1: Wild Things

Genre: Adventure? Silly? Rating: One or two mild curses are dropped.

S.A 1002

Summer

It was a popular belief during the elder days that the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad, was fearless. Elrond was privileged to know that the king was only nearly fearless. Gil-galad would face down any number of orcs without a second thought, or mountain trolls, goblins, wraiths and even angry cooks wielding rolling pins.

A scream pierced the air.

Gil-galad and Elrond halted their steeds and stiffened, watching and listening. The noise had been primal, panicked, and had caught them completely off-guard. The day had been unassuming and warm, sunny above the canopy of maple that they rode under. It was dry, and dust from the road trailed behind them in motes of light. They were nearing Harlond, having left the havens before the sun had risen that morning, and Elrond was just beginning to lament how very dull the whole journey would no doubt be.

More painful sounds came to his ears, and he wasn't sure this was the kind of excitement he'd been hoping for.

Gil-galad urged his horse forward first and Elrond followed, further down the road, tracking the noises. Elrond found himself fervently hoping that whatever was making the noise was not (or had not been) one of the free people, though he was already pitying whatever it was, man or beast. They reached a point where the road seemed to pass by the origin of the wailing, and here they wordlessly dismounted and left their horses to follow a thin trail leading off into the forest. At this point the noises quieted and soon they had stopped altogether.

"We're too late," Gil-galad muttered sadly, though he kept pushing through the brush that bordered the trail, in the vain hope that it would lead straight to what had been making the awful sounds.

"What if this is a trap?" wondered Elrond suddenly, and paused. Gil-galad paused too, but only to turn and give him a stinkeye.

"My friend, you worry too much."

"Worrying makes up the majority of my job."

"I know," said the king, pointedly.

"Somebody has to," protested Elrond through his teeth. "And right now I am the only one around to worry that you might not make it to your Council in Harlond because we were foolish enough to follow a strange noise off the road and into the woods."

"Yet," said Gil-galad, and turned to continue down the path, "if we did not investigate, both of our consciences would be vexed for eternity, never knowing if we had passed up the opportunity to save a life."

Elrond could do nothing in response but trace his king's footsteps and grumble quietly about stubborn High Elves. His hand rested on the hilt of his hunting knife and he very much regretted not having his sword. He knew Gil-galad's only weapon was also a knife. There was little in the land between the havens and Harlond that would warrant drawing a weapon. He hoped.

Something not far ahead of them rustled violently and Gil-galad paused, listening. When the rustling ceased he continued on, taking cautious, silent footsteps. Looking up at the trees, Elrond could see there was a natural clearing in the woods ahead of them, and as they neared it he caught Gil-galad's shoulder, slowing him further. Another frantic explosion ahead, but it hadn't moved any closer or farther away, which Elrond found to be both a relief as well as highly suspicious.

As they neared the edge of the woods Elrond caught a faint musk in the air. They both dropped to a crouch for the last distance and came forward to peer into the clearing.

Not twenty yards away, the grass had been stained crimson within a fair diameter. In the center of the red area was a mass of curved iron, sharp teeth, and black and grey fur that had been mottled with blood. The mass turned its head to them, caught them in its beady-eyed stare, and hissed loud and low.

"Well," said Gil-galad wryly, "You were right. It was a trap."

Elrond stood, and Gil-galad rose as well. They exchanged uncertain glances and then turned again to watch the beast.

It was a badger, and though Elrond had seen few badgers in his life, he was willing to bet this was the angriest one he would ever set eyes on. It had been wounded badly by the trap – it looked as if the teeth of the trap had come down flush on top of its shoulders – but, being a badger, it seemed more wrathful than anything else. Two crude arrows bit into its back, but hung shallow from the skin and fur, as if shot from a weak bow. He narrowed his eyes. The sight of the arrows caused a small flame of Elrond's own anger to leap within him.

"There is another here," murmured Gil-galad, and Elrond drew his attention from the animal to realize that, yes, they were not alone. Somebody else watched this spectacle. His gaze went up into the masses of leaves above them, and picked up the sound of breathing, and the acrid smell of Man mingled with the musk of the badger. "Oi!" Gil-galad shouted, stepping out into the clearing. Elrond flinched and followed him close, half-expecting to be shot through with an arrow himself.

"Oi," Gil-galad repeated, now staring fixedly into a spot in the canopy above them. "You there, lurking in the leaves. Is this your trap?"

No answer was forthcoming at first, but after a moment the branches shifted, some early leaves were shaken free, and a form dropped to the ground with a heavy whump. Elrond's hand tensed on his blade but Gil-galad stayed his hand. The man that now straightened in front of them did indeed have a bow strung to his back and a small quiver, but they could tell immediately that he was not a warrior by any means. His face was pinched, tiny eyes squinted, mouth and nose covered with a stringy sort of fuzz.

"What of it?" he asked, bristling. "What's it to two elves?"

