Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  And you can't claim that Túiel and Badhor dislike you at all!

  No, they did not, she acknowledged with a vicious puff of exhaled air. But it did not diminish her acute sense of unsettledness. Attempting to isolate the feeling was like chasing tendrils of mist. Winter pursed her lips indignantly. An inner weight began to settle on her, clinging like spider's webs.

  Why is everything so hard to put into words?

  The thought was soft; like a whisper, the barest disturbance of her consciousness. It thrummed within her.

  What I wouldn't give for Abby right now. She would wrangle out of me what's wrong.

  Mm.

  You know what's the worst bit?

  What?

  That I don't even remember… I mean… Winter paused, struggling to even articulate the notion internally. I can't quite remember when this began to creep inwards. When did I begin to feel this… listless underneath? Oh, there are moments of happiness—involuntarily, Lachie's kiss sprang to mind—but whenever I let myself stop, think slowly… this. This creeping, clammy sense of pointlessness. Inadequacy. Whenever anything goes amiss—Boromir—it erupts in a tidal wave of feeling.

  She cared. She was a cyclone of frustration at herself—and the world in general, at times. And yet she was weighed down by a painful sense of helplessness. Apathy. Inadequacy.

  Oh gosh, even my own thoughts don't make sense.

  She lowered her eyes from the land to the balcony rail. It was sprinkled with several dried leaves and gritty dust.

  Winter Newhall, you've made it this damn far, she thought, after a moment. So damn far. You're in Middle-earth. You kept your brain in one piece for long enough to get here. And you are strong—stronger than your Mum would suppose.

  Why do—

  No, stop. You've got this. If you bloody give up on me now, you will be a failure. Until that point, you stop your whining and give Boromir the boring Lady Faenil he deserves.

  It took a few moments for Winter to steel herself to this resolution.

  Damn it, yes. I've been off my game. I've been starry-eyed and enchanted. Bloody hell Boromir, you aren't gonna get me again.

  She squared her shoulders. Lady Faenil would be unshakeable.

  And beneath this iron-hard resolution a tiny voice echoed to silence:

  When will you stop pushing this away?

  There were rare moments in life, Aireiel had discovered, when you were put into the merciless hands of nature, forced to comply to whatever form of salvation came your way, even if it meant to humiliate and humble yourself to the level you'd never expect of yourself to reach. While walking the main stairway of the underground palace, surrounded by the magnificent examples of brilliant Elvish architecture that boasted at each side, Aireiel realised this very situation was one of those moments. It felt wrong and it definitely was beneath them both, yet she was aware they had to do this for there wasn't much choice for them. Hypnotized by the sound of her light feet hitting the stone stairway she heard her father's words. And those were the words that motivated her to push her foot one step further.

  Never give in and always adapt. Make compromises, even if they seem contentious and irrational at the moment. Provide shelter, regardless of the conditions. And by all means, survive.

  Apprehension and anxiousness settled deeper in her bones as they entered the dining hall through enormous gates that were opened with amazing force and grace by the elven guards. Even though they were trained to look expressionless and monotonous at all times, the looks in their eyes exposed bewilderment and lucid curiosity as they let them through the heavy entrance. They all bowed their heads when the King made his way through the path, and Aireiel noticed they kept them low the entire time he and his guests passed through. It was both a pleasant surprise and a shock to witness such a gesture since Aireiel did not have a valid explanation for it. Was the gesture in the name of courtesy and consideration or was it because they knew what fate awaited them? The elleth's head was filled with dark thoughts and she decided to deprive them of her attention for the time being, at least until the situation would turn out to be more hostile and unpredictable than the two of them had expected.

