Prologue
Enchantress of Great Beauty
Author's Note: Alright you wirdos favoriting the old LOTR fanfic, Elf-Beast, here is the original story that blossomed from it in second draft form (I'm still working on it). As this is still a draft please excuse the grammar and spelling errors, but feel free to point out any glaring inconsistencies! Critiques are definitely welcomed!
December 25th, 945 fa (first age, time of prophets, the era of magic)
We couldn't believe our eyes. The lady of Rin-Tullen stepped passed my guards as if their magic meant little. The Prince hadn't ingratiated himself to her and spoke words that gave absolute confirmation to his part in the sad affair of Lady Lissiel. There was little I could do as she uttered the words of power and condemned him to his nightly transformations. I confess that I did not feel so inclined to help him to this day even if it had been in my power.
- from the personal writings of Glorendil, Lord of Earithgil, the eastern lands of Calamerdon, vassal to King Eldabard.
The first thing the household learned was that there was no love in the prince's heart. One could say he had a sense of duty felt after a fashion if a person was generous, but that generosity didn't extend beyond it. He had no love for anything beyond his own passions nor did he ever act out of kindness and compassion for anyone or any thing. While he managed to show respect for a select few he did not care to go a step beyond.
In short, Glorendil, the Caelvur of Earithgil - the western province of Calamerdon - found living in the same castle as his prince quite frustrating. In the first week of his arrival the ancient elf lord wanted to give the son of his liege the benefit of the doubt. Surely his upbringing had not been as bad as he was led to believe.
Oh how wrong he was!
The prince was cold, unfeeling, and treated Glorendil's servants as if they were slaves and not employees. The steward, Nathindor, threatened to resign if his highness remained another month. Galreniel, the matron of the castle, took him aside for a private word about "unwelcome advances" the prince made to the youngest servant, Siladrien.
Then there was the current matter the caelvon was currently trying to convince Prince Rowan about that had the two at odds. In this moment Glorendil gazed forlornly into his beloved gardens. A certain amount of care had gone into their preservation in the wake of his wife's death seventy years prior. It's atmosphere remained locked in a steady spring and summer by ingenious enchantment constructed by his lost beloved. Preserving it was tricky and one that he prized himself in modifying for his magic type. A heavy mist covered the landscape in this hour telling him of the weather conditions outside the walls of his marble abode.
Behind him the prince sat at Lord Glorendil's desk reviewing the harvest accounts, tithe shorts and surpluses (in which the latter were few), and the reports of the lord's Forest Guard. He knew none of them would be favorable and would hopefully convince the prince of his plight in the place of the increasingly inadequate father. Dinner was served upon Prince Rowan's request and the elf had just consumed his first bite.
"What sort of venison is this?"
The elf lord turned his attention to heir and fixed him with a disapproving frown. Prince Rowan's royal blue eyes glared at the offending piece of meat as if he couldn't quite believe it existed. The venison in question did look dry, flaky, and over salted. Such a fate awaited all who hunted for food in the last few seasons. Meat dried too quickly even when preserved. The crops - or what crops they could grow in the east - were struck with disease and filth and quickly withered. Glorendil had been forced to look outside of his province for food, but the decrease in adequate trading materials made obtaining money for commerce practically impossible.
Glorendil turned from the window and said, "I have written to you and your father concerning this matter. The land cannot sustain certain crops and vegetation. Berries normally edible are now poisonous. Any meat we obtain from local farms and hunters rots by the end of the day no matter how well preserved. I fear it is the work of sorcery pulling life and power from the land. My daughter and I have attempted to heal what we could, but the damage is too widespread. I fear the possibility of a stronger entity than a mere human dabbling in sorcery is behind this."
Prince Rowan gazed at the food thoughtfully. Glorendil watched his fork casually tap against the oak wood of his desk. He knew what it was the prince considered in this moment. He was slowly, blessedly, connecting the events of the past few weeks of his stay to what the reports told him on the plight of the people. Then there was Lissiel, an elf lady visiting a friend in the small province just north of Earithgil from the country over the mountains, who came knocking at the castle gates begging for sanctuary from a necromancer hunting her. Rowan had turned the poor elf lady away stating he had little time for such fancies despite Glorendil's orders to let her enter the castle walls. As the word of the heir was greater than the word of the lord all were forced to obey.
Then, three days later, the mangled corpse of Lady Lissiel of Drisidiel, wife of Lord Regent Rillon, was found in a dry stream bed covered in dark marks of a particularly nasty curse. After performing an autopsy, himself, Glorendil concluded that the curse made tar grow inside the blood veins throughout her body and suffocated her soul. The skin was bloated and full. Nothing but clumps of that cursed tar oozed out of her body when he slipped a thin knife along her sternum. The family were never sent the body. Glorendil was forced to burn it immediately lest the corpse be used as a necromantic soldier.
"You believe this is the work of Lord Delmar?" The prince asked.
"I've had no reason to think my research has been faulty, your highness," Glorendil replied.
Prince Rowan's eyes gazed at the plate before him gleaming an intense blue glare. It made Glorendil uneasy. What was his mood? Would he react to the jibe in the way of his father, the king?
