Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  He was more nervous than he had been in a long, long time, for Glorfindel's words from the previous evening had been haunting him, even in his restless sleep. Perhaps he should have listened, consented to his presence for the meeting, asked more questions on what it was that was to happen.

  It was too late now and so, cursing his own pig-headedness, he prepared himself as he would for a patrol in the forest.

  He had yet to arm himself, instead carrying his new bow, quiver and knives in his hand, for first there was breakfast to attend, the first of his battles for the day. Not that he was hungry though for his stomach was clenched shut and it made him feel childish, unable to control his mounting trepidation. Everything rested on the outcome of this day, and should things not go to plan, what would Yavanna think of that? His mind played boyishly with the notion of an angry Vala, scolding him as an irate mother would, or perhaps cutting off the glorious hair she had regaled him with.

  With a mental snort, he shook his head and left for the dining room, alone save for the Sindarin shadow that followed him everywhere he went.

  Silence met him as it so often did now, and in spite of the packed hall, only whispers and murmurs were heard.

  At one table, The Company sat together with Glorfindel, and at the High Table, sat the king, the two princes, and Mithrandir, a small mercy, realised Legolas, for he was being ushered to sit next to Handir and he could not refuse, and so, under the careful stare of his friends and his own, apologetic shrug, he bowed to king and princes, and then sat.

  "Morning brother," murmured Handir.

  "Handir," he acknowledged simply.

  "Legolas," said the wizard as he ate his breakfast. "How is that shoulder?"

  "Much better Mithrandir. I need to train if I am to get it back to full use, but it does not hinder me, thank you," he said, eating sparingly for he knew he would need the nourishment and yet his stomach did not agree.

  "Legolas. I have invited Lords Glorfindel, Elladan and Mithrandir, to dinner this evening" said the king as he ate. "I understand they have many tales of your time in Imladris to regale us with."

  "There is much to say, indeed," said Legolas, but spoke no more and the king watched him from the corner of his eye, shrewd wisdom behind his calculating grey eyes, and Mithrandir had not missed it.

  "Well, I for one wish you luck for today, Legolas. I think you may need it," said the wizard with a hint of amusement, but Legolas' face turned a little sour. He could have done with a little encouragement yet everyone was completely tight-lipped about the Inner Circle and his stomach flipped once more.

  It was no good, he could not eat and so he stood, bowed, and removed himself from the hall, just as he had arrived, amidst a sea of screaming silence.

  "He is restless," said Mithrandir to no one in particular.

  "Yes," replied Rinion, "and well he should be."

  He walked slowly towards the barracks, for there was still time, time to compose himself, to enter that state of mind in which only his logic and reasoning would dictate his actions and his words. There was no kingly father, no antagonistic brother, no lost mother, no people to convince, no magic to understand or friends to mourn - only his mind and its ability to control his emotions, his temper.

  With every step he took, his mind began to shut and lock doors, open others, block the negative sensations and bring to the fore only the good things; his mission, his Vala, the voice of the forest as it bolstered his courage and tempered his spirit.

  They were at the gates to the barracks now, and Legolas turned to Dorhinen, wondering why his guard would startle as he did.

  "You cannot follow, not today, Dorhinen."

  "I must," he answered.

  "No. Please. Stay here. Nothing will happen to me in there, Dorhinen, nothing I cannot defend myself from."

  "I am under the orders from the king, Legolas. It is not for me to decide."

  "Leave him," came the authoritative voice of Captain Dunorel. "He is under military jurisdiction now, it is our orders that are to be carried out here, this you know, Lieutenant."

  Dorhinen was torn, but he was sure of his orders and the king's orders had priority.

  "I must obey the orders of my King first, Captain. He has not changed them. I am to stay with him."

  Dunorel stared long at Dorhinen, and then nodded slowly. "Then you will both accompany me to Commander General Celegon's office."

  "Captain," acknowledged Dorhinen with a curt nod.

  They were soon walking into a vast square courtyard, their boots clicking over the stone and echoing around the walls, the silence was absolute, in spite of the one hundred and two captains that stood in a circle, watching them with narrowed eyes. This was the Inner Circle, the Greenwood's centre of military power - these were the elves that Legolas knew he must convince and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the plains of Harad.

  They were magnificent to look upon. Their uniforms, their armour, their braids and their predominantly blond hair. The fierceness of their faces, the strength that rippled below their breastplates - this was where Legolas wanted to be - this was what he had dreamed of since he was a young child.

  Dunorel led Legolas and Dorhinen into an office that looked out over the courtyard, where Celegon sat waiting at his table, General Huron standing at his shoulder.

  All three elves saluted the Commander General, who stood to return it, his eyes lingering on Dorhinen.

  "Lieutenant. You are relieved of your duty until this meeting is concluded."

  "Commander General, I am under orders from the King, I cannot obey your order."

  Celegon stared at the frosty Sinda, knowing he was right.

  "Then listen carefully to what I will say now. You are bound to secrecy from this moment forward, and you are not at liberty to intervene. Do you understand?"

  "I will not intervene, unless his life is at risk."

