Chapter 7: The Great Wheel
Sorry I took so long with this chapter, but report cards had me doing extra work and my Language Arts teacher wanted me to read this book… Anyway, now here is where I have to do some adjusting. Frodo is supposed to be out cold for four nights and wake up on the fourth day. That I can deal with. But Frodo was also supposed to go to his feast that night, but I moved it back about two days, saying that he was still too weak. Hey, I have my liberties. Then I made all of the elves who would be summoned to the council come on that first extra day, and the dwarves come on that second extra day. Boromir will come the next day (the day after the feast). The night when all the dwarves come is when the feast takes place. Poor Boromir has to miss it. And then I moved the council back a day. Sorry again, but it had to be done! They're there for months, so a few shifted days won't hurt too much.
***
Glorfindel knocked on the great wooden door and received no reply. If she was sleeping, then he was no elf but a fool indeed. He pushed the door open enough to step in, and found that he was correct. She sat upon the bed with her slender legs crossed beneath her, those perilous eyes trained away from the confines of the chamber to watch the world bellow from which she had been separated. The sight brought a falcon to his mind, chained to a post with eyes bright, wings unclipped but having given up all hope of escape long before. How long would it be before the eyes dulled too, no longer seeking freedom when certain that it would never be attained, but drawn inward with no further regard to life? But no, she would not break with slow bending. It would be a snap, loud and swift, and she would lunge at that chain until it broke or until she lay dead. But freedom – no, of the many things that she was willing to give, her freedom was not of that list. And if she wished it not given, no one could take it from her for long.
The elven-maids had clothed her in a dress of flowing white, and it seemed far too bright for her fair darkness. She had tied her hair into a loose braid, but with its jagged lengths and sheer abundance most had escaped to flow gracefully over her broad shoulders once more. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her eyes seeing beyond that world unto what paths he did not know. She seemed a dangerous creature there, like a snake basking in the shadows, as if nothing before her was worth even the threaten of a strike.
But strangest of all was that the room, then drawn toward the eve, was golden-lit with the dance of intoxicating fire, gathered about her like a congregation swarming to the feet of a mountain carved to the motionless beauty of some wintry fae. Candles by the dozen let their light sway as one, all sizes and shapes in which they came merging into one great and brilliant half-light, swathing the room with a cloak of mysterious, miraculous, alluring intensity of power more pure and more dark than the powers of man and elf combined. It rested over her and yet about her it flowed like a sighing stream, the tributary of some far greater course. But it could no longer find the paths through which it should flee ocean-bound, and there welled at her feet.
The flames licked the air, their warmth drifting up in a soft blaze as he stepped into the room, and at once he felt as if he had disturbed some great dance, as if he'd stayed the weaving of a pattern bearing the futures of all, and that this disturbance would forever mar that perilous tapestry with a knot, a snag, a stitch hardly visible to the eye. And yet, it would change the course of the weaving forever. Each step we take rewrites the course of our future. Each hand lain at the loom will change the pattern of its weaving. Each disturbance in the lines of time will make it change, and it is to the nature of the one who weaves whether it be a blemish or a stitch of beauty, but all shall be beauty once it is added at last to the greatest tapestry of all.
Glorfindel blinked and found that she had turned to him, her eyes restored in bright vastness, a smile lingering on her lips though it seemed the frown of one whose life was a tapestry blemished more my blood and tears. His was a welcome stitch of beauty, and she closed her eyes once more as he stood amazed.
You speak words of silent thought? He asked her then without voice, but she did not stir, and he heard nothing further but the growing melodies of night. The power ebbed away as its work was lain aside for another time, and with more awareness he noted the chill that had crept into the autumn air. Winter was not so far as the mind allowed one to wish. But the dancing fairy lights of the candles flickered their warmth about still and flared as a breeze caressed their flames as a living hand could not. Of this she was jealous, and though the thought had never come to him before, Glorfindel realized that he was as well.
"You take pleasure in the light of moon and sun and star alike, but now I see fire also brings you peace. How did you light them all, and why did you not sooner call?" he asked when words spoken seemed to become sufferable once more.
She nodded deftly to a bear space on the floor were there lay a small disk with three curved blades and beside it a small stone. "The candles were about. The stone was loose in the baths. The blade is mine. Fire does not bring me peace, but in candles there is light and warmth and woven mystery. It lets me to think less of cages and more of those few days in which my life has permitted me contentment." Then seeming to wake from a lingering dream she smiled. "Hello, Glorfindel. I did not know I was to call." Once again he wondered what fair language dwelled behind her fairer accent.
