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The evening of your invitation to meet Thingol and his friends finally arrives, and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you read the quick note he gave you as you parted ways in Reykjavik a few days ago. You have been asking yourself if it was even real, but each time you do, you remember that the piece of paper folded up inside your passport with Thingol’s handwriting in it is not a figment of your imagination. You’ve taken it out a few times a day.
The time for the meetup arrives and you get a ride to the address Thingol wrote down for you on that paper. You arrive and see that it’s nothing more than a gate with a no-trespassing sign at the end of a long road, just outside of Borgarnes. The driver looks around and asks you if you’re absolutely sure this is the right place, and you say that it is. You tell him you will call him if you need a ride back into town. He shrugs and drives off, wishing you luck.
There is an old wooden bench next to the gate, and you sit down, waiting for something to happen. The landscape you see from the bench feels both alien and familiar all at once. As sunset nears, the sky gets more intense with shades of dusty blue and purple, and the land’s sharp features blur into an impressionist painting of earth, sea and sky crowned by the flaming western sun. You brought your journal with you, and you flip through your recent entries as you wait.
Over the last few days, you’ve returned to the entry you wrote on the day you arrived about 50 times. You’re still struggling to resolve what happend, and you secretly hope that nobody shows up. At least then you could write everything off (except for the note) as the product of an active imagination magnified by too much stress. But what you hope for - relief from the burden of having experienced something extraordinary - does not come. Instead, your burden arrives in the form of the same grey Duster that Thingol took you to Reykjavik in a few days ago.
You rise and walk toward the car - Thingol is driving and someone else is in the passenger seat. You assume you’ll just jump into the back seat and ride toward wherever it is he is going to take you, but instead, he motions to the bench again.
“You found the gate” he begins, “but we cannot allow you to know the way to our home.”
“That’s understandable. I’ll pull my sweater over my face”, you offer.
He shakes his head. “There’s a certain way we have to go about this - we sing a song to visitors before they come to our home. You will find it to be quite strange. Just listen...”
Before you have time to process what’s happening, he begins to sing a song that is almost chant-like, with repeating tones and alliteration. You’re quiet out of respect, trying to pick out words and phrases, but nothing sounds familiar. After the first round of the chant, you notice that your vision is tunneling.
“What’s going on,” you say, but he motions to you to be quiet as he repeats the chant. Soon, the world tilts, and your consciousness vanishes.
-----------
Your eyes open into a candlelit room with high, wood-paneled ceilings. You’re awake - you’re alive and unharmed - but you don’t know where you are and panic instantly erupts, making your heart pound against your ribs. Bad things sometimes happen to folks who get into vehicles with people they hardly know.
“Oh my god, where am I?”, you gasp in English as you sit up.. It takes a few seconds for the memory of what happened before you blacked out to filter into your panicked brain. You hear voices. Then you hear someone approaching from behind you. They have silver hair, but they are not Thingol… they appear to be a woman.
“What the….” you whisper to yourself as she approaches, sipping a glass of wine. The woman laughs heartily, almost snorting the wine up her nose.
“Elu, your friend is finally awake!” the woman says in Sindarin, giggling.
“It’s about time,” another voice says from behind. It’s a male-sounding voice, but it’s not Thingol.
“What the fuck-” you begin, but then you hear a familiar voice. It’s Thingol, and he’s laughing almost maniacally.
“I… I told you it would be strange,” he wheezes between belly laughs. “Here,” he continues, stepping into your line of sight, “Have a glass of wine, it’ll take the edge off.”
As Thingol almost shoves the glass of wine into your hand, the other elf with a male-sounding voice steps into the room. He has chestnut brown hair, silver eyes, and a kind smile.
“We receive you with grace!” he says enthusiastically, stepping forward with an extended hand. “I am Elrond, and this is my wife, Celebrían,” he announces as he points to the silver-haired woman.
“We are pleased to meet you,” she begins. “Obviously Old Grey-Cloak did not explain the arrival process to you well enough. He is sometimes a little bit… excitable.”
Your brain short circuits a little - if you wanted confirmation that you lost your mind, this seems to be it.
Your eyes dart around the room - first to Elrond, then to Celebrían, then to Thingol, then back to Celebrían.
“I think I’m sick,” you finally say.
Elrond’s expression changes into one of concern and he approaches. “Let’s see if you have a fever…” he trails off, putting a hand on your forehead. You recoil from his touch.
“No.. I think mentally… I think mentally something happened to me and you are not real,” you stammer. The hand holding your wine begins to tremble. Elrond takes the goblet and sets it on the coffee table in front of the couch, then turns to Thingol.
“Elu… you said she could handle this,” he says quietly. You look down at the floor.
There is a long silence as you continue to process what is happening. Then, Celebrían speaks.
