Few royal councillors had made a name for themselves, mused Handir, not that that was his utmost priority for it was not, but neither was he adverse to the idea of notoriety. The only name that came to mind was Erestor of Imladris. The Noldo was famed for his skill at negotiating – what Handir would not do to meet him, to ask him, to observe and to learn from him. It seemed an impossible task, for Imladris was so far away, and the road so treacherous – and Handir was no warrior.

  He huffed to himself then, for what was he thinking? His father would never let him go and so the second prince of Greenwood the Great decided it was better to say naught and dream it was possible, rather than ask, only to have his dream dashed, plucked from the roots.

  Aradan had driven him hard enough, and Thranduil had done nothing to stop him. Both had mercilessly pushed him to his limits and now, tomorrow, he would take the test. Should he pass, he would become Aradan's apprentice, a councillor in his own right. The thought set his stomach to fluttering and a weight settled in his chest. He was nervous…

  His elder brother stood before the magnificent full length window, rigid as the stone wall beside him. He moved not an inch and it seemed to Handir that he was not real, a portrait almost, a moment frozen in time, until a strand of hair dance around his temple and brought him to life. His hands were clasped behind his back for Rinion was always alert, always standing to attention, his head high, frosty blue eyes dangerous and foreboding. He rarely smiled, rarely touched anyone in affection. He was as cold as the northern glaciers, and just as ruthless.

  Handir suddenly felt alone, in spite of his brother and yet it had not always been that way. He still remembered the days of carefree frolicking, when they would play and laugh and hug and kiss, and both parents had basked in the love and pride they had for their three children. It was what held them together - their children.

  But all that had changed, one strange day when the Queen had announced her departure. Rinion and Handir had been adults, and Maeneth only barely past her majority. Still all three were old enough to read between the lines, to see beyond their mother's lame excuses which they simply had not understood, still did not. Hence the love they once lavished upon her turned sour, for how could she leave her children? What terrible thing had been done to her that she would turn her back on them in search of her own happiness?

  She had left and Thranduil became numb. They had shouted, then pleaded, begged him for the truth but he would not yield. Their
frustration slowly turned to disdain, to rejection and the loss of affection, and only the passing of time had tempered it, put it into perspective and made it bearable for them. Of course scandals such as these were never kept secret for long, and sure enough, the three siblings came to hear the rumours – heard them and believed them, for they made sense.

  Their father had erred, had been unfaithful to their mother and she, unable to understand or condone, had simply left. It hurt because her own feelings of betrayal seemed to have been much stronger than the love she had for her children. It had stung and each had reacted in their own, unique way.

  Handir was lucky, he knew, for the friendship he shared with Thurinor, a fellow apprentice, and Lainion, his ex body guard. The strange Avarin warrior had taught him much, had supported him in his times of need when his cold brother would not, and his father cared not, caught as he was in his own web of sorrow.

  Lainion was as an older brother, the one he would always seek out should he need an ear, advice, or simply to vent his frustrations, indeed the very thought of Lainion now brought a smile back to his face for no one would ever imagine the heart he possessed, for to look at him was to tremble in one's boots and yet at home, with his sister and his nephew, he was one of the most sensitive elves Handir knew.

  His thoughts were interrupted, for the king had arrived, and his mind was no longer free to wander…

  Weeks had passed, and their training had gone well, or so Legolas thought. He had learned many things, most of them theory and logistics, bird call and strategy and he had enjoyed it all; never again would he confuse a warrior with a nuthatch! He scolded himself lightly.

  During the time he spent learning, his mind had opened and the cogs of his own imagination had begun to turn, and ideas bombarded him so that he took quill to parchment and wrote them down – as if all those ideas had been slowly but subconsciously forming in his mind, waiting only for the right stimulus. He had observed and marvelled at it all and he had also seen that which did not seem to work.

  He had devised for himself and his friends, a pre and post training session in which they would stretch and prepare their muscles. It worked so well that by the end of their training periods, they were the only ones who did not feel the uncomfortable pull on their muscles, who did not suffer cramps as others did.

  Legolas had also learned to centre his mind, to reject that which would distract him, and retain only those functions that governed the warrior. It was a nascent skill which he then taught Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar; together they would take to their own personal limits but the immediate results had been clear. Their attention did not waver, their movements were more precise, and they better anticipated the movements of their opponents.

  Thus sat Legolas now, alone for the moment upon the field. Cross-legged, his eyes were closed and his mind in that place where the warrior resided, ruled.

  Straightening himself he stretched his back and rolled his shoulders, now considerably more muscled than they had been just weeks before.

  Breathing deeply, he rose to his feet and then doubled backwards until he stood upon his hands, his arms straight. Concentrating, he stilled the tremble of muscles until he was completely still. This, was how the three Sindar found him.

  "What is he doing?" asked one with a malevolent sneer.

  "Perhaps he wishes to join the king's buffoons –"

  "You would do well, freak…" said another, watching their victim expectantly.

  Legolas bent from the abdomen, his legs straight until he stood elegantly, his plaited hair falling back into place, his face straight for his mind was still where he had sent it.

  Circling now, one reached out and flicked the end of a side plait. "You are pretty, there is no denying," he murmured as the others jeered. "Lovely hair and striking eyes, perhaps it is not the king's buffoons you should join but his courtesans – they do say our lord enjoys a bit of this and a bit of that…"

  Legolas calmed himself for his mind threatened to rebel against his instructions and beat the fools to a pulp. Instead he remained silent, and watched.