"What did you set this trap for?"

"For to catch dinner for meself, of course."

"You would eat badger?" asked the king, puzzled.

"No! Filthy fiends, their flesh'll poison a man. A rabbit'd been nice. Turkey. A little deer. This damn thing's been scarin' away all the game in the area with its racket."

"And yet you sit and watch it happen."

"Ain't anything else to do! Can't kill it with arrows, I already tried, see? Their skin's tougher than tempered steel, I tell ya. Just gotta wait till it dies, then I'll throw it off and reset. Waste of time," the hunter spat, and eyed the animal.

Gil-galad half-turned to Elrond, making no attempt to hide his disgust. Elrond shook his head in disbelief, though truthfully he was not so surprised to hear such words.

"Sucker's just too damn big," the man continued. "Can't kill it, can't get close enough."

"You're a coward," Gil-galad said, "to stand by and watch this suffering."

"I s'pose you think you're going to do the deed then," scoffed the man. "Don't forget whose trap that is."

"Perhaps you should not forget whose kingdom you are in," Elrond said, unable to hold his temper. "You speak to Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of Lindon."

"Right," affirmed Gil-galad. "And I decree this cruel and unnecessary causation of suffering."

Elrond bit his tongue, trying not to smile. The king rarely brought out such frilly jargon in court. Leave it to him to use it in the face of one cowardly man in the woods. Said man was shocked into silence for just a moment, before letting an ugly sneer lumber across his features.

"… Fine, sir. I'm an honest woodsman and what happens in the rich halls of the elves don't concern me. If you want to go nudge that thing out of its misery, go ahead, but it's your face, not mine." Elrond wanted to tell the man how lucky he was that Gil-galad was not one to enforce the codes of hierarchy. By rights the king could have this man's head for impudence. Instead Gil-galad merely glared – a terrible enough thing to behold – and then turned once more to Elrond, and cleared his throat.

"Do you suppose – "

"You want me to do it," Elrond said, cutting him off. Being so close to the king held certain freedoms from discretion. Gil-galad dithered.

"Well, it does not seem wise to – "

"Your fears are not unknown to me," Elrond said bluntly. He'd gathered, in the past few hundred years, that one of the only things that Gil-galad held any fear of was wild beasts. It had puzzled Elrond to no end until he'd heard the king comment about how mysterious were the minds of those who were not aware of free will, and could not be corrupted by evil nor sacrifice themselves for the greater good. It was not the potential of injury that made the king hesitate; it was a matter of mentality, facing a wild being so very different than any of the free people.

"Let us both approach," Gil-galad said reasonably, "to see what can be done." Elrond took a breath and turned to the trap, taking several steps forward, Gil-galad close behind. The badger hissed mightily, and Elrond hesitated.

"That is a massive badger," he muttered. Gil-galad poked him in the back, and he took several more steps, until he was just outside of the crimson circle it had created. "A very angry, very massive badger," he said. It had lowered its chin to the ground as if ready to strike, hissing and trying to turn completely to face them straight. The man had been right about badger skin; it was tough. It didn't look as if the trap had chewed through anything vital, but the beast was certainly stuck fast and hard.

"I heard badgers can kill wolves," the man called to them. "Heard they're the toughest beasts ever set foot on land."

"Is that true?" Gil-galad murmured in an undertone.

"It has been recorded in the writings of the Forodwaith," replied Elrond softly, still staring at the beast, "that badgers have been known to attack wolves in order to appropriate their kills. They are remarkable combatants."

"Oh."

"I think I can free it."

"What?"

"Its wounds are not mortal, there is no need to kill it."

"You will get yourself mauled."

"I will not. Though I do regret not bringing armor." With that, Elrond came as close to the beast as he dared, drawing his knife, vaguely aware that Gil-galad had backed up several steps. He could see the spring to the side of the trap. If he could snap the spring and lift the jaw, the creature would be free to go. His eyes alit on the arrows still protruding from the skin, and his hands, of their own accord, started to reach to remove them – they would be a painful burden.

The badger snarled and tried to slash his hand away with its claws. It was held fast, though, and could maneuver very little. Elrond yanked them out quickly and the beast did not seem to notice.

"What are you doing?" the man cried shrilly. "Are you setting it free?" When he didn't get a response, he said, "That's a nasty, dangerous, dumb beast! It doesn't even know you're trying to help it!"

Elrond knelt next to the trap, carefully keeping a distance between him and the snapping teeth, and started to poke at the spring. The low growl of the badger crawled up an octave until it was more of a thin whine, and it continued to eye his every move. In the background he heard the man talking, saying something about silly elves and their silly sensitivities. Gil-galad responded with something – Elrond didn't catch it – but the man didn't reply. Elrond wondered what he would do if he actually managed to spring this animal – what would keep it from attacking him?