  It was the greatest, most exquisite and splendidly decorated halls she'd ever entered in her lifetime. The ceiling, supported by magnificent pillars of intricate wood embellishments, was high and wide enough to squeeze an admirable number of giants inside, the walls, which were of valuable stone, were natural and raw, but sophisticated in their own manner. Everywhere Aireiel would look she'd be met by a string of either beautiful carved decorations made by the skilful hands of the elven maids or the artwork created by the nature herself. She loved the way the contemporary technique flew in perfect balance with the traditional, conventional style of architecture that prevailed in the hall. Not long after she'd made a few steps further into the heart of the vast hall, her nostrils were filled with a fresh, rich aroma of local herbs, spices, and various other indispensable ingredients in the elvish cuisine. Suddenly their host turned to them in a single swift turn of his cape and a splash of platinum blonde hair waved in front of their eyes.

  "Please," his hand flew to the tables on their left, "make yourselves comfortable."

  He then passed them with his daunting figure to glide to the other side of the stunning piece of furniture where he elegantly sat on his appointed chair. From there he was able to safely observe and control each and every movement displaying right in front of him. When a few tense seconds of silence passed, the two realised it would be rather smart to obey the King's wish and positioned themselves on Thranduil's right. In an instant, a flood of servants and maids came down the path, rushing around the table to supply the guests with the best delicate dishes of most refined tastes of this Realm while still aiming to look peaceful, graceful, and sophisticated which was close to impossible to achieve in His Majesty's presence.

  "Have you ever tasted a fruit as succulent in your life?" the King inquired as he took one of the enormous violet berries in his large hands.

  "I'm afraid I haven't, Your Majesty," Edenir replied with most authentic feigned kind voice he could manage at that moment without grabbing the basket full of summer berries and throwing it directly in the host's face.

  "Well, you are exploiting a rather rare privilege, then, mellon," Thranduil smiled as he took one of the rich fruits to his lips.

  Edenir observed him with a look full of despise and repulsion reflecting in his green eyes. Despite this creature's title and claim, Edenir could never see him as one worthy of such honour. He could never understand the reason behind his enormous popularity, although he was familiar with the several leaders' tactics he had met in his time. It would not be a surprise to learn he had gained the public's affection by disgraceful manipulation and word play. In the end, all succumb to the power of greed. Sadly so, Edenir highly doubted Thranduil was still one of those that remained uncorrupted who led their dominion simply by the purity and good intentions of their hearts.

  "This hall is without doubt one of the greatest works of architecture my ancient eyes have ever seen," Edenir spoke, driven only by the motivation to lighten up the dull conversation.

  "Oh, indeed it is. I am most grateful for your kind words. It has been the main hall from the beginning of my father's reign," he explained. "I fervently hope your fair iell agrees to our words," he prompted as he turned his cold eyes to Aireiel, obviously enchanted by the magnificence of the very hall the conversation was about.

  As if awoken by a mighty force, Aireiel shook her head unexpectedly and uncontrollably which enabled her to fully concentrate on the current subject. Turning her pale face to the King, along with her auburn curls, she wisely replied with a slight gesture of her lithe hand: "I most certainly do, my Lord. In fact, I was so captivated by its beauty and artistry I did not realise you were awaiting my reply."

  Thranduil was obviously more than satisfied and amused with her answer as he reached for another handful of the delicious snack. With d
isgust, Edenir discovered he even let out a silent chuckle. Thranduil's polished, high cheekbones were reflecting in a soft light as their definite and refined shape curved his features. Aireiel observed the mighty leader with great anticipation and admiration, even though deep down she was aware of her father's disapproval. Inborn hatred screamed against the strong will for staring at his ethereal face, but something pulled her closer and closer to him, as if a familiar voice called from behind that placid mask of his. Almost as mellow as a lament, as tragically poetic as a ballad of Beren and Lúthien, and as enchanting as if it were sung by a maiden with the most melodic voice, Aireiel was completely taken aback by the aura surrounding the King. Somewhere half through her hypnotized state she had probably sensed her staring was becoming slightly out of hand, crossing all known limits of formality, but the fact was she did not care. It was as if her soul was being possessed by an invisible spirit all over again. Only when her father had repeated her name three times in a row she became aware of her position which was her head being leaned far towards her left to the King as if she was amazingly engrossed in his storytelling, her hands lay carelessly and indecorously on the wooden table along with her elbows, and her mouth was even slightly parted which made Edenir rather embarrassed of his own daughter after a truly long time.

