Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  His hand no longer shook and his heart no longer thumped so fast. The pressure at the back of his neck no longer hurt him and he was strong. His body poised to perform to the best of its abilities, he calmly watched as the first spider showed itself and he shot, its shriek alerting the other archers to its presence. With another arrow it fell to the ground in a leathery, fury heap of thrashing legs, until it ceased its struggles and died, and although it was the first time that Legolas had confronted a yellow-belly spider, there was no awe, no shocked horror, only the enemy and his own bow.

  Elven screams and the shrieks of the spiders filled the woods and where once there had been ominous silence, now the cacophony of battle reverberated in Legolas' ears. Strangely though, his emotions were not affected. He was aware only of his muscles as they flexed and relaxed, pulled and rolled, and when he was called to the ground his eyes sought only the enemy, his flashing blades carefully calculated with eyes that calibrated them in the foreground, judging distances in the background.

  The sounds of battle soon dimmed and the whoosh of his blades became louder, the beat of his heart ever present as it ticked steadily, even when he pierced the repugnant bellies of his foes and severed their armoured legs. His own breathing was strong and even, as his eyes now registered not only his foes before him, but his companions around him.

  An effortless change from sword to bow and he had drawn and killed a spider that was bearing down on Faunion, only to swivel sideways and shoot once more at another that threatened to skewer Angion with its toxic stinger.

  His body calmly informed him that he should duck backwards and draw his sword - effortlessly, it was back in his hand and he whirled it around before stabbing forwards, into the eye of the great, yellow-bellied spider he now fought.

  Silence now, save for his own body - his heart and his breath but he did not feel his body - was only aware that it moved, calm and coordinated, and his eyes saw everything - strange though, he mused, that there was a green and purple tinge to everything - as if he was looking through painted glass…

  Everything seemed to move so slowly, everything except his blades, in both hands, that whirled and swirled and hummed around him in a strange song that hypnotised.

  It was suddenly that his body came back to him, heavy once more, and he realised he had stopped moving. He blinked once, twice, the strange colours disappearing and the frantic face of Lainion and the western patrol standing before him, and on their faces was what Legolas could only later describe as - horror…

  …

  The next day, Legolas woke early. Nodding at the duty guard, he moved to the side of their camp and sat cross-legged. He needed to think, to straighten out the turmoil in his mind because after the events of the previous evening, Legolas was, quite simply - scared. Yet more than even this, he sensed the warriors averted gazes, their quiet avoidance.

  Slowing his breathing and closing his eyes, he began to analyse what he thought had happened.

  A pressure at the back of his neck at first had him thinking he had a headache but the pain was not a familiar one. And then, quite suddenly, an overwhelming wave of pure anxiety had slammed into him, almost stealing his breath with the force of it. He remembered trying to pinpoint the source of it but he could not. It had been too sudden, too strong. None of his own, childish worries could ever warrant what he had felt and he knew it - it had come from without, not from within.

  He remembered almost panicking, and then words rolling from his errant mouth.

  Something is wrong…

  He had heard the words as if someone else had spoken them and he shivered, the anxiety still tearing through him mercilessly. He had wanted to cry…

  Something is wrong…

  He had repeated it, and was aware that he was frightening his companions, but he had lost control and it terrified him.

  He heard their bird calls, faintly in the background, first signalling 'all clear', and then came an alert - but Legolas had already known.

  Something is wrong…

  He had felt light, as if he floated upon a cloud, and yet strangely heavy, his chest weighing down his otherwise floating body - it was absurd and he opened his eyes in exasperation, hearing now as the camp came to life.

  He should carry out his duties but his mind was still a swirling, heaving mess of disjointed memories and impressions. There was no more time though, and so he slowly rose and walked back to his companions.

  Water was boiling over a fire and wood had already been gathered. He shot an apologetic look at Faunion, who simply nodded solemnly but could not quite meet his gaze. He had acted strangely last night, both before and after the battle, of that there could be no doubt, but had he made such a fool of himself? Had he fought badly, perhaps? Stood there frozen while the others cut down their foes?

  He would not think of it just yet for there was a priority in his mind now. 'What was wrong with him?'

  A mug of tea was placed in his hand and he looked down stupidly at it, before looking up into the frank stare of Lainion, who gestured to him that he should drink it.

  He took it numbly to his lips and drank slowly, his mind turning inwards again, still aware enough to know he was being watched.

  "I am sorry - brothers…" he said sadly, his eyes firmly fixed upon his mug in shame.

  Silence followed his words, before Angion spoke.

  "What? You are sorry?"

  "Angion," said Tirion, holding his hand up for silence, and then jerking his head to the side.

  As one, the warriors rose and left the circle of fire, leaving Tirion, Lainion and Legolas alone.

  "I have shamed myself, Captain. In the one thing I wanted most in this world and I have failed…" he whispered, still unable to lift his head from his hands, the urge to cry once more angering him for the weakness it implied.

  "Legolas. Have you no recollection of what happened last night?" asked Tirion. "Can you not remember the battle?"

