Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  Dragging her reluctant father behind her, Aireiel hurried through the dining hall's gates and followed the route the King had chosen. Noting the bowed heads of the guards securing the passages and corridors, Aireiel quickly deciphered she was on the right path since she figured their gesture was meant for their leader passing through not long ago. It was not curiosity or excitement that drove her with such speed to where the verdict shall be concluded; it was the taste of fear and uncertainty of their fates that provided her with the energy that enabled her to practically flow through the hallways.

  While she rushed to find the Prince in belief that was where their happy endings were, Edenir couldn't stop wondering at her continuous will and determination after all that she had endured. Ever since she was born he was aware that she was one of a kind; a restless, passionate, untamed soul. But after all the horrors she had seen one would expect to see drastic changes to her character. Anyone witnessing so much tragedy, evil, and hardship throughout their lives would fall victim to transforming into a person unrecognisable in comparison to the previous. Life changed you into a person you'd promised yourself you would never become, Edenir of all people knew that best and most. But what seemed to have left him absolutely speechless each time he would gaze at his daughter was how much she had grown and how much she had sacrificed in order for them to survive. She was forced to let a part of her die, to erase the loving memories of her family in order to move on wholly and fully, to adjust to a life she never asked for. Moments of that repetitive realisation was what sparked the thought in him that she was truly a remarkable being. A being that was made to stand out, to be adored and esteemed. In that moment Edenir knew that regardless of the situation they shall be thrown into, he would stand by her forever. However, in this case, forever was meant not as a polite, comforting and reassuring metaphor but as sincerely and seriously as one could mean it.

  Not long after the wild and aimless wandering around the mysterious hallways of the underground palace had commenced, the two, breathless and perspired, found themselves at the entrance to a vast antechamber which was, surprisingly so, deprived of any trace of any form of audience. Aireiel's eyebrows narrowed to the strange discovery, when a guard on their far left let out a cough that was a sign of indirect communication; a language Edenir and Aireiel were both very familiar with. They heeded the guard's generous sign and turned to the direction of the guard's cough as his neck curved to the gates at the end of the hallway he was guarding. The pair instantly moved, rushed pass the guard, but just before they reached the hook of the gates, Aireiel formed a quick sign of appreciation and gratitude to the kind guard which, despite the elaborate and completely covered required guise he was wearing, did not go unnoticed. After Edenir and Aireiel had given themselves a moment for a brief respite and a quick reflection of the upcoming events, they entered the hall with probably a bit excessive confidence considering their current reputation in the Realm (which, of course, they could not have known).

  The moment they set foot in the Hall of Justice, all wondering, marvelling eyes were suddenly locked on them. Despite the earlier announcement of the presence of the two strangers at the hearing, the crowd's response couldn't have been predicted in any way. The truth was no matter how much you'd prepared for a situation you knew was coming, you could never truly know what to expect. And the sight of that day's gathered hungry crowd was a perfect example of that principle, especially proving the fact that a large mass of people was most difficult to control and lead.

  Mild chaos and disorder prevailed in the Hall, but not for much longer for soon another figure would make an appearance in front of the public – a figure that would bring justification and explanation to all of the recent mystifying incidents that had been confusing the people of Woodland Realm for too long.

  Thranduil elegantly as always glided to the peak of the dais that was usually exploited for dignified occupancy which in today's occasion was not. Today was the occasion when the King would deliver a news of most upsetting nature to his people; the occasion when the lives of the inhabitants of the Realm shall change forever. Yet regardless of the cruelty and poignancy of the deed he was assigned to perform, Thranduil was aware of the consequences he would have to bear on his own shoulders in case the necessary action should not be delivered timely and appropriately. It was a matter of fact that he and he alone was the only one capable of carrying it out for no one bore the very courage or audacity that made Thranduil such outstanding, exceptional leader as he was. He indeed was aware of what he owed to the people, and in this rare occasion he was forced to put behind the beloved image of himself that had been widely accepted by the public, step out of his skin, and do his duty for which he had been chosen by the Gods.

  The fleeting tumult was smothered by a gentle movement of Thranduil's hands, and as it lowered towards the people, the noise would follow the movement, gradually growing into complete silence. Suddenly, the entire Hall was focused on the ruler, and patiently awaited his address to his kinsmen while Aireiel and Edenir were secretly escorted by one of the Sages to join them behind the platform upon which Thranduil shone in all his renowned glory.

  "My dear fellow gwanur," he began, ignoring the two moving figures behind him. "Dark, spiting times have befallen our lands. Ever since our Realm was shaken up by the news of the tragic passing of our dear member, we've been experiencing horrible consequences such as insecurity, instability, and vulnerability. In times as this it is our responsibility to unite and join our powers in order to maintain our home a worthy, unwavering dominion.

