Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Elladan had done all he could, he knew that, but it did not take away the sting of failure, of frustration, of not having the knowledge to curb that infection that had invaded Lainion's body and finally shut down his vital organs, one by one.

  His eyes stared at the bottle of strange tonic he had prepared, left now to one side of the the store room where the fresh herbs were stocked. He had tried, and he had failed, and tonight, they would watch as Lainion's body was given to the fire.

  Turning slowly, he left the store room and made his way back to the room where Lainion no longer lay, the sheets now clean and pristine, ready for another warrior to take his place. Reaching for his cloak, he slipped it over his shoulders and then picked up his sword, pushing it into the leather loop at his belt.

  He was filthy and dishevelled, tired beyond belief, but he had still not greeted the king as his station required, did not even know where to go to bathe and rest and so, with a heavy sigh, he turned and headed for the fortress. However, an elf stood in his path, Nestaron.

  Looking up, Elladan cocked his head to the side, wondering what he wanted but he was simply too tired to be angry any more.

  "Elrondion," began the Master Healer, waiting to be acknowledged before he continued. Elladan met his eyes.

  "You are a skilled healer, Elladan. We are grateful - for your efforts."

  Elladan had not been expecting that and his face must have shown his surprise.

  "I know," said Nestaron, holding up a palm of his hand, "I have been harsh, and any who know me will tell you that is my way - I only regret that those words now stand between us."

  Elladan breathed out and looked to the floor, before raising his head once more.

  "Nestaron. I meant what I said, you are a skilled healer and for that you have my respect, but this - unwillingness to think, to reason when it comes to the Silvan, your eagerness to discredit him is not befitting a man of your intelligence - I cannot respect that."

  Nestaron looked contrite for a moment, but his face changed as he uttered his next words, words that took Elladan by surprise.

  "Logically, I know that you are right, my Lord, but sometimes, it is the heart that speaks, that dictates the rules of the game, it is the heart that can make an idiot out of the most intelligent of elves. For my part, I will remember your words …" he said pointedly, before bowing, and walking away, back to his patients.

  And so the trees whispered and hummed their sad song. Lainion the Avari has gone away, crossed the sea with no boat, into the arms of the Lord of Death. And as they spoke and sung, so too did the forest dwellers. The Silvan and the Avarin listeners bowed their heads in sorrow and then lifted their own voices in a song of praise and thanks.

  Golloron the Spirit Herder lifted his head to the sun and closed his eyes in grief. Slowly he opened them once more and turned to the elf at his side.

  "It is time - time to return to the fortress."

  Elladan was tired, exhausted after two days of battle, in which the enemy had not been darkness but infection, and Elladan - had lost.

  His clothes were crumpled and untidy, his hair a mass of tangled knots; his boots were filthy and his heart in pain for the elf that had meant so much to him, in spite of the short time they had known each other.

  He had tried and had been found wanting; yet there was no guilt, for Elladan knew he had done all he could, had left no stone unturned. It was frustration, anger that the key had slipped through his fingers.

  The Company had left for the barracks, in search of rest, and then a place to prepare themselves for Dimaethor's rites of passage that evening, for Hwindohtar had asked them to shine for their lost brother, and Elladan knew they would do no less - indeed neither would he.

  But first, he knew he must visit the king, for Elladan was a Lord of the House of Elrond and protocol required he paid his respects. And then there was the small detail that he did not know where to go. A visiting lord was generally provided with rooms inside the main building - not that it mattered to Elladan, but he was his father's representative.

  Soon he was inside and with no idea of where to go and so, asking for instructions, he was sent to Lord Aradan's rooms.

  After three flights of stairs and an increasingly heaver step, Elladan knocked upon the heavy oak doors.

  The door opened to reveal a blond Sinda with tired eyes.

  "Elrondion?" he asked.

  "Elladan Elrondion, my Lord. I seek audience with the king to pay my respects."

