Words filled my head, words that I didn't understand, and with them came the sense of being touched. Being held. The arms were strong, the body smelt of warmth, water, flowers, embracing me as if I were just a baby. I lay there cradled in their arms. Safe. Secure.
Are you ready to die in order to be reborn?
I felt the words, rather than heard them, felt them deep in my bones. This was it. This was the knife's edge between life and the great beyond. What was there? Death, yes, but what beyond? The uncertainty was a great chasm of unfathomable depths and endings. Here where I was held, the river pulled and tugged, it pulled me in both directions, yet the arms held me still.
The first sense of unease began to worm into the contentment.
Are you ready to venture in and discover what is unseen by the living?
The voice seemed to echo in those depths. I feltit. It waited there. It offered a strange comfort in the adventure of the great beyond without expressing those words. I could have been tempted.
Or would you be swept back into life- your name forgotten, your deeds given to other names, other people, yet alive?
There was pain there, that direction, I could feel it. Edging in the background. Waiting for my soul to decide.
Somehow, neither death in that dark water or life with the owner of those arms, I felt connected to neither, aware of bodily sensations that came with both, aware of sounds I made or tried to make, but … I hovered between.
Are you ready to die in order to be reborn?
A final time I was asked. I knew it was the last time. I could feel it. Death. Life. I had a choice, whatever this 'reborn' thing was all about, and ...
"Y-es..." I heard my own voice answer, much clearer than I could have imagined, much louder. The answer was so easy to come up with, like I'd already decided, I wasn't ready for whatever lay beyond the darkness. Curiosity about it faded. Death faded. The chasm of the unknown closed and I tipped sideways, violent, into the pain and agony of life.
Rope dug into my limbs, under legs, under back, and I was sprawled awkwardly across soft yielding ground that gave way under elbows as I tried to move. Everything hurt, every single fucking thing, and while I suspected it was a successful attempt at movement I couldn't feel anything. Was I paralysed? Was I dead after all?
Voices. Feet. Feet that made the soft ground shudder, give way, press against a leg. Hands. Coughing. My eyes fluttered open and slammed shut as bright sunlight stabbed into my poor shattered brain. Oh god. Was I dying?
A hand brushed hair out of my face and I flinched. It hurt to be touched. It was gentle but it was too much.
"Miss?"
"My Lady?"
The word seemed bizarre. Wrong. I couldn't open my eyes to glare at whoever it was. I felt confused, hurt, stunned, blinded, my chest was heavy, and I couldn't move and my stunned senses were starting to give way to a sense of pride and anxiety at being so helpless.
"I..." My voice cracked. Okay. I couldn't talk either. There was a surge of energy that allowed me to tip onto my left side, curling up, soft wet something smearing against my cheek. It at least seemed to reduce the glare from beyond my eyelids.
The voices exchanged words that I couldn't quite pick up and there was movement. The more I woke the more I could really picture it, someone moving away and returning, someone else coughing nearby, movement a short distance away again, and a single person sitting beside me. They weren't moving but they weren't touching me anymore, which see was a relief.
"Nen, hurry." There was a command to that, some guy ordering someone around, though the next statement really made no sense whatsoever. He spoke something else I didn't catch but I did hear the sound of a horse come closer.
So it was a horse. The smell, one of many, suddenly made sense. Horse. Also a fire. Fish? Possibly. I wasn't sure. Mud. I smelt very wet earth right next to my nose.
Why the hell was I thinking about that? It didn't matter. God, did I hurt, I didn't care what it was. Why was I concentrating on mud? I tried to move, only to feel a shock of pain run through my shoulder. Mud was a very satisfying pillow at the moment. When I went to move, a hand pressed on my shoulder, and the voice chastized me.
"Stop wriggling around. Wait a moment to wake." It was a male voice, I thought, but it could have been a female voice. Maybe? Another exchange of words between them and whoever else was here, words that once again I couldn't understand, and the shuffling of feet on the ground away from us.
