Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Legolas' eyes had grown wide at his father's words, yet he could not help the twitch of his lips and the joy in his eyes from showing.

  "Thank you, my King," replied Legolas before bowing, and then allowing Handir and Mithrandir to lead the way, out of the throne room, out of the fortress and its gates, under the appreciative gaze of all those who looked on.

  There were no more veiled insults, no more smirks and rude comments. The bastard had gone, the child of a Silvan nobody had slowly dissipated and then reappeared as a lord of his people, Warlord of the Silvan people, son of Thranduil - nay, no more insults, only growing admiration, and respect.

  The guards at the main gates stood to attention and turned aside as the mighty, towering doors ground into action, and soon, Handir and Mithrandir, followed by the Company, strode into the Silvan camp. Before them, already waiting like stone statues amidst the ground fog, were Erthoron, Lorthil, Golloron and Narosen, and a little way behind, Amareth, who stood cloaked and quiet, her eyes cast to the ground.

  Beyond the main tent, the rest of the Silvan people stood quietly in the early evening gloom, watching them, their every move, their sparkling eyes dancing over their clothing, their faces, their weapons and the elf that stood at the centre, partially obscured from sight. Finally, they looked at the scroll that Prince Handir held in his manicured hands.

  The few noises there were, were muffled by the dampness and though it was late Spring, it seemed almost like a chill winter morning.

  "Lords Erthoron and Lorthil," came Handir's powerful voice. "I am charged by my father King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, to present to you, the rulings of the Permanent Council, in accordance with the petitions made by the Silvan Council, regarding the reinstatement of the Silvan Warlord."

  Erthoron's face was solemn as he stepped forward, Lorthil at one side, and Narosén at the other.

  Holding out his hand, Erthoron held Handir's blue eyes with his own, thinking perhaps to read the contents of the scroll behind them, but Handir let nothing slip, he simply held it out and watched as the Silvan leader took it softly and then nodded.

  Breaking the seal of the House of Oropher with a soft crunch that seemed to echo loudly around them, he slowly unraveled the parchment and read.

  Erthoron's forehead smoothed out and Lorthil's eyes sparkled, while Narosen's eyes glistened strangely and as one, the three Silvans' eyes shot back to Prince Handir, yet the prince no longer wore his mask of state, but a brilliant, joyful smile that shocked them all. They looked to Mithrandir of a sudden, as if to confirm what they had just read, and finding it, before swivelling on their heels and facing their people.

  "He says 'aye'!" shouted Erthoron.

  The greatest cheer Handir had ever heard roared around the camp as weapons, brushes, vegetables and even cooking utensils flew into the air, and from afar, from the confines of the king's fortress, Thranduil looked at Glorfindel with unshed tears in his eyes.

  "It is done, the past becomes the present, Lassiel rests peacefully upon Mandos' loving breast and Aglareb is perhaps healed in Valinor. I will see them both one day, and I will tell them this story, one that will pass into the annals of our collective history, the story of The Silvan…

  Legolas sat cross-legged upon the carpet inside the leaders' tent, wine and fruit laid before him, while Mithrandir stood leaning against his staff, shrewd eyes moving from Erthoron to Lorthil and then Golloron, only to finally linger on the very strange Narosén.

  For the moment though, it was only Legolas and Amareth that spoke quietly, while the village leaders and Spirit Herders watched respectfully in fascination, for the young child that had left them not two cycles past, had changed so much. He no longer wore the greens and browns of the Silvan troop but the shining uniform of a Lieutenant, all leather and silk and armour, yet more than this it was his hair - his long, long hair that had grown at least three palms - it was not possible, not natural.

  As Amareth spoke and the others watched, she tried and failed to hold her son's gaze, and her hand would stray to touch his knee or his hand, but her touch was never reciprocated.

  "Legolas - I…"

  "Do not, Amareth. I have heard the story as the king knows it - I know there are still many things I do not understand and that I will remedy soon, I hope. Yet there is one thing I do know," he said, and now, his eyes travelled over all those in the tent, save for Mithrandir.