  "Of course, my Lord, we were expecting you. Come, I will escort you," he said tiredly, his eyes travelling over the exhausted Noldo.

  "I wanted you to know, Elrondion, that your efforts to save our brave warrior have been noted. The people are grateful," he said softly but pointedly.

  Elladan turned to look at the regal-looking Sinda, allowing himself a small smile and a nod of thanks to the Councillor, but he said nothing for he was too tired, and not enough in control of his own emotions to speak of it just yet.

  Soon enough, a bedraggled Elladan stood before the pristine King of Greenwood the Great, but to Elladan's utter shock, the monarch walked towards him, took his head between his hands, and kissed him upon the brow, before drawing back and looked deeply into his grey eyes.

  "You have my thanks for your care of Lainion. I have heard of your efforts, Elladan, in spite of your own needs."

  Elladan's eyes filled but he did not shed a tear for had he, he knew they would not stop and so he swallowed them back and nodded, just as he had done with Aradan.

  "I can well see you are tired. Aradan," he said, turning to his Chief Advisor. "Will you summon Galion, please?"

  "Of course, my Lord."

  "Come, Elladan, sit, and drink a glass of wine with me."

  He dumbly nodded, and then sat a little too heavily in the chair before the king, gratefully accepting the goblet of cool wine and taking a long sip.

  "Thank you, my Lord," he said, relishing for a moment, the feel of the refreshing liquid that revived him just a little.

  "Galion will provide you with a room here, close to Legolas, for I have been told you are good friends," he said conversationally, but Elladan easily detected the king's thirst for information.

  "Yes. Legolas has a natural empathy that is difficult to resist, my Lord. My father has given me leave to ride with him and to further my studies here in the Greenwood, if that is acceptable to you, of course. I - I have a project I would discuss with you at a later date, my Lord," he added, his eyes slipping to the king's face.

  "Of course," smiled Thranduil and then rose as Galion entered.

  "Galion, please prepare a guest suite on this level and see that a bath is drawn and food delivered."

  "Of course, my King," bowed Galion and then left to do his Lord's bidding.

  "Thank you, my Lord," said Elladan with a grateful nod.

  "You are welcome here, Elladan. I have not yet had much time to speak with Lord Glorfindel and admit I am more than a little curious as to the events that took place in Imladris. Perhaps you would join me tomorrow for the evening meal?"

  "I would be honoured, my Lord, to accompany you, and to speak of Legolas' time in Imladris. There is much to tell for I gained a friend there, amongst other things."

  Thranduil smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes and Elladan realized that he must have missed something, something important for the king spoke openly of his son, with pride in his eyes. There was no anxiety there, no trepidation.

  I will see you later, then, at Lainion's rites?" said the king, for Elladan had finished his wine and it was time for rest, or in the case of the king, to think, and to plan, for tomorrow - his Commanders would put his son to the test, of that he had not the slightest doubt.

  "Of course, my Lord. Until later then," he said with a bow.

  Later that morning, Elladan lay back in a tub of steaming, fragrant water, his hair wet and clean, sleep pulling at him insistently, but he would not let it take him, not yet.

&
nbsp; He felt overwhelmed; so many emotions, so much hope that had been dashed, replaced now by grief. It was over - their unfortunate journey, the tragic events that had ended so cruelly, the worry for Lainion and for Legolas. All that was left was to mourn, and then to enter this game of politics they all seemed destined to play.

  And then there was Thranduil, the king he had just met and stood in awe of - Legolas' father, he reminded himself. He was not what he had been expecting at all for that show of emotion had been bold, and so very touching. This was no cold, grieving king, no cruel, hardened monarch. He was a good elf, with a good heart and, he wagered, would be a good father.

  Laying back he closed his eyes and Lainion's face came to him, alive and smiling and Elladan swallowed thickly.

  'Forgive me, Dimaethor, please - forgive me…'

  Dusk was upon them and Legolas lay upon his bed, his eyes fixed on the stone ceiling above him.

