Wild Monster

by Matthew Harrington

  "How are you feeling, Your Majesty?" the Sage enquired, carefully drawing near the King's bed.

  "Much better, thank you, Calaron," he replied. "Tell me, what happened to me?"

  Calaron looked at Thranduil with great expectation in his eyes, before he decided to direct his gaze elsewhere for a brief second. "Well, I was more hopeful of Your Majesty providing me with that information, but I must say I am not exactly surprised if the entire thing seems like a riddle to you as well, my Lord."

  "Indeed, it still feels like an ill dream," the King confessed.

  "We were all getting rather anxious and eager to hear what would Your Majesty's reply be to the elleth's daring suggestions. We sensed something was not quite right when your hands were fervently starting to search for some support," Calaron paused. "At first it seemed like a mild case of giddiness, but it turned out to be far more serious. You haven't been awake for almost a week. You've experienced a severe hypnosis, my Lord."

  Of course it was too good to be true, Thranduil mumbled to himself in his mind. During the apparent hypnosis, he knew a part of him was trying to tell him exactly what Calaron was describing to him, but he chose to ignore it. He deliberately chose to be seduced into a state of complete helplessness where someone had all the access to his thoughts as it pleased. Thranduil was all of a sudden disgusted with the sick idea of someone being privy to the things he did not share with anyone ever before. Another bitter feeling cut into his soul as disappointment of himself settled in his mind. He could never clarify his actions that were somehow justifying what the unknown force was doing to his mind, although he was aware a tough task was ahead of him. Showing in front of everyone once again and being able to deliver an explanation of the events that everyone would deem authentic and trustworthy for there was no chance he was going to tell them what was truly going on in his head during that time.

  "Water," was all he managed to say back. "Bring me some water."

  Before Calaron had the time to express his surprise at his King's response, he was already half way to the jugs of fresh water resting on a silver salver hidden in one of the carved shelves. The action provided the King with some additional time to deduce what he had just heard. A hypnosis would mean someone had violently entered his mind without his consent although he was absolutely certain no one present in that room possessed the ability of such dark witchcraft. There was no doubt it was connected to the series of strange events that had been occurring in the palace in the last week, and he was not comfortable with becoming one of the victims himself. If he was expected to fight this battle, it ought to be with a clear, unsullied mind, and now that things had progressed to the level when he was not able to protect himself from the Shadow any longer, it was about time he dedicated serious attention to these matters.

  "Here you are, my Lord," Calaron returned, offering the King a glass of the drink who gladly accepted it. "How are you proposing we should proceed?"

  "I believe my health is now entirely entrusted to the hands of our skilled healers," Thranduil wittily responded.

  "Of course, my Lord. Please understand that it is not my intention to shove you straight back to reality of our current state. However, I must ask who would you wish should replace your position during the indefinite time of your recovery?"

  "Something tells me you already know the answer to your question, great Sage," the King employed a devious smile to which Calaron replied with a light, humble chuckle. "You have showed excellent work and loyalty during my time of reign for which you have earned my utmost respect and trust. It would be an honour to have you in my place while I lay here, unable to control your every move," he concluded with another heart-warming smile. He never managed to disappoint Calaron with such rare occasions that proved Thranduil did, in fact, own a heart.

  "I am deeply grateful," Calaron expressed his gratitude with a gesture of bowing his head in front of the ruler, and then returned the gaze. "The rest of the Council would be thrilled to see you have recovered from your accident. Should I call for them?"

  "No need for that just now, Calaron. I only wish to see my son, if he is anywhere nearby."

  "Certainly, Your Majesty," the Sage suddenly stopped. "It's just..."

  "Yes? Do not be afraid to speak your mind, Calaron, not in these conditions," Thranduil prompted.

  "It is not an issue of that nature. Legolas has been waiting outside your chamber almost the entire time of your slumber, and I am afraid he is waiting to deliver some distressing news that might be a bit difficult to comprehend at this moment. It is not an appropriate time to strain you with further stress now that Your Majesty's has only begun to recover."

