Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Was the door open?

  Of course the door was open.

  She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth: Elves.

  The Elfking sloshed water. "To be expected? Are you so sure?"

  "Confidently so," said Elrond.

  "I find that… unlikely."

  "It is simplicity," said the Lord, and his words slowed. "It is impossible to miss her feeling."

  "Feeling? She is fitful. I can't say what to expect of her from moment to moment."

  The Lord Elrond's voice jumped with delight, "How exciting."

  "Ah. You gloat." The Elfking sighed, "Would you, perhaps, like to add an allegory here?"

  "Well, the Elfking is rather hard to predict, himself. Ask his sons, his people, his allies, the Men of his new territory, the elk, any other living beast-"

  "His enemies," added the King quietly. "Ask his enemies."

  There was a moment of silence. Elrond sounded dissatisfied, and somehow, abashed, "I… cannot be used to pinpoint the enemy."

  "It is through no failing of yours that this has come to pass," a great rush of water signaled the King getting out of the claw footed tub. "She had no intention of harm. She will deliver you today, if she can… in fact, that may become our best lead, given the circumstances."

  She managed to turn off her waking mind for a time, helped along by the shushing of fabric against flesh and the fact it was followed by the familiar sound of a flurry of combing.

  The King's voice poured over Sindarin elvish for a moment and he exhaled. "To track a target across such a swollen maze it is helpful to triangulate."

  "So we are defeated," said the Lord.

  "Mm," the King's voice throbbed low, "not precisely. When the enemy is still in tall grass, what we need… is a spark." His voice was alarmingly close to the bed when he said so.

  He was probably coming to pick up some article of clothing or other that he'd left there.

  Something gentle brushed her arm.

  Fires.

  Lusis balled up and pulled the blanket she lay on over her head.

  The King's voice was calm, "Lusis-dess?"

  "I'm not here," her voice was muffled by soft fabric as she said it. But then she felt like a fool for hiding in his bed and sat suddenly up.

  She was treated to the sight of three elves – the Elfking, Ewon, and Amathon – all of them frozen with their heads askance, but all tipped in different directions. No one dared make expression. No elf spoke. Then Amathon glided in. He bent beside her for a confidential moment during which he assured her, "Friend-Lusis, you are, indeed, here." He stepped back, quite earnest, with the soft head incline that equaled a nod among elves. Then he smoothed his soft green long-coat – he looked very official today.

  They all did. There was Ewon in a long-coat of deep burgundy threaded with copper. Gorgeous.

  And, gods, they were baffled. It made her chuckle.

  She put her head down so they wouldn't have to deal with her irrepressible emotion.

  "Is she well?" called the Lord, Elrond.

  The Elfking said, "I… do not know how to answer the question." He glanced to either side of him and Amathon and Ewon withdrew together and stood just inside the doorway.

  "Lusis-dess?"

  She looked up at the Elfking's silver eyes. "Lusis-dess, not Lusis-sell?"

  "Young woman," he said.

  "Congratulations, Lusis Buckmaster," said Lord Elrond. "In his eyes, you are an adult."

  Her face flushed mightily. "Nooo…" she looked at the bedsheets around her. She had clothes on. She was well aware nothing had happened. "My Lord, I think you misunderstand what's come to pass."

  When she looked to the dark-haired elf, she was surprised to see he was seated and wrapped in the white fur cloak that had been presented to the King. His skin was papery. She stood up on the bed, happily still dressed, though without her elvish boots. "Lord Elrond, you are so pale."

  "I will endure," he said patiently. "May I congratulate the young Istari?" His eyes crinkled in a smile he spared for her.

  "For the King's contract?" Lusis walked down and stepped off the end of the bed. She dropped to the floor with the grace of a bird. "No, my Lord. It's tactical. It's a shrewd maneuver of the Elvenking's. And don't you think you should be resting, rather than spending your energy celebrating a gambit of ours? Better yet, you should let me help you."

  For a moment, the room was as silent as the vault of Erebor had been, the night she'd gone in. Then the only sound was the flutter of the Elflord's eyelids. The Lord glanced from Lusis to the Elfking. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, "I see."

