The man struggled to open his eyes. He hurt everywhere. Groaning, he lifted himself up on his elbow and began feeling for broken bones. It was dark, very dark. It appeared he was in a cave. The surface beneath him was gravely, and he could vaguely make out the nearby walls. As he turned to see if he could make out which way would lead him out, he stifled a groan. His body was badly bruised, but, thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken.
As he lay there, gingerly testing his limbs, he gradually became aware of a commotion somewhere in the cave. Deciding that a cave floor was probably not the best place to be recovering, particularly when there could be more- He stopped with a sudden thought. What had happened anyway? Had he been fighting? Apparently so, he thought as he cautiously tested a large bruise on his head. He looked around for a weapon that he might have been using. He didn't see anything too helpful. Just something like a walking stick a few feet from where he had been laying. He sighed, that would have to do.
He made his way, slowly, to the stick. He still could not remember what he had been doing there. It did not seem like the kind of place to be exploring alone. He bent over to grab the stick. Suddenly, he was crushed to the ground on top of it by some great mass. Instinctively, he rolled on to his back, trying to ignore the pain that was screaming from every fiber of his body. He then saw that he was looking right into the jaws of a very large spider.
Adrenaline shot through his veins, and he attempted to slide away from the horrible face. He grasped for the walking stick, for anything he could put between him and the spider. His hand fell on a very small tightly wound bundle of branches, that fit perfectly into his hand. Had he stopped to look at it he would have realized that it was very out of place in a cave, but he had no time. He was running on pure instinct now. He hurled the little ball into the spider's face. To his great surprise, the bundle seemed to light up and fly flaming into the spiders open jaws. More startled than hurt, the spider recoiled, giving him just enough time to snatch up the stick and run.
Well, try to run. As he took his first big step, the pain shot back up through his leg. Even the imminent danger could not mask that pain. He stumbled, catching himself with the walking stick, and kept himself moving. He crashed into the walls, first on one side, than the other, each blow increasing the throbbing in his head, and limbs. Then he heard a sound which sent chills down his spine. A bear? A bear. Roaring. He shook his head in disbelief, forcing himself on faster than he thought he could. Bears and spiders, and who knows what else. What kind of place was this. Then he saw it. A glimmer of light. Daylight. Praise the stars. He emerged from the cave doubled over in pain. There was one final crash, another wall? He did not keep moving this time. The sun shone brilliantly against the face of a cliff that faced the cave entrance. He was curled, or crumpled rather, at the base, motionless.
But he was not dead. Nor was he alone. He lay unconscious, tortured by visions of spiders and bears, and flames, and darkness. Once or twice he thought he opened his eyes to see a great bear, swatting spiders all around him. But the image would fade, and he, subconsciously, knew it must have been a dream.
Finally, he opened his eyes. The sun, again, he assumed, was shining. He had no idea how long he had been out. He pushed himself stiffly up, so that he was sitting with his back against the cliff, and looked out toward the mouth of the cave that he flown from
in the night. It was a grisly sight that accosted him. There dead spiders littered between the cave and him, their bodies partially dismembered and slashed horrifically. Could this have been the bear? But why was he still intact, instead of... he shuddered at the sight of a spider's head crushed and several yards away from its body. This was a foul place.
He struggled to his feet, with the help of the walking stick, and pondered which direction would get him away best. As he stood there, looking around, a heard a kind of deep grumbling sound. Such as might be made by a ... bear. He suddenly decided that the other way was his best bet and began limping away. The grumbling noise followed him, and he looked back to see a great bear limping along behind him, in a very similar fashion. The bear appeared to be bleeding from multiple puncture wounds all over his neck and legs. Spider bites, he thought. A feeling of pity suddenly overwhelmed his fear. Well, that and the fact that if the bear did have ill intentions, there was really nothing he could do anyway. He was much to weak to run. Besides, if it had wanted to attack him, would it not have done so while he was unconscious? So, he stopped, turned around and waited for the bear to catch up.
He could not help his heart beat faster in his chest as the bear approached. It seemed to get larger and larger. He swallowed a lump in his throat. It was far too late now, anyway. The bear came right up to him, and then lay down, with a kind of pitiful moan as it did. Emboldened by the animal's apparent plight which so closely matched his own, he spoke quietly, "`Aww, you poor beast. This wasn't on my account, was it? Here, lets see about patching you up a bit."'
The whole scene would have seemed preposterous to an onlooker. A old man with a long grey beard, who may have hit 5' 10" standing straight, and probably weighed a light 160 pounds, was hunched over a bear who would have easily made a few hundred pounds. But somehow at the moment, they seemed to fit each other. They were both smeared and caked with blood, their own mingled with that of the black spider blood. The man's clothes were torn and dirty, and his beard and the bear's fur matted with dirt and blood. He took off what was left of his jacket and managed to staunch some of the more serious wounds. It was not much, and he knew it. They both needed more attention, by a more skilled healer. But it would have to do for now.