"All right. Keep your eyes shut and try to sit up using your left arm."
I didn't dare disobey. What kind of bodily damage would I wake to? What was wrong with my right arm? The person was there, right there, supporting my body with their hands, as careful as ever. It felt like it took forever to achieve being upright, my head spun, but it was a relief when I found that I was able to remain there.
Still, I kept my eyes shut, anxiety rising. Why did I hurt? What had happened? I reached up to wipe at my face, at the chunks of mud or whatever was there, and almost lost my balance as the left arm was taken away.
"Just wait, Miss. I'm going to clean your face with a cloth, in a momen', but first I need to take care of some bleeding."
"Blee- bleeding?"
"Here. Have a quick drink of water." Something was offered, warm but welcome, and I didn't care that gulping in the water also felt as if I was drinking half the mud from the river from my face."Focus on breathing. I'll let you know when to look."
"Why can't I look now?" There was that panic again. Why didn't he want me to open my eyes?
"Because panic isn't going to help and we can't see anything under all that mud. Focus on breathing. In and out. Slow. I'm going to start with your arm and your right hand." Firm hands grasped for my right arm, something wound around the length of it, and I tried to remember to breathe as instructed. "Now, your calf, but I'll be wrapping up high your thigh."
"Is it all injured?"
"You're covered in mud, so don't panic, I'm being careful. I just can't see enough yet. After that, I'll wrap around your torso. If anywhere hurts more than others, or I miss a spot, then you can tell me."
He continued to do as he'd warned, repeating the warning before moving to a new area, and it was all I could do to breathe as I sat there numbed and paralysed in panic. Was there blood everywhere? How did that happen? Blood was usually meant to be inside the body, not holding eyes shut. I heard a flutter of words as the cloth, I had to guess that was what it was, moved over my eyes carefully. Water trickled down, thick mud sliding away, and the cloth returned after a quick dip in water, repeating the process. Another language. Pretty, sure, but it made no sense to me.
"You can look. If the sun's too much then I'll shade your eyes."
I hesitated, a moment, suddenly afraid of what I'd see. The stranger's hand was pressed against my forehead waiting for my bravery. Finally I did it. One eye, quickly, then the other, wincing despite the assisted shadow. The face in front of me was familiar, delicate boned, high cheeked, a pretty face only slightly marred with subtle concern that made their face furrow somewhat. Neither masculine nor feminine, a mixture of both, a middle ground that matched their voice.
"Don't try to stand just yet." They warned me. Gestured to the people behind them, a small crowd of mixed ages, a mud splattered arm spending more of the mud spattering over a bright green and gold tunic. "Can we get her on the cart?"
"There's not a lot of room, but aye, we'll find a place."
"Wa-" I coughed, a horse ugly thing compared to this pretty person, and something rose up out of my stomach. Water exploded everywhere, all over the place, up from my stomach and my lungs. All over me and the pretty person. Well, they'd told me to not move. I hadn't moved. I'd coughed and vomited. It was a disgusting mixture of brown, grit, red, slime, dirt, rocks, a river soup fermented by my stomach and lungs. The agony of the movement, the stabbing fire in my rib cages and muscles, was briefly the worst part, but it was quickly replaced by an inability to breathe between retching. For a moment the panic grew almost fever pitch, as the ability to breathe was taken away, and the stranger's hand was quick to rub and pat my back. The fear of being unable to breathe temporarily trumped the pain his gesture inflicted. Thank god I felt the gunk clear enough to gasp for air and my hands clutched the ground. Splatters of it had landed on their green pants, already stained and wet with the mud, making the silk-like texture become filthy and disgusting.
"You were in the river. Just let it come up. There's water in this bottle that you can drink if you need." Somehow they didn't seem the least bit fazed by the fact that someone had just vomited on his leg. The water was offered again, kept within a large bladder-like bag, and I gulped down what I could to remove the thick acidic bile caught in my throat.
