Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  "No," said Glorfindel before Elrond could answer. "Only in that he is the very image of Oropher - Erestor, when you see him - it is quite simply, uncanny."

  Erestor held his gaze for long moments, aware of the relationship Glorfindel had shared with the fallen monarch. This would bring back memories, of days gone by.

  "It is true," said Elrond introspectively. "It is striking - I find it hard to believe this boy has passed by unnoticed for so long."

  "Lainion did say he had been sheltered by Amareth," remembered Erestor as he drank.

  "Even so," said Glorfindel. Those of his village - they would surely know. You have but to open a book and see a portrait of Oropher. There is more to this story than Lainion has said, either he hides something, or he does not know."

  "You think the villagers were silent collaborators?" asked Elrond.

  "I think it is a possibility," replied Glorfindel carefully.

  Breaking the contemplative silence, Erestor leant forward. "I am seeing Prince Handir today. We will plan his studies for the next few months. I think perhaps it will do him good, to get into some sort of routine. We must not forget how trying this time will have been for him - it is easy to forget that he, too, is a victim in this."

  "Keep me informed, my friend. For now," said Elrond, "we wait for the boy to recuperate, and we hold council once more. Until then, we watch and learn. There is something about that child I do not understand."

  "What do you mean?" asked Glorfindel, his brow creasing.

  "I cannot say," said the Master Healer softly. "I do not know - not yet," he finished as he took a gulp of wine.

  Glorfindel and Erestor shared a worried glance before turning back to Elrond, but nothing more would he say.

  Elladan, however, spoke up for the first time that afternoon, and when he did, although softly spoken, none could doubt the emotion behind them, the conviction of their meaning.

  "There is magic about him. A deep, arcane thing that comes from the forest …"

  There was a tense silence in the healing wing, and Ram en Ondo was nearing the end of his admittedly short tether.

  "What is taking so long! We just want to see him, what are they not telling us!" he roared, drawing the attention of the healers.

  "Warrior, you will calm yourself," came the stern voice of a healer who came to stand before the irate Wall of Stone, his head only just reaching the elf's sternum. He gulped silently.

  "No - you calm me. Tell me at least if he will be alright! Is that too much to ask!" he roared again, before turning on his heel and stalking to the window with a slight limp and a shaking hand to his bandaged head.

  The healer looked down and then at the massive back of Ram en Ondo. "Forgive me," was all he said before approaching the window and placing a calming hand on the muscled shoulder.

  "He is well, or will be. Let him rest a little longer, then you may see him. He needs peace and quiet for today at least. Do not fret," said the soft-voiced healer in genuine empathy.

  Ram en turned, seeing the other warriors behind the pale healer, watching him.

  "I appologize, healer. It was not my intent to antagonise you."

  "I understand."

  "After the evening meal then?" he asked and the healer smiled, wide and genuine.

  "After dinner," and with a curt nod, he turned and left, a regretful Ram en Ondo feeling petty and infantile.

  "Sorry," he mumbled with a shrug before returning to his bed in silence.

  The day was almost done, and Ram en Ondo held to the healers promise of finally being allowed to see Legolas, but when they reached the door, they were summarily sent back the way they had come.

  "Prince Handir is not to be disturbed," said a Noldorin guard, his voice strong and clipped.

  Ram en Ondo's face turned sour and before he could explode once more, Idhrenohtar stepped forward.

  "We will wait," he said, his voice brooking no argument, indeed the guard simply nodded and stood to attention once more.

  To pass the time, The Company sat and studied the guard's attire and weapons, as they knew Legolas would too, if he were here. They had struck up a heated debate on the virtues of metallic and leather armour, and what pieces would be cumbersome in a woodland environment. As for the guard, he stared straight ahead as protocol dictated, but when no one was looking his eyes would swivel to the young warriors, wishing they would shut their mouths …

  The door opened, and Prince Handir appeared, with Dimaethor at his shoulder. The Silent Warrior smiled as he nodded at his brothers - all was well, he silently said, and of a sudden, the mood lifted, as did their shoulders. Yet before they could enter, Handir spoke.