  "Are you even present?" he whispered to her side, wishing the King would give them enough privacy to solve this without unnecessary complications.

  Befuddled by the sudden sharp clarity in front of her eyes and her mind, Aireiel removed her hands from the table and fixed her lazy position she had found herself in. It was hard to discern who was more embarrassed of themselves in that specific moment. While the King was being oblivious to the recent indecency by enjoying the healthy snack, Edenir was far more than displeased with Aireiel's behaviour.

  "How many times am I going to have to remind you that we are in the presence of one of the most influential leaders in the whole of Middle Earth?" he hissed. "And is it truly necessary to add each time what sort of behaviour is suitable and appropriate in these circumstances?"

  "Goheno nin, ada," she replied humbly. "I have acted irrational." (Forgive me, father.)

  Edenir merely nodded in approval as he once again turned his gaze towards His Majesty. Aireiel could not understand the sudden hysteria and frenzy over a person he did not even like or respect. In fact, it was his behaviour that was quite peculiar considering his usual indifferent, calm, and collected nature. Perhaps it was truly the influence and the simple feeling of the place that made him believe this ellon was more than he could ever be. As a principle her father frequently enjoyed to refer to said: a true great man has not gained his reputation by being known after his title or words – it was the deeds and the love for his people that made him richer than the whole of royal treasuries of Middle Earth combined.

  "Tell me," Thranduil inquired after he had cleared his throat. "How on earth did you manage to end up on that side of the forest? It simply fascinates me since you've provided us with the information of the location of your abode, and it does seem to be quite far from Dol Guldur."

  Since the moment he invited the two of them to join him to keep him company in the brief meal, Edenir suspected this occasion to be merely a disguise for a bigger plot. With an ellon such as Thranduil you always had to bear in mind all possibilities, consider every potential scenario, and doubt each word that left his mouth.

  "As I've clearly stated before, our daily routine does not include wandering about the obviously afflicted areas," Edenir responded sarcastically. "It was due to an unfortunate twist of events that the usually strictly formed route led us to that destination. We were no less confused or shocked by what happened to us there than you are, if not more, in my opinion."

  "I understand," the King agreed, "it must have been very difficult for you to comprehend what has happened and what sort of environment you've entered, especially one that had been declared extremely dangerous by the regional authorities. I hope you don't mind me asking what route are you referring to?"

  "We usually take up the West route, near the Old Forest Road since we prefer to stick to the guided path without bypasses that might lead into one of many dead ends of this bewitched forest, precisely for the reason of unexpected consequences."

  "Bewitched it is indeed," Thranduil confirmed as he deepened into the tangled web of his scattered thoughts.

  It was his restless, endless ability, stuck in the pits of his conscience that urged him to mull over the recently uttered words. The same ability made it much easier for him to connect two significant things; one he had been dwelling on for several days and the other he had just recently discovered – Thranduil came to a conclusion that the mention of the West route being used by these two only a few hours after Legolas had been found at the exact location the ellon had mentioned could not have been a pure coincidence. Out of everyone, Thranduil was the most passionate opponent of leaving things to something as pathetic and uncertain as faith. Centuries of experience of being misled, deceived or betrayed on faith's behalf had moulded him into the person he was today, and he was more than glad to admit he was proud of the idea his image provoked. If he had learned anything valuable from the merciless and ruthless years of his reign was to question each and every thing for true meaning usually hid beneath the obvious. And throughout those years he had accustomed to always look underneath.

