Compos Mentis [Rávamë's Bane: Book 2]

Part I : Chapter 6 ~ Many Rude Awakenings

Waking up from a dream in which you're drowning is never exactly pleasant. Though all things considered, my return to reality was as gentle as I could have hoped for.

I sucked in a glorious breath of musty, dank forest air as my eyes flew open, my body automatically going to sit up and check I really wasn't still miles under dark seawater. That plan was well and truly scuppered when my forehead collided with a low hanging branch of the tree I'd been curled under. Pain fired through my head, and I hissed out a curse.

At least, if I hadn't been before, I was wide awake now.

Thankfully I hadn't seemed to have woken anyone else up with my dopey antics. All around me, the camp we'd set up at the edge of a clear patch of grass between the trees and a small cliff was bathed in moonlight. I could hear Gimli snoring somewhere off to my left, Boromir snuffling somewhere beyond that, along with Aragorn's slow steady breaths. As my eyes adjusted, I could also just about see Legolas leaning back against a nearby tree on my right, not far from where I lay. His eyes were half open, but he was looking up at the stars with a glazed look in his face, his figure entirely relaxed. He was finally taking a deep, proper and well-earned rest; the sight brought a relieved smile to my face before I could suppress it.

Just beyond him, I could just about see that Gandalf had taken the watch. He was standing near the still lowly crackling fire, puffing leisurely on his pipe as he stared out over the trees below the cliff.

I felt my own body truly relax for what felt like the first time in weeks at the sight and sound of all but four of my companions around me, the last of my worries being chased away as a fresh wave of tiredness hit me. Reassured that I was unlikely to be plagued by anymore bizarre dreams, I lay quietly back down on my patch of forest again, curling up on the soft grass facing Legolas' tree.

I was just about to close my eyes when the sound of someone else stirring caught my attention.

Lifting my head curiously, I saw Aragorn sitting up from his own chosen sleeping spot on the grass. He got to his feet, and moved near silently over to stand by the old smoking Wizard.

"You cannot sleep?" Gandalf asked quietly, puffing out a stream of smoke that turned into a silver trio of fluttering moths around him. Aragorn paused to watch the dancing smoke figures slowly disperse for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

"I rarely can lately," he murmured, looking out over the moon-bathed forest. Gandalf took another drag on his piped and eyed him sideways.

"What troubles you so, Aragorn?"

I saw Aragon fold his arms across his chest and chuckle somewhat bitterly. He glanced over his shoulder back towards us all, and I quickly dropped my head back onto where it had been pillowed on my arm, pretending to still be at least half asleep.

"What doesn't trouble me may be a better question; though it's likely the same thing that still troubles you, old friend, despite your miraculous return."

Gandalf rumbled a quiet laugh, and I could see little puffs of wispy smoke coming out of his nose — and ears — through the dark. He coughed lightly through a smile, thumped a fist against his chest to clear it, and extinguished his pipe with a quiet, ominous hiss.

"Sadly, I fear you may be correct. And I fear there are few words of comfort I may offer to ease that worry," he exhaled, long and deep. "The veiling shadow that glowers in the East is beginning to take shape at last. Sauron will suffer no rival, and from the summit of Barad-dur, his Eye is watching ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him now. The rumour has finally reached him that the blood of Númenor still lives."