  "I think it would be wise to let the healers decide what is appropriate and what not in my condition," Thranduil snapped without thinking.

  "They have already agreed you should not accept many visitors at the early stages of your resurgence," Calaron quickly responded as if expecting a sentence like that coming from Thranduil's mouth. "We would not wish to see you in any more pain that you have already endured."

  "It is very kind of you to worry about my well-being in the way that you do, but I believe I still have some authority in this place however chained to the bed."

  As the situation was growing to become more and more intense, it was clear there was nothing more Calaron could do in order to prevent Thranduil from doing senseless things such as stress about political matters when he ought to take care of himself first. But he was also thankful he was in the service of such devoted king who would not forsake his people even in times like these when desertion would seem the easiest way out.

  "I will call for Legolas immediately," Calaron declared and left the chamber.

  The news of King's improved health spread far and wide across the halls of the Elvenking's palace. For five full days the solicitous inhabitants were in dreadful state of anticipation of any information being passed to them in relation to their leader's health. When the merry tidings of King's regained health reached the first ears of keen court maidens, it was guaranteed the entire palace was to rejoice and praise the Gods for their merciful decision.

  Faelwen was insouciantly strolling the Southern corridors where servants and officials would make their abode within the great palace, occasionally encountering her assistants and other maids whose occupation, just like Faelwen's, compelled them to dash about the palace to either tidy the royal bedrooms or clean the dust gathering in the Upper Halls where feasts were usually held. As a matter of fact, if Faelwen's recollections were correct, she did hear one of the main maids mention special decorations were ordered from one of the officials earlier, having something to do with the King's blessed recovery. She hadn't devoted it much thought just yet (due to being dreadfully engrossed in work since dawn), however she did wish to avoid hearing about the King as much as she could after the horribly embarrassing incident a few weeks ago in His Majesty's chamber. She still hadn't entirely recovered from that unforgivable imprudence.

  The task appointed to her this morning was rather surprising, given that she was normally responsible for maintenance of chambers in the High hallways. At first a thought of penalty crossed her mind, that she was to finally make amends for that error for having humiliated herself and dishonoured the entire workforce in front of the King in such disgraceful way. But while being closely attentive to her superior who commanded her what her duties this morning shall include, Faelwen failed to sense any signs of obvious reprimand in the maid's voice or her choice of words. Faelwen could not exactly say she was surprised to had come across such discovery for she did not know what she expected in the first place. Nonetheless, a large burden disappeared in her chest that had been weighing her down ever since the guilt of misinterpreting the commands of cleaning His Majesty's chamber began to spring in her mind. Even though she was aware it was nothing more than an insipid joke on her account for giving the impression of being so feeble and diffident (which made her appear as a perfect target for the ruthless ma
ids who had been serving the Royals for decades), she was tired of putting the blame on herself when in fact she was the last person who ought to have guilty conscience in this situation.

  Therefore, Faelwen refused to believe the task of aiding the indefatigable healers in the chambers which were located East of her previous workplace, was a part of a scheme on a much larger scale. Quite the opposite, Faelwen actually preferred a change in the tedious work routine she'd been absorbed in ever since she'd been evaluated as apposite and harmless enough to work in the Royal workforce. Perhaps the displacement would benefit her in many unknown ways, including resting her mind of heavy thoughts of guilt and shame, she supposed. In any case, Faelwen was determined to prove herself a worthy, assiduous, and studious worker with respectable work ethics.

  The gritty elleth began to descend the relatively steep path leading to the healing chambers were she was intended to meet with her new superiors of whom she heard great, admirable things. Unlike her regular superiors, the healers were renowned for their exceptional gift of patience, serenity, invaluable wisdom, and an enviable amount of laudable experience. It was safe to say both the workforce and those of higher rank deemed them as absolute professionals whose supervision would meant the highlight of any worker's career. And now Faelwen happened to be amongst those fortunate enough to fall under their guardianship.