  "I know that I grew in ignorance, while all of you knew - all along - through the taunts and the bullying, the nightmares and the pain of rejection. For now, I cannot understand why you never reassured me at least, that my father was not a bad elf, that he had not committed some terrible crime, that I was not the son of an exile. With this, one thing, I would have grown content…" he sighed, before continuing, his tone a little softer this time. "I am not angry, my friends; I just need time to think, and to ask questions, to understand. Let me do this, Amareth, and then if I can, I will return to Lland Galadh, and perhaps we shall have pea soup once more," he smiled.

  "All I ever did, Legolas, was for you - for Lassiel and for you. Whatever you find, know this," she said as she slowly stood, tears trapped behind her honey-coloured eyes. He had upset her and Mithrandir wondered if he was not being selfish with the poor woman. Her love for him was clear, could he not just hold to that? But he did not seem able. He did stand and smile at her, though, somewhat wanly.

  "I do not doubt that, Amareth, I doubt only the wisdom of the decisions you made. I cannot help that, not until I fill the gaps that are missing. Have patience, give me the time I need."

  "I just need to know that…"

  "Don't" said Legolas, raising his voice now, an edge to it that had not been there before. "You have no idea, I wager; no idea how much it hurt to find out who my father was, that I had two brothers and one sister, that all around me, people would stare at me because they recognised me when I was ignorant of who it was I resembled so much. I could go on but I will not for I think you understand only too well. I am not the same child that left you two years ago. I am utterly changed…"

  Amareth stared wide-eyed at him, at his beautiful, shining face, his strange hair and his strong body. He was, indeed, changed and she closed her eyes in misery, before nodding her understanding.

  "I will leave you then," she said somewhat shakily. "You have much to talk of," she said, nodding and then turning to leave, but Legolas' hand shot out and caught her arm.

  "Just, give me time," he said, his eyes urging her to see the sincerity in his words.

  She simply nodded once more, and moved to leave but Legolas pulled her back. "You should stay, there is something you must hear."

  "It can wait," she said timidly, and then left.

  "She has suffered much, Legolas," said Erthoron, but Legolas cut him off.

  "So have I," he said and the Silvan leader startled for a moment. "Forgive me, then" he said, clearly surprised at Legolas' tone of voice.

  "I will say the same to you as I did to Amareth. I am not the same elf that you used to know and believe me, I have many, many questions to ask you, and only four days in which to do so."

  "And we have questions for you, Legolas, perhaps just as many," said Lorthil.

  "I doubt that," muttered Legolas. Although he had arrived in the camp with a clear mind, now, however, his frustrations were getting the better of him, and his way of dealing with that, was to be, perhaps, overly curt.

  Turning to Narosén who stood in the shadows, he spoke and in his tone was a hint of accusation.

  "How did you know?" asked Legolas simply, and Mithrandir suddenly stood taller.

  "I did not know," came Narosén's answer, his heavy Silvan accent colouring his Sindarin. "I suspected. I am a Spirit Herder, a Listener, surely you are not surprised?" he asked slowly, enigmatically.

  "You could have said something…" said Legolas somewhat tartly.

  "Yes, I could have - and you would have laughed at me - Legolas," he said, "you were still terrified of
yourself, of your own nascent ability; had I told you you were anything more than a Listener, you would not have - listened," he said, cocking his head to one side.

  "The trees told you?" asked Legolas.

  "They whispered and they gossiped, but it was later, one night in the forest, there was a disturbance, both I and Golloron felt it. A pulse of energy so strong it was painful. We knew it was something important, an awakening of sorts, yours, we believe."

  "So you do not know exactly what happened?" asked Mithrandir.

  "No. Will you tell us?" asked Narosén, his eyes alight as Golloron stepped forward together with the village leaders.

  Legolas simply nodded at Mithrandir and the wizard stepped forward, watching as the candle light reflected off Narosen's eyes, and then bounced back at him, as if he were a cat.

  "Legolas - is not a listener, Narosén, in that you were right. He is a Protege…"

  Narosén pulled back, as if he had been struck, and then his head whipped around to face Legolas, who looked back at him cooly.