"I was foolish to not to allow Lady Lissiel sanctuary, wasn't I?" Prince Rowan asked.
Yes! You were more than foolish! You were cruel! Glorendil thought, but didn't say.
Despite his rage - a rage long held by one who knew the previous two elvenkings before the boy's father took the throne - burned within him at that moment. Glorendil wanted to condemn him and burn him with words and shame. Still, he held his tongue and curtailed that rage and considered his response. To chastise Prince Rowan for realizing his mistake would impede Glorendil's attempt to cultivate the makings of a just king if no other trait could be impressed upon him.
And I suppose that is what I am reduced to: the councilor to princes whose advice was to ignored and rarely considered, he thought.
"It would have been wise. The Lady Lissiel has not been known to speak falsely in the years I have known her," Glorendil replied tonelessly.
The prince stood and strode away from the desk toward the door. Glorendil followed with a frown, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes cast to the left of the retreating prince. A strand of silver white hair fell into his eyes, but he didn't attempt to push it away.
"My father may not give me leave to look for this threat. He will not see that a threat exists. In his wisdom he will state the happenings of crops and disease and declare it natural," Prince Rowan said.
"Forgive me, sire, but your father may be wrong in this instance," Glorendil replied.
"And What will you do against the word of a king?"
Glorendil didn't reply. There was little he could do and the prince did agree that something needed to be done. They reached the grand staircase when his daughter, Faelyn, hastened to them. Her emerald green eyes - his eyes - were wide and the pallor of her skin along her face and neck turned as white as a sheet. They stopped their trek as she stopped her hasty steps before them. She didn't look at Rowan whose royal blue eyes stared her down with a frown adorning his lips. The prince's blond hair was pulled back into a half braid meant to hold the silver circlet adorning his brow.
Faelyn glanced at him, raised a delicate dark brow, and inclined her head to him ever so slightly. Then she turned to Glorendil and rested her hand against the white marble wall.
"I must apologize for this interruption, father, but I've come to report that we have a visitor. She entered through the gates, somehow, and is currently in the foyer demanding an audience with his highness," She said breathlessly.
Glorendil raised a brow. It was rare for him to see his daughter so flustered. She took after him in personality, so her ability to remain calm in any crisis was impeccable until today.
"Who is this?" Glorendil asked.
Faelyn looked at him and replied, "Lady Lauriel of Rin-Tullen."
Glorendil turned his gaze from her to fix Rowan with a look. The prince seemed startled, but he didn't bend his cold countenance or offer any recognition as to whom the lady was. He merely nodded to Faelyn and instructed her to lead him to the entrance hall. As they made the short trek Glorendil trailed behind his daughter and his prince unable to proudly precede him and introduce his liege to the lady whose sister's death he inadvertently had a hand in.
The doors to the hall opened and Prince Rowan stepped passed Glorendil and Faelyn into the entrance hall. His back was straight, arms loosely hung at his side, and golden blond hair not a strand out of place from the circlet of braids along his crown.
Lady Lauriel stood in the middle of the hall wrapped in a grey cloak with her golden hair cascading over her shoulders in a metallic stream. No strand of her hair was bound and framed her heart shaped face with long curls. Her grey eyes gazed at the prince seeing no one else but him. In them was no other emotion but icy rage.
"What is this matter you wish to discuss?" Prince Rowan asked.
Lord Glorendil stepped forward a few stones beyond the prince and drew his left hand to his shoulder and bowed. Her expression thawed ever so slightly when she saw him, but only a little. Whatever it was she came to do Glorendil suspected it wouldn't be pleasant.
"Your highness, I have come to speak with you on the subject of my deceased sister, Lissiel. She passed through Earithgil and was found dead four miles from your vassals castle. I wish to know if you saw the signs of the creature who inflicted such torture upon her," she stated.
Glorendil glanced at Rowan and felt the writhing of unease in the pit of his gut. Lady Lauriel wasn't asking these questions because she didn't know her sister was turned away from these doors. She was asking because Glorendil had been the one to find her cursed and mangled form. He had written the letter of apology and condolence. He had made brief mention to Lord Rillon - an elf he'd known for almost two thousand years - that Lissiel being turned away was an order from Prince Rowan.
What have I condemned my prince to? Glorendil wondered as horror washed over him.
Finally Prince Rowan seemed to wilt for a moment and glanced at Glorendil. His eyes conveyed uncertainty. Glorendil had never seen him uncertain about anything in his life. Then Rowan seemed to regain something of his composure and began to descend the last flight of stairs down to the floor of the hall.
"We have seen signs of sorcery, my Lady, but as of now my hands are tied. We are unable to override the rule of the king and the king does not wish to address the issue," he said.
Glorendil closed his eyes and placed a hand on Faelyn's shoulder. She didn't need to be told. His daughter turned from the scene and left the great hall. He opened his eyes once she left and remained in place to watch the proceedings. He hoped, fervently hoped, that Lauriel would not kill the son of his king. Then he would be forced to fight her and as a friend of her sister's family he felt it in poor name to dishonor her memory so.
"Did your father give the order to bar my sister from shelter?" Snapped Lauriel.