  "I remember - I remember feelings and sensations. I remember hearing my own heart beat, I remember fighting but not the details. I remember my failing eyesight and hearing, I remember terrible weight and dizzying lightness…" he trailed off, aware that his tone had been steadily rising. He scowled deeply, his eyes finally rising to meet Tirion's worried eyes.

  "It does not make sense," he said slowly, his eyes pleading with the captain for an explanation.

  "No," began the captain carefully. "From that perspective it does not. But listen to me, Legolas, and take good note as you always do."

  Legolas nodded dumbly, his face the very picture of abject misery.

  "From our perspective," he emphasized, "from where we stood, you have not shamed yourself, child.."

  Tirion watched as Legolas stared at him uncomprehendingly.

  "Legolas. What we saw last night, was a warrior the likes of which most of us have never seen - most, except me…"

  Legolas' expression changed from confusion to shocked puzzlement, and his head cocked to one side.

  "Legolas. There is little I or anyone else can teach you about the martial arts. You fought as the mighty warriors of old and the Valar confound me for I tell you I know not where you have learned to fight the way you do. You did not shame yourself, Legolas - Hwindohtar - you saved the day."

  Legolas' eyes were round, utter shock leaving him stupefied and unable to formulate a single sentence.

  "Now after what I have said, I will tell you this. You seem to have a - gift - Legolas. I know not the nature of it and I believe you are completely unaware of it - but you do have it. Whatever it is seems to be manifesting itself for the first time for I sense your anxiety, your fear…"

  "Yes, yes," he said eagerly, hoping that Tirion would cast some light on it, ease his fraught mind.

  "Patience, then, Hwindohtar. let us watch and wait and discover this thing together. Do not be frightened, for I believe that what happened to you yesterday is a good thing.

  A desperate, somewhat strangled groan escaped
Legolas, for it hadn't felt good at all and he said as much.

  "I cannot fathom it. I was not myself and yet I was. It was as if my body - acted of its own accord as if I had no - control - over what I did, saw or heard…"

  "Can you be more precise, Legolas. Can you remember any details?" asked Lainion, leaning forward in anticipation.

  Legolas took a few moments to think.

  "I remember my, my eyesight was strange - there were blue and purple edges to everything. I remember, my muscles, the way they flexed and relaxed, which ones moved my weapons, my eyes. I could hear little more than my own heartbeat, my own breathing, everything else was - muted - even the screams and the shrieks…"

  Lainion and Tirion shared a puzzled stare before Tirion continued with his questioning.

  "Alright. I think we have a start. At least one thing seems certain, Hwindohtar. You are most intuitive, for you felt the presence of the enemy long before any of us did. This may or may not be connected with what happened to you in battle. If it happens again, you must try to control it, and for that you can count on us but do not hide it."

  "I won't. Thank you," he said after a moment. "I am still confused but - you have helped me to calm myself at least."

  "Good," said Tirion with a reassuring smile.

  "Just - just one more thing, Captain."

  "Yes, what is it?" asked Tirion as he rose to leave.

  "Why are you calling me Hwindohtar?"

  The captain smiled before glancing at his lieutenant and then back to the young boy standing expectantly before him, looking a little less pale than he had done before.

  "Because after what I saw last night, I cannot help but call you thusly for it is true - you are the Whirling Warrior," he said, a cheeky grin on his usually stern features.

  Legolas' eyebrows rose to his hairline and he turned to face Lainion in silent question.

  But the Avari simply smiled, nodded, and went about his business, leaving behind a still puzzled, yet strangely relieved novice warrior.

  Many miles away to the west, in the deeps of the old forest, an old man's eyes snapped open, round and unfocussed, intense blue that seemed to transcend the world around him, until the pupils visibly focussed and he blinked - and then smiled.

  'Welcome, young lord…'

  Lainion

  I have much news to share with you, promising news for the most part, but all of which you must be kept abreast with.

  After much thought upon the matter, I have confided in Aradan and he is now fully aware of the situation. He, in turn, has told me the story of Lassiel, a story I know you were aware of. I now, also understand the question that has to be asked, for if The Silvan is here, upon Arda - where is his mother?

  Aradan and I are now working closely together. He wishes only that Thranduil may redeem himself at least with me, that somehow my father can become the elf he apparently used to be, the one I cannot remember having met. As for myself what do I seek? Perhaps to understand - my father, my mother, how I should feel about having a half-brother - who can say for I certainly cannot.

  The only worrying development so far is a comment that Rinion made at table not a week past. Word has come to him of the exceptional military skills of The Silvan, and has vowed to keep an eye out for him when he returns to the city. This cannot happen, of course, for it is as you say; his resemblance to my Lord Grandfather is uncanny. To this end I have devised a plan, one I believe may be suitable to all. I have previously told my father of my interest in tutoring in Imladris under Lord Erestor. I plan to remind him of it, and then execute my journey before you return. We would somehow ensure that the Silvan is part of the entourage. This is when I must speak to the boy, and Aradan will do likewise with the king.

  It will be tricky, but Rinion is likely to precipitate things and I will not have either my father nor the Silvan lad finding out the hard way.