  "Yavanna! It is Yavanna who has sent you to us," he smiled, as he walked up to Legolas, and kissed him upon the forehead. "Blessed child."

  "Well," gasped Erthoron as he raked his hand through his chestnut locks and Lorthil simply stood agape.

  "You were right, Narosén, and I was wise to listen," said Erthoron.

  "What do you mean?" asked Legolas, turning to his village leader, the one he had known as an uncle all of his short life.

  "Narosén first suggested it, that we strive to regain our Warlord, but he did so with you in mind - always. Tell us, Spirit Herder, would you still have suggested it, had you not met Legolas?" asked Erthoron rhetorically.

  Narosén smiled. "No - never."

  Legolas let out a mighty breath that puffed out his cheeks and Mithrandir smiled endearingly at him.

  "The wheels of destiny and fate have been conspiring, Legolas, and you have been the centre of it all your life," he said, watching the Silvan carefully. "How does that make you feel?" asked the wizard.

  Legolas stared at Mithrandir, the silence stretching on and he truly seemed at a loss for words.

  "I dare not answer you now, my friend, for you may not like what you hear. Suffice it to say it is enough for today. I have had enough - truly."

  Mithrandir's eyes softened and he turned to the Silvans. "You have heard of the events earlier today?" he asked.

  "No," scowled Lorthil - but before they could continue, Amareth ran into the tent, her face shocked, eyes wide in disbelief.

  "Is it true?" she shouted. "Tell me! Is it true!" she shouted again, her control on the brink of shattering.

  "Amareth," said Legolas, turning to face her. "What is it?"

  "Is it true?" she asked a little more calmly, "that he is dead? That Bandorion," she spat, "is dead?"

  Legolas stiffened and then answered, as calmly as he was able. "Yes, it is true - and I killed him."

  Amareth stared dumbly at her son until her eyes filled with tears that began to fall down her cheeks and she sunk to the floor upon her knees. Legolas knelt slowly, one hand reaching out to lift her chin and look at her, a silent question on his face.

  One, shaking hand reached out and cupped his cheek, and the love in her eyes could not be denied.

  "Thank you - thank the Valar that - Demon - is gone… you are finally safe."

  "What?" asked Legolas, utterly perplexed.

  "He killed your mother, Legolas. He killed Lassiel."

  The others looked on as Legolas worked out the puzzle in his head. "I found that out this morning - but how did you know?" came the inevitable question from Legolas, one Mithrandir rather thought the boy already knew the answer to.

  "Because I was there, and so were you…"

  He walked and he walked and no one dared to stop him, and soon he was alone, inside the forest for the first time in what seemed like an age to Legolas. His relief was almost instant and he sat against the trunk of a towering oak, closing his eyes and calming himself.

  He had ran away, like a petulant child. They had called him back but he had torn away from them and left, for his mind was going to explode into a thousand pieces. He could take no more and the only way to avoid losing his composure, had been to leave.

  Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head back against the bark, feeling the tingle of the trees' life force.

  He had discovered his mother had been murdered, by his uncle, who he had then killed before the horrified face of Barathon. He had found out everyone around him, everyone that had mattered to him in his childhood, had known who he was. Narosén had been the one to put forward the reinstatement of the Warlord only because he had met Legolas, quite by chance, and now this - Amareth had witnessed Lassiel's death, with himself as a babe in her arms. She had known all along who it had been and by her reaction - she seemed to have been terrified of him - had he threatened her, he wondered? Just like he had threatened Aglareb? And if so, what had he used as leverage?

  "Yavanna - what more?" he pleaded softly to himself, but she did not answer.

  'Peace, calm…'

  The trees.

  'Sleep, dream.'

  'Sleep?' he asked himself. Oh but to forget for a few short minutes, to free his mind of its furious twisting and turning, block it all out and just feel the forest…

  'Do it…'

  He wanted to rip the uniform from his back, shed his boots and run free…

  'Come…'

  Slowly, his hands reached up to his braids and one by one, he pulled them out until his mass of pale hair tumbled down to his hips. Leaving his quiver and knives on the floor, he covered them with his cloak and then unclasped his breast plate. Then came his shirt and finally his boots and a soft, fresh breeze hit his bare chest and the damp earth beneath his feet seemed to hum, sending a subtle vibration up his spine and to the very tips of his toes and fingers.

