Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  First, there was plain, strident silence filled with expectation. The elves turned around to look at the fellow bystanders and assess their reaction which was, surprisingly, shared by the whole crowd. They blankly gaped at the Sage, both inspired and startled by his uplifting words, not able to properly organize their thoughts and compose an opinion on the matter due to their current inert, turbulent state. But it took nothing more than a soft sigh of relief and two slow claps that later turned into a progressive wave of applause flooding the Hall to put the crowd as well as the speaker into entirely different mood. Instantly, the crowd, consisting of elves of both higher and lower status, began to fill the Hall with pleasant atmosphere of loud, frantic chatter of the future, continuous gentle clapping, and bright expressions on their faces which lightened Calaron's pessimistic heart. The Sage deferentially wondered at what a bit of encouragement and sanguinity meant to the people. He was amazed by the effect the power of word play had on the crowd and how they immediately started to regain their almost mislaid ability to maintain their faith for the leaders of this country.

  As much as Calaron was thrilled and pleased to receive a good response from the people, he could not simply dismiss the duty that still burdened his shoulders. Although they had already been shaken up by the conclusion of the tragedy that had occurred in the palace more than a week past, there was much more people had to be ready to absorb. Just as Calaron, the entire line of Sages agreed to the fact the crowd had taken the news much better than predicted. But all also silently admitted one thing: the worse was yet to come.

  The First Sage raised his arms back into the air towards the ceiling of the dome to silence the noise that had initiated. With narrowed eyes he scanned the public, before he uttered the reason for his interruption.

  "Sadly, I have yet not told everything there is to know about this dreadful news. As was the Council mutual decision along with the King's agreement, we have decided to act immediately against the threat for time is not among things we have in abundance at the moment," he said. "What we do have is courage, determination, and motivation to protect our lands to our best abilities. When times as frightful as the ones we are experiencing now arise, we are not left with much choice in the matter. With Council's and His Majesty's full support, I am with heavy heart to declare that the Woodland Realm is from now on officially at war."

  The response could never be likened with how the crowd reacted to the previous delivery of the shocking news. Where there were expressions of terror and trepidation earlier, they were replaced by perplexed and confused countenances. There were no sudden gasps releasing tension, but complete, naked silence which took Calaron by surprise for he had expected anything but silence from the public. Only now, when he was staring in their fraught faces and got lost in the depth of their desperate eyes, he realised what sort of situation the Realm had found itself in. There was truly nothing more shattering for the crowd to hear than the news of the forthcoming war. Parents feared for the irresolute destinies of their children, the commanders thought of their troops and soldiers, leaders reflected on their past deeds and how successful their reign had been so far. War was a time of insecurity, dire expectation, and strange delirium the inhabitants couldn't shake off. It was a crisis with an undecided expiration date that left everybody on edge right until the very moment. In those critical moments it was crucial for those in charge to take the appropriate measures, assure comfort and provide aid at all times, and secure their boundaries to the absolute maximum.

  As the pressure and tension grew stronger, Calaron's need to escape also intensified. He could sense the looks of judgement, disbelief, and incredulity upon his body, and he did not like it at all. That was the very reason why he loathed to perform in public speeches. It was the constant reproof and accusation the public speaker was to receive after the speech that made Calaron detest this inevitable and most grating part of his duty. This occasion was no exception; the people would stare at him blankly with continuous burning disbelief, still convinced the words he had just uttered were merely a joke which they did not understand. They were waiting for him to elaborate this silly, obviously unsuccessful jest in order to continue with their lives, but what they failed to see was that the same jest was about to change the course of their lives for good.

  "For now, I would kindly ask you to return to your quarters and remain calm until further information shall be brought to you," Calaron requested calmly in hope to soothe their aching gazes. Although his intention was good and pure, the effect seemed only to work inversely. The crowd stood still as if hypnotized into a state of dreaming with their vacant expressions. The words he had just uttered meant nothing to him. Nothing could have affected them more severely than what they had already received from the one person they believed in most. And once that faith was lost, it required a long time of hard work to regain it.

  Not caring enough to devote one last glance to the lost people, Calaron decided to remove himself from the exposed position. Despite the fact that his profession, among other things required replacing the King in certain situations, the Sage knew when enough was enough. He himself was not entirely immune to the burden, so his body urged him to get out of there as soon as possible. But he was not leaving alone.

  On his way he passed the two guests that had sat still and quietly throughout the entire time of the declaration. Even though they had already been acquainted with Calaron, they completely ignored him as he stopped at their side. They had also adopted the crowd's gazes, and as their eyes were filled with endless hollowness, Calaron at last began to feel to consequences and the weight of his recent words that it was not only the people of the Woodland Realm who would be affected by the Council's rapid decision (although it was only rapid due to the urgency of the matter), but also the regions and lands surrounding it. The announcement would spread far beyond the enchanted wood and in no time reach the ears of unwanted folk across the Middle Earth. But there was no effective solution to this collateral side effect of the necessary reform they were forced to enact. There was only hope they would not find themselves under the attack of some foreign kind who would use their vulnerability to invade their already desolated lands and further destroy what was left of their culture.