  "Good, then let me help you. Then you can rest and heal."

  The Lord averted his gaze. "Glorfindel… perhaps some air. Please."

  By the windows, the huge, blond elf touched the draperies back into place and came to his Lord's summons. "Are we ready?"

  The Lord of Rivendell looked to the Elvenking a long moment. "We are, yes."

  The Elfking made a slow incline of his head. The cloak was lifted up and wrapped around Elrond's shoulders. Glorfindel helped the Lord to his feet so that he could make his way out.

  Lusis turned, perplexed. The door to the room shut behind the last exiting elf.

  She had to face the King. So she did. Lusis felt that sizable part of her that was Chief of a troop come to the fore as she looked at him.

  The King was… resplendent was the only word she could find that qualified. The outfit was layered and long. The outer coat was so pale a blue it might have been white. It was shot through with silver threads of wind and a flurry of white snowflakes magnificently dotted with crystal. When he crossed the room to stand with her, she could see the thin long coat underneath was silver with a pattern of white pine-needled limbs embroidered, and innermost, the thinnest long coat was a chill blue with snowflakes covering it in painstaking detail. He was exquisitely turned-out. His hair was still wet against him. She glanced at the bed and found that there was a strange crown there. It was woven Mithril and rose into stylized antlers.

  "What's that?"

  "That is the Circlet of Rhiwaras – The Winter Deer." The King glanced over it. "It was once presented to King Bard by the elves of Mirkwood. I do not know that he wore it in his time… he was a modest person, self-effacing and full of mercy. It was presented to Kasia by those few Men who still dwell at the point between the ruins of Esragoth, North on the lake, and the ruins of Hale."

  She cocked her head at him, "Did the Kingdom grow? Overnight? Did your Kingdom grow?"

  "I have not claimed the lands that far," he had yet to look at her. "But, ma, they wish to claim me. I should know by late winter if they should be gambled upon, or if I should urge them to melt into the population here. If they will have it."

  "They have more reason to love you than most," Lusis pointed out. "My mother – Mellona – her people dwelled among them…. Which may work in our favour if we are forced to stand against Kirstman in Buckmaster Keep."

  Now he glanced at the circlet himself. His voice was subdued, "How political of you."

  "We… we have a plan," she said slowly. The King was in a strange temper and she didn't want to upset or anger him. But she was becoming increasingly tangled in the buried lines of his intentions, unable to see them in the closed darkness of his heart. "Is this not a plan?"

  "Yes," he assured her, "it is a strategy, Istari."

  She sensed something else on the end of that pronouncement, unsaid, and she felt her lips press into a line. "Look at me."

  His head rose first, and then she watched his pale eyelashes lift, and under them, such crisp and beautiful blue-moon eyes. He said nothing. He was overwhelming.

  She sucked a deep breath through her teeth, "Did you want this contract?"

  The King's silver eyes averted at once, and the hands curled at his sternum, now pressed over his heart. But the firelight inside of him, she could see that very well, and it leapt from a golden tongue of flame to a sudden spiral of
white fire. She took a step forward and set her hand over his, where they were crossed on his chest. His fire rushed toward her in a flood of extraordinary light. Her starpoint answered back as if the sky parted with a volley of sun.

  Neither of them breathed.

  Eventually, Lusis nodded, "I will stand with you. As long as we stand." She looked at his pale face, "I will protect my home, my people, and you. My King. My own."

  His pale fingers moved. He covered her hand in acceptance.

  The stone inside of her began to melt away into fire and gold. Her fingers flexed over, and under, his. "I suspect this is going to be an eventful day." She said as she stepped back and looked at the incredible creature now, somehow, indelibly linked to her. Lusis recognized it was not a matter of paper and signature. That could, and would, go to ashes in a brazier as soon as this mess with Bregoln was over. But nothing could erase the fact their fires knew one another. They reached for one another. And in that airless, timeless span where their lights brushed, nothing was missing. Nothing was wasted.