  "You do not defend yourself, Silvan. Have you no words for me today, no witty rebuke?" said the Sinda provocatively.

  Silence still, and the would-be warrior became impatient with his victim's lack of response.

  "We don't like you, boy. You are a freak, a bastard, a half-breed…" he mocked, his mouth close to Legolas' ear so that his hair moved together with the insults.

  "You are becoming strong," said another as he slapped the taut abdomen, a little too hard, before slamming his fist into Legolas' mid section, doubling him over with a wheeze.

  "That's it, breath, boy…" said another as he landed a punch to the kidney and then stepped back to watch.

  "He doesn't want to fight," he said to his friends, a little annoyed it seemed that their victim did not give them reason to continue.

  "Yes that is a pity," said their leader – "tis just as well that we do…" and with that, the three converged upon a still gasping Legolas and beat upon him until he fell to the ground, their shouts of glee and encouragement finally reaching the others as they approached the training field. It was Idhreno and Ram en who broke into a run, a frantic tutor just behind them.

  Ram 'en rushed the three, barreling into them until they sat upon their backsides, their expressions one of complete and utter shock. He would have killed them, thought Legolas later, had he not been held back by Idhreno and their instructor.

  "Everybody back to the barracks! Legolas, Borhen – with me, now!" he growled.

  It was all he said and Idhreno's jaw clenched at the tutor's attitude, for he had not even inquired as to Legolas' state. As it was, he still sat, blood pouring from his nose, his lip split, and red blotches had already blossomed around his chest and back.

  Ram en stood ominously over the other two antagonists as their leader was marched away together with a trailing Legolas, shirtless and bloodied, and the Wise Warrior could do nothing more than watch, until they faded into the distance. Turning, he walked towards where Ram en still towered over the two Sindarin boys, the other recruits watching with baited breath.

  Idhreno was indeed wise, and he was a warrior. He was calm and collected, of sharp wit and intelligence, but he too had his limit.

  "Ram 'en. There is one for you and one for me, and I wager our Silvan brothers here deserve a little – entertainment of their own. What say you? He asked, his face now turning to meet that of his brother, his jaw clenched, his eyes but slits of glinting steel and Ram en sneered.

  Turning as one, they set upon the two as a puma stalks her pray, only one word echoing hollowly, pleadingly throughout the glade.

  "Please…"

  Borhen and Legolas stood to attention before a surprised Lainion, who stood and moved in front of his desk, his slanted eyes moving from one to the other, before turning to the tutor in silent question.

  "I found Borhen and two others atop Legolas. I cannot say who started the fight, sir, nor the cause of it."

  Lainion remained silent as he moved to stand before them, too close for comfort and Borhen swayed backwards.

  "Why is your face untouched and his beaten?"

  "He tried, Sir, but could not land his blows."

  Lainion held the blue gaze for a while, reading the boy's words, before moving to Legolas and asking a similar question.

  "Why is your face bloodied and his untouched?"

  "Because I will not raise my hand against a fellow warrior, Sir."

  Lainion's head snapped up and his eyes met the strange green ones of the Silvan, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

  "Tutor, see to it that Borhen's father is informed of his son's misdeed. That should be punishment enough I wager," he said, waiting for the tutor to salute, and watching as the Sinda was marched away, leaving him alone at last, with the wounded woodelf.

  "Sit," was all he said as he gestured to a chair before his desk. Lainion however, stepped outside the office an
d gave instructions to the guard at his door before returning.

  "Now – why did you not defend yourself, Legolas?"

  "It does not feel right, Sir, to fight amongst ourselves."

  "But you understand that your circumstances, your looks, would surely earn you some antagonism, you are young but you are not foolish."

  "Yes, Sir, I did expect it and yet… I, permission to speak freely, Sir?"

  Lainion simply gestured with his hand as he sat to listen.

  "We are servants of our king and our people. Our mission is surely one of service, humble and disciplined. We train in order to defend, to sacrifice ourselves for others should the need arise. Tis a lofty thing, a noble cause – the most noble," he added emotively. "A warrior is the one I most look up to, the one I respect above all others save our king. As such, I will not raise my hand against a fellow warrior…"

  Lainion stared back at the bloodied recruit with long long hair and strange eyes. He had made his decision. Turion had been right, and so had he. His suspicions turned to surety and the finer hairs of his neck stood on end at the implications.

  "I share your vision, Legolas," he said calmly, "I will not punish you for there is no reason to do so, but have a care," he added, "for Borhen the son of a Lord, his father is close to the king's family."

  To Lainion's surprise Legolas' features remained calm.

  "He is a warrior, whatever his origins may be. Thus, I owe him my utmost respect in spite of his behavior. I do not, however, have to like him…" he said, knowing full well he had risked that last sentence. He was pleased, however, when Lainion did not censure him for it.

  "Between you and me, Legolas, you have taken the words out of my very mouth.

  Turion was right," he said, and Legolas' eyes filled with curiosity.

  "Instructor Turion?" he asked rhetorically.

  "Yes. He saw promise in you and now – so do I."

  Legolas smiled and then winced as his split lip opened again. Just then, Antien walked into the room with a cloth sack over his shoulder and a bowl of steaming water in his hands. Moving deftly, he applied a herb infused cloth to Legolas wounds, and then moved his hands down his chest and back, pushing down here and there until he was satisfied.