For all of those who thought that I made Glorfindel sound like a stupid little human, how dare you! -pets him- My elf! Oh, sorry, I meant to say that I've also written his side of the story. I realized somewhere between 3:00 and 6:00 (a.m. that is) that you would only get a good description of Cali from other characters, as she doesn't really care too much about her actual appearance. Not to mention that she doesn't see other characters very well yet, because she is getting some very confused vibes from this place, which, of course, was why Glorfindel seemed so "mortal" to her. Yes, she is very old - probably not as old as Elrond, but definitely older than Legolas. But, just because I love him so much, I'll let Glorfindel have this one. It is a bit of rewriting, but he's – I mean – it's worth it. Enjoy!
***
It had been strange, he would remember in times far afterward, entering that vale as the morning awaited dawn, so pale and solemn in sunless light. The land was yet shadowed with the lingering memory of darkness, and all the world seemed silent to even his elvish ears. There was no trace to be found, neither on nor by the rain washed road, and yet – there was a presence there that seeped into his consciousness like a shadow slipping toward the horizon as evening turned to night. The crumbling foundations of mortal works round about seemed to ring with the acknowledgment of some new thing that his mind could not conceive. The stone had forgotten all memory of its molders, and yet it spoke of life, and what life! But for all certainty, there was no evil born upon the air but far behind, where five at least were pursuing him.
To his eyes the mist had seemed far thicker than it had before, and for a moment he considered this when from afar his eyes caught a shimmer and a light so pure and broad that even his horse did not require the hand that he set to his rein. The mist indeed was a great luminescence, all lit with the slender form that steadily materialized from within the forest shroud. It was a woman, he noted with much surprise, some elvish maiden drawn up from stone and water and ice. Blinking he let his confusion surmount, and realized that she was truly of flesh and blood, her luminescence but an image of his own amaze. She was both ancient and in many ways perceptive, so very wise, and with her dwelt great power. But then again he blinked and she was but mortal – and yet so clearly not. And then again she was pure, dangerous thought, and then a lowly vagabond. There was no truth to her, and yet in all of that bleak land she seemed the only truth. All ambiguity was with her, in her very stride.
His awe now diminished as much as could be, the great elf-lord Glorfindel at last found his voice. What wonder and astonishment could be sown into any language of man or beast? He greeted her in the speech of his people, but she merely smiled and continued her broad, yet strangely graceful approach. Now truly lost he probed his mind for some definition for this creature. She did not know the languages of elves? If she was no great elven lady, then how indeed had she come upon him without notice? The common tongue found his voice and he spoke once more.
At this she had reached his side. Why he had not dismounted, even he could not seem to name with any word but surprise. At once she began to speak, unaffected by his discourtesy, and once understood of her outlandish accent he found her voice most fair.
At that, fair was the only word to describe her, who called herself Caliasar. Caliasar – even her name seemed an indefinite mystery. Fair indeed! Her hair was the hue of the moon waxing coldly over winter snows, and she had mountains of it, all the texture of a horse's tail. It was very long for the most part, though it hung at a thousand different lengths as if it had been torn and cut and pulled for centuries. Her skin (in all of its ageless, porcelain design) rivaled the pale sun as she rose through the great mists of even that peculiar morn. But still that did not fully suit her, for even in her fairness she was dark as a clear summer's eve, and yet not truly seeming dark at all.
She was clad in a gray tunic whose long sleeves seemed almost to have been re-sown to her skin. Dark breeches clung to her legs, with tall leather boots that were very creased with age. But over all she wore a white gown that must have been very beautiful at one time, long ago. Its few thin skirts were all torn at jagged angles and slits, as were the long, sweeping sleeves, which had been lashed up at her elbows. Blood had dried on it and been washed away, though the stains of it could not be erased. Her middle was wrapped with what seemed alike to an outer corset, of a gray, woolen quality, which seemed the only thing that held the ragged pieces of her attire together.
True, she was not so beautiful as any elven maid, though with another beauty she was great in wealth. She was tall in stature as she was in presence, not so long legged as she was simply – tall. Her stomach was rounded by a drum of muscle, taut sinew molding her skin at every simple motion that she made. She was utterly slender in every sense of the word, with none of the softness of a fairer woman. At the moment she was rather frazzled in appearance, as if she had recently been in water. And most disconcerting of all, her ears did indeed come to a point, much harsher and taller than the point of any elven ear, though not in any way as unbecoming as the ear of a goblin.