  He flicked his eyes to the elleth currently reaching for another piece of the traditional lembas bread which she had been devouring with her eyes for quite some time. While at first sight she seemed to radiate with an innocent, charming energy, there was also a dark spark hidden somewhere within her. He was still deciding whether she had acknowledged it yet or had begun to notice it, but he was positive it had been affecting her in some way already, if not for some time now. It showed in her stoop posture, the insecure expression she seemed to wear at all times (despite her best efforts to replace it with feigned bravado), and the invisible force ailing her from within that peaked through the holes of her ratty shield she had surrounded herself with. Perhaps he was diving too deep into the analysis of this strange pair, yet he could not put a finger on what bothered him about them, and he was certain his soul would not rest until he found the reason for his inner turmoil.

  Encountering a most interesting sight of the King leaning his chin on the pillow of his silk-soft palms, Edenir curiously gazing at the glimmering feast in front of his eyes and wondering if poison had been secretly inserted in separate dishes, and Aireiel devoting all of her attention to one of the elven specialities boasting between her fingers, a servant raced into the hall where the three had settled in to find His Majesty and his (apparently not greatly entertained) company folded in complete silence. It was rather difficult for him to interrupt such graceful scene, yet he was told very specifically and clearly to say exactly what he had been instructed to, regardless of the state he would find the King in.

  "Your Majesty," he began with hands locked behind his waist, "the Sages have gathered and summoned the public. The moment when the truth shall be revealed to the people has arrived. They most ardently demand the truth, and yours is the right to give it to them."

  At the end of that beautifully composed sentence the servant's mouth had turned a dangerously light shade of grey and seemed to tremble as if he was experiencing a severe cold. But it was nothing more than a mere fright and terror of seeing the King in all his might in person for the first time which was truly a shocking experience for everyone who had gone through it.

  Thranduil calml,y as if recently awoken from a pleasant daydream, turned his head towards the shaking ellon whose state, under the King's inspecting gaze, only worsened. "Of course. I shall come immediately." With that the ellon was finally dismissed and released of his assignment which had probably been the ultimate test of his courage, loyalty, and patience.

  The tall ellon rose from his padded chair, slid it back to its position, and wrapped himself with his glamor
ous velvet cape. His expression was irritatingly unreadable – an expertise he excelled at – so Aireiel and Edenir were left only to their best guesses of what could possible go on in his head. However, the only thing they were able to read or perhaps the only thing Thranduil had let to reveal was that something great was about to unveil and that he was a part of that great responsibility or maybe even the one carrying it. But once he turned his icy eyes in their direction their previous numerous guesses were limited to only one: he was obviously in anticipation of something, and his uncomfortable, impatient posture indicated that the thing he was anticipating was, in fact, supposed to be delivered from them. When the stern, expecting gaze didn't seem to awoke the effect Thranduil had hoped for, he was annoyed to had been forced to articulate his need.

  "The conclusion of the verdict is not going to happen without you," he elaborated, but the fact was that sentence only further confused the befuddled elves sitting behind the table, not knowing what was ahead of them.

  "Why is that?" Edenir inquired, his confusion despised by Thranduil who at the moment wondered and pondered how on earth these two managed to survive all on their own for as long as they had. Their incredible luck was most admirable and astounding.

  "For you are the key witnesses, of course," was the King's reply who would not humiliate himself any further to wait for another idiotic question where he would be forced to repeat himself yet again since he had already exited the hall with swift, gracefully steps.

  The shock in both of their eyes had said enough for them to acknowledge what sort of tangled, twisted turn of events they had been dragged into. Without their knowledge or even consent something had been made up for them. A role for them to play in front of hundreds of fervently anticipating people they did not even know. What did they owe them? What had they committed that was so seriously unforgivable that had earned them another detention at this horrible location? They were aware the answers to these questions weren't going to create themselves, especially not here, in this deserted hall where no one could even share a word of advice with them, devote them a kind word or a glimpse of compassion. What Aireiel had realised was that she needed to see the Prince immediately for the events had led to such outrageous misunderstanding that he or someone in power needed to sort it out this instant. And the only way she could find a person capable of such action was towards the direction the King had fled to.