"Try to drink slowly, if you can, there's not a shortage of water. We'll get you up on the cart and you'll be able to get dry soon enough. Have you got a name?"
A name? I had a name. I was sure of that. I just couldn't find it. It was an empty gaping hole in the front of my head. The hesitation and confusion must have been pretty plain.
"It'll come. Ready to be moved?" When I nodded they stood up, brushing their hands on their already filthy legs to clean them, and bent down. "I'll pull you up under the arms and I'll try to avoid it hurting. It will though."
He was fucking right about that. The moment he started it started as well, earnist and loud, and I could only cope by grasping for the collar of my clothing with my teeth and held on, shoving the thick fabric on in there, supressing a shudder at the sensatin of fabric and teeth. White dots danced in my vision as I was lifted, half dragged and then lifted again onto the back of a cart where sacks and chests had been haphazerdly piled up to one side.
It took a while to breathe again. To think. Function. By now the rescuer and their companions were away, talking amongst themselves, one of them soaking wet. I was trying to put together the picture in my head and only with a good five minutes of compete and utter stillness, breathing and waking, could I really start to see what I had to assume had happened.
We were near a river. The bank was muddy, torn up,the patch where I'd been lying a fairly obvious space as it was dug up. The river was rough, white in places, stones and whatnot. Forest crowded in on the bank on the far side and on this side a road wound a little up away from the road. Had I been in that river? It seemed so, yet I had no memory of it, nor of anything else. I remembered dying though and had to assume I was ...drowning?
There were so many questions and none of them could be asked. My lungs were not having it. I had to put them aside and settle for breathing instead.
The sunshine was warming on my skin and I felt the longer I stayed still the more I could sleep. Was it safe though? What if I fell asleep and never woke again? Fear of that memory- of dying- was starting to crowd in on the anxiety. It crowded in on the confusion. It chased me into the uneasy sleep, dogging my dreams, forcing me to remain in a half-awake state of fear. Anticipating something terrible.
I just didn't know what it was.
Still the rest did pull me away. The sun was low by the time I could open my eyes again, golden light on tall trees, the cart bumping and dancing under me. A horse and rider were to one side, another behind, the pace slow but steady. There was a water bladder beside me and I drank it with a clumsy thirst, spilling too much, triggering another coughing-vomiting episode that fouled the cart's already now filthy sacks. The water bladder fell, mid-gasp, water lost to the road under the wooden slats of the cart.
"Sorry."
"More water here." Another was tossed at me. "There's always more."
I made eye contact with the person, the same who'd carefully wrapped me up, brief. They were the one riding closest. They had changed, it seemed, their clothing was once again immaculate and lovely. Golden hair was braided back from the face, making the sharp ear tips, high cheekbones and narrow chin even more pronounced, slender neck apparently going for miles to the neckline of their tunic. Were they still watching out for me? I wanted to thank them and almost did, but I felt awkward about it, uncertain. So I sipped the water and tried to not stare. It was hard not to. Here I was, mud drenched and blood spattered, and they had transformed themselves back into a perfect fricken angel on horseback. The golden light only made them glow with almost vulgar beauty.
Maybe that was why I felt awkward. I couldn't see myself but I could feel every stiff inch of mud-and-blood crusted body.
The others in their companionship were as lovely as him, all of them unearthly in their slender bodies, sharp faces, pointed ears, ageless faces passing over me with indifferent pity as if I was an injured animal in their party rather than a person. I supposed I was observing them with a detached sort of sense as well- these people didn't feel quite real. Maybe I was hallucinating a little.
"Do you remember your name?"
I went to shake my head and thought better of this- the only cure for the pain of existence at the moment seemed to be absolute stillness. So I answered, "No. I'm sorry."
"What about where you live? Is it nearby to the falls?"
"I don't know where I am." This was truth. It was all forest to me. Forest, road, and no sign of a river. Was it still next to road or had we passed it? I couldn't raise myself enough to see. Between helpful slips of water I added, "Or where I was."
