Memory Loss
by Slaede
Author's Note: This idea came to me really strangely. I never thought of anything like this before :) I hope you enjoy (I can't say too much about it or I'll spoil the story for everyone)
Disclaimer: any characters that I didn't make up contained within, and the places that I didn't make up are copyright the Tolkien family :) my creations are, of course, mine!!
One
Firstly, he noticed the warmth, not a damp, sticky warmth, but a wholesome, comforting warmth. He smelt burning embers and smelt the cooking meat. He heard the fire hiss as molten animal fat dripped from an unseen spit. He heard the twittering of small birds from a concentrated area to his left, and felt a warmth upon his face. His eyes drifted open slowly, taking in his surroundings, with a bit of surprise. He was alarmed to see that the objects and things around him seemed blurry and under-defined, as though he were looking through water, and no attempt of blinking or squinting seemed to clear them, though the squinting did seem to strain something at his temple, and when he raised a hand, it was intercepted by thick cloth. He looked around once more in the hopes of recognizing something, but was met merely by unfamiliar surroundings.
He lay in a bed, straw by the feel of it, and was blanketed by a homespun quilt of various colors. He turned his head toward the windom to his left and what he saw beyond were pine and fir trees making up what seemed to be forest, and he could see the thatched roof of a nearby cottage. *I'm in some sort of homestead, it would seem* he thought. His vision was limited by the edges of the windom, so he turned his attention back to the room he was in, instead. It seemed to be a home of two room design, seeing as he was on a bed at the wall, and a cooking fire burned on the opposing one. There was a lounging chair near the fire, which somehow seemed a bit out of place in a room so sparse of comfort. the door into the next room was on the same wall, and the skin of a rather large bear was draped on the floor, the head still intact.
He jumped slightly as an unseen door on the wall behind his pillowed head opened quietly, allowing warm sun to leak in through the entry and flow upon the floor near his bed. Within the beam of light was the shadow of what appeared to be a person. They turned carefully into the doorway and closed it quietly behind them, then came into view. She was tall, and muscular, with long rippling silver hair tied at the base of her neck with a leather thong. She was wearing a peasant's dress, and he could see the ties of an apron bowed at her curving waist. For she was, indeed, a curvy woman, but not in the 'old Innkeeper's Wife' sort of way, she simple was, as he thought, a LOT of woman. The woman turned to the fire, and took down from a rack he now noticed, a small pot and filled it with water from the bucket she had brought in. She then hung the filled pot in the fire to heat.
The woman then turned toward him and stopped as she looked upon his face. Her eyebrows arched slightly in an expression of slight surprise, then a smile spread slowly across her stern featured face. "Ahla tor galnard!" she said, with a relieved sound to her voice.
He noted she had a deep, but soothing voice, and also noticed her pointed ears, although he didn't have the vaguest idea what she had said.
After a moment, as the woman took note of his confused expression, she smiled wider.
"Oh, you poor dear," she said, her voice was strangely accented, and seemed to take the "r's" rather hard. "You must not speak Lessien. I said, 'you are awake."
He looked relieved to see the woman knew a language he also spoke. *Lessien,* he thought. *I've never heard of THAT language before.* But he soon found himself hard-pressed to find the name of a language he HAD heard before. That disturbed him. However, he smiled at the woman despite this and made to nod, as seemed proper, but there was a sudden pain in his right temple, and the world lurched.
The woman rushed to his bedside as he groaned and moved his hand to his head again.
"Easy, there." The woman said. "You've taken quite a blow. In fact, you've been out for nearly two weeks. I thought you'd fallen to the Sleep." She had reached up and was running her long, slender fingers over his hair. The sensation seemed familiar, but he couldn't place from where to save his life. He knew though, that it should be remembered. This disturbed him farther.
"What's your name, Dear?" She asked as she made him comfortable again.
For the first time, it occured to him that he didn't rightly know. He began to think about how he could have gotten here, since here obviously wasn't where he was supposed to be. He didn't speak the language of these elves, if there were elves, for they didn't look like the eldar or the sindar. In fact, it was possible that they were half elven. Sindarin, that's the language he adopted his accent from, for he knew he had an accent when he spoke the Westron...Westron, that's what the woman was using. The woman, she expected a reply.
He swiveled his eyes toward her, and a sharp pain of a rising headache lanced behind them, making him wince. "I'm afraid," he began, looking rather confused. "I don't rightly know...my name, that is." His eyes moved down to once again reguard his comforter. He felt the woman's hand on his shoulder. She had a surprisingly strong grasp.
"It's not uncommon for someone to lose part of themselves with a blow to the head, young one." She said, a comforting sound swirled through her words, and made the prospect of 'losing parts of himself' seem less difficult to deal with. "It will all come back soon enough. For now, let's find something to call you, shall we? We can't very well call you 'hey you' all the time, now can we?" The smile that graced her face was jesting, and it lightened his heart to know that everything would be alright. "Now," she said, standing, and moving with the grace of a large cat, she made her way to the nook formed by the end of his bed and a nearby table and pulled from it a shining, black wood bow.
He was flooded with the simple knowledge that he was as deadly with that weapon as any viper with their venom, and it was an extention of his person so vital, that he was astonished he hadn't missed it beforehand.
The woman held it high so that he might get a better look. "Is this familiar to you?" she asked, and at his slight nod, she continued. It is the bow of a very skilled archer, for it is as near perfect a bow as we have ever come across, and seeing that is yours, and it and the quiver were all we found near you, I can deduce that you were the skilled archer who wielded this weapon. Thus, we shall call you archer, for you befit the title," she proclaimed, and placed the bow back to its resting place in the nook at the foot of the bed. She then returned to Archer's beside. "Now, Archer, you must rest, for you are not close to healing and thus you have much to do. You should not hunger just yet. Sleep well, Archer," she rose then, and made for the door opposite his bed.
"Wait," he said to her backside, and she stopped, turning to reguard him. "What am I to call you, healer?"
She smiled at him. "I am called Aslin, Archer. Now sleep."
He decided to obey, and as his eyes were closing, the vistage of a radiant maiden crossed his vision, and he wonder if she had been but a part of his forming dream, or the reality he was slipping from.
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So, what do you think so far? Not bad for an opener, huh??? So, let me know, ok??? REVIEW!!! (this is my first published fic, but I don't mind flames..Ithink they're funny!)