  "About… being political," his silver eyes rose. "I hope you can forgive this."

  "Ah," Lusis winced and pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. "Elrond is a wise edhel. What now, busy-head?"

  His brows rose. "Perhaps it's better seen than told?"

  She had a sinking feeling as she followed him to the door. Out there things weren't as simple as matching fires, simple faith, and love. Out there was the rest of the world. And things outside that door were complicated. He set a hand on the latch and she shook her head, No.

  Long practice let him properly read this wordless human gesture.

  The King waited.

  She gathered herself, hastily, and tried to plan what she would say to her troop, to Icar, and gods, Dorondir – she didn't know what to say, or how to feel, when she thought of him.

  The King's head tipped. "Lusis-dess," he said, "you are as you should be. Don't be afraid."

  "Just a second." She crossed her arms under her breasts with no way of knowing if he could read that signal too – the insecurity in it.

  "You are not alone," he told her. "And, yes, I know that is the crux of the problem. But, let me assure you, it is also the solution."

  She looked up with an inhalation, the daughter of generations of Buckmasters, an invisible girl exposed on a mountain that had long ago fallen out of memory. A child delivered from death by shepards. The Yellow Istari. She'd overcome so much. What did she have to be afraid of?

  The elves.

  That's what.

  There were seven of them. All of them small healers. They washed her – scrubbed her within an inch of having skin, twice. She tried to explain to them that it wouldn't matter how much they washed. She, at basic, was a deep and rosy tan. That didn't slow them down one whit. They washed her hair several times. Then they painted it with warmed oils and washed it a final time before putting it into elven plaits. Where it would not fit the proper structure for elven hair, it was trimmed. They spent endless amounts of time on her skin. Cleaning it. Plucking it. Covering it with wax and stripping it. Rubbing unguents into it.

  "You must be working up quite a sweat," she growled at one of the slender elf girls.

  "It is effortless," she said brightly.

  Lusis slunk down into the thick robe they'd wrapped around her, secure in the knowledge these girls were stronger than any human and utterly tireless.

  They clipped and buffed her nails and covered them in oils they rubbed in.

  She came out of all of this stinging slightly, and smelling like honeyed lily and candied fruit.

  Lusis took one look at the extravagant dresses and glanced around her for rescue. So much for 'You are not alone'. She pulled a deep breath and called out, "Elvenking, I am not wearing a dress!"

  "Ah," came Amathon's merry voice from the hall. "My King, this is your lucky day."

  Lo and behold, the deep, beautiful ringing of elven laughter rose – there were Elites there, or perhaps a section. There was some large number present. Lusis slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.

  The Elfking sent in Nimpeth, which was like sending a jar of water to a girl thirsting to death on the Southern salt flats. "Nimpeth, for the sake of pity, I don't want to wear these-" she glanced over the filmy creations, the likes of which belonged on Galadriel, all of them shape-hugging.

  The elf-woman's blue eyes lit up. "Ai, you look like royalty!" She covered her lips with her fingers and then called out to her father and husband, "Ada and melabenn, she looks like a fiery young queen… and if you could but see the dresses they have made."

  A jar whose lid required a grisly amount of force to remove.

  It took a half an hour for Lusis to convince them to put her into an outfit similar to the one Telfeth, now standing in the doorway and fairly bouncing on her toes with excitement, wore. There had been some speculation she would behave this way, so, while it was a Scout's uniform, it was not made of standard cloth, and not the standard black and white of winter. This was a rich golden red with yellow worked in through the threads.

  She drew the line at the hair-piece they tried to put into her braid. It was a half-circlet not unlike something that Eithahawn might wear, though more modest. It was a fine silver crown of mistletoe covered in silver leaves and berry pearls. They lifted it at her several times and she said No.

  "Just my sword," she pushed past them and snapped up the sword and sheath that Telfeth held. The young elf girl inclined her head. This was not an improvement on Lusis' day.

  She stepped out without warning. Elves stood in lines along either side of the hall, and they fell silent and still as she came out among them.