"Head injuries have been known to hide memories." Another voice ahead- presumably the one who was leading the cart- spoke up. "With time, healing, you'll likely remember."
There was an exchange at that, their musical-like language heated for a moment, words thrown over my head between riders seen and unseen. How many were here? At least a dozen I guessed, the majority ahead of us.
"I'm sorry." I offered. I could guess I was the source of their argument.
"We won't leave an injured being behind to die. It would be cruel. If you die with us, we can say we tried, but leaving you... it is unacceptable." This came from the stranger next to me, the androgynous golden beauty, their hand briefly leaving their horses neck to touch the edge of the cart. They glanced forward, pointed towards someone, and I wondered if this was the argument I'd just heard. "We are not monsters who allow suffering where something can be done."
Another heated discussion, two of them speaking about me all over again. It sounded heated. Were they arguing? I had the distinct feeling it was about me. And not in a positive way. I was exhausted, bone weary, the pain in my limbs a lead weight pulling me back under.
The Angel, for lack of a better nickname, gestured at me. "Just rest. Leave your safety to us."
Despite having no evidence that they were telling the truth I gave in, too exhausted, too sore, to really fight.
Sleep was not much better than it had been before, broken with confusion and panic, but it was deep and it was dark when I rose above it again. Noises assaulted my ears. Confused I thought they were sirens at first, and I wondered if someone had called an ambulance for me, but after a few moments of confusion I couldn't recall what exactly an ambulance was.
The sky was clear above me. Cold, but clear, stars blanketing with such frequency and brightness that it dumbfounded me with its beauty and I was certain I'd never seen such a sight before. Blankets of colour were caught between them, from dark blue to lighter green blues, dancing and shifting. I was not in pain, but I was bound tightly, and I couldn't tell if it was my imagination or if I had been tied up. Sleep drew me back down again.
When I woke again I was in a bed, a simple wooden narrow bed with an ornate arched window above me, curtains dancing against the darkening blue skies and clean linen bright in the dim room. A small fire was dying in a hearth across the room, thick ceramic mugs hanging above it, a silver jug and cup beside me on a small pale wooden table. There was pain, yes, but it was blanketed under something else. A sense of peace, calm, relief.
It occurred to me that I was drugged. Maybe I had been drugged by the water. Still I felt no anxiety about this, the panic was shut up, and the pain was a non issue. When I tried to sit up it involved rolling over and even that sent a wave of vertigo that had me pinning my head into a soft pillow for relief. So soft. The urge to rub my cheek in the pillow overwhelmed the urge to stand and I pressed my face into it. My clean face.
Mud free. I was mud free.
Somehow the idea of someone touching, bathing and dressing me had enough shock value to it to get me upright. I sat there, numbed, staring at myself, confused and a little embarrassed to see that I had indeed been changed. Bandages crept here and that, the clothing was the most basic pale brown but soft and clean, and one hand was bandaged from wrist to fingers with god knew how much padding inside. I didn't dare peek. Clearly there was something around my head as well, it felt tight, my hair pulled back some good distance. Was it cut off? No... When I reached to feel for it I found it there, thank god, but braided back.
Over at the fire something had started to boil. I couldn't see what was in the pot but I could hear it, thick, smell something soup-like, and there was a bowl sitting upright against the edge of the hearth presumably warming with its back turned to the coals.
"Good morning." A woman. Nice, friendly smile, with that unearthly beauty of my rescuers. But clearly a woman. She wore a gown, Who knew though? Maybe I was wrong.
Morning? A wave of disorientation made my head spin. Morning? "But it was evening..."
"You've been resting. We needed to keep you still. The injuries needed time."
"How much time?" I wanted to stand now. Standing felt like I was doing something. Taking over this situation. My legs disagreed. "Where are the people who found me?"
"They're guests here as well. Likely sleeping. You've been here a week."