The odd pair continued their path along the cliff face until they finally came to a clearing. Shielding his eyes from the sun which was now setting behind them, he looked out over the clearing. It was a very small break, and he could see a lake and then a forest stretching along the other side. But of more interest was something along the side of the lake. "`A road! Ah, my friend,"' he said to the bear, "`We may be able to find help after all. Tomorrow. I think we have gone far enough for today."'
The man woke the next morning to boot sharply in his side. He had attempted to curl up in the bushes off the side of the road, out of site. The bear had not been quite so out of site. He snapped his eyes open, and let out a moan; those bruises had only become more sore after another night on the ground. The traveler jumped back, clearly surprised that this heap of flesh was actually alive.
"`Egad's! It's alive! Then what is that...'' He trailed off, pointing to the bear, who also looked more dead than alive. With another groan, the man sat up,
"`He's with me... who... who are you? Can you help us?"'
The traveler kept his eyes fixed on the unlikely pair, and gestured across the lake, "`A hunter. At the lodge. But who are you? and what orc-hole did you crawl out of?"'
"`Spider hole. Back in that ravine. And I am --"' the man stopped short. "`I am... I am..."' What was his name? Yes, he didn't know what he was doing in the cave, but he knew who he was... right? "`I am..."'
He did not. In fact, he couldn't remember anything about himself. The struggle for survival had pushed any introspection from his mind. He continued to mumble "`I am.."' under his breath, shocked by this lapse of memory.
"`Well, what ever, who ever you are, you are foolhardy, going into that den, and, as could be expected, you are hurt."' the hunter finally interrupted. "`And given your condition, I don't suppose you can be too dangerous. We'll get you some help, and then we'll decide who you are."'
The man mumbled something, in thanks, the hunter supposed, but he did not move. "`Come on then. Let's go, I don't have all day."' The hunter helped the man to his feet. The man allowed himself to be lifted, though he groaned at the pain as his limbs, stiff from bruises and the night on the ground, began to move. He held tightly to the hunter with his right hand, and to his walking stick with the other. In this way, he was able to make progress.
The bear, on the other hand, was not so eager to follow this stranger. It had opened his eyes and lifted his head when the man had sat up, but it also was weak from its wounds. As the man began hobbling off with the stranger, it struggled to its feet, and followed, but at a distance, and with a wary eye always fixed on the stranger. When they finally made it to the lodge, which was a mile or two perhaps from the place they had spent the night, the bear slunk off and found a spot at the edge of the forest to watch. It refused to let anyone close, retreating farther into the forest whenever they came near, and returning as soon as they had gone. Finally the hunters left it a cut of meat, and gave up.
Meanwhile, the lodge's healer began treating the man's injuries.
"`You know, you didn't get off too badly, for venturing into that spider den. Nothing broken, mostly just bruises. Looks like you got a nice cut there on your calf, but it doesn't even look poisoned."' He shook his head, "`By Arnor, you have been fortunate. What drove you in there anyway?"'
The man looked at him, blankly, for a second. He shook his head mumbling, "`I don't know. I don't know... I don't remember."'
He looked suddenly up at the healer, intensely, "`I don't remember anything!"' His eyes were opened wide, and darting back and forth on the healer's face. He was frightened, with such a fear as he had not felt even when face to face with the spider. "`I don't know who I am."'
"`Calm down, calm down."' The healer rested his hand on the man's shoulder. "`That can happen after such an experience. Right now, you just need to focus on recovering. Who knows, maybe your memory will return with your strength."'
"`Where is the bear? He needed help too."'
"`Rest. He will be fine. You can help me with him tomorrow."'
Though the bear would only allow the man to get near him, they were both able to make a full recovery in a few weeks. The man spent his days talking with the hunters, learning what he could about Bree-land, treating his bear, and doing odd jobs for the lodge. But he knew it couldn't last. He was restless. He did not know who he was, and it was constantly in the back of his mind. The hunters were kind, and they appreciated the extra set of hands, but eventually it came time to say good bye.
He did not know what he would do, exactly. They pointed him in the direction of Bree-town. From there... well. He was hoping he would find some kind of clue. It was a long shot, at best. All he had to go on was a walking stick, some burning bundles of sticks, and his own description. But there was one other thing. Something the hunter had said to him, right before he left.
"`Stranger, I know you will go off hunting for some way to recover your memory. But do not let the present get washed out in pursuit of the past. Whatever has happened, has happened. But you are here now. Make the most of this."'
He had asked the hunter what he had meant by that, but could get no response, other than the shake of his head. Clearly the hunter suspected something, but he could not tell what.
In any case, he set out to Bree with a light heart, his spirits somehow lifted simply by being on the road again. Whatever happened, he decided, it would work out. For the better.