  "So be it," sighed the Commander.

  As soon as Captain Dunorel had left, Celegon turned to the Silvan.

  "Legolas, we are here to discuss Commander General Glorfindel's recommendations after your training period in Imladris and to this end," said the Captain purposefully, "we will put you to the test. However," he emphasised, pausing to look carefully at the silvan warrior, "this will be no ordinary test. This will not be our standard protocol test and let me tell you why," he said purposefully, his eyes including all those in the room.

  Firstly, there is the question of the extraordinary claims that Glorfindel makes here, especially in relation to your age; you are seven hundred and forty five, correct?"

  "Yes, Commander General."

  "You see, there are no lieutenants under the age of one thousand five hundred, and no captains under two thousand…"

  Legolas pursed his lips and looked to the floor for he knew this, he knew almost everything there was to know of the Greenwood's military.

  "Secondly, you may be aware of the political unrest in the forrest. After the Greenwood Summit, there have been requests from the Silvan people regarding your status, Legolas," said Celegon carefully, his shrewd eyes fixed meaningfully on those of the Silvan."

  Legolas frowned, for he had no idea what the Commander was talking about. Celegon glanced at Huron, who stepped forward.

  "Legolas," began Huron, "the Silvans have requested their own military leader, a specialist, if you will, on forest combat, one who understands the needs and difficulties of life amongst the trees - they want, a Silvan commander."

  Legolas stood listening intently to what the General said, but could not grasp why there were discussing politics with him.

  "Have you read anything along these lines? I am told you are an avid reader," said Celegon.

  "I have read of the Silvan and Avarin warriors of old, their tactics, weaponry, their beliefs and supersititions, yes," he said.

  "Then you will know of the figure of the Silvan Warlord?"

  "Yes…" answered Legolas, his face starting to show the dawning realisation. "They
have requested a Silvan Warlord?" he blurted, eyes wide and disbelieving.

  "Yes…" said Celegon, but there is more…

  There was that look again, between the Commander and the General, and Legolas steeled himself for what they would say now for he knew they had come to the crux of the question, the real reason for so much secrecy.

  "They want you…"

  Legolas' ears rang, he could feel his own eyes widen and his mouth hang loose but he could not school himself for his heart hammered in his chest and he needed to sit down.

  "Legolas…."

  He could not speak, so shocked he was for he did not understand it at all.

  "You did not suspect - any of this?" asked Celegon.

  "No," he whispered. All his self control had gone, all his mental preparation had been insufficient, he could not do it. He was swimming in a sea of confusion and disbelief.

  "I don't understand…."

  "Neither do we," said Celegon, "so you see, the importance of the matter?"

  "I am a - child - to them, I am a lowly warrior I - I have no standing in the army, not yet. I am a son of the king but I am not a prince, I am not high born. Why?"

  "The question, Legolas, is that they are adamant about this and harsh words have been exchanged. They have organised and threatened to turn their backs on the king should their demand be ignored - they force our hand and yet we cannot accept such a request for you are too young, too inexperienced, and - we do not know of your loyalties…"

  "I - I understand," he babbled, his mind still reeling. "But why, why did the king not brief me? I should have known…"

  "We asked him not to. This is first and foremost a question of the military. If we had left it to the king it would have become a politically orientated debate and that we could not risk. I am sure you are aware of the Sindarin purists and their pretensions - they would have blocked any attempts at giving the Silvans what they want."

  "So you are saying the army is considering accepting their petition?" asked Legolas in disbelief.

  "We must. The threat is too great. The bulk of this army is Silvan and if we are to hold ourselves together, we must have their loyalty and it seems the only way to achieve that, is to give them their Warlord."

  "How has it come to this…?" he asked, almost to himself.

  "You have been a warrior for less than two years yet I wager it has been time enough for you to see the discrimination. It has been left to fester for so long, gone unchecked so that injustice has ruled and they see no other way to regain our respect."

  "Yes, it does make sense," said Legolas. "Forgive me, Commander, but I had not - anticipated - "

  "Of course you had not, and that speaks well of you. But you see now, what we are up against?"

  "Oh yes - yes Commander I do."

  And he did, indeed as the shock wore off and the possibilities began to emerge in his mind, he began to realise how utterly - convenient - this was.

  "We would know of your loyalties, your objectives, your ability on and off the battle field and finally, we will decide your fate, for it seems that cannot be separated from the growing tension between the Sindar and Silvan people of this land."

  He paused here, stood and turned to the window to look upon the commanders that waited for them outside.

  "The people are divided, Legolas. The Silvans look to you and the Sindar reject you for what you represent. Tension is rising and every day that passes we are a day closer to civil unrest. This army must take a good look at you and decide where it stands - with you, or against you…"

  "I understand."

  "You know, Legolas, that we have already served together - I have seen you fight and then I have seen stranger things, although I have not seen you interact with other warriors and commanders. You have my respect for your bravery on our journey to Imladris and you have my sympathy but," he emphasised as he leant forward, "that does not mean you have everyone's approval. This is an opportunity that could very well put a stop to this Sindar-Silvan bickering but I warn you, some of those captains out there would gladly see you fail in this and although they are good commanders, some are not willing to open doors to our Silvan warriors. I do not condone this but I do know, that the only way to stop their discrimination, is to show them they are wrong."