A week? How had I changed, washed, toileted...?! How embarrassing! I felt everything go warm, face, ears, neck, lost for words at this discovery. "Here?"
She made a noise, one that I assumed that she was answering yes, as she was busy with a ladle and the bowl. It was carefully placed beside me on the table with a "careful, this one's warm."
"This one?"
"You've been awake before. Mostly around this time."
This time? I took a double take at the bowl. Were there drugs in it? A careful prod with the spoon did not go unnoticed.
"There's nothing in this one. We have been reducing the medicine to give you back wakefulness. No memory of the last few days?"
I picked up the spoon, slowly, testing my left arm. Another prod. Nothing suspicious in it and ...I could see no reason for her to lie. Still I had no memory and it was a scary thing to have so much time gone. It was even scarier to realise I still had no memory of anything before the riverbank.
"No. Nothing. Nothing at all." And, lower, frustrated with my brain, "Not even my name."
"You've had visitors trying to help."
"I have?"
The woman took a seat beside me on the bed, shuffling my legs aside, her touch insanely gentle for the strength it actually took to move me. She was a soft faced woman, despite the sharper traits of the people here, wider, light eyes a hazel in the light. Red straight hair that on closer inspection had a good number of silver hairs hiding as highlights. She was kind enough. I decided I probably liked her. Still, the thought of her having to do things for me like take care of me, it was a hard pill to swallow.
Once I'd eaten and I was given space, I waited, half expecting to fade into sleep despite her promise and loose memory of this morning as well. Yet I didn't, and the hours seemed to give me more strength, until I was able to swing my legs both out of the sheets and make contact with the stone tiles under the bed. The morning sun was warm and soothing on bare arms through the curtains. An urgency made my movement more purposeful as I realised that I did actually need to find a toilet and fast, and without anyone around, I was left to attempt to wobble to my still bound legs and manoeuvre a very unsteady body across the small room with the assistance of furniture and walls. One leg seemed to be steady enough and I could use it as my main support, thankfully, the other too stiff and bound to be of much more use than a prop.
There was thankfully a solution found beyond the very first door I found. A hole on a plank of wood, a bucket, and the distinct smell of ...well, it wasn't great, but it was at least confirmation that I was in the right place. Thankfully the plank was wide enough to feel like I wasn't about to go tumbling down and spill (literal) shit and the wide arched windows, while making me feel weirdly exposed even with them opening into forest only, were breezy enough to carry scents out of the cosy room. Wet cloth and a decent flow of water through the room via a channel in the floor was more than enough of a hint as to the purpose, even without instruction, but it felt awkward to assume. Still I cleaned myself up and returned to the room relieved and solved of one problem.
Another problem I'd only just started to become aware of was already solved by the sight of a silver platter near the window adorned with flowers, leaves, fruit and a knife. A silver jug and a goblet made from crystal sat beside it. I slid into the chair slowly, nursing a still aching body, and dived in without hesitation. Within moments all the water was gone and the fruit with it leaving only peel and stems.
The food and time taken to eat it was finally bringing my brain back into focus. Energy pooled in my limbs again. The fog of the world was starting to lift and was starting to think beyond basic needs, beyond the room, and to my own situation.
What had happened? Where was I? Who were these people? Who were the saviours who dragged me (I assumed) out of the river?
...and who was I?
There was a sudden crush in my chest at that thought. Panic. Fear. Fuck. I bent forward, pushing the platter back, curling up. Bandages made this endeavour tricky but I managed it, resisting the urge to crawl under the table, or to run outside. Heart pounding I found that being curled up only worked for a brief moment before I had to stand, hobble to a window, to a door, chest heaving as lungs sought help because suddenly I needed more air than this small room could provide even with the open windows. Out I stumbled onto a balcony, doors bursting open on either side of me, and I grasped the railing with one hand.
I flung the door open and stared at my right hand, peeling the bandages back, aware suddenly that things were wrong. Badly wrong. It felt wrong.