  "I am sorry to have kept you. I wished to thank our brave warrior for his service, he said calmly, before nodding and leaving with Lainion, who shared one last lingering look at Idhrenohtar.

  "Our brave warrior," muttered Lindohtar tartly - "'brother' he means…"

  "Give him time, Lindo," said Galdithion. Give him time…"

  Entering slowly, their eyes travelled over their injured brother as they accommodated themselves around him, careful not to move his bed too much.

  Tired green eyes followed them, an apology upon the beautiful face, still marred with fading bruises and cuts.

  But the reprimand Legolas had been waiting for did not come. Idhrenohtar would have warned them not to, he was sure, and Legolas was so glad of it. He had needed this time to rest and to think, and although he had not been able to reassure himself fully, he had at least, found his peace. Even Handir had visited him, albeit his tone had been that of Prince to warrior. He had been kind though, and Legolas supposed that was all he could ask - all he should expect. You cannot come to love a brother simply because you have a brother…

  The Company, with the exception of Legolas, had been freed from the confines of the Healing Wing, and now, they sat in borrowed clothes upon Legolas' bed as he moaned and complained of his own 'incarceration' as he called it.

  Lindohtar giggled as he pulled at Galdithion's fine tunic. "We look like Lords!" he exclaimed, and Ram en Ondo beamed proudly as Lindohtar swaggered his hips and cocked his wrist.

  "Fools," smiled Legolas, then winced as his wounds pulled.

  "You have new robes too, Legolas - you must be fed up with being naked!"

  "Shut up, Idhrenohtar! I am not naked, I am wearing bandages…"

  Galdithion snorted and Lainion's eyebrow rose as he asked. "Even there…?

  Lindohtar hooted and Legolas glared at the Avari, obviously deciding that there was nothing else for it than to endure their foolery. They had been worried, he knew - it was their way of releasing the negative tension they had accumulated over the last three days. The light-hearted banter did not last long though.

  "How was your talk with our Prince?" asked Idhrenohtar, his eyes fixed on Legolas.

  Silence fell over The Company. The subject was still knew. They had not spoken of Legolas' surprising heritage - there had been no time, and when there had been time, it had not been the appropriate moment.

  "Well," he began carefully. "He was kind and - distant. I am not sure what I expected; hate and anger, or cool dismissal. I have not had the time to ponder it. I suppose it is enough that he did not treat me with disdain…"

  "And you are content with just that?" asked Ram en Ondo, to which Galdithion nodded his agreement.

  "Not content, Ram en, but think. I am the one to interfere with his family structure, I am one who could, potentially, cause him much strife. I do not know the full story but I suspect their has already been much heart-ache surrounding my - existence. I have no rights, and no right to demand his regard as a brother."

  Galdithion's face was serious. "Legolas. Family is sacred, you share the same blood…"

  "It is not about the blood we share, Gal, but about the blood that separates us."

  "Be that as it may," he insisted, "you owe each other respect. Part of what he has is yours."

  "No!" said Legolas forc
efully, before softening his tone. "Nothing he has is mine. Nothing…" he whispered. There were deep emotions swirling under the surface, his unwillingness to speak any further becoming evident to them all.

  "And yet," continued Galdithion, unwilling to let it go. "And yet you are wrong. You may not want it - but it is yours by right," he finished, equally convinced of what he said.

  Legolas stared at the Silvan warrior for long moments, resisting the urge to answer him, for it would do no good. He did not wish to argue the point for now but his eyes continued to rove over the angelic features that were scrunched into an expression of such fierceness it seemed - almost funny and Legolas smiled in spite of himself.

  "What is so funny?" asked Galdithion, suddenly self-conscious.

  "Your face…"

  The scowl deepened, but Legolas continued. "You have been accepted into The Company and I am more than honoured that that should be so - you are missing a warrior name…"

  "And?" asked Galdithion in irritation, irked that Legolas should change the subject so abruptly.

