The Journal of Kalia Útíradien
Though I doubt that this shall ever be read, I offer you my greeting. I feel that first, I must apologize for my dreadful penmanship, for I lack the gift of sight. I assure you that you will learn little from these humble pages, but my father insists that I fill them. He made a gift of this journal this evening to mark my thirtieth year of life. I do recall him saying, "Writing an account of your life shall serve your memory well." I do believe that my memory is well enough. There is the chance that perhaps one day, if I am to be blessed with children that they may wish to read of their mother. I rarely doubt my noble father, but I do in this. No one wishes to read of the life of a young, blind, and less than wise female.
I suppose a quick recollection of my youth is in order. Though, I hardly know where to begin.
I have heard tales of my birth, how my mother, Glineth struggled to bring me into this world. I was born here in Rivendell, in the very bed in which I now sit. My mother left in the care of the House of Elrond a week after my birth. I saldy know nothing more of my parentage. I suspect that information is being kept hidden from me, to protect my "delicate" heart, and fragile mind. My childhood was a very happy one. I was blissfully unaware that I was different from the others. Never did not having the use of my eyes cause me any difficulty in my childhood. Indeed, I believe that it is my greatest gift. My other senses are heightened. Even now I can hear the beautiful sound of a deer sipping at the ater from the cool spring below the falls. I have been told by my sister that I am a fair student of history and music, but a truly dismal dancer. I do not mean to sound conceited, but I am truly gifted with a blade. I have no equal, not even any among the Rivendell Guard can best this blind youth. With a blade in my hand, and my bow and quiver on my back I feel complete and safe. There is one among our fine warriors that I am most eager to spar with, but he never accepts my challenge...no matter how many times I plead to him. It is my greatest hope that perhaps after another decade or two of begging, he will give in and accept my challenge. I had foolishly thought that perhaps on ths day, he would at last give in.
I do believe that now I shall detail the day that I began my thirtieth year of life. For it is on this day that at last, I felt something other than loneliness.
I woke to the sound of rain, the very first of the season. I could sense that it was very early in the morning, that the sky was still dark. With the skill of being able to walk through my home without being seen or heard, I moved quickly through the halls and out into the land below. Barefooted, I journeyed to my favorite place within our borders. Some call it a grove, but I simply just think it to be the most perfect place in this world. I walked carefully towards the pond, and sit myself upon a fallen tree. As I sit in silence, I allow myself to be swept away by my senses. The sound of the woodland creatures waking, and the sound of rain soothed me. I soon found myself drifting off to the dream realm. Hours passed, and I was left undisturbed. I woke in time to watch the rising sun fight its way through the rain clouds. Upon the seeing the first light of the day, I knew that my father and those of our house would soon be entering my empty room, wishing to bestow their blessings on this day, and to tellme what they had planned for the day. A new gown, a trinket from my father, playful teasing from m brothers, a letter from my sister (she is now on a long visit with her grandparents.), and a small dinner. I thought myself clever to have evaded this yearly ritual. I soon heard the quiet steps of my duath, my shadow. He was rarely seen at my side, but all knew that he was never far from me. My protector.
"Duath." I say, my eyes unopened.
"My Lady, it is my duty to escort you back to your home. Your family-"
I interrupt him, "wishes to bestow upon me their blessing on this, the day of my birth." I say in my best impression of my father's voice.
I hear him fight off a laugh with the soft clearing of his throat. " They care for you. It brings them joy to wish you well on this day." he says.
"I shuld be able to spend this day in any way I choose." I said, as I rose from my seat upon the fallen tree.
"I agree, my Lady. I am sure that as you age, they will agree also." he says, as he took my arm.
"I do wish that they would not shower me with gifts. I have no use for them." I say, as we begin to walk back towards the small town.
"May I ask why?" he asks.
"No amount of finery will never make others as blind as I."
He made no reply, but as we walked further into the town and towards my home, I could sense that he wore a frown upon his face. "We have arrived at your room, my Lady." he says. I smiled at him in thanks, and tell him that I hope to see him later in the day.
As I enter my room, I hear the all too familiar sigh of exasperation from my father. "Daughter. You spend too much time out in the rain. A good thing that you cannot catch cold." he says.
"It is the first rain of the season, father." I say as I sit upon the edge of my bed.
"And it is the day of your birth. I had wished to wake you, and present you with a new gown." he says.
I reach out towards my left, my hand drifting over a neatly folded pile of silk. "It is purple." I say.
"Very good." he said in praise, for he has always been proud of my ability to sense color.