"Lady, wait!"
A voice from below.
I ignored it. There was no stopping me. There here was one answer, one fucking answer, and I wasn't waiting. It hurt to peel it backwards. Feet were pounding up stairs and heading for me but they would be too late. I could see it. Half my hand was missing. Okay. That may have been a slight exaggeration. A lot of it. Two fingers, my little and my ring finger, as well as the tip of my middle finger, like something had just cleaved my hand in two pieces. It was hideous.
I screamed in my brain, muted from shock, horrified. The impact was terrible. I didn't know exactly why, I didn't have logical reasons for why this was so bad for me, but it killed me deep inside in a way I didn't understand, like this wasn't just half a hand but me. My entire soul. Mutated. All I could do was draw in air, a shuddering breath, my left hand grasping at the railing with a white-knuckle grip that made me feel no less steady. The entire world was starting to roll.
"I know."
A hand was grasping onto my wrist, gentle but firm, and an arm was around my back. Steadying me against a post that was still firmly rooted to the ground.
"Come on. Come inside. Sit."
I didn't argue, I didn't know if I remembered how to use my voice at all, and I allowed myself to be led in and sat in a chair beside the fire. A cold cloth was placed on the back of my neck, the door left open, and the saviour sat with me until I was able to function again. Somewhere in this water was discovered and offered. They were close, leaning against my good leg, the weight and pressure drawing me back down to earth as well. Other voices came and went around us- unseen, ghosts, people my brain was yet unable or unwilling to process.
Thr Angel?
I stared at him, aware that he was indeed a him, as he stared at me with a gaze that seemed to stare with a depth and intensity that bypassed my state of panic and unravelling. He broke it quickly when he'd been found he was caught, blinking, grey eyes going down to the water that he offered again.
"It's all right. You're safe."
I believed it. I didn't know why but I did. So I drank, exhausted, the panic sinking through my tense body and vanishing into the ground under my bare feet minute by minute, while he pressed his weight onto one of my legs. How long we sat there I was unsure, it could have been minutes or hours, but he waited, unwavering and steadfast, a presence that made me feel safe and grounded.
Finally I was able to think. I was able to speak. I started with a very articulate, "Um..." and hesitated. Did I thank him or ask questions?
"Just keep breathing. I'll tell her." The man threw the second part to someone else in the room, a stranger to me, someone who stood there calm and quiet with their arms crossed. "You're safe."
A deep breath. I accepted this. Sure. Okay. Safe.
When I seemed to be ready he continued as he stood to his feet. "I found you in a river, face down, alone. There were injuries."
The man behind him spoke up at that. "Broken bones, your hand was badly cut, a head wounded. All almost healed now."
"We were coming to Rivendel and it was decided-"
"-Ordered-" The man coughed, softly, muttering something under his breath in a tongue I couldn't catch.
"Decided that we'd bring you. You've been looked after for eighteen days."
Eighteen? I felt the world sway, again, dizzy. Why had I assumed it'd been only a few days? Was this why my body felt so weak? "Who are you two?"
"I'm- I'm a friend. Legolas."
"Lord Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm. Elf Prince, son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm." The man behind him cut in. Sharp. It seemed to be directed towards the blonde rather than to me. "We are Elves and you are very lucky to be welcomed here for any period of time, regardless of your state of body."
"Okay, okay, I didn't need his entire bloody family tree." I muttered. Or the damn lecture. Was that rude? Maybe. But then I paused. Legolas. Legolas. The named seemed familiar. I didn't know why or how. Somehow it made me giggle, a weird out of the blue reaction to the entire situation, and the look on their face only made me want to laugh more. Like I'd lost my mind and they were terrified they'd somehow broken me. Why was that name so funny? I had no clue. It just was.
There was an argument between them at that, Legolas and this other man, swift language dancing between them.
"You have no memories?" The dark haired elf shot at me. He was suspicious of me, I realised, he didn't trust me at all. Hadn't even given me his name.