  "I understand," said Legolas.

  "Do you? For you see, you will be questioned, interrogated if I know some of those captains well. You will be insulted and you will be pushed to your limits in more ways than one. They have their questions, their doubts, there prejudices and all these things must be addressed if we are to make things right. You have heard of the trials a Lieutenant must undergo in order to become a Captain?"

  "I have, said Legolas, a frown on his face now.

  "This is a similar test, Legolas. A test of your own endurance, your skill, your discipline, your intentions. It will not be pleasant and you will not be treated kindly. Do you understand?"

  After a moment of silence, Legolas answered, his face neutral once more.

  "I understand, Commander General."

  Celegon held his gaze for a moment, because for the first time he had seen a spark of fear behind those strange green eyes. Thranduil's warrior son was nervous but more than this he had not been able to hide it. It was a timely reminder that this warrior was younger than any other that had ever aspired to a command and a pang of doubt assailed him. Were they doing the right thing? His insecurity did not last long though, for when he thought of the possible consequences of not doing this, everything was worth the risk, even this.

  He turned resolutely to Dunorel.

  "You may commence," he said formally.

  Inside the walled building, Legolas stood in the middle of an ample courtyard, amidst the Greenwood's Captains, General and Commander General. One hundred and two warriors, ninety of them Sindarin, and only twelve Silvan.

  The Captains stared on, their eyes expectant, analysing, weighing him up, inspecting every part of him, from the tip of his boots to the last Avarin braid high upon his head.

  But Legolas did not meet their eyes, instead staring off into the space before him, focussed on nothing at all save for his own body and mind, desperate to find that space where only his warrior self functioned. It did not work though for his mind was still reeling with what Celegon had just disclosed.

  There were murmurs amongst the captains, and Dorhinen stood discreetly behind them, ensuring for himself a good vantage point should he be needed.

  General Huron stepped forward, calling for silence.

  "We will begin by reading Lord Glorfindel's report," he stated, and but minutes later, when Huron had done just that, the Captains broke out into a heated discussion, their agitation rising at what they obviously considered folly.

  Huron raised his hands for silence and then stepped towards Legolas who stood quietly, his face carefully schooled, in spite of the words of praise from Glorfindel.

  "Do you agree with this?" asked Huron somewhat aggresively.

  Legolas took a deep breath before answering, for his words would need clarifying, if they would let him.

  "That is not for me to say, Sir."

  Huron stepped closer. "Why?"

  "I am not qualified to give an opinion."

  "Clarify, warrior."

  "I do not have the knowledge or experience to know if Lord Glorfindel's words should be acted upon."

  Silence ensued Legolas' words, before Captain Dunorel shattered it.

  "Commander Glorfindel," said Dunorel in a voice that carried around the courtyard, makes his recommendations based on these points; skill at arms, capacity for leadership and sound strategical analysis. I warn you, warrior. This has never happened before, this, unbelievable report from one we hold in high esteem must not be taken lightly, and in spite of our words we do not discredit the Lord Glorfindel.

  Legolas was confused, for they said it was folly and yet they claimed they did not doubt Glorfindel's report.

  It must have show
n on his face, in spite of his best efforts and his eyes strayed for the first time to meet those of the captain, and the moment they did, a resounding smack echoed around the stone courtyard as Dunorel's open palm slapped Legolas' face, whipping it to the side in a flurry of hair.

  Legolas righted himself, shocked that they would physically harm him and he tried once more to control himself. 'Discipline, control!' he screamed at himself in exasperation.

  Dunorel leered at him. "Are we confused, warrior? Do you not understand us? Did you think we would just stand by and implement all that Commander Glorfindel of Imladris says? And if we did, do you think your instant promotion would be understood? accepted? respected?"

  Captain Thoron stepped forward then, a Sindarin Captain Legolas remembered standing next to Dunorel last night at Dimaethor's funeral.

  "They call you the Silvan," he began. "Are you?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And what makes you think a Silvan can become a Captain, after one year as a warrior?"

  "I do not think it."

  "You have an opinion!" he shouted.

  "I have a wish only."

  "You - bastard son, raised by a Silvan peasant in some Valar-forsaken village, with delusions of becoming a Captain. A child of but seven hundred and forty four years to his name - you - believe you are capable?" he sneered.

  They were goading him, measuring his endurance. He knew that but it did not make it any easier to bear.

  "Yes."

  "A simple, lowly Silvan child with the hair of a woman and the eyes of a demon - you dare to use your father's name to gain favour in this, hallowed institution?"

  "No."

  "No what!"

  "I do not use my father's name to gain favour - I never will," and again, his eyes had slipped to those of Thoron. Sure enough, his head was whipped to the side as he was slapped by the Sindarin Captain.

  Thoron swivelled on his heels and joined his fellow captains.

  It was a Silvan captain who approached now, his honey-coloured eyes fixed on Legolas, watching him as if he were a hunted animal.