Avoiding many candles as he stepped the elf-lord came to set a great basket on the table by her bed, and in it were many fruits and breads and a flask of clear water. He could not help but think how hungry she must have been, and yet she had said nothing of it through all of their journey together. They had offered her food as they ate, but she had refused, saying that if she ate anything at all she would be hungrier for it and be forced to pick off hobbits by the pair. She had also refused any drink from Glorfindel's leather flask, then saying nothing but shaking her head slightly as if he could have not a single clue as to why such would not be a good idea.
Taking an apple blushed with hues of both red and green in the cup of her palm she encircled it with her long fingers and made a low noise in her throat like the beginnings of laughter. "For me?" Caliasar cocked a brow and glanced up at him wryly. "You are too kind."
She bit into the soft rind, waiting for no answer to eat. He watched her for a moment, not yet assured that she was well. Glancing up once more she shook her head and wiped a trail of juice away from her chin. "I am fine, Glorfindel. It was only a dream. I feel much recovered now."
The elf could not help but laugh. "I will believe you, for no ill creature could ever eat so swiftly, indeed, you eat like a hobbit."
"No," she smiled and quickly swallowed, "hobbits eat like this everyday, and at least four times a day. I have not eaten for a month." She glanced up at the ceiling as if counting in her head. "A week. But it felt a month and a day. I have a right to eat like a hobbit."
"I grant you that. If you are in need of anything more, you need only send for me. I am sorry that you must be confined to this room, but until Elrond has had audience with you it is for the best. But he is busy tending to Frodo at the present, and he will come as soon as he may."
"As it should be," she returned. "He is well?"
"I do not yet know. But I doubt very much that he is as well as you." The jest was unheeded and Caliasar blanched, if any but an elf could tell, and he wondered what she could have possibly thought as she looked at his face and pondered his unsmiling concern.
But not long after Glorfindel had gone with his many words of comfort, Caliasar threw herself across the bed and lay staring at the ceiling beams very ill at ease. Thoughts ran their silent course, and as the night neared full she found herself at last with drifting thoughts of nothing, her eyes roving the shadowed features of the chamber anew, watching candles begin to sputter and die. And outside she could hear the first faint whispers of clear singing voices, rising with words unknown.
Suddenly an object shrouded in the darkness not far inside the door caught her attention. Staring for a moment she let her resting muscles make their protests to remain, but in the end they were overcome by her curiosity and she rose. Gathering candles as she went Caliasar could tell clearly that it was a satchel – perhaps Glorfindel had dropped it, which was indeed an amusing thought. If an elf had ever dropped anything, he certainly wouldn't forget about it.
Setting the candles up once more and taking a deep breath of their dying vapors she glanced about to find any that she might have forgotten and found none. That left the mysterious bag to be explored, and the very thought brought her breath to silence and her feet to stealth. Grasping it by the long strap she lifted it carefully up and crawled once more onto the bed. Lifting the fastenings and throwing back the flap she let her brows raise and jaw drop without notice or care. In it there was a book of blank pages bound in soft brown leather, and also a sleeve of loose parchment that was larger and stronger in make.
But first of all her fingers closed about a thin wooden box, made smooth with age and speaking of ancient libraries and inks long ago used. Opening it she found several good quills and three wells of ink, but also there were many small bottles filled with colors, some vibrant and others dark, glowing in so many hues that she could never have known all of their names. Resting on top of all there was a small slip of parchment, reading simply: The colors will come. It was signed Glorfindel with many a flourish, in a hand both flowing and bold.
She sighed deeply, holding the paper up to what was left of the light. One could tell much of a person simply by the writing of his hand. He would have been far better to have excluded the note altogether if he thought of besting her. There was a falter in the flourishes beneath his name, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was writing a note and not a letter. But he had continued, seeming to think it no harm among friends. Placing the note carefully within the box once more she took a quill and dipped it adroitly into the ink, gasping a piece of parchment and scrawling the word Glorfindel across the corner in her own fair hand.
The hours grew, and as morning threatened upon the eaves of the world she silently settled the quill back again and lidded the well. Her fingers were laced with ink, and as she placed the parchment back into the sleeve her fingerprints could clearly be marked. But the proud face of the elf who had taken shape upon it did not seem to mind.
***
Morning dawned pale and grew to vibrance and beauty. The world still turned about Caliasar, as if she were the hub of a great wheel. Ever she turned with the spokes, watching them pass, swinging by with sighing steps, but she could not leave to join them in their journeying paths. She was drawn with them wherever they chose, and was becoming dizzy of their endless circuits about her. But just as a wheel's hub, she could not leave for the spokes clasped her to them, and only through their breaking could she be free. So far her wheel was fair, and she would tolerate it so long as she must.