  "And, I have it - I have your name…"

  The scowl inverted and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  "Pray tell," smirked Idhrenohtar as he watched them both.

  "Rhrawthir - you, are Rhrawthir, Fierce Face…"

  Ram en Ondo guffawed load and unconcerned that he was in the Healing Ward, while the others snickered. But Legolas and Galdithion continued to stare each other out, one grinning toothily and the other wearing his fiercest mask, until he could take it no more and he smiled.

  "Alright. I understand, Legolas - I do - I just, I have strong views on family…"

  "I understand too, Gal - as far as I am able to that is, for I never had family, and to have one now, one I never expected, it is - all so new and strange - I do not know what to do, how to feel. I can only go with the tide…"

  "And the tide will be high, Legolas," warned Idhrenohtar. "Your identity has become known…"

  Legolas' head whipped to the Wise Warrior. "How? How did that happen?" he asked with a scowl.

  It was Lainion that answered though, for he had been there when it happened. "It was Prince Handir, Legolas. "No sooner we arrived he begged Lord Elrond to find the warriors he felt he had 'left behind;' he begged them because he said he had 'left his young brother behind,'" he finished softly, watching Legolas' reaction.

  With a deep breath, Legolas looked away, and his doubt was back. "You see," said Galdithion, "blood does count, Legolas. He cares about you, that much is sure; he just does not know how to go about this…"

  "Who does?" asked Lindohtar.

  Galdithion nodded and looked to the floor, and when he looked back up again, he smiled wide and genuine. "Fierce Face," he repeated, as if savouring the name, "you have a sarcastic streak, Hwindohtar."

  Hours later, Legolas lay atop the sheets of his bed, now in comfortable sleeping clothes. This was to be his last day abed, or so Lord Elrond had promised, well almost. There had been that - unimportant - condition that he should rest for the next week ahead, and though he had not wanted to admit it, his injuries had left him sore and weak.

  By some miracle, he had not lost his journal in the ambush and now, it sat open before him, the rough sketch of Rhrawthir recently finished. It brought to mind the conversation he had had earlier with The Company, and when Legolas had finally had time to sit and think in the silence of his room, he realised he had come across as much more unconcerned about his family situation than he really was. The truth was different - he was curious about his brother, he wanted to get closer to him, to know what it was like to have a sibling. It intrigued him that Handir had revealed his secret with the sole intention of begging Elrond to find him sooner. But how does one get close enough to a Prince? Handir seemed so unapproachable, especially when the subject that concerned him was, potentially, volatile and upsetting.

  Turning the page of his journal, a blank page stood before him, crisp and inviting, and so he closed his eyes and mustered the face of his next sketch - the elf he had first seen in a glade back in The Greenwood, the day he had become a novice warrior. It was only recently that he learned of his true identity - Handir, Prince of The Greenwood, his brother.

  His stomach flipped every time he thought of it, and …. A knock on the door startled him for a moment, before he collected himself. "Enter," he called softly, reaching for the water on the bedside table. He nearly spilled it though, when he realised who it was that walked through the door.

  "My Lord!" he called, making to leave his bed, but a stern look and an outstretched palm stilled him immediately.

  "Forgive me," said Legolas bashfully and Glorfindel smiled kindly.

  "May I?" he asked, gesturing to a nearby chair.

  "Of course, my Lord, please," he said, turning to face to the legendary warrior, obviously uncomfortable with his more than casual attire and the fact that he was receiving a legend in his pyjamas, sprawled upon a bed.

  Glorfindel, unperturbed by the young lad's obvious distress, leaned forward and stared at the rough sketch of Handir.

  "Ah, your brother," he ventured, his eyes meeting those of Legolas challengingly, well aware of the risk he took by brooking this subject without the slightest preamble.

  Indeed he had left the boy speechless and momentarily regretted having expressed himself so abruptly.

  "We are aware of the story, Legolas. It has come to our attention."

  The boy simply nodded, and then looked away in distress.

  "Are you ashamed?" asked Glorfindel softly. It was not an accusation.

  "Not of who, no, but of how, perhaps - I - I am unaware of the full story, as you may know."