  He had bathed, eaten and slept - alone in his room for the entire day, alone with his thoughts and his grief but now, his mind was strangely - ordered. It did not make sense for there was a deep hurt in his chest, and the annoying brush of anxiety at what the next few days would inevitably bring with them. Lainion's smiling face would visit him every now and then, as did his own father's. Perhaps it was his dream, he pondered, that had given him a semblance of peace and tranquility, of strength where only hours before, there had been despair.

  In his dream, he saw the woman in the tree once more, smiling down at him. He saw Amareth's proud eyes and he saw Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo's playful smirks. He saw Elladan clapping him upon the back in friendship, and Glorfindel cupping his cheek as a father would a son. He saw Handir's kind blue eyes, and then Lainion, guiding him in the ways of a warrior, braiding his hair before a camp fire. He felt the soothing hands of the people as they shared his grief and the merry eyes of a child that gave him flowers. He saw his extraordinary father, felt his strong arms as they enfolded him, pressed him close to his strong body.

  Before he knew it, Legolas reached up to brush at the lone tear that had escaped him. So many people, so much love where just a year before, it was only him and his childhood friends, and his aunt Amareth and her pea soup. So much had happened in such a short time, so many good things, in spite of the rocky journey.

  He smiled but his eyes steeled themselves as a new light came into them. Confidence, security, love, purpose.

  Rising from the bed, he smiled down at the new uniform that had been laid out for him. It was the uniform of a base warrior. Black breeches and boots, a thin white under-tunic and a thick, leather over tunic. The simple belt had already been looped to fit a sword and the green cape would only reach his calves. But as he lifted the cloak he startled, for there, below the soft material, lay a magnificent bow. Reaching reverently for it, he ran his fingers over the wood, until they ghosted over the Tengwar that was etched there.

  'Legolas Thranduilion'

  His skin came alive and a rush of blood heated his face. It was a gift…

  Beside it, stood a beautiful quiver that boasted a golden buckle, the only sign that this soldier was no ordinary base warrior but the son of a lord.

  'Father…' he murmured.

  It was time, and the entire Company, together with Dorhinen, stood before Legolas' door, waiting for him to open it and when he did, all seven of them stared back in utter shock, for there before them, stood a prince in all but title.

  It was no matter that his uniform was that of a simple warrior - it was the way it sat with him. The fit was perfect and the golden buckle upon his breast, although small, stood out like a blazing sun. Over his right bicep and over the material of his tunic, were his warrior decorations for tonight, was a night for ceremonial uniform.

  For moments such as these, it was customary for warriors to arm themselves only with the weapons they mastered, and so, upon Legolas' back, the tip of a beautiful bow towered over his blond head, and the polished metal of his twin swords sparkled as they peeked over his strong shoulders.

  It was his hair though, that had them smiling through their grief, for the Avarin locks had been retwisted, and then gathered up and secured high upon his head and at his temples, two braids sat parallel to each other on either side, one for the archer, another for the swords, yet the rest of his glorious mane was not plaited but left to flow down his back, over his empty quiver and down past the small of his back.

  "Come," said Legolas, breaking the stunned silence. "Let us send our brother's body to the wind," and with that he left, bound for the grounds beyond the courtyard, six warriors behind him walking in silence, and pride to be following such an extraordinary elf, one that seemed to have transformed with the closing and opening of a door.

  The great gates of Greenwood the Great stood open and beyond, the blaze of many torches marked the area where Lainion's body rested over a mighty pyre.

  Slowly, the glade was filling with warriors of every rank and culture, all decked in their finest uniforms. Some were armed and braided for they were masters, and others were not, but the mixture was fascinating.

  In one corner, Glorfindel stood talking with Commander Celegon and a number of his captains, for tomorrow, was the much awaited meeting that he had called, one Glorfindel would not attend, even though Celegon had insisted he did.