The days after brought many things much the same as those before. New elven-maids were summoned and brought with them what food they would and another shift much the same as that which she had worn before it. Caliasar was forced to leave her ornaments in the wrap of her old garments, as the constant change of clothing would have been too much a bother for them all. The new air that touched her long-hidden skin was harsh at first and cold, but soon she had become used to it, though the marks of her arm rings had not gone away. Still she wore the Flower of Lyonthel about her throat, but nothing else of her past adorned her now save the vast vigilance of her eyes.
Many names were given to her it seemed, but she took little heed and heard little of the elvish words that flowed about her. But as for the names of other people that she was entrusted with, there were few. An elf to whom Glorfindel gave the name Erestor had come once, and the two had spoken softly in their tongue as she spoke to another. His callings were many as well, but to her he was to be known as Gandalf. He was not an elf, but of all things a wizard (to this she had laughed long until she realized that they had been serious), and it seemed odd to see a man so wizened and gray among the eternal youth of the elves. His questions were few and vague as if he did not know what to ask, and she had found in her boredom a way to make them all leave laughing as well, sooner, as she had hoped. The interrogation could wait until it mattered. She could hear the elves sing and laugh far below her in the open world, and no matter how beautiful their voices were it always seemed as if they mocked her.
But not all of her visitors were of that kind. Glorfindel came every so many hours to look upon her, seeming to think, being the one who had brought her there, that she was of his charge. The hobbits Merry and Pippin came often, but Sam would not leave Frodo's side. They would talk for hours, telling her stories and receiving the occasional story in return. They always ate before they came, for Caliasar did not keep much food at hand (only a few bowls of fruit, a few loaves of bread, a bit of honey and a few flagons of water), and all the great amount of eating they did while in her company they called "filling up the corners." She seemed not to hold much with meat, eating only a bit of white bird flesh or fish every now and then when it was given to her.
Aragorn would come also sometimes, sitting in a corner and smoking a pipe as he listened to their tale-weaving and games. Glorfindel would stay to listen at times as well, and they would share a glance every now and then as if speaking without words. The two never did seemed to find an end to her ability to have them feel both amused and amazed. She was introduced to an elf named Arwen of whom Aragorn seemed to be very fond, and though Caliasar found her rather distant they became friendly enough to at least enjoy each other's company for the time in which the unusually dark elf had been present. Other than that she was not given the name of any elf who waited upon her, all of them seeming to feel a touch uncomfortable when about. She hadn't felt like such a burden for many years, and couldn't help but pine as her eyes found the world before the balcony once more.
***
On the fourth day of her captivity, however, Glorfindel came into the room with more than his usual soft amusement. He glanced with a raised brow at the hobbits where they sat at the foot of Caliasar's bed, eating a few pieces of fruit as they told her of some event from their beloved Shire. He then glanced at her, and she returned his smile almost curiously.
"Frodo has awakened, though he is still weak. Elrond was able to find the shard that was still within the wound, and he has begun to recover. Your friend should be as well as he may become, inside of a few days."
The hobbits were overjoyed, jumping up at once to go and see their friend. Caliasar watched them leave and sighed. "I am glad that your lord was able to save him."
"As am I. But also this means that Elrond will see to you soon," he smiled, watching her face light with his words, "though what we are to do with you I am not certain."
She smiled, leaning back against the headboard. She had been told that Elrond had seen to her when first she came, but being unconscious at the time she did not remember it. Uncertain as to whether she should be worried or rejoicing, she sighed once more.
"Will I be trapped within this room forever, if he does not receive what answers he wishes? Even I do not know all such things."
Glorfindel seemed taken aback by her distress. "I do not doubt that he will find in you enough trust to let you be free to wander through Rivendell. But what he might decide is to be done after I have told you I cannot say."
"Then it must be enough for now," she waved her hand submissively. "Perhaps I will find some peace in being permitted the use of my feet once more."
Glorfindel sighed and turned to go. What indeed were they to do with her? Though he knew not why, the elf-lord shivered at the thought.
***
Recap: Here I think you can better see the competition that Glorfindel and Cali are carrying on. It's not really orthodox, but it is a competition of some sort. You can also see that she is pretty powerful, probably in the same way that Glorfy is, because a person can feel it whenever she's just sitting and thinking. Then there's a lot of fluff that I'd wrote in about ten minutes like a month ago. It isn't very good, and I might rewrite it someday, but I'm too drained to worry about it now. The next chapter might take a while too, because it has the "Cali Council" in it and I'm still not certain how the story should go from here. -sigh- And please tell me if I got the timing thing wrong. I don't think I'm thinking straight tonight.