  As it is my duty to partake in this alliance and lead it, a most ungrateful burden falls upon me as well, but at the same time a burden I feel compelled to share with you as your equal. For the past week you have faced unimaginable terror of being left in the dark without any knowledge of the circumstances of the ellon's death, and I assure you – it was solely for the purpose of preventing any unnecessary misunderstandings and spread of unwanted information. But now, without any further confusion to the matter, we can, based on the protracted and thorough examinations, confirm that Maerrond, a loyal member of the Council, was brutally murdered by the hand of the Shadow." (Gwanur = kinsmen)

  It would be a severe and unfair misinterpretation to describe the crowd's reaction as simple mayhem. For the that would be far from the truth. It was anarchy. Not uncomfortable sighs or impatient screams or disgruntled moans filled the air, not a gracious gesture of the hand that would meet the disturbed chest filled the crowd. Uncontrollable movements flew around the place, and not words of comfort, but bitter tears and profanity echoed in the Hall. All Thranduil could do was helplessly observe his people as they writhed in pain and follow the wave of emotion that had swallowed them. He could, in a way, say he had predicted this sort of outcome, but nothing could prepare him for the amount of grief and anxiety he was feeling in that moment. Surrounded by swirl of crawling figures, he was consumed by the guilt he had begun to sense. His reason told him he had done the right thing by informing his subjects of the possible fate the Realm was facing instead of feeding them with false hope, yet despite deepest efforts he could not get rid of this infuriating thought that with doing so in the name of common good, he had inadvertently destroyed that bit of cheerfulness in the eyes of his people. That now, when their souls were burdened with such dreadful and terrifying theory of the Realm being exposed to evil, no sign of hope or good spirits shall reside behind the great walls of the palace ever again. After the thought had already settled in his mind, images and visions of his people succumbing to the intriguing pain of sorrow had flashed before his wide opened eyes. Visions of the last thing he would ever want to befall his kingdom – absolute desperation and the loss of faith in the Gods.

  As the situation was slowly growing out of control, the First Sage pushed his way through behind the front row of the upset Sages, roaming the lowered platform behind the dais where the King was standing still in his position. As much as he hated intervening in bare
ly governable situations such as this, his formal position and rank ordered him to do something about the commotion engulfing the occupied space. Calaron's swift steps enabled him to quickly find himself standing side by side with the King himself as the latter stared at the whimpering crowd.

  "Le na man, nin hir?" Calaron spoke when he reached Thranduil's side. (Are you alright, my Lord?)

  At first, all he got in reply was a suppressed, muffled whine which Calaron read as the sign of Thranduil's initial response to the activity below him, but then the King had begun to form a reply that was expected of a person of his rank and that was in the least considerate of Calaron.

  "I wonder," he spoke sadly with his deep voice his eyes still focused on the crowd, "if perhaps it were best for them to be spared of the knowledge of the great misfortune which has befallen us. Perhaps that way they would retain their faith and trust that I have now crushed. Is there any hope left for them, for us? Is there a way to mend their broken hearts into willing, obedient believers that would be prepared for whatever is upon us?"

  Although it seemed more as a confession of a rueful leader who had come to admit his errors, Calaron realised what he was witnessing was an unravelling of a person of most complex mind, and the best thing he could do at the moment was listen to his superior who, in Calaron's eyes, had never seemed less royal and celestial as in this vulnerable moment, but more raw and uncovered than he had ever seen him before.

  "The nation has never doubted in Your Majesty's abilities to save the Realm in previous crises. Trust me, such deeds hardly go forgotten. I highly doubt the critical situation we are facing today shall be an exception."

  "I am grateful for your honest words, Calaron," Thranduil lowered his head for a quick moment to show appreciation as his eyes were still scanning the Hall, "but I fear the golden years of my reign have passed. How shall I find strength not only to reign but to rule?"

  The First Sage knew this to be a trick question, though he seriously doubted there was a hidden meaning to it which was common and to be expected when conversing with the King under normal circumstances. However, it still bugged him to see his King filled with such deleterious thoughts. Calaron ended up asking himself if perhaps there was any sense to Thranduil's words and if maybe the Gods had decided to put him in a trial period with this threat of evil. And what if he should fail? Who could ever replace a monarch as devoted and unyielding as him? The answer to this question would open a subject of most sensitive and dangerous nature. A subject undoubtedly reserved for another time.

  "My King," Calaron began, "perhaps you have made a mistake of seeking a friend or an adviser in me. Then again, with great certainty and assurance, I can claim to be an indispensable part of this Realm, therefore I nurture great love for its people. I have seen the many rises and falls of our Realm, yet not once in those critical times have you failed to supply the nation with comfort, morale, and fortitude they've been receiving from their King ever since he's been assigned to take up on a role not many are up to. It is often expected of a ruler to produce and provide miracles at all times; Gods' forbid if he should ever reveal but a piece of his true self for that is considered a great weakness amongst his rivals, hungry for even a tiniest miscalculation. After all, great kings are the descendants of the Gods, and with such power comes great burden. A burden not many can acknowledge, let alone tolerate and carry instead of their folk. With great admiration and willingness I am bound to ensure you that I cannot imagine a leader more suitable to guide us through these dark times. And I am fairly positive your people share the same idea."

