Lapsus Memoriae [Rávamë's Bane: Book 1]

Part I : Chapter 6 ~ The Ward of Imladris

Part I : Chapter 6

- The Ward of Imladris -

~ ❖ ~

Three months went by since I’d been made the Ward of Imladris. Barely any time at all for the elves, but for me it seemed like an eternity. 

Nothing had come back. Not a single whispered memory or fragmented thought from before I’d woken in that sodding cave. Not since I’d dug up that one name that made no sense from my scrambled memories. Not even my irritating second personality had been much help even though she’d been appearing in my dreams nearly every night. I had quickly decided to dub her “Tink” — for Tinkerbell, the angry little fairy from my all time favourite Disney movie: Peter Pan. 

She’d accepted the condescending nickname with about as much grace as a velociraptor, but at least it got her attention. I was getting really sick of having to mentally shout ‘Oi! Obnoxious split personality!’ whenever I needed her attention.

I had managed to keep Tink’s existence from Lord Elrond so far, and as promised he was helping me as best he could — both in recovering my lost memories and adjusting to life among the elves. Once every week I would visit his study, and he would spend hours helping me focus, trying to dig up what memories I could salvage from the shadowiest parts of my mind. 

So far the only things I’d managed to scrape up were dark flickers of figures, places and words that were too shadowy or too quiet to be anything other than frustrating.

“Patience,” he preached. “They would come in time.”

Patience, my foot. I doubted a couple of months even registered as time at all when you were older than the New Testament. Regardless of what reassurance the elf lord gave me, regardless of the fact that I was technically an amnesia suffering she-elf now; I was still a twenty-two-year-old university student in spirit. Patiences had never been one of my virtues. 

But where my luck with recovering my memories was frustratingly non existent, life outside my head as the Ward of Imladris seemed like a never ending landslide of new experiences.

I was moved out of the infirmary the morning after my meltdown Lord Elrond’s office, and was given my own modest but utterly beautiful room overlooking the gardens. From my small balcony I had a panoramic view of the entire valley and waterfalls running under the house. When I’d finally mustered the courage to venture down into the massive gardens, I’d seen someone I’d almost fallen over a bench in shock upon recognising.

Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. 

He was difficult to miss at 3’2, brass buttons on his waistcoat, humming happily to himself and pottering around the rose bushes with his pipe. He’d introduced himself and offered to help me up when I did fall over at realising who I was seeing. It had been easy as breathing talking with him after that, Embarrassing falls made for a great ice breaker. 

He was far more friendly and far less grumpy that my childish memories of ‘The Hobbit’ had lead me to believe. We’d chatted for hours that first day, and regularly repeated the routine for many days after — minus my awkward face-plant into the magnolias.

Aragorn returned to visit regularly; still as stoic and intimidating as ever, but I was still happy to have his company. I’d tell him about what I’d been up to since we last spoke, and he’d ask short and pointed questions, making sure that I wasn’t causing problems for Lord Elrond or any of the staff. He even suggested that I asked one of the sword masters to teach me some basics, since I was becoming obvious that I was going a bit crazy with restlessness. Well, more crazy that usual.