Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  "It is time to come together, brothers, sisters," he said, his eyes back from the heavens and on them all as he spoke with a confidence Elladan had never seen in him before. "It is time to close the gap that should never have existed, one only a few saw fit to open, and keep open purposefully for their own gain. It is not the Silvan way, it is not the Sindarin way," he emphasised, and Elladan's heart sank as he saw the doubt on their faces…perhaps Legolas was wrong, perhaps this was not the time, he mused.

  "They erred, aye, that cannot be doubted. But so is it true that they voted for the return of the Warlord - they see the error of their ways, brothers. Are we, then, to do the same as they did? Turn our backs on our Sindarin warriors? Scorn their culture, discard their ways and their customs? I tell you now I will not," he said, his voice strong and rebellious. The doubt was still there, but it was joined now, by curiosity…

  "This is what I will do, brothers, and I wonder - if you will be by my side? I will treat them as I would my own, value them on the only scale I know, that of the truth, and if I should not be treated with the same deference - then I will remedy it, for we will remain silent no more. This is our time to reclaim our culture, our position in this forest - to live in equality together with the Avari, and the Sindar. I will not look down upon them, yet neither will I be looked down on. Will you then, be by my side in this?" he asked.

  "Aye!" they said together and Legolas smiled. "Then let us invite them - invite them to the Silvan side - to see us, understand us, value us - and in return, we shall do the same for them. Only in our regard for them, will we close this rift, brothers - embrace them in harmony - show them that together, we are strong, invincible. Together we cannot be swayed, that without us - they are lost!"

  "Aye!" they shouted louder now and Elladan's heart began to rise from the pit it had fallen into just moments before. Perhaps it had been the time…

  "Then we march in pride! Musicians! Dancers! Poets and Bards! Get you to the fortress and we will follow - paint for our Sindarin cousins the colours of our world, make them feel the joy and honour in each note you play, each phrase you sing - open your arms to them and bring them - to the Silvan side!" he shouted.

  "Aye!" they roared and Elladan laughed as his soul lifted and sent tears to his eyes. He cared not though, for they all wore looks of such hope and excitement - it was akin to the moment of battle, a great leader infusing his warriors with the courage they would need to kill and be killed. It was time, the perfect time.

  Turning to The Company, he reflected the smile on their own faces, especially those of Idhrenohtar and Ram en' Ondo who had known Legolas all his life, had surely known he would one day be great, just as Elladan had known it soon after they had met in Imladris.

  And so the artists bounded away before the main entourage, laughing and talking excitedly as the people followed them, their lanterns swinging before them as they sang softly, their shimmering, shiny clothing sending sparks of colourful light into the darkening night.

  Legolas smiled, lifting his head again as if to listen, and Narosén did likewise as they walked, slower than the rest, towards the fortress.

  "What do they say?" asked Rhrawthir, his eyes wide as he looked upon his friend, his Warlord.

  "They - sing, Rhrawthir, a song so sweet and yet so strong. They speak of the past, of the future, they whisper their love for our people, their promise of aid to our warriors," he said softly, his eyes still upon the boughs. They challenge the enemy too," he said, his eyes falling on the members of the Company, "for they are not peaceful creatures when their world is threatened - like elves, they fight and they kill to protect their own."

  "You can hear - all that?" asked Glammohtar, his perfectly braided hair shining blue under the moonlight.

  "I can hear all that - and more…" he whispered in awe, his mind only half present it seemed for his eyes were still alight, although pleasantly so, the trees were still with him even now.

  "Had you planned to say all that, Legolas?" asked Elladan, genuinely curious at the seemingly improvised speech he had given.

  Legolas turned to his friend and studied him for a moment before answering. "I had planned to voice my concerns regarding the dangers of offending the Sindar, of tempering that instinctive desire to reap vengeance upon them for the years of disdain. I had not quite planned it to come out that way though, no. The moment took me…" he said, as if he did not understand it himself.

  "Then you have succeeded, Legolas," said Idhrenohtar. "Your words are wise - the only way for this to work is to show them they are important to us."

