Lapsus Memoriae [Rávamë's Bane: Book 1]

Part I : Chapter 5 ~ Muddy Water & Matted Hair

Chapter 5

- Muddy Water & Matted Hair -

~ ❖ ~

I woke to the feeling of a troll hammering a tire-iron against the side of my head. 

Or at least it certainly felt like that was what I was being subjected to. 

Every beat of my heart was accompanied by a dull thudding pain against the inside of my skull. I didn’t dare open my eyes, but a little shift of my weight told me I was lying on something much comfier than the hard ground of the forest. My pounding head was also being supported by something that felt far too soft and comforting to be the rough cloak I’d used as a pillow. I rolled onto my side, half burying my aching face in the wonderful softness and slowly opened my eyes.

I was lying on what looked like an elaborate sleeping cot, in a room flooded with so much light that I though I might still be outside. When my eyes finally did adjust, I found myself looking around at a room which might have resembled a recovery ward in a hospital. Only, this hospital looked like it had been modelled on a fairytale.

Everything was polished wood, carefully wrought stone, and soothing earthy coloured fabrics. The tall arching windows didn’t have glass at all, and the breeze blowing dried leave in from outside was gently rustling long gauzy white curtains that fell all the way to the floor. Simple cots covered in white silk sheets were lined up next to each other along the room, all of them empty except for mine. 

“I knew it, I’m dead.” I mumbled and just gazed in awe at the sight around me, barely noticing myself sitting up on the cot, “I’ve died and woken up in a cliche.”

“Finally, your eyes open.”

I almost jumped out of my skin to see a tall dark haired woman in a long navy blue dress standing in a doorway, watching me with interest. 

She was stunning. And I meant that in every literal and metaphorical sense there was. She had the kind of face that didn’t look real it was so perfect — utterly flawless pale skin, coal black hair that fell past her waist, and almond shaped eyes the deepest and most vibrant shade of blue I’d ever seen. She reminded me of something out of a Renaissance painting of a Greek goddess hanging in the Louvre.

‘Da Vinci would have sold his soul to paint her portrait.’ I thought past the haze of awe at realising where I was, and who I was likely gawking at. The beautiful elven woman smiled warmly at me.

“I trust you are feeling better?”

“Urrrh…” I responded cleverly. Always ready with a witty retort, that’s me. Her smile widened, a laugh dancing behind her incredibly blue eyes.

“My name is Arwen.” She introduced herself, confirming my starstruck suspicions at who she really was — not that it did anything to lessen the sudden lapse of my language faculties. I just continued to stare at her like a dumb struck moron. I tried to speak, but a sound more akin to a startled mouse came out of my mouth. I coughed and tried again.

“I’m Eleanor.” I said in a tiny voice. 

Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of Imladris, beamed at me again. It was mercifully less overwhelming the second time around.

“I know.” She said.

I must have given her a less than comprehensive look, because she laughed lightly and added, “Estel gave us your name when you arrived. Although, I suppose you know him better as Aragorn.”

I sat up a little straighter, ignoring the pain that shot through my head.

“Aragorn?! He brought me here? Is he here?” I paused in my rapid fire questions to let my battered brain catch up, “Wait, how long have I been asleep?”