  In a matter of seconds, she reached the last step of the intricate stairway whose edge ended in a broad, almost elegant manner which was not a common characteristic to come across in these parts, except for the ornamentations carved in the rock accompanying the stairway. Of course, the entire architecture of the palace was meticulously designed beforehand, however these corridors were known for their simplicity and austerity, although many would quickly deem it wiser to have multiple decorations down there to ease the suffering of those confined to those chambers. Despite the objections of the owners of such opinions, the area remained festooned with as little ornaments as possible which also proved to be the most suitable working environment for the healers. Being so occupied with observing the ambient around her, Faelwen almost overlooked the one she was supposed to meet with.

  "Mae g'ovannen," carefully announced a magical voice coming from behind of one of the massive pillars that constructed the underground maze of chambers. "I assume you were sent by Mirwen to meet your new obligations?"

  Faelwen swiftly turned around to add a visual image to the calm voice that greeted her, and found out that to be a very agreeable image to look at, indeed. The healer who was to be her supervisor for the day, was a tall, charming ellon of a slim, delicate figure and refined character. The timid maid was rather pleasantly surprised to realise the duties she was to fulfil this morning would not at all be as dull and tame with having such divine specimen to report to.

  "Am I correct in saying you are the new addition to our underground workforce?" the ellon kindly repeated himself, reminding the maid of her obviously inoperative speech ability.

  "Forgive me," she frantically apologized, "I guess I must have left my thoughts elsewhere. Indeed, I have been sent by Mirwen, the main maid. I've been told there is a shortage of healers' assistants, so she suggested I should come to your aid. You see, I am usually in charge of His Majesty's chambers, but since he's been locked in there for…" she chuckled, then awkwardly settled down once she'd processed the words she'd been spiting out. "Oh, silly me! You are obviously well-informed of His Majesty's condition, I'm sure." The clumsy ending to Faelwen's elongated apology produced a tiny, yet spontaneous twist of the healer's lips upwards.

  "Excellent," he uttered then guided his long, grey cape around his frame to invite the maid to accompany him through the maze of healing chambers. "I trust the duties that you will be performing here have already been explained to you?"

  "I'm afraid not in detail, no," Faelwen responded, fascinated with her supervisor's feather-light swing of his chestnut hair.

  "In that case, let me give you a quick round through the chambers, if that is alright with you," he proposed, giving her a quick glance Faelwen managed to catch. Thankfully, the healer redirected his gaze right in time before noticing the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

  "Oh, that would be most kind," was her quiet reply, full of admiration and awe for her guide.

  As they were elegantly passing the massive brick pillars, the healer fleetingly introduced himself as Cereiadon and continued with short, yet amusing historical tales of the chambers they were currently sauntering.

  "A rather equivocal reputation is attached to these chambers," the healer began, squinting his eyes while scanning the low ceiling above his head to remind himself how much he detested the poor effort the previous draughtsmen poured into the construction of such vital part of the palace. "They say a heinous curse had been cast on this particular area by the primordial sorcerers, whose content mostly consisted of foretelling misfortune to anyone roaming these lands. Have I scared you off yet?"

  Faelwen's inadvertent reverie of Cereidon's facial features almost caused her to mishear the last sentences that had been devoted to her. It was an effective attempt to see whether or not she had paid close attention to his narration and whether it had been in vain or not. Cereidon was both glad and allayed to see the flummoxed maid prove his theories false.

  "I would have to disappoint you in that regard," Faelwen giggled coyly, intentionally playing along with what she'd interpreted was a flirtatious diversion. "I've heard much more frightening stories compared to yours, so I am sad to inform you that your intimidating words have not moved me at all."

  "What if I were to say this was not yet an end to my story as you have so foolishly presumed?" the healer continued with a careful choice of words.

  "Then I am most thrilled to hear the rest of it," Faelwen said and offered him a heart-warming smile.