  "Yes," replied the Warlord, his eyes slipping to Koron en' Naur who strode before them, the standard of the Sindar flapping softly in the breeze. Beside him, Dorwen of the Avari with their own distinctive, and then Lorthil, with the banner of the Silvan people. Legolas, along with the Company, would be the last of them to enter the Great Hall, indeed even now, as they approached the main doors, the musicians and dancers would already be taking their places…

  Thranduil stood upon the Great Plateau, the secret forest of the Evergreen Wood sprawling into the darkening horizon before him. Silvan horns blared their siren in the distance and he knew they approached, that soon he would need to return to his place in the Great Hall and welcome the Silvan people and their new Warlord - his son, the son he had still not made peace with.

  Maeneth and brought them together with her simple presence, and Rinion had finally opened the door to his half brother, as Handir had done long before. But it was between him and his son now, the unspoken things, the intimate things that kept them apart, in spite of their timid approaches. They had not spoken of her, of Legolas' mother, the elf that should have been

  queen …

  He knew Legolas intended to travel to the deep forest, in search of answers and he wondered what it was he thought he would find. Why did he not simply ask his father - ask him what she had been like for that was surely what he wanted to know. But no, Legolas had a hidden agenda, he was sure of it.

  "Father," came the tentative voice of Handir.

  Turning, Thranduil smiled at his second child as he shone under the light of the moon. His deep blue tunic fell perfectly down to his shins and his jewelled belt hung low on his waist. A simple headpiece marked him as his son, as did his lovely face. A perfect prince, Legolas' first brother and he was proud, because this, measured elf of balanced mind and sturdy heart had brought his youngest son out of anonymity, had helped him to greatness, had returned to Thranduil a part of that soul he had loved so fiercely, and missed so much it had nearly cost him his family, his kingdom. Sweet Handir, sweet Lassiel …

  He closed the gap between them and placed his hand over his son's cheek, looking intently into Handir's questioning eyes.

  "I am proud of you, my Prince, my son, for to have come to this day - would not have been possible without you."

  Handir stared back at his father, for he surely had not expected his father to speak of that now, when the Silvans were on the point of entering the Great Hall.

  "It was Turion, father, and then Lainion and Aradan. Without them, I could not have brought him to you."

  "No," murmured the king, "but it was your heart, Handir, your acceptance of him that kept his mind open to the possibility - that he could have a family - that we could be reunited.

  "And if that is true then I am glad - for I too, am proud of my father, my King."

  Handir smiled a strong, determined smile and Thranduil mirrored it.

  "Then come, let us greet these Silvan sprites and their new Warlord," said the king, clapping Handir upon the shoulder and returning to the High Table, where Rinion sat talking quietly with Maeneth, and Aradan smiled as Llyniel fretted with her lovely dress and Miren, his wife, fussed with the Silvan Crown that Legolas had gifted her with.

  Further down, sat the Permanent Council and their husbands and wives, but with the notable exception of Barathon, who was under strict house arrest, pending the king's decision. As for
Draugole, he had not been seen at public events since the Baudh Gwaith incident.

  On a nearby table sat many of the Inner Circle; Captains of the Greenwood - Turion, Dunorel, Thoron, and of course Commander General Celegon and General Huron, their wives and lovers at their sides.

  Other tables hosted important members of their society. Scholars, Lore Masters, the Master Healer Nestaron, artists and visiting diplomats from Lorien, together with Haldir, the Marchwarden, whose eyes would stray to Maeneth every now and then, a thoughtful gleam in his eye.

  One, entire side of the Hall was occupied by the musicians and singers who even now, organised their music and tuned their fiddles and lyres, and upon the Great Plateau, were hundreds of others who milled around, glasses in hand, waiting for the moment in which the Silvan dignitaries would join them.

  There was electricity in the air, expectation, excitement, yet there was also apprehension, for who was to say what would become of this. Indeed it was the councillors, the statesmen, who argued amongst themselves - was this a simple exercise of Silvan supremacy - payback for what they considered years of injustice? While they agreed that things had escaped their control, that there had indeed, been injustice, they did not want it rubbed in their faces, for not all of them had participated in the discrimination. And so they sat, and they discussed, even now as the first wine was served and a soft flute began to play a slow, forest melody.

