Revised May 2020

A Rude Awakening

III III III

:::

The first thing Anne became aware of, was the sound of her breathing. It took a few seconds for her to realize what it was, since it seemed so rough and unnaturally loud. The second thing was the smell of the air around her. It was musty and stale, with a hint of sweat.

Trying to blink her eyes open, she found it more difficult than it should be; her eyelids seemed hopelessly sticky, as if she had a heavy head cold. She lifted her hand to rub them and noticed how weak her arm felt. Eventually, she managed to wipe away enough of the crusty stuff, and stared about herself, bleary-eyed.

It was relatively dark, but she could just make out a beamed ceiling above her. The mattress she was lying on was slightly uneven, and the bedstead underneath looked roughly made. The blanket was strangely stiff, and was covered with a white fabric that might have been linen. Most of the unpleasant smell seemed to be coming from the bedding.

Slowly turning her head, she saw that the faint and only light was coming from a candle in a brass holder on a tray, placed on a small wooden stool. Set on the tray were also a cup and a deep bowl, with a piece of cloth hanging over its rim.

Anne struggled to sit up, and looked around, frowning, as her eyes were adjusting to the gloom. The low, narrow room had stonewalls and a sloping ceiling with crossbeams. The wood was dark and ancient-looking. A door from the same wood was just visible at the further end of the room. There were three more beds next to hers, empty and with their sheets neatly folded.

Anne could not recall ever having seen this place before, much less how she had got here.

Fear crept over her, and she sat up straighter, pushing the musty-smelling blanket aside. Only then, her attention was drawn to what she was wearing. It was some kind of simple white nightgown with a high neckline, long sleeves, and a hemline, which would probably reach her ankles if she stood. Also, it smelled as though she had been wearing it for a week, without washing. The gown was slightly damp too, and she felt goosebumps on her arms, despite the warm, stifling air in the room. She became aware of muffled noises, not too far away.

Where was she?

Her throat was tight and sore when she swallowed. She dragged her legs out from underneath the blanket and dropped her bare feet on the floor, which was cold enough to cause another shiver to run through her.

As she attempted to stand, she registered how weak her body felt - her back ached dully and her legs wobbled a bit from the effort. Nevertheless, she staggered to her feet.

This too was very strange. What had happened to her? Had she been ill? Perhaps the flu? It certainly felt like that, but she could neither remember getting sick, nor recovering from any illness.

She took two, three shaky steps. Her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, and she could make out more of the room. On the side where the ceiling was lowest, the wall was lined with large chests. The floorboards felt cool and smooth under her naked feet. She took a calming breath. There were other people here. She had to go and find someone who could explain what was going on. She took a few more steps towards the door, ducking her head under one of the low hanging beams as she did so. At this moment, an echoing, very loud and horrible screech pierced the silence outside. Her head jerked upwards and collided painfully with the beam above. Gasping and with her eyes tearing up, she staggered sideways, grabbing the nearest bedpost and sat down on the bed.

Suddenly the door opened, and a blonde young woman, wearing an apron and a button-through dress, and carrying a lit candle and a clay jug, appeared on the threshold.

"Oh, dear!" She exclaimed. "You're awake! I heard a thud and thought you might be … Lucky I was just on my way to have a look in on you. How are you feeling? Exhausted? No doubt, you must be! I should think so, after what you have been through… The fever was running high for many days, Elena, and even the healer they called said you might not pull through, you know! My name is Liecia, by the way. Oh, you must be thirsty…"

While chattering away, she bustled through the room, placed the candle on one of the chests, and went to pick up the cup from the tray on the stool. Pouring some water from her jug into the cup, she returned to the bed, where Anne was sitting, staring at Liecia wide-eyed, confusion clearly written on her face. Liecia saw that she was still clutching her head.

"What is wrong with your head, did you hurt yourself? You did not fall off the bed, did you?"