"None." Except that Legolas' name wanted to make me laugh all over again. It seemed totally unreal. I couldn't help it, I asked again to Legolas, "You sure that's your name?"
A fresh wave of hysterics washed over me at the name Legolas. Legolas Greenleaf. I felt like I'd lost my mind somehow. Seriously. What was it about these names that made me want to laugh in their faces? I felt bad, especially when I saw the other guy frown, and tried to stop it. "So... sorry. Not sure why I'm laughing." I couldn't understand it. Part of me didn't want to get them angry. Part of me didn't want to laugh- it fucking hurt! And part of me just found it plain hilarious. I must have been going mad.
"Very." He was deadly serious. Stared at me with intense concern. Then he turned to his friend and they resumed the argument. It wasn't aggressive, exactly, but Legolas seemed determined. Finally his friend seemed to let up and Legolas spoke to me once again. "You're recovering. Things are emotional."
That was the fucking truth, right there. I quietened down and stared at my hand, again, the hysteria draining away.
They left me to rest, and I was relieved, because suddenly I was exhausted. The quick energy burst was gone.
Dreams dogged me, mixed with the fluttering of my eyes and the sight of road and trees, dreams of things. Flooded rivers. Water. Drowning. Voices in my head, screams, crying. I wasn't sure what it was- it was a nightmare, and every time I opened my eyes, it became too shadowy to really remember beyond the drowning But then, when I dreamed, this world with the pretty man seemed more dream than reality, and I couldn't figure out which was real. The flood or the pretty man in the pretty clean forest. It seemed like neither was real. Both were real.
My head hurt.
I blinked up at the ceiling, suddenly awake again, staring at a carving of a woman bent over me, her face sad. Soft sheets. A face stared at me. Another face. Legolas, the pretty elf. Another face. A woman. Or was it a man? There were so many feminine longed haired people, I kept seeing them between sleep, that I was starting to get confused.
I woke again, for real, to a late afternoon glow throughout the room and the strange dreams and nightmares chased me as I sat bolt upright disorientated for a moment or two. Numb, as well, emotionally and physically. My mutilated hand was no longer wrapped or covered, nor were my legs, and when I tore the sheets from them I found a surprising lack of evidence about the injuries I'd supposedly had- some bruising, maybe, but everything looked normal.
I also felt bad. For laughing. What had I been thinking? It was cold now. The sheets, beyond where my body was, were freezing. I stretched slowly, feeling strangely numb all over, yet somehow I felt okay. Wide awake. Sun cut across my bed, a warm sun, and a little man was staring in at me through the window, his jaw open. Cute, sort of, but no mistaking him as anything but an adult man. A man who couldn't be more than four feet tall.
Was I wrong? Was I still dreaming?
We stared at each other for a very long time.
"Who are you?" He demanded, an accent mixing with clear curiosity, as his eyes stared from me to the side of my head. "What are you doing here?"
"Waking up." I swung one leg out slowly, testing its ability to do so, and when satisfied I found my other leg and offered it the same challenge. "Who are you?"
I suspected asking the question 'Are you real?' would be a bit rude. Dream or not.
The little man opened his mouth to answer, only to be cut off by someone's shout, someone not very far away.
"Pippin, where are you?"
"There's a human woman! Isn't it?" The little man, clearly Pippin, called back. He wandered in through the door and stared at me. At my hand. "You injured? Are you a human?"
I shoved my hand under a sleeve and shrugged. Minor aches. I was ...good. "I think I was injured but I'm not now? And yes, of course I am."
Elves.
The word jumped into my head. Mending me. There were things here other than humans.
Another little man ran in, staring at me with the same open curiosity, but he seemed distracted. "Pippin! Stop wandering about, come on, Frodo and Sam have vanished. So has Bilbo. They're up to something. That's not a human. It can't be. We're in Rivendel!" This second one was midway through a bow when he realised what Pippin was up to, because Pippin had just crawled onto the bed and stood there.