  He felt free, wild, ancient and so very, very alive. He threw his head back and began to run, shaking his hair behind him and revelling in the feel of it as it streamed out behind him in the night.

  Where he went to he did not know, it did not matter, and of a sudden he laughed as he ran, a surge of joy crashing over him with such strength it made him cry.

  'Run, run, fly free…'

  "Lord Erthoron?" called Glorfindel, sticking his head around the flap lest it not be a good time to disturb the leaders.

  "He is not here," came the heavily accented voice of Narosén, who sat in the dark.

  "I am searching for Legolas, he said. Have you seen him?"

  "No," came the Spirit Herder's reply as he stood and approached. "He left - he was, troubled."

  "Of course he was," mumbled Glorfindel. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, for the elf was passing strange.

  "I am Narosén, Spirit Herder of the Silvan people."

  Glorfindel started for a moment, for he had heard of this elf.

  "And you are…?"

  "Glorfindel," he said simply.

  "The reborn?" asked Narosén.

  "Yes. Narosén, I must find Legolas."

  "I will accompany you…"

  "No, don't."

  "You won't find him, Glorfindel of Gondolin. I can…"

  The Noldo looked into the strange, reflective eyes and simply nodded, allowing the Silvan to lead him into the forest. This elf must be a listener, he realised, for he was not tracking as a scout would do, he simply jogged this way and that, his decorated braids flying around his head.

  "Is he far?" asked Glorfindel from behind.

  "Yes. Far. It will take us a while to reach him, but he runs no more…"

  Glorfindel's eyebrows rose in surprise at the surety in his voice, but he was not going to doubt Narosén's words and so he ran behind the Silvan, until the midnight hour was upon them and the Spirit Herder slowed to a walk.

  "He is there," he pointed up into the mighty bows of a beech tree but Glorfindel saw nothing, an
d so the two elves simply sat beneath the tree and waited for Legolas to acknowledge them.

  Closer to the stars, Legolas lay over a thick branch, one knee bent and the other straight, his bare feet caressing the rough bark and revelling in the comfort the contact brought him. He knew they had come for him but for now, they would have to wait, for his mind had not finished ordering itself, ironing out his own, tempestuous feelings and emotions for until it had, he would not return.

  The heart-wrenching story of his own mother, of her plight ran in circles in his head. Until now, she had been an anonymous player in his life, yet now, his father had brought her to life and the irresistible urge to know her had invaded his very spirit. And then Bandorion's twisted face came to him - he had killed him just as surely as his father had, Oropher's brother, the elf Legolas looked so much like. He closed his eyes as a wave of pity and sadness hit him with force and his eyes welled with tears. He remembered then, the desperation in Barathon's eyes as his own spear stood poised over his father's cruel heart. He had not wanted to do it, and yet now, with all that had been disclosed, he imagined himself plunging that spear into Bandorion's chest again, and again, and again…

  Lassiel, child of the forest, whose only sin was to have loved one she should not have, to have courted danger with the most powerful of Sindarin families, to have conceived a child that mayhap she should not have - all for the love of the Woodland King…

  'I will find you, mother…' he murmured to himself, for although he was still confused, this much he vowed.

  Hours idled by and Legolas still thought, slower now for his eyes were half lidded, and his own thoughts became intertwined with his waking dreams.

  The palest, purest skin he had ever seen, luminescent like no other, framed by a crown of auburn hair looked down upon him in unconditional love, with utter devotion, a crushing kind of protection, determination. Her slanted green eyes danced and glistened in pride, until a teardrop full of love fell onto him, infusing him with her soul, joining them eternally in a way he could not fathom. Her curved, red lips subtly stretched into a smile, but it was not a joyous one, it was the sad smile of an eternal goodbye…