"No, I… er…"

Liecia saw her glance up towards the ceiling; following her gaze, she laughed.

"Ah, say no more. You bumped against that darned beam there, didn't you? It happens to me five times a week … Now, you really should drink a little, Elena."

Saying so, she thrust the cup into Anne's hand, who stared at it mutely, but made no move to drink. Instead, she attempted to clear her throat, swallowed and then raised her eyes to look up at Liecia.

"What… what did you call me?"

Liecia looked slightly taken aback. "Elena…? Is that not your name? Your brother said…" She paused, looking uncertain. Then she smiled again, though somewhat uneasily.

"What is your name then?" She asked kindly.

For some reason Anne felt vaguely alarmed by the question. Her eyes flitted through the room, before focusing on Liecia's face once more. Her lips went numb and her pulse quickened. When she spoke, her voice was strained and shaky.

"I think… I think my name is Anne."

:::

The Rolling Barrel had seen better days. Busier and noisier days too, Dorlas Dockleaf remembered nostalgically. There had been a time when his inn was known as the prime address for good company and an excellent brew in the long stretch of land east of the Misty Mountains, between the Gladden Fields and Mirkwood. In fact, it also happened to be the only tavern in the whole area - but in Dockleaf's opinion, that could not diminish his well-earned reputation.

Not only the Inn, but also the whole village of Carrockton had enjoyed great popularity for many years. The town was located at the western edge of Mirkwood, or rather the Eryn Lasgalen, as it was now called, where the Great East Road leads into the forest. Therefore, Carrockton had naturally become a trading centre for the Woodland Realm, Esgaroth, Rohan and even Eriador, especially after the end of the last great war.

However, those glorious days were gone. The current times were dark and strange, and seemingly getting worse. Orcs and other, more terrifying creatures had started roaming the lands once more, which had not happened since the defeat of Mordor, more than forty years ago. Yet more disquieting were the rumours about what seemed to be going on in and around the Lasgalen itself - concerning its noble and well-respected inhabitants. From what the townsmen of Carrockton had heard, in most parts of Middle-earth, things appeared to be equally bad.

Dockleaf's family came from Bree, which was an old township of Eriador on the other side of the Misty Mountains, and many of his kin still dwelled there. Two months ago, one of his distant cousins, Fabian Pepperidge had arrived with a cart-load of pipeweed, but also bearing sinister-sounding tidings from the regions west of the mountain chain.

Usually, Dockleaf would have considered most of these things as none of his business, but the absence of customers – as people avoided travelling if possible, and all trading had nearly come to a standstill – meant that his own business went downhill rapidly. Tonight, clearly, would be no better than any evening during the last few weeks.

He would have to let another servant go, he thought dolefully. With his clientele merely consisting of a few regulars and the odd traveller every now and then, he simply could not afford to keep them all. Or rather to keep any of them. At the rate things were going, this would soon be the case. Meaning that even with the few customers they had, it would be difficult to keep the Barrel open in the end.

Dockleaf's gloomy thoughts were interrupted, as Nesta, one of the maidservants, approached him at that moment.

"Master Dockleaf?" She cast a glance towards the two men sitting at the far end of the counter who seemed absorbed in their own conversation, before addressing the landlord again in a hushed voice.

"The woman from Esgaroth is awake."

"Ah, some good news at last," Dockleaf said, his face lighting up. "She can finally tell us, what exactly happened there."

Nesta looked uncertain. "Well… there might be a problem… Master, is the Ranger still here?"

Dockleaf frowned. "Indeed he is, sitting in the side room and smoking. Said he would stay a couple of days. Now, what could possibly warrant bothering the only paying guest, who..."

"This woman," Nesta said urgently. "Liecia said she behaved very oddly. What if she is… after all, we don't know what happened to them on their way here."

Dockleaf stared at her for a moment, and then cursed under his breath when he realized the meaning behind the servant's words.

"Go fetch the Ranger," he told her.

:::

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