  Her skin was much darker than their own, the gold insinuating itself into her hair made it look as if yellow ribbons had been plaited into her dark braids. She stood in the winter sun and elves stared at her, wordless. She wondered if she looked foolish to them – a girl pretending to be an elf. Lusis pulled a deep breath. Amathon, by the door, stepped out and inclined his head to her. "Lady, would you like to see the King?"

  "To put it mildly," Lusis headed down toward the staircase.

  He was by the landing, and turned from the window as she approached.

  His eyelids fluttered and he straightened in surprise when she headed for him. And, though she would show no outward sign of this, Lusis doubted she would ever forget the sudden innocence in his face on that moment when he saw her again. That sweet expression slid aside as he stepped up in front of her. He inclined his head slightly. "Ma. And now… now you know my pain."

  Fires.

  She smirked because she couldn't outright laugh in this company, but then smoothed her expression again, and sighed. "Please tell me the rest of the day will be easier, and that I may happily fade into the background where I can protect you?"

  "Ah." He confessed, "We are bound and shouldn't lie to one another."

  Lusis glanced up at the gleaming grandness of the Circlet of Rhiwaras, on his silvery head. "Okay," she smoothed the robes she wore. "This won't be every day…. But it can be today."

  "I am glad," he said. "The Princes are here, Lusis."

  She brightened, unable to conceal her grin. "Legolas too?"

  Now he lit-up as well. "I am told he is here…" he faltered, just trying to conceal the great excitement that was obvious in the throb of his voice, "I haven't seen him."

  "Let's fix that." She nodded. Lusis knew that there was one person who would know where the Elfprince was. Redd, collector of stories. If Legolas had been abroad in various lands, then Redd had sought him out. That was a fact.

  She headed down the stairs, aware that her glossy waves of hair bounced against her leather-bound back, coiling and uncoiling near the ends of the lengths like springs. Kasia looked up at her, wide-eyed. He stepped back and shook his head. The staff, likewise, got out of her way.

  The Master of Boats scoffed, "Lusis Buckmaster, are… are you sure you don't have pointed ears hid
den in that hair?" His small daughter, Avonne bounced up-and-down on her toes and pointed at Lusis in a most alarming way.

  "Friend-Lusis is so pretty, ada-Thranduil!" She ran to the tall Elf.

  "Yes, she is." He said simply. When the urge to look in his direction struck, Lusis restrained herself. Avonne charged past her, "Yes, merilneth."

  "What is that?" Kasia's forehead wrinkled with concern, "What is that word, and, Avonne, do you have to climb on the King so, and while he is in such fineries?"

  "Yes," Avonne told her father. "Ada-Thranduil is the prettiest of all the pretties." She petted the King's silken hair and gently smoothed his ear-tip back as if it remained at such a perfect point through her efforts alone. "Merilneth means young rose."

  "Why does she know elvish?" Kasia pointed at his daughter, and, impertinently enough, quizzed the Elfking.

  "Because she tries." Was the reply. It made Lusis smirk.

  She was met in the downstairs by Merilin. He bowed to the King, and then to her, which was odd. Lusis didn't like this change and glanced at her King. She was surprised to find his silver disk eyes studying her, ovoid pupils somewhat dilated.

  Merilin straightened and spared a second acknowledgment, an inclination of his head, for Lusis. He seemed, in his stoic fashion, very pleased. "My King, your Prince is touring in Lake Township."

  The Elfking stilled, "Is he astride some horse, amid a section of elves, in these streets?"

  "No, of course not," Merilin said quickly. His tone sounded taxed, "I was told there was more adventure to be had on foot. Thus he's scampering along the rooftops with a section… my section." He opened his bow-honed arms and his head bent. Behind Lusis' back, Ewon – father of this very elf – made a quickly subdued burble of amusement.

  Kasia and several of the staff began to grin. Their powerful King was rumoured to have a bone-deep problem, and it was one with which even Men were all quite familiar. He had a carefree son. Politely, Kasia asked, "Section-head Merilin, what about the other one? The one with the strawberry blond hair?"