  Cereidon smirked to himself as he looked straight ahead of the path that was leading to the quarters of the main healers. With her witty, spontaneous, and genuine responses, the maid had been able to induce a creditable amount of surprise to rise within the ellon. Her being so forthright with him did not alarm him as much as the fact that she had awoken something that had not been in his daily use since the beginning of the reign of that preposterous silver-haired and sharp-tongued ellon that identified himself as his King. Despite having his thoughts filled with the images of the risible ruler he wished would burn along with him, he decided to vanquish his urge to execute his long-desired conspiracy plot against the King. Right now, he had to tend to other matters which demanded his attention.

  "There has come to a resurrection of the curse, according to the hearsay," he continued with a darker tone. "Apparently, it has spread among the palace some time ago. Several claim this is the factual cause of that ellon's death. It is said the curse's aura persisted, and has lingered and lurked ever since the tragic murder, supposedly already in pursuit of its new victim."

  "From my perspective, hearsay is nothing more than an indicator of lack of vivacity in the palace, and should not be given any specific value to what it spreads," Faelwen dexterously responded, actively contributing to the admirable impression the healer had already made of her.

  "I am quite taken aback by the way you choose to interpret such upsetting news," Cereidon sincerely confessed. "You have proven to handle stress surprisingly well. Are my hopes for expecting to see the same amount of fortitude from your work progress in vain?"

  The maid giggled slightly to the Cereidon's teasing remark, then answered in most professional manner: "My greatest wish is to exceed your expectations, nin herdir."

  "You've already embarked on that path," he assured her with a comforting smile.

  Faelwen carefully observed the inert patients on her right (as her left was blocked by the Cereidon's tall figure), hopelessly chained to the bed where the healers nourished their battered limbs and eased their hollow minds, rendered numb by the numerous injuries sustained during regional battles, with false assurances of brighter
future glistering ahead of them. As she continued to pity their unfortunate state, she realised that this part of the healing chambers rarely ever saw a happy ending to a fate like theirs. The further they deepened into the hallway, the gloomier and darker was the atmosphere surrounding them. With each new patient she'd lay her eyes upon, she would come closer and closer to the imminent discovery that this place was not in fact an infirmary as it had first appeared to be, but rather the final harbour for those prepared to sail away to the Undying Lands.

  The two finally approached the main healers' quarters which were stationed in a corner at the end of the underground hallway. Faelwen took a last turn to the hapless sufferers before devoting her full attention to the one who was about to deliver the required instructions of what was expected of her today.

  "I hope all of your senses are currently present," Cereidon jested which provoked an expected light chortle from the maid. "Your service will be needed at the department adjacent to my quarters which could prove helpful should you find yourself in need of any additional information regarding your work. Now, there is one specific patient whose condition is at most fragile stage and requires treatment with special care. I trust you to tackle the issue accordingly. You will find him under the sign "56" attached to the arch above the entrance to the chamber. Others are to be dealt with pursuant to whatever their report demands. All clear?"

  All the maid could produce was a slight, yet evident and resolute nod to confirm she had successfully processed the received instructions. From what she was capable to discern, the job she was supposed to fulfil did not seem at all that difficult nor complicated, however she did still feel a bit disinclined towards dealing directly with the poor patients she previously eyed. For it was not pity she felt any longer which she feared would get the best of her in the end of today. It was her own remorse and responsibility of inexplicable origin for something beyond her comprehension or capability. It was as if this place warned her of her own past mistakes which were far beyond mending, when she was surrounded by living and (still) breathing evidence of what an irreparable situation looked like. This entire area reeked of regret, failure, ordeal, and despair. Suddenly, an entirely different sensation began seeping through her mind. Faelwen felt empathy. Empathy and respect for those who were lying beneath her, chained to their fates for eternity, unable to defend their actions except with the visual image of what was left of their physical appearance which could never in total justify their decisions. And most of all: the helplessness Faelwen herself began to feel once she would look at them knowing they were compelled to live with their consciences in such unbearable state with no real opportunity to ever repent for their sins. With no second chance to create a better life for themselves.