He sighed, frustrated. The way this trap had rusted over, he wouldn't have to worry about that. The spring was hopelessly crusted to the base, there was no way his knife would be able to –

Snap. Clack.

Not only had the spring snapped to bits, but the jaws had sprung apart without any further assistance.

The badger let out a surprised snarl as the jaws ripped free of its fur and flesh, and it took advantage of its renewed autonomy by leaping square into Elrond's chest, claws flailing, teeth flashing. Elrond, whose arms had flown instinctively to cover his face, had no time to cry out in surprise, and was knocked backwards from his kneeling position to land on his back. He heard Gil-galad shout, but mostly his senses were concerned with the snarling, spitting face that hung not a foot from his own, and the long, sharp claws that buried themselves into his tunic and pierced his torso.

Before he could gather his wits enough to reach for his knife, and before Gil-galad could come forward with his own blade, the thing had sprung off, leaving Elrond winded but intact. It bounded away much more quickly than Elrond would have expected such a heavy beast to be able to move, especially given its injuries, but it was gone within a handful of seconds, entering back into its own haunts.

Gil-galad held out a hand for Elrond. He took it and let the king draw him to his feet.

"That's great," said the hunter, "That's just great. Lettin' it free. Coulda killed it but no, you did the right thing. The noble thing. The elf thing, huh? Care for all life, even the flea-bitten, rabid, dangerous life. Let me tell you, that'll be twelve less rabbits on my table this winter."

A dozen waspish replies crowded Elrond's mind, but his diaphragm was only just starting to work again.

"Look, it ripped up your shirt and ran away. That's the thanks you get," scoffed the man. "It thinks it's escaping certain death! It doesn't even know you helped it!"

"That wasn't exactly the point," Elrond replied, and looked mournfully down at his ruined tunic. It was stained with blood front and back – he hoped it was mostly badger blood – and had a series of little holes down the front where the badger's claws had done their work. "This was one of my nice ones, too," he sighed to himself.

"Are you hurt?" asked Gil-galad.

"I'm fine."

"Let us take our leave of the abrasion of his voice, then."

The man behind them had fallen into a fit of quiet curses as he crouched by his broken trap, and he did not seem to notice or care when Gil-galad led the way back to the trail and into the woods towards the road.

"I am impressed, Elrond. I did not know you had skills dealing with wild beasts."

"You are mistaken, my lord. I have no such skills. To approach a wounded badger is unadulterated inanity and as much as I am loath to admit it, the man was right. I am lucky to have gotten away with only a ruined tunic."

They came out of the woods and back onto the road, where their horses waited serenely, browsing the sedges and grasses.

"Do you have an extra?" Gil-galad asked as he reached to stroke his grey horse's neck.

"An extra what?" asked Elrond, who likewise greeted his horse.

"Tunic."

"No, of course not. We will be back at the havens before midday tomorrow, I had not expected I would need one."

"Tsk. You may be a loremaster and a healer," said Gil-galad, and unfastened the sack that he'd had tied loosely to his horse, "but you are still an inexperienced warrior-traveler. Always be prepared."

A mass of fabric hit Elrond in the chest. He took it in his hands and held it out in front of him. It was one of Gil-galad's silk tunics, embroidered finely with navy and gold thread. It was rather stunning, though most of Gil-galad's tunics were such. Elrond held it back to Gil-galad.

"Thank you, but I cannot be so bold as to march into Harlond wearing the finery of the high king."

"I would rather see my escort enter Harlond wearing my own tunic than one that is torn and bloody."

"Gil-galad," protested Elrond, "besides the audacity of such an action, your tunic is…" He regarded it. "Well, it's not my size."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"I am calling you barrel-chested," Elrond said tactfully. "I would look like a drowned rat."

"Nonsense. Put your jerkin on over it, nobody will notice."

"But – "

"You will make me late for the Council," Gil-galad said imperiously, and swung himself onto his horse, barely suppressing a smile. "Change, and let us get on." Gil-galad urged his horse forward at a slow walk down the road.

Elrond, glowering, removed his shredded, linen tunic and cast it to the woods. He paused to look down at himself before going to don the king's tunic, and frowned in dismay.

"I will stain your tunic red if I put it on," he called. He couldn't tell how much of the blood was the badger's and how much was his own from the badger's claws. It wasn't excessive but it would assuredly deface the fine garment.

"I have countless tunics finer than that rag," replied Gil-galad, calling over his shoulder. "Such is the burden of a king." Elrond rolled his eyes and pulled the tunic over his head before opening his bag, drawing out his jerkin, and pulling it around his torso. Hopefully it would hide any bloodstains. He mounted his horse and galloped to catch up with Gil-galad, whose mouth was set in a severe frown, and whose eyes shone with mirth.

"I know what we shall tell them when they ask why you are wearing my tunic," the king said, after a moment's contemplation.

"Don't say it," said Elrond.

"The escort saved the high king from being badgered. A tunic was lost in the process."

Elrond sighed.