And at last he now knew what had been the shimmer that first caught his eyes. She was arrayed with the jewelry of a thousand cultures, all unknown to his long memory. There was none to be found on her long fingers, which were laced with blood, but on her wrists and about her neck there were many rings, and yet none seemed to make a sound as she moved. Four rings pierced her ears – a silver in each lobe and both a silver and a bronze in the arch of her left ear. Now lashed to her back with a dark leather fastening was a wooden staff, no more than two feet in length. But at each end there was a curved blade of a foot's extent at least. What possible meaning such outlandish things could have he did not even care to know. Prepared to think her ugly, he suddenly met her gaze.
What universe could thrive in such a vast well of sheer nothingness and yet such utter fulfillment? Lit by her eyes she seemed suddenly more beautiful than any of the brightest stars that had ever graced the darkened skies, and the strange names that she had listed to him seemed suddenly relevant in all of her intense gaze. He knew every one in her sight, for all thought was truly beyond him. What color were her eyes? Like the sky they were ever changing, ever evolving with her every thought.
It was then that she touched his hand, seeming frustrated that he could not conceive some notion that she was trying to express. In her skin there was all estrangement, all un-belonging that had ever coursed a living vein. He could feel it pulsing there with every beat of her heart, and with every beat of her heart becoming less – becoming more of his world. What feeling her alienation brought to him was so much to comprehend it seemed certain to burst the mind. What hidden truth lay just beneath her belying skin? For being touched by the surface of that great well, he knew that in the depths there waited some great awakening, so assailed by darkness and uncertainty that his own proud troubles found in her existence seemed suddenly alike to a coward's reason in slaying himself.
What danger and what peace could dwell at once together? What purity could grow as even darkness so pressed? What life could be so beautiful while blood stained its hands? What wicked intent could seem a jest and be nothing more? What soft word could strike more fear? What utter darkness could shed such light? What cold fire could consume all that delved too deeply into the endless arts of her eyes?
"Truly –" Glorfindel said then, but quickly was lost for all words. What word indeed did you say to such a strange and wonderful creature? Struggling for clarity he turned from her eyes, and was then overwhelmed with the remembrance of their peril. With his last remaining courtesy he let all emotion fall away once more to ask were she would go. But of course, any word that she spoke would be a lie, and he could not let himself wonder yet if he would be ever able to forgive himself for forcing her to do such a deed. And yet, she seemed to know his ploy, and quickly played along. Her soft laughter was like to the sound of rain strumming ancient bells. No matter what confusion she cast upon his mind, he could not simply leave her there while five of the nine still followed.
That moment, he later supposed, was his first lesson of the being named Caliasar. Ignoring his hand she swung astride behind him, speaking some odd word of being wary to ride. She seemed unworried by his mentionings of evil, and more amused that he would treat her as he would an elven woman.
"To where do we travel, did you say?" she seemed swift to forget her tale, though she quickly corrected her words. But he heard none of it, wondering what upset her sudden appearance would cause among the peoples of Middle-earth. His reply was immediate once jogged back into his present, no longer fearing her hunger for knowledge and clarity. But he was in no way prepared for her reaction to the word "elf." After the melodic list of words that she had lost upon him, Glorfindel could hardly understand how such a word would cause her such wonder.
But it would cause him by far more wonder still, for then this so entirely foreign creature uttered words that would set the minds of all elven-lords reeling with the growth of a thousand un-askable questions. Astride his horse, so near behind him, sat a being of endless wonders and so many faults, who thought that she was in the Undying Lands.
And yet, there was something else, and on its long-calloused scar he could not place a name. And at that moment, the sun broke the rim of the world, and in the endless succession of time it was day once more.
***
Recap: Short chapter, I know. But, as you can see, Glorfindel was simply confused about her sudden appearance, and he can tell that she doesn't belong there. Normally Caliasar would be able to notice this, but she can't. This world is too new to her, and she has yet to come to terms with the idea of meeting an elf. In her world, elves are only heard of in legends. But give her time – she is already starting to get the feel of the land in her, and you'll note that both can tell that she is being drawn into the reality of Middle-earth. Expect this reaction in its many variations. No, Glorfindel is not in love. In my opinion, elves are very easily moved by things that make them struggle to comprehend, or things that they don't expect. Just a notion for ya. Hope you liked it! Maybe now that ya know what she looks like we can get on with the story. -waves tiny flag- Yes, she has white hair. Not just colorless hair – white hair. Many Nahalain (her mother's people) do. Mwahaha.
*cough*Review*cough*