  "You have read my report, Celegon. I will say no more until you have drawn your own conclusions - I do not want to influence anyone in this, for if I did, I would lose Legolas' friendship, of that I have no doubt."

  Celegon, of course, knew Legolas, although not well, but he had seen him fight, and that, he would never forget. However, promoting a base warrior to a trainee captain was simply unheard of, and no doubt unwise. But that did not eliminate the problem, the threat.

  He was about to open his mouth once more, but he shut it as the glade became silent, not because the king had arrived, but his son, the Silvan, walked into the glade, flanked by six warriors perfectly decked in their uniforms. Hundreds of eyes registered their heritage, and the single Avarin braid they all wore over one shoulder - all except the Silvan himself for his entire head was covered in them, bunched high on his head by another braid holding it all together.

  Their eyes travelled down the river of light blond hair, and then to the dual braids at his temples, the bow and the short swords.

  Finally, their eyes trained upon his face - the face of Oropher and yet no so for his eyes were a startlingly clear green that seemed to shine from the inside - beautiful and strange, beguiling, and his skin shone so bright it did not seem normal at all. There was a power here they did not understand, this was clear to the elder members of the congregation, the more veteran warriors.

  Glorfindel's face shone in pride, smiling as Legolas came to stand before him and nodded respectfully.

  "Lord Glorfindel," he said simply.

  "Lord Legolas," said Glorfindel. You know Commander Celegon, of course," he said, watching as both elves nodded respectfully at each other. "This here is Captain Dunorel," he continued, "and Captain Thoron." Both Sindarin captains nodded, their eyes glancing over his right bicep and the decorations that sat there.

  "Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lord Legolas," said Dunorel. "I have heard much talk of your archery skills, but I was not aware you were a master of the Short Swords," he said. "I look forward to a turn on the training fields with you," he smiled, indeed Legolas own eyes had slipped to a similar decoration the captain wore on his own arm.

  "It would be a pleasure, Captain," he said, as serious as he had been on his arrival, although Glorfindel rather thought he saw a spark of gratitude behind the grief in his eyes. Indeed Legolas seemed different, and he knew it was not just the grief for a fallen brother.

  Soon enough, the king was there, flanked by his two princes, Rinion, impeccable in his silver tunic and crown, and Handir, still pale and weak in his heavier civilian robes.

  The royal family bowed respectfully at the pyre, and before long, the king was speaking
. His words were powerful and generous for he spoke of a mighty warrior, a loyal guard, a generous elf that would be remembered, and when a guard handed him the torch that would set the pyre aflame, Thranduil did not hesitate and the body of Dimaethor was engulfed.

  A soul-wrenching scream from a devastated sister ripped through the silence of the forest, and straight through the hearts of those that stood by, helpless to ease her suffering save for the small consolation of their presence.

  It was Lainion's father who walked forwards then, until he stood before the king. With a nod, he presented his son's weapons to the king, as was customary, and Thranduil accepted them with a bow from the waist, the maximum expression of respect from a king, and with that simple gesture, Lainion's family walked from the glade in silence.

  "Excuse me," said Legolas with a bow to Glorfindel and the captains, holding up his hand to the Company, for where he went now, they could not follow. Dorhinen however, was on his heels as he walked towards the king and princes, under the critical gaze of Greenwood's commanders.

  "My king," bowed Legolas formally.

  "Lord Legolas," said the king. "Join us," he said.

  "Of course, my King," he answered, his eyes straying to Handir, green eyes softening for a moment, watching as they were answered by Handir's sad smile.

  And from afar, Glorfindel watched as the king walked away, his two princes behind him, and then Legolas and Dorhinen, and although the Silvan wore no crown, or the fine robes of royalty, there could be no mistaking his heritage, indeed some would say his very hair was all the crown he needed.

  "Tis Oropher reborn," murmured Dunorel."

  "Aye - Thranduil and his three sons - I wonder what Lieutenant Rinion thinks about all this," smirked Thoron as he watched them pass.