  "Yes - I know, child. But let me tell you this," he said, leaning forward until his face was but inches from Legolas. "I was a brother in all but blood to your grandfather, Oropher. He was the most extraordinary elf I have ever met. A brilliant mind and witty character; a fierce, brave warrior with an unwavering sense of loyalty to his people. I admired him, Legolas, and I miss him, every day of this life."

  The boy had listened avidly, and Glorfindel had seen keen interest under the distress. Casting his eyes back down to the journal, he continued his questioning in the hopes of drawing him out. "What else do you keep in that diary?"

  "This? 'Tis a journal of sorts, a multi-purpose thing, my Lord. 'Tis a diary, a note book, a to do list, a wish list.." he smiled bashfully.

  "And what sort of things do you take note of?" asked Glorfindel, sincerely interested now. He was not, however, quite expecting the answer he received.

  "Well, apart from these drawings, I write the things I would change…" he looked up self-consciously at the great lord, as if asking for permission to continue. The encouraging smile he received was enough.

  "The problems I encounter with equipment, uniform, logistics. Impressions on orders given or how they are given, decisions on strategy that I do not understand and need to document, moves that others make that I wish to incorporate, or that I could improve…"

  Glorfindel stared at the boy in fascination.

  "You think me mad…" said Legolas with an understanding nod. "You are not the first to think this strange," he smiled.

  "Legolas, it is not that I think you mad. It is, however, strange, to find a young, recently promoted warrior taking notes on such things. If one is looking for promotion, a diligent candidate would do such a thing, but you do not have to worry yourself on such things for now."

  "Perhaps not," conceded Legolas. "But I enjoy it - the research I mean. I have read everything I could find on warfare and strategy - even your treatise, my Lord," he said, and there it was again, the same embarrassment he had seen when Glorfindel had first entered the room. It seemed to him, that the boy had never been able to discuss such things with anyone he considered an authority, had never received the feedback he obviously needed.

  "Have you now?" asked Glorfindel in genuine surprise. It was a long, drawn-out account of the military str
ategy of wars in the First Age, not exactly the typical reading material of such a young warrior. "You are brave indeed, then," he chuckled and Legolas smiled, loosing some of the tension in his shoulders.

  "You are one of four warriors that are to stay here for six months, correct?" asked Glorfindel rhetorically.

  "Yes, my Lord."

  "What is it you hope to achieve?"

  "I - "

  "Come, don't be shy!" he encouraged.

  With another, self-conscious glance, Legolas answered as he always did when asked the same question.

  "I want to be a Captain…"

  "Ah! You are ambitious then!" said Glorfindel. "I am unaware of the workings of Thranduil's militia but here, in this Noldorin haven, only the best are chosen to lead, Legolas. You must have both innate qualities and skill - the question is - do you have these things?" he asked challengingly.

  Legolas, for the first time, held the lord's gaze and Glorfindel found himself surprised at the conviction behind them. Gone was the embarrassment and the self-consciousness, replaced now with what suddenly appeared to be a different elf.

  "Yes," he said evenly, before continuing. "In The Greenwood, it is the Sindar that boast the privilege of leadership. There are few Silvan captains, and most of them do not serve in the field at all. The rift is becoming too great, my Lord…"

  Glorfindel leaned forward. He was fascinated, for if he had not misunderstood, this child was aspiring to changing the world, no less.

  "You consider yourself Silvan then?" he asked lightly. The syntax had been interrogative, but not so the tone.

  "Yes. It is where I was brought up, the people I call family, the culture that was bestowed to me. They have but village leaders to defend their rights - 'tis not enough in our changing forest. The Sindar are slowly but surely turning our identity into a thing of the past, a lesser people, more rustic, less valid …" he said almost pleadingly. The words had been passionate and heart-felt, and Glorfiindel stared now, into the strange green eyes of The Silvan. Elladan was right - there was something strange about him, something below the surface. Elrond had felt it, Elladan seconded it and now, Glorfiindel, could do nothing but agree.