CHAPTER 9
CALETHIEL
I managed to squint as the sun fell over my sapped eyes, layering them like jagged glass. My room was cold, for my body now began to feel the bitter wind of October, and along with the brusque autumn air, I smelled the faint breath of pipe weed. How odd, for the last time I had been subject to it the night before, under my willow, and with my nearly mortal nose, scents no longer linger.
I bobbed my head above my chest, trying to catch the smell again, and at the foot of my bed sat a withered man much larger than I, hunched over himself on a long silver chair, which usually sat dustily in the hall.
Clad in a long, grey, cloak, he was; which was very much darkened by dirt. His face grew sweet in familiarity by the dim eyes which lay shadowed over by the bush of brows sprouting from his forehead along with his ears, which were hidden in the same white hair that hung from his scalp; and what lay humbly on top: a large, pointed hat. He was lightly toking on my long wooden pipe, barely making over it with his thin lips. Yet judging by the wise intensity of his wrinkles and the point in his hat, the man was not a man at all; but a wizard.
I knew this wizard, and the staff that sat beside him. And with that amount of knowledge alone, I felt the realization build from my eyes to my mouth, bringing a smile about my teeth.
"Elves do not sleep, you know." He murmured, referring to my resting, while removing the pipe from his frail lips, which looked like they had spoken many harsh words in the last month or so. His voice was neither the same; still comforting and soft it was, but now with a slight mention of urgency.
I opened my mouth several times before I could reply to him; not knowing of what to start with, for his arrival meant so much: the day of Elrond's council, the arrival of the ring, and the company of my kin. And, because of that, a decent amount of pain in me died out, and a fragment of the calm focus that I was usually reckoned with, quietly stormed through me.
"Then I suppose I am no longer," I started, in a faint voice, I which I grimaced at. I lifted myself fully to face him, and with doing so I winced at the sound of the crack and rust of my bones.
He sat with a grim face, as we stared at one another. Failing to keep his seriousness, a light chuckle began from the stretched, wrinkled skin, which could hardly be considered lips. Yet, I smiled at him, and laughed hardily along. "Gandalf!" I forced through one of my giggles, as we reached our arms around one another. He sent filled my mind like a sweet memory. I had not grown so happy in days.
"What news friend?" I said, standing myself upright from my bed after our embrace, he quickly stood too, in order to help me walk with him down to the dining hall.
"Ay, always quick for answers." He said, chuckling once more with the pipe still in hand, as we moved from my chilled room. Yet, it was only partly true. For I was rather patient, until it came to Gandalf. "You look well, at least better than I had expected." He mumbled through the pipe which now stuck stiffly from his mouth.
"You have not the heart to tell me…" I muttered, trailing off, for I was well aware of my state. I felt a strong chill run through my fingers, odd, that we were in a hall without windows. The chill itself was odd as well, for it stung like the chatter of bones from the overstay in bitter water. The chill came upon me once more, this time, struggling through me, from my fingertips to my each joint of my spine, into the back of my neck, where I was forced to shudder. It felt above all else like the uncertainty of bitter darkness; Pure evil. That is when I decided, 'twas not the eager October air paining me, but the feel of the ring.
Now, with realization, I could smell the change in the air, despite my dull senses. For, I could feel it now, its presence leaching into my skin. "It is here," I choked. "I can feel it. It has ridden my bones like a disease; we are drawing near as well. Frodo, he is near." I spat from my mouth with no amount of grace upon my lips. I had not taken into consideration how I would react to its appearance. Its weight hit me like a hard wind.
"Ay," he began in a voice of such seriousness that his bottom lip but lightly curled under his thin top as he tightened his jaw. "The air has changed, and the ring; awoken. The eye sees it I fear, lying just about Frodo's neck."
My jaw let loose, leaving itself to hang dumbly about my face, leaving but a small gap between my diseased lips. "And he has not succumbed to it?" I managed to garble the scrapped words.
"Not in the slightest. Or at least, he has not shown signs of falling to it." He said simply through the pipe, yet with a measure of weight in his voice. Gandalf sighed in haste, and shook his head. "Though, the nine had already gotten to him. Stabbed he was, with a Morgul Blade." By the ease of his words I trusted that Elrond had gotten to Frodo in time.
Gandalf sighed, "The ring cannot stay here in Rivendell. Elrond holds a council this afternoon, I fear, Calethiel, that no one will dare take on the ring…" Gandalf said this nearly as a plea. His wise eyes had settled once again settled into the fear I had seen in him this morning.
"You do not know surely Friend." I said, comforting him. "Unless, you have foreseen it…" I uttered.
His thin lips did not part, and he kept silent, burrowing his eyes deeper behind his brows. I began to count the creases in his lips. I had gotten up to twenty-seven before he spread them, diverging from the middle, outward.
"I trust you have more questions." He broke; his voice even deeper than originally.
I nodded, allowing him to dismiss the matter of Frodo for the moment. "Saruman," I began with a grim voice myself, "I trust it is he you have spoken harsh words to." I paused for a moment, as his brows began to deepen. "The creases in your lips are not quiet dear friend." I finished, pressing my lips together in anxiousness for a response.
The last I saw Saruman was during this past summer, which was vividly recent. Gandalf and I had spent every day as a lesson among his unfailing tower and trees of Fangorn, teaching me the wizardry of healing and psychology; things I was to learn from my kin in Lorien, but, considering my choice of exile, never have. Saruman, was taller than Gandalf, and more swift. Yet, humble, he was not, or at least, judging from memory, I cannot remember him humble. He had the smile of a snake, and yet the lips of a saint. His character was always on the fence with me, as I never allowed myself to have a conversation with him alone, other than when he taught me telekinesis, which I still have not mastered.
His jaw released and he talked as if he had been holding in air for too long. "He has fallen to Suaron." He stated briefly, "using the power of the pinnacle of Orthanc to help him see what hides from the eye."
My jaw tightened, as well as my lids and brows. Though, there was no reason for my well enlightened mood of the moment to drop considering I was sure of Saruman's deeds already, my heart seemed to thud into my stomach.
"I have spoken with Elrond," he began again, "and we have come to the agreement that your ailment is a diversion of Saruman's." Gandalf admitted shakily. I assumed that his heart had thudded into his stomach long before this pass month.
"Trust me friend, I had no doubt of that. He has always been there, lurking in the back of my mind. I can feel his intentions. Yet, of what diversion I am, I fear, I cannot sort out why he wishes me not to return to Lothlorien." The words rolled from my mouth smoother than I had expected, as we reached the dining room. Odd, it felt, as if a sudden motivation surged into me, but I shrugged it from my mind.
"I must return to Elrond," Began Gandalf, handing me his finished pipe, and a wrinkled bag of farthing weed. I nodded and thanked him. Gandalf leaned into my ear, and whispered, "Be sentient of Haldir." He mumbled, and with that, he hobbled his way down the long hall of the dining room.