I then ask for my brothers, and am told that they have gone out to ride on the plains. Oh, how I wish I could join them. To ride, to be free, to feel the open air blow freely through my hair. It sounds to me like a dream. My father leaves me with a kiss on my brow. I am undisturbed for many hours, and as always when left in this room alone, my thoughts drift towards my mother. I wish I knew her. Do I have her smile? Her ears? I often hear my father whisper her name, when no others are near him, and one day I mean to ask him of her. Tears soon come to my eyes as I continued to think of her, and just as I was about to disappear back into the Wood below, an attendant walked quietly into my room to inform me that I was to leave for dinner as soon as I am dressed. I dress myself quickly in the gow my father had given me earlier in the day, and run my fingers through my long red-brown hair.
Much to my delight, the dinner was a small affair. It was only myself, my duath, and father sitting at the small table. Off in a corner a flautist plays a tune of her own composition. My father pours me a glass of wine, which I accept with a little too much enthusiasm. If I have one fault, it is my love of wine. To taste the grape and other fruits wash over my tongue is the greatest pleasure I know. As I began to eat a piece of sweet bread my father taps me gently on the shoulder and says, "A gift for you, my daughter." I open the small wooden box and run my fingers over yet another hairpiece, this one in the shape of a butterfly. I had hoped for a spider, this year. "It is beautiful father, thank you." I say.
"I am glad it pleases you." he says, as he kisses my hand.
The night wore on, and as the lanterns were being lit I found myself beginning to tire., and wishing that I was among the comfort of my bed. My father, sensed my growing discomfort and asked me if I wished to retire. I nod, "Yes father. I thank you for your gift, and your company." I rise, and as I begin to walk out of the dining area I hear my father ask my duath to see me to my rooms. He is soon at my side, tucking my arm in his.
"Did you enjoy the evening?" he asks.
"I did, thank you. Did you? You were most quiet this evening." I say as we ascend the staircase that led to my rooms.
"Of course. I enjoy seeing you and your noble father filled with joy, and your gift will suit your hair very well." he says as we stood outside of my bedchamber.
"Another trinket for the pile." I say tossing the box onto my bed, as I enter my room. I then sit on my favorite cushioned bench and remove my slippers. "I do not like shoes."
My shadow sits beside me and as I pin my hair upon my head for the evening, he says, "I apologize for not having a gift for you."
I laugh quietly and say, "Your friendship is enough for me, ser."
"Is there anything that you wish for?" he asks.
As I think on what to say, I feel my cheeks start to burn red with shame, and my heartbeat quicken. "It is nothing. A great being such as you would find it childish."
"Please tell me."
I fold my hands on my lap and say quietly, "May I touch your face? I mean nothing by it, I promise you. It is the only way I can tell what one looks like. It is foolish, I know...but I wish to know the face of my shad-"
He interrupts mynervous rambling and takes my hand in his, "You may." he says, placing my hand upon his cheek.
I hear him inhale quickly as I allow my trembling fingers trae the shape of his cheekbones, and then his jawline. My fingers then ghost along the bridge of his nose. "You are very beautiful." I whisper, as my finger trails lightly around his eyes. "Your eyes are brown."
"Yes, how did you know?" he asks, his voice a breathless whisper.
"I can sense color." I simpyl state, as my finger drifts towards the lobe of his delicately pointed ear. As my fingertip touches its tip, his hold on my free hand tightened, and I feel his flesh become warm beneath my touch. He whispers my name, but then he suddenly stood up and said, "My Lord Elrond."
"Leave us, Glorfindel." my father says.
As my duath left my bedchamber I tried to make sense of the feeling now spreading throughout the whole of my flesh. It is a warmth, and yet my flesh feels as though it is being blanketed by snow. My hand still trembles, and my heart beat at a strange rhythm. "Father, why did you send him away?" I ask.
"My daughter, you do not understand. To touch ones face as you did...it is a thing only for pledged couples."
He is right, I do not understand. But still, I apologize to him. "I only wished to know what his face looks like, ada." I say. "He is beautiful."
My father stood, "I knew that this day would come." he says as if he was speaking of some terrible doom. I see no harm in finding someone to be beautiful. My father then sits beside me and places in my hand a large book of red. "This is a journal. It is for you to write of your life in."
I thank him, and he looks to me once more before he leaves my bedchamber.
It is in this journal that I now write. I know that now I should be at rest. But I cannot. My mind is full of the image of the face of my shadow. My fingers still tremble, and find myself thinking of him. Does his skin feel as mine now does? I go now to my rest, with the hope of seeing his face in the dream realm.
A/N:
I had to do this. It...I had to. Kalia to me, is too fascinating of a character to never write of again. She's quite special to me. I must thank Kayla for naming her, and pushing me into writing more of her. Tell me, what do you think of Kalia so far? Will her "father" ever talk to her of her mother? Also, do you have any questions for her? I'd love to include you in this humble story...so please, do not be shy! As always, thanks for reading! -M