  Aradan looked across at the musicians, a Silvan conductor at the fore who waved his arms softly this way and that, as if he could impress the emotion of the music on the flutist that weaved the tune, that slowly but surely began to rise in volume, until a single violin joined him, and then two, and before long, a slow, heavy base moved the music to a different level - still slow, yet powerful, poised, as if slowly building to a crescendo.

  Silvan dancers filed through the door, creating a corridor that led directly to the high table. Some broke away, dancing to the slow tune as they threw flower petals in the air and smiled at all who watched. Aradan chuckled when a handful of rose petals fell over Llyniel and she looked up in surprise for the dancer seemed to know who she was.

  Yet what struck the councillor more than anything else, was the utter joy upon their faces - there was a light in their eyes, and Aradan had no doubts as to what it was - it was hope -

  Turning to the king, he saw his friend's kingly mask, the one that gave nothing away, but as Thranduil's eyes flickered towards his own he saw it - he saw curiosity.

  Of a sudden, the numerous fiddlers and flutists stood as the music changed tempo. Rich bases accompanied the strings and for the first time, the mighty beat of the woodland drums made more than one respectable Sinda jump in his seat.

  The dancers stamped their feet in time to the drums, the sound of their metallic studs echoing around the hall, as if they were an army, marching before the enemy, and Aradan's skin prickled, a shiver running the entire length of his spine.

  The Silvan conductor jumped and swayed and pointed and shook his hands as the music gained in speed and drama, as Silvan lords and ladies began to appear, walking slowly between the dancers, smiling and nodding and then moving to their respective tables but not sitting, and slowly, the Sindar followed suit. The moment was upon them and as the fiddles and flutes began a frantic battle, the base drums not far behind, all heads turned to the door.

  The standard of the Avari came into view, Doren striding slowly and proudly as he tilted it forwards for all to see. There were timid cheers from the few Avarin elves present and then, Lorthil did likewise with the Silvan banner. This time the cheer was a mighty one, yet the last standard, was that of the Sindarin people and those that still had not stood, did so now, their faces reflecting the surprise they felt, for surely the Warlord would march under the Silvan banner - but no, he had chosen the Sindarin flag and the cheer that followed would never be forgotten, for the message was clear, and Aradan beamed proudly - he had been right.

  And so, as the Silvans stomped their feet to the dramatic music and the banners flew high, the Sindar began to smile and to relax - this was a forest celebration, one that knew no race nor colour - only those that dwelled and fought under the boughs of the mighty Greenwood.

  The Silvan Warlord appeared at the door, flanked by those closest to him - his warriors of The Company, and cries of shock rippled through the crowds, from the doors and straight to the king's table. Thranduil stood abruptly, eyes riveted on the door and the guards, thinking perhaps something had happened. Indeed Aradan too was on his feet and before long, the entire Hall stood, craning their necks to get a better view of what it was that had shocked them so. Only the musicians continued their music, fast and fierce as the dancers slammed their feet upon the stone floor and Aradan's heart seemed to beat in time with them.

  It was only when the three flags passed them, their bearers standing to one side, and the figure of the Warlord finally came into view, that they understood what the disturbance had been. It had been him - Legolas…

  As the elf walked towards his awaiting king, the entire hall watched him - every nuance, every detail - the way he moved and the clothes he wore - and the crown of pale blond hair that had been woven around his head in a way no one had ever seen before. A crownless prince, a crowned Warlord.

  Thranduil's eyes danced over him, but they would always return to his eyes, for they were alight and it was strange - there was magic at work, and the king was aware of it, as too, were Mithrandir and Glorfindel, for they stepped forward in trepidation. But where the general was shocked at his adopted son's appearance, Mithrandir stood in awe and deep understanding.

  "Welcome, Warlord," said Thranduil, his eyes still trying to settle on his son and not on the details of his attire.

  "Thank you, my King."

  Turning, Legolas bowed to Rinion, Handir and then Maeneth. Glorfindel bowed and Legolas returned it, just as formally, and then clasped his friend's metal-clad forearms with his hands, his strange eyes speaking silent thanks and eternal respect. The Noldo smiled back proudly, nodding his understanding and then stepping back.

