I was thinking about what it might have been like for Pip, waking after the battle at the Black Gates...and I ended up adapting this from something else I'd written. I've been dreadful about writing lately...I have no excuse. :( Please don't let that stop you from reviewing...
It wasn't a gradual awakening, like one would imagine, an awakening in which eyelashes flutter against pale cheeks, the patient lets out a gentle little sigh and then there they are, radiant and beautiful and lucid despite the fact that they've visited the edge of death.
No, this wasn't that sort of awakening. This was sudden, violent, frightening. One minute was oblivion; the next was choking, searing pain. One minute was peace; the next was panic.
The first realization, smashing into his brain like a lightning bolt, was that he couldn't breathe. His chest was compressed, crushed, smashed down into the dirt by the bulk of a foul troll. He was buried alive beneath the corpse of a monster. And yet, somewhere far away, he heard a voice calling his name. But he couldn't answer, couldn't breathe. Other distant words followed but they were only noise as every particle of his being turned its attention to the fact that he was suffocating. He wanted to scream but could only choke out non-words, noises full of terror.
But no, there was no troll, no dirt, no blood, only the yielding softness of a down bed, and the slippery sensation of silk on his skin. A dream? He felt hands on his body, intrusive, unwanted, probing and violating, but he couldn't fight them off. Frustration joined confusion as he was rendered helpless by the superior strength of his unseen captors. Why, he wanted to shout, why are you doing this? Why won't someone help me? But he could only choke.
For that long first moment he could see only white light, retinal burning fire, a terrifying illumination that hurt his eyes and set his head to pounding. But as seconds ticked by like ages, the throbbing pain of the light faded and details swam into clarity. A smooth, white stone ceiling above, candles guttering off to his side, the scent of a wood fire on the air. A face zoomed into view from the side, thickly bearded, unfamiliar. The mouth, with brilliant straight teeth, was speaking, but he could not hear the words over the buzzing of terror in his ears. Friend or foe?!His mind screamed at him but his body was helpless to respond, unable to save him.
He forced himself to find enough control to let his eyes roam the room, seeking aid, searching for salvation. Stone walls, blazing torches, a gently crackling fireplace…none of it was familiar, and the fear of the unknown threatened to wash over him anew. And then a gagging gasp caught in his chest as he found a familiar face. Those eyes held their own terror, their own helpless but unshed tears, but the sight of that face, curled into a forced smile and framed by unkempt, shaggy hair, was like a physical blow. Not alone.
He still gasped for breath, still rebelled against that intimate intrusion of strange hands upon his body, but clarity flooded his mind at the sight of his cousin, and a new knowledge, more important than breathing, filled him. Merry's here…it's all right, my Merry is here…
His fluttering hands stilled, clasped over his chest, and his muscles relaxed as he willed peace into his rebellious body. Be calm. Be strong. Merry is here. Merry is here.