To my amazement at his lack of boundaries and to the horror of his little friend, he reached out to push my hair back, and stared.
"No, Merry, look! She's human. All round."
"She is too." This seemed to distract his friend who approached. "Who are you?"
"I-" Before I could splutter excuses about no memory, Pippin was off again, talking with clear excitement.
"This is Merry. I'm Pippin. Are you here alone?"
"I don't know what you mean." I muttered.
"You know. There's other humans around too. Dwarves too. Lord Elrond won't tell us what they're all gathering for." Pippin informed me. He flopped down on the bed, tugging something out of his pocket, adding, "It's okay, Merry. She's friendly. Do you smoke, Lady?"
"She's in bed, Pippin."
"She's dressed. Just hurt. Would be rude to ignore her now we're introduced." Pippin retorted. He glanced at me. "And there's been visitors. I saw them. She was sick. You feeling better now?"
I glanced down again at the clothing. I was dressed. I hadn't looked earlier. It was pretty feminine. Silky. Soft. Lilac, flowers and leaves curling their way through the folds of fabric, long sleeves and skirt. It seemed to turn a soft pastel green if the light hit it in specific directions.
"I feel okay now. I don't smoke though." I didn't think I did, anyway. "But feel free to smoke."
"If you feel better, you'll probably be hungry." Pippin informed me. He tugged something out of his pocket. Cheese? Bread? He slammed them together, tore a bit off, and held it out. "We can get more in the kitchen. The Elves don't ever go in. I don't think they eat."
"That was in your pocket." Merry reminded him. "She'll not want that. But I'll eat it."
"Oh. Right. Sorry!" Pippin settled back as he started to stuff something in a pipe, legs swinging, settling back.
"Pippin, come on." Merry glanced at me as he took a big bite of the food he'd stolen. My lack of anger at this visit must have been relaxing him a little. "We were doing something, remember?"
"Oh yeah. I almost forgot! Frodo and Sam! " Pippin blinked and grinned. He stuffed some of the food in his own mouth, shoved the pipe in a pouch again, chewing his snack energetically as he flung himself to his feet. Then he stared at me and added, "Hey, you feeling like an adventure?"
"Pippin, we don't even know who she is." Merry muttered. He was slightly less trusting of me, I suspected, though nothing like that weird pretty man with Legolas. "Who are you?"
"I don't know." The memory of Legolas and his friend flashed through my head. I stared at them both. Slowly I stood up, testing my legs, finding each of them working fine. My head didn't hurt. And how long had I been in this room? Eighteen bloody days? "I must have hit my head. I don't know."
"She's fine, Merry, she's like old Pop Proudfeet who bumped his head and forgot his own family. Stumbled right into my pop's house and made himself very at home in the larder- or so he claimed, Pop thinks he was just drunk and hungry. Are you hungry? All you got is flowers." Pippin glanced at the platter, at the wilting flowers, making a face.
My stomach rumbled and I flushed. Okay. I was a bit hungry, really, and I felt kind of restless. Besides- Pippin's grin was infectious. I felt my own face mirror it, which relaxed Merry more, his own face relaxing. I'd been in bed for ages, hadn't I? No one could blame me for wanting to have a walk. An adventure even.
Besides, someone had been nice enough to dress me up. Shoes would have been helpful if I could find some.
"Sure, why the hell not. Give me thirty seconds-" At their blank looks, I tried, "I mean, give me a moment, and I'll meet you outside."
They were gone pretty fast for such tiny legs. I searched for shoes and found leggings instead. A hesitation and then I carefully pulled them on, strangely relived by the reassurance under my dress, but had to give up on the shoes idea. Ah well. It looked like outside was all paths and grass anyway. I went outside, bare feet crunching on autumn leaves, and stared around. Now. Little men... little men...
Merry and Pippin were leaning against the wall, Pippin again eating something else, and he brightened. "Great! Follow us."