  Mithrandir bowed his head as Legolas passed, and Legolas did likewise, knowing that of them all, the wizard understood what was with him - knew the trees still spoke and sung for his eyes told that story, the energy shining behind them would not be lost on the Maia.

  The music had reached its height and when if finally finished and the stomping warriors stilled their feet, a cheer went up amongst Sindar and Silvan alike. The tension had gone, the air cleared. They were no longer worried or concerned but pleasantly surprised at the deference the Silvan people had shown the Sindar - acceptance was almost complete, it seemed.

  Approaching Llyniel a little further down at the high table, Legolas first nodded at Lord Aradan, and then at Lady Miren, who stared wide-eyed at him, making him smile boyishly. Standing now before Llyniel, his eyes roved over the lovely crown that Marhen had prepared for her, and then her blue eyes, and the elegant purple dress she wore. Placing a hand over his heart he smiled as he spoke.

  "You look - different," he smiled mischievously and she smiled back at him.

  "You mean without those healer robes you met me in?"

  "Yes - I never realised…" he trailed off, his eyes momentarily dropping to her cleavage, and then suddenly checking himself.

  Llyniel resisted the urge to chuckle. "You look wonderful, my Lord," she said huskily and Legolas was surprised to see her pupils suddenly dilate, making him wonder what the night would bring.

  Bowing once more, and with a simple, "until later," he took his place at the table and then turned to Elladan, who was greeting the dignitaries. He was nervous, realised Legolas as he settled himself, and then resisted the urge to snort at himself. Legolas himself could feel a thousand eyes upon him, watching his every move - it made him feel stilted. Yet he soon realised that this was not the reason for his friend's state of anxiety - it was Maeneth…

  With a minute frown, he watched more closely. He had
not been mistaken for the grey eyes would swivel to the princess and then promptly look away when he thought she may catch him. Lindohtar had been right - he was besotted - with his sister no less. An apprehensive glance at the Crown Prince confirmed it, for the icy blue eyes bore fiery holes into Elladan's eyes - but his friend seemed oblivious to it.

  Quieter, softer music began as the servants began to bring the food, and what a singular feast the Sindar had prepared. All the traditional Silvan foods had been served and presented so beautifully it wrought a smile from Erthoron and Narosén, who looked to the king in silent question.

  "This is your evening, my Silvan friends. This is our way of honouring your culture."

  "It is most thoughtful, my king," he exclaimed as he watched the platters as they were set down upon the decorated tables. Pheasant and quail, boar and venison, vegetable creams and spicy roots, the smells of thyme and rosemary lingering enticingly. This was, indeed, Silvan fare, and Legolas wished he could just dip his fingers into it and take it to his mouth, for now that the worst was over, he found he was starving.

  A servant poured wine into his goblet, but tasting it would have to wait, for the king would make a brief speech now, and only then would he be free to eat and drink - that if he was left to his own devises, which he was sure he would not be.

  The king stood, and then cast his steady eyes around the Great Hall and to the Plateau beyond, waiting until all had seen him and stilled their conversations.

  "My Ladies, Lords, warriors and visiting dignitaries, welcome to Greenwood the Great, land of the Sindar, Silvan and Avarin people…"

  Cheers went up and although it was not protocol, their high spirits could not be quelled.

  "Tonight, we welcome the Silvan Warlord, and we wish him success in his new venture,"

  He was interrupted as more cheers echoed through the hall and Thranduil waited for them to die down before continuing.

  "It is our heartfelt wish," he emphasised, his eyes glinting, "that with this investiture, a new era will begin. An era of brotherhood, where equality and justice prevails, in which unity will vanquish our common foe and the greatness of past times will become our present once more. It is - our heartfelt desire - that from today, the wishes of the few may never again prevail over the dreams of the people; that power and spite may never again be allowed to stain our honour, ruin our hearts, taint our souls with darkness. Today, we are three, fascinating cultures but one people - no one better than the other - all of them the better for the presence of the other. So come - and celebrate - show the world that the Sindar, the Silvan and the Avari are inseparable, invincible!"