  How goes the patrol? Send news, and your thoughts on our plans…

  Lainion folded the parchment and then burned it over the fire. Their plan was bold but he was strangely glad that Aradan was in with them. He had worked closely with the advisor for many years, while guarding the king's second son. He was a good man, a friend to the king and although Sindarin, was not sympathetic to Bandorion's notions of Sindar domination.

  He would confer with Tirion and write his reply as soon as he was able, yet what to say? That Handir had a half-brother with some strange power? That he fought like a devil possessed? Nay, he would say nothing for it was not, as yet, relevant. He scoffed to himself then, for how could something so transcendental be 'irrelevant.' The idea was absurd, but it was too much to reveal as yet - the players were unaware of their roles and until that changed, it would do no good to complicate matters beyond what they already were.

  Raking his eyes over the patrol, Lainion lingered for a while on an apparently serene novice who now spoke timidly with the troop. He knew the warriors were still wary of the boy - unable to explain in any coherent way what they had seen. Some turned to talk of spirits and possession and although they did not really believe that, the seed of doubt had been planted. He knew the time had come to veer towards the south. It was time to show Legolas, or Hwindohtar as they were now calling him, that not all battles were fought with blades…

  "Was there something else, Aradan? asked the king, his voice listless, tired.

  "Yes my Lord. I wish to discuss the possibility of Prince Handir tutoring with Lord Erestor of Imladris for six months. I know he has already put the idea to you some time ago, but I wish to add my voice to the project. He will do well, I am sure."

  "Is it necessary? He already seems to be excelling under your own guidance," said the king as he moved to stand before the full-length window of his study.

  "He is, indeed. But Imladris will pose new challenges for him. It will prepare him well for moments of crisis, and there is no one better than Lord Erestor of Imladris.

  The king snorted. "Indeed I have been on the receiving end of his negotiating skills - he is a clever shrew and most learned, even if he is a Noldo."

  "Add to that," continued Aradan, "the political benefits of renewing talks with the Noldor, I think there are many good reasons to send Handir. He will represent us well."

  "It would be a good test for him," said the king, his voice still monotonous and apparently devoid of any emotion.

  "Aye, smiled Aradan. "I would suggest waiting for a few more months, perhaps until early Spring. If you accede to the idea, I must make haste and write to their Lord so that suitable preparations can be made."

  There was a long silence as the king considered the possibility of Handir leaving for an extended stay. Of the two brothers, he was the only one that was, at least, courteous with him. And yet Thranduil had lost all hope of ever redeeming himself in his sons' eyes; too much time had passed without the slightest hint of affection. But then, he scoffed, why would they? Had he given them any cause to do so? Had he so much as touched them in all this time? Had a kind word or an encouraging nod? Nay - he had done nothing, he realised bitterly. What was the point? They would never forgive him his trespass - the terrible sin of loving one he had never been allowed to have. It was a useless idea and he knew it. Only hope would make that possible, and Thranduil had none.

  With a heavy heart, he simply nodded at his councillor and friend. Aye, he would allow the boy to travel. He may be incapable of mending the rift with his children, but he could make the boy happy, in this one thing at least.

  "With one condition. I want a patrol of twenty with him; Handir is no warrior."

  "I will see to it of course. A messenger will leave for the valley tomorrow. Do you wish to send any further correspondence, my Lord?"

  "I will send a message for Elrond. If Handir is to stay in his house, I would have his assurances on the matter."

  "A wise move, my Lord. "

  "Thank you Aradan," he said, the hint of tiredness back once more and Aradan cursed the Valar for his misery, for no one
had deserved it less than this Sindarin king who had sacrificed so much for the Greenwood. Indeed every breath he took was an act of bravery, of service, for it it were not for The Greenwood - The Evergreen Wood they protected, this extraordinary elf, would have faded to nothing centuries ago.

  And so, in spite of his success in assuring Handir's trip, he left with a familiar weight on his chest, and not a small measure of contained frustration. This king was surrounded by family, family that seemingly cared not for him, that showed no emotion, had not the slightest consideration for his well-being. Others, he mused, had no family and had suffered for it all their lives.

  'Do not fail me, Handir,' he begged. 'Bring the light back to this family, to our king.'

  Handir

  So far, all goes well. There have been some issues that will need addressing, but nothing regarding the boy's identity. For you, however, there may soon be. I calculate another few months in the field, Handir. After that we will return home and the boy will become a warrior.

  Regarding Rinion, it is, indeed, a problem. Perhaps we could orchestrate things so that the boy will not be deprived of the moment he has been waiting for all his life. If we could celebrate a vow ceremony while your brother is abroad, I would be most appreciative of the effort Handir. I know this is something that should not concern you. I ask only as a personal favour to me….he deserves it, I would not have him sacrifice that which he has worked so hard to achieve.

  Handir looked up to the heavens for a moment, before reading Lainion's farewells, and tossing the parchment into the hearth of his rooms.

  Indeed why should he care at all about the feelings of some Silvan stranger? One that had precipitated his mother's departure, one that had failed even to keep his own mother with him. One that threatened to tear his family apart, at least what was left of it which, admittedly, was not much.