  "Edenir, would you mind if we spoke in private for a moment?" Calaron invited the rapt, frozen elf.

  But Edenir was unable to wake from his deep, spellbound daze. Calaron's request flew by his ears and his features did not make a single movement which would indicate acknowledgement of Calaron's invitation, let alone the Sage's presence. Only after his mental absence was coming close to incongruous, he forced himself to return to reality which was the very meaning behind his quick escape.

  "Of course," Edenir hurried and jumped on his feet. Then he turned to his daughter with a serious expression which hid anxiety and worry. "Wait for me here, I shall return in no time."

  Aireiel nodded in response and observed as the two elves left the dais and strolled the long, vast hallway side by side, Calaron already throwing his hands in the air. She couldn't resist wondering what was the nature of the urgent consultation Calaron had demanded, but a feeling deep down kept telling her it had very likely to do with the news the First Sage had just shared with the public. A threatening feeling was starting to rise within her that warned her about something unspeakable, intangible. Perhaps it was the congenital instinct of vigilance which lay restless in her bones that awoke possibly unnecessary alertness in her, perhaps it was a consequence of being in the unsafe environment full of untamed beasts for far two long she'd forgotten the feeling of carelessness, but she somehow she knew there was more to this shocking news than the Sage had revealed. It could be a part of the Council's clandestine agenda which was being carefully hidden from the public's prying eyes for that would most accurately explain the Sage's unknown secrecy. She was not familiar with the customs the people and the administration of the Woodland Realm abode by, therefore she was not the adequate person to judge Calaron's
performance, though she was not blind either. As a result of once being a part of a larger domain run by hereditary monarchy she was conversant with how matters of sensitive nature were handled. She understood the procedure of the leaders having to obey and follow the majority's demands, however she did not remember any detail ever being hidden from the people of her previous home. The news of war arriving at the North which was delivered to the elves today was difficult to grasp on its own, and to consider what else could have hit them was painful for Aireiel to imagine. The inhabitants of the Realm had gone through enough already, but was that a justifiable reason to keep the truth from them? Did they not possess the right of being informed of the activities within the borders of the land they cherished and loved, the land they called home? Aireiel was far well familiar with that sort of inconvenience as well as what mark it left on her or – what had died inside her.

  Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the approach of a tall figure. She recognized the person immediately.

  "Beleg Meatherion," she addressed the Lord Commander as she approved his indication to sit beside her.

  "How are you feeling, hén?" he asked attentively as he observed her features. (Hén = child)

  "I have gone through worse, my Lord," Aireiel replied bravely, continuing, "it is the people of the Realm I fear will face greater consequences."

  "Indeed, news of war is never to be taken lightly and they know it. However, I am interested in your previous statement where you claimed you have gone through worse before," Meatherion implied.

  Aireiel was aware of the agreement with her father, so she remained present and fully aware of the flow of her words which sometimes could be entirely misinterpreted by certain people.

  "My father and I originate from lands that have been affected by the hand of the Shadow before. The sight of the burning homeland will remain in my memory forever, and it is a sight I would not wish for anyone to witness." She turned her head towards her feet and then back up again, letting out a disappointed sigh. "The constant emigration is necessary for us to escape the breath of evil, but it has claimed its price several times. Never being able to return to my homeland is one of them."

  "I am most sad to hear such horrible event has marked your past. No one deserves to see their culture obliterated, let alone by the purging evil that has made its return," Lord Commander comforted.

  Meatherion was devastated to see the elleth's youth being stained at such an early stage. As he was looking into her eyes with great care and gentleness, he could notice tracks of grief and pain, but no regret or excessive humility. The elleth knew exactly what she was doing by showing what she wanted the Commander to see. Revealing only a tiny bit of her crushed self, she was manipulating Meatherion's newly created image of her as the two were getting to know each other better. She believed the Commander to be genuine in his care and worry, but since she ever since was a creature barely mastering the art of running about the palaces she had been taught to speak less than she knew and have more than she showed. Once she had conquered that skill she was unbeatable and everlastingly charming, enticing, and mysterious. A skill she would nurture for eternity.

  But then the flash in her eyes changed dramatically. From being a quiet elleth with a blood-stained past, she turned to a warrior willing to avenge the fall of her homeland; a warrior she always had inside of herself. The changed was also noticed by the Commander at her side.

  "Precisely," she replied to Meatherion's previous remark. "The same evil that has been spreading and demolishing the lands of Middle Earth for as long as there has been light, is slowly recovering by polluting the good of this world." Aireiel looked to her empty hands before directing her gaze in Meatherion's eyes. "I want to fight. Ever since we managed to escape that hell I've been dreaming of having my revenge. And as long as I breathe I will never forget nor forgive the atrocities that befell my people and land."