Glorendil raised a brow. He'd seen her sparsely in the three thousand years he had known her and not once had she lost control in such a way. Lauriel and Lissiel has been born a millennia apart. Rillon loved telling Glorendil tales of how Lauriel viewed Lissiel as her most beloved sister - almost as a mother would a daughter - in the face of their own departed parents. The crime of Rowan in her eyes was worse than the ones who murdered Lissiel.
"I was not in the mood to entertain what I believed to be a fanciful tale of woe. I had no evidence to believe that these signs were the work of sorcery at that time," Prince Rowan said.
Lauriel's hand blurred and the resounding clap of her palm meeting the flesh of the prince's cheek resounded in the hall. Still Lord Glorendil did not move. He could not. Try as he might his entire body was frozen in place and he recognized the sound of her slap for what it was - enchantment.
The skill found in one so young! To immobilize me with the sound of her hand as it strikes in anger! I can barely believe how far she has come! He thought awed.
"Has the age of reason with fair justice ended this day? They who do not listen to the cries of help from the helpless are no better than the vile beings who inflect our lands with evil. Your family has neglected the duties of their station for too long! A reckoning must be dealt!" She cried and raised her hands.
If Glorendil could have moved he would have stumbled back into the main stairwell moments before the pressure of her enchantment bore down upon him. As he could not move and was made to be witness to Lauriel's wrath he had to content himself with a pained groan. Rowan stumbled away from Lauriel as a great wind filled the hall and caused her grey traveling cloak to billow apart. Underneath Glorendil observed her breastplate, finely smelted chainmail, and shin protectors.
Where has she been before coming to see us? He wondered.
"Prince Rowan of Calamerdon you stand accused of callously refusing entry to one who needed sanctuary from the evil that hunted her. The result of this refusal was her death. Your other crimes are numerous: apathy towards the mistreatment of your human subjects, coercing elf maids into sexual inter coarse and damaging their reputations later on, and remaining apathetic to the suffering of the lowest of your people! With your hand in my sister's death I judge you as cruel, devoid of compassion, and love! For that I name you a beast! May you stalk the night and inflict terror on those you do not wish to harm until you learn to love and be loved in return!" She cried and brought her hands together above her head in a resounding clap.
Glorendil winced as whatever enchantment that held him still was released. He did not rush to his prince's aid. The sight before him was too awe fully striking to behold. A light enveloped the elf and he fell to the floor to writhe and scream as his body morphed. His arms and shoulders bulged and ripped his shirt, fur sprouted thickly on his pale skin, and his fingers elongated into terrifying claws. His face lengthened and stretched, lips curled back into a toothy snarl, and his teeth pointed into sharp disgusting canines.
Lauriel simply stood before the prince as the transformation happened. When the light dissipated Glorendil beheld a hideous beast. Her grey eyes gazed at him and the cold rage was all he could see. Rowan struggled to all fours, snarled, and lunged at her. His arms extended toward her chest and stomach to land powerfully killing blows. She thrust out her hand and pushed him away. Rowan flew backwards and hit several steps with his bared back.
"Once your lesson is learned your curse will break. If you do not not learn this lesson in two hundred years you will wake one morning as a full beast. Your time as an elf will be at an end," she said.
With that Lauriel turned her back on him and stepped out into the night. The rain had cleared, the clouds had parted, and the silver light of the moon was reflected on the glassy rain puddles along the path beyond the threshold. Stricken, Glorendil gazed at Rowan as his beastly form struggled to stand on two feet. He was large - larger than the biggest elk - with teeth and claws that could rip out his throat without a second thought.
Rowan's eyes turned to look up the stairs directly at him. Their blue orbs glinted. Glorendil released an audible sigh as the prince charged up the stairs with every intention to kill before bellowing out a loud note to stop him in his tracks. That note turned softer as he lulled the beast asleep for the night. Once Prince Rowan's hulking form slumped to the floor lost in slumber Faelyn reappeared preceded by a series of hesitant footsteps.
"Father, what are we to tell the king?" She asked.
"Everything," Glorendil told her resolutely despite wishing the contrary could be true, "he must know the gravity of his reign and what it might cost him. The curse set upon his heir must be broken if he is going to rule. If the lady of Rin-Tullen can do such a thing to an heir protected by the power of The One then our royal family has been deemed unworthy of the power and the throne."
Faelyn sucked in a sharp breath and knelt beside the prince. She cautiously inspected the damage the curse wrought and released a curse Glorendil was surprised she knew.
"Then we have no king?" She asked.
Glorendil frowned. Did they have no king? They didn't in the way it mattered, but much of the protections still held. He could sense its undercurrent in the air, trees and water. It was still there.
"I suspect we are in limbo. If the prince is given over to this form the royal line as it was will cease to exist. We must stress the necessity of breaking our Prince's curse. I will volunteer my services and yours into helping to make this come to pass. In the meantime I will use what resources are at my disposal to hunt the one who murdered Lady Lissiel," he said.
And at least make the Prince care about that matter at least, Glorendil thought.
It would take a miracle to do this and Glorendil suspected that was all he could hope for in this venture.
A miracle.