  Not in thousand years would Calaron expect himself to ever utter such words of consolation to his King as he just had, yet it was partially his duty to relieve his superior of unnecessary doubts that might obstruct him in his path to achieve greatness. It was a very shocking surprise to had witness the King choosing Calaron as his confidant for the Sage was absolutely sure this was a rare scene if not one he shall never come across again. While the common folk usually had the habit of declaring their rulers as more or less demigods, the ruler's counsellors, entourage, and members of the small circle of King's preferred audience had a different image of him. They still saw him as the divine creature he was, but there was a bitter taste to the concept of the King being almighty and impeccable. In fact, partaking at the discussions of the great decisions enabled those selected groups to be exposed to a certain version of the King which would never leak to the public. There they were able to observe their ruler up close and intimately to the degree where they would eventually come to the conclusion that their King was in fact far from faultless. But still, that perspective did not diminish nor lessen their affection towards Thranduil in any way. Actually, it might as well made him more popular amongst the members of the preferred audience since they finally felt they could identify themselves with him and that made them realise that, in the end, they were all equal. That he also had not been excluded from being allotted an ample of worries of a regular elf by the hand of the Gods with the notable difference of him having to hide those worries and also having to rule – a duty everyone admired and subconsciously desired yet feared and ultimately rejected.

  "You honour me, Calaron. Your wisdom is truly remarkable, and I deeply apologize if it was at times undervalued or unappreciated," he finally turned to him and then lowered his gaze again as if the crown upon his silk hair suddenly contained the entire sorrow of the Hall which was not far from the truth. "Perhaps it shall succeed to soothe the crowd as well for I believe they have grown tired of my appearance."

  "Fear not, my Lord," the Sage assured him, "whereas sometimes my service indeed seems redundant, my commitment and alliance shall lie with you until my dying day."

  Offering a tired, pale smile, but just before Thranduil was about to retire from the exposed position and hide in the shadows behind the dais where now Calaron proudly stood, he turned to the Sage one last time and ordered: "Bring the father to the chamber after you've finished."

  Thranduil was just about to make the first step down towards the end of the dais, when he suddenly stopped in his position and looked up to Calaron.

  "Where is my son hiding?" he asked tiredly.

  "I believe he is at the armoury with the head assistant of the guard inspecting the latest arrival of the stock."

  Thranduil merely hummed something in return and focused on his previous errand. It was urgent he spoke with Legolas as soon as possible for he could no longer bore all the burden by himself. Besides, he believed it was fair enough he at least confided in his son of his newest discovery.

  Confused but trusting the King must have had his reasons for the previous peculiar demand, he nodded, showed the King the way down the dais, and then returned to his position where he welcomed the crowd again.

  "Sídh vi i thammas!" Calaron's voice spread far across the Hall to quell the progressing noise. (Order in the Hall!)

  Not long after a few additional repeats of the request the crowd did manage to settle down. Curious stares and whispers of wonder were directed towards the Sage who stood above them with his hands spread to his people like wings of a bird against the wind. They rarely ever had the opportunity to see any members of the Council in person, so this was quite a sight for their eyes and Calaron was aware of it.

  "Sadly, it has fallen upon my shoulders to inform you that the King has chosen to retire to his chambers. As chaos and bedlam take over the Hall, I feel the need to elaborate and present this devious matter to you in a way you shall all understand the circumstances and consequences of the tragedy," he addressed the nation.

  "How shall you explain the threat our children are facing?" a voice shouted then.

  "How can you speak of securing our safety when the Shadow has obviously invaded our lands without any difficulty of being noticed?" said another.

  The pressure Calaron was now beginning to sense instead of the King was cutting like the sharpest knife through his brain. It grazed at his skull and tore his
flesh while he tried to maintain a dignified, confident posture. All was in vain. His shoulders crushed under the weight of the head, his arms flew to his side, and his back wasn't as straight and strong anymore. Suddenly, the previous image of a capable, vigorous warrior and politician had vanished, replaced by a repulsive vision of a grouchy, venerable man whose efforts had fallen on deaf ears.

  I fear the golden years of my reign have passed.

  Thranduil's words ringed in his ears like a silent, creeping warning to his conscience that the end might be nearer than he'd imagined after all. Even though that notion scared him to the bones he had not succumbed to its dooming sorcery; he pushed aside all doubts, straightened his posture, and looked upon the crowd. It was in this moment when they needed someone who had to show them the Realm could and shall stand against the spreading evil. They needed a protector who would pour such unrelenting faith in them that it should not wither under even most drastic circumstances. Calaron saw the opportunity and he seized it.

  "The news of the aggressive evil expanding within our borders has truly shocked us all. It would be cruel and unfair to claim it had not taken us by surprise. A threat like this can be fatal for a single person, helpless and alone. But we are a nation," Calaron encouraged intensely. "And nations do not fall that easily. Especially a great nation like ours. In those times it is our honourable duty and obligation to stand together to fight for the welfare of our community which shall continue to endure, regardless of the challenges it might face."