  "Your passion is admirable, yet I doubt you realise the dangers of your ardent drive and where it may lead," Meatherion said, both frightened and enchanted by her.

  "Hopefully to battle," was her serious response.

  The Lord Commander shook his head and rotated his body a bit to his left while resting his elbows on the handles of the seat. As much as the elleth was prepared to fight and help defeat the evil, he feared for her future just like her father. These worries would be shared by anyone who cared to listen to a single word she had to say of the forthcoming storm, and anyone brave enough to consider them would realise it was pure madness.

  "I believe you would get along very well with the Captain of the Royal Guard," Meatherion jested to cool the tension that had gathered around them before continuing seriously. "I'm afraid I cannot consult you in the matter. Plenty of young elves state they would be prepared to give up everything in order to try themselves in a battle at least once, while they severely underestimate the value of the things they speak so frivolously of. A majority of those courageous and unlucky enough to eventually find themselves in a middle of a close combat later admit their zest and blind faith to be deceiving. I am no fool or a hypocrite – I realise without those brave volunteers we wouldn't be able to properly defend ourselves, whereas I still strongly believe half of the volunteers to be simply too young to be confronted with the pain and sacrifice of duty just yet."

  They shared a long pause before Meatherion decided to make a conclusion to this discussion or at least the current subject. "War is a terrible, horrendous thing, my dear. No one should seek one if there is absolutely no need for it. What seems to push the young volunteers to join this dangerous profession are mostly the desire to prove themselves and, of course, the promise of fame and glory. But too often those courageous soldiers perish without acknowledgement somewhere far from home on a deserted field, their effort, ambition, and appetite for life they traded for death die along with them and fade to oblivion."

  "But that is what it is all about," Aireiel continued with her own way. "It is about sacrifice though not to let it be in vain, but to contribute to a bigger goal for greater good. War has never been about what must happen in order to achieve that goal, it is the faith to reach it and the aftermath of when we do."

  "If there is anything I know about this world, dear child, is that it is cruel, merciless, unrelenting, and unforgiving which are the characteristics brought by war. I've seen far too many gory sights to be able to simply turn away from the horrors of war I've suffered. It is both painful and important to talk about it, but it is also crucial you keep a realistic view on the matter."

  "I don't understand," she said. "You have become a legend for it. Has that accomplishment not encouraged you to push forward?"

  "The only way it has encouraged me is to avoid war by all means."

  That statement left Aireiel almost breathless. Dreams of retaliation led her on an unrealistic path of becoming the greatest heroine the world had ever seen by avenging what was dear to her and reclaim what had been violently taken away from her. But was that all there was to the ill dream or was there some hidden intention she was hoping to fulfil by fighting the Darkness? Could it be that this dream had corrupted and distorted her soul to the point where she could no longer distinguish between the wish to have her life mission completed and the thirst for unnecessary bloodshed? Or had they become the same thing? This was now beginning to torment her conscience so gravely she was not even able to recognize the creature she had turned into.

  "Is it wrong if I feel such need to act against the threat we are facing?" she asked insecurely then.

  "Of course not," Meatherion replied gently. "You should not think of yourself any less or more for what you hold inside."

  "It is the deeds that make you a worthy, honourable person which is the only thing I thrive to be," Aireiel cried.

  "It is not all that simple. It is the competence to trust your healthy judgement and act on its behalf," Meatherion corrected her.

  "How am I to find that competence?" the passionate elleth inqui
red.

  "By staying alive, child," was the answer Aireiel did not and could not approve.

  But this time she remained quiet. During the time of this productive conversation she had grown extremely tired, exhausted beyond her limits. All in all she would say it was quite a prolific discussion she had with Lord Commander. In a way it was refreshing to hear a second opinion on a matter, however contradicting. It wasn't about not valuing or respecting father's outlook on the whole war thing, it was simply the tight bond that connected them, a link of emotions that inadvertently prevented Edenir from giving an equitable, unbiased opinion. Of course no father should want to see his only daughter fight in a world full of ferocious beasts and ruthless leaders supporting constant violence; that was why Edenir could never forgive himself if he should ever utter words that were not previously thoroughly calculated or had any chance of being misinterpreted.

  Meatherion understood the bond between them the moment he set his eyes on the pair, knowing they would be hard to separate, even harder to get to speak without consulting each other first. A few centuries ago he would hate to see someone as dependent and incapable as these two, unable to live a life of their own, but once he had lived through what he had it was impossible not to truly value what little of love he came by every now and then, and after hearing a bit of Aireiel's life it was obvious these two shared not only a special form of love, but a horrible experience as well which ultimately connected them more than anything else ever could.

  While Aireiel had so many more questions that burdened her soul, Meatherion began to feel he had been dragging the conversation for far too long as it was. He was positive his and her presence for that matter were surely needed elsewhere. In a way he was glad he approached her which enabled him to learn a few more things about the lives of the newly arrived strangers; any knowledge he had gained from this conversation would undoubtedly be of use in the imminent discussions which shall determine the certainty of the strangers' futures.