“Let’s just have a glass of wine and get to know each other,” she says as she sits on the other side of the couch from you, and Thingol brings chairs for himself and Elrond into the room. “You don’t need to worry about who we are right now. You are among friends, and soon we will eat. Does that sound alright?,” she asks.
You look around at each of the elves in the room and understand that just as before, you can take the experience at face-value, or try to make an excuse for it. Then you remember the piece of paper in your passport - it is your proof that this is happening.
“I… I can handle that,” you say with a sharp exhale. Elrond moves a candelabra and the carafe of wine onto the table in front of the couch. The carafe is made from crystal, and the red-wine inside is illuminated by the candlelight, sending shards of ruby and gold across the table.
You watch the visual treasures dance in the flickering flames, letting their motion mesmerise you for a few moments before you speak again.
“... Are you really… How is this real? Are you real?”, you ask, reaching for the wine glass again. You are stumbling over your words
“Just as real as you are, child,” Celebrían says, raising an eyebrow.
“Are you the only ones here?”
Celebrían smiles. “No,” she says. “There are enough of us here to form a small community. But Elu, Elrond, and I share this house. Melian pays us a visit on occasion - well, mostly pays Elu a visit,” she continues, giving him a knowing look. Thingol smirks.
“Do you… do you live as everyday people, or do you keep to yourselves?”, you continue.
“That depends on the person,” Elrond replies. “Some of us have careers, working in different fields. Elu is studying at university in Reykjavik.”
“Do you two also go to university?”, you ask.
“I am the search-and-rescue director for this region, based out of the medical center in the small town you passed through to get here. I’m an emergency physician by training. Celebrían is a therapist and author. You may recognize her pen name,” Elrond says as he reaches behind Celebrían to a tall bookshelf loaded with various texts. He pulls out a worn paperback and hands it to you.
You recognize the work - it is the first in a series of best selling books about mental and emotional health - “ground-breaking” as stated in the glowing reviews you read before purchasing it for yourself back home.
“That’s… you?”, you stammer.
Celebrían smiles. “I wanted to share what I’ve learned over the years. The proceeds go to an international organization that focuses on mental wellbeing.”
“It’s such an honor to meet you,” you whisper. “I bought the first book… It really changed my life. I was so focused on pleasing others… it helped me find balance.”
Celebrían is beaming, and she tells you how much it means to her to hear that.
“I’m not surprised that you two work in the healing arts. I’m sure your patients are well taken care of.”
Elrond reaches for Celebrían’s hand and squeezes it. “It’s our honor to care for them,” he says. “They are precious to us.”
The scent of baking bread and something roasted is wafting through the room now, and your stomach growls audibly. Everyone laughs.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Thingol says as he rises, then makes his way to what appears to be the kitchen. You, Celebrían, and Elrond remain at the table.
“So… did you all know each other back in… back in the old days?”, you ask nervously.
“We actually met here,” Elrond replies. “Celebrían and I had already been here for some time, and Melian thought that since we have some things in common, it might be good for us to get to know eachother.”
The wine is beginning to slow your thinking and quicken your tongue. “Oh, what sorts of things do you have in common?”, you ask. “Spiritual journeys?”
“Spiritual journeys take many forms-,” Elrond begins, but Thingol cuts him off as he sticks his head in from the kitchen.
“Dinner takes many forms, too,” he teases, “And tonight, it takes the form of roast lamb and vegetables, and bread. Come to the table.”
“He’s been working on his sourdough skills and I can’t tell you how many loaves we’ve endured. If you don’t like it, please tell him. He needs to hear it from someone other than us,” Elrond says as he rises. There’s a twinkle in his eye, but there’s also something else.
You rise and enter the dining area. There is a long wooden table, and Elrond sets the candelabra in the center while Celebrían refills everyone’s wine glass from the carafe. Thingol is busy setting the food out on the table. You ask to use the restroom, and Celebrían shows you where to go. You enter it, lock the door, and look in the mirror.
You lock eyes with yourself for a long time, then you burst into tears. For once, this isn’t because you are upset with how you look or how your aging is starting to show. It’s because you are in the presence of the people you’ve loved (and feared, in Thingol’s case) since you became aware of their world when you were young. You wanted to be with them, and now you are, and you are at a complete loss for how to even think about this experience. You sit down on the toilet and place your head in your hands and cry for a few more minutes, then stand up, wash your face, and open the door. You can hear the three elves speaking amongst themselves, and you linger to listen. Music is now softly playing - it’s Björk singing jazz.
“... I think she’s a bit overwhelmed, Elu,” Elrond says as he adjusts the volume on the stereo. “Perhaps the deep conversations should wait until another time.”
“I agree,” Celebrían says. “Let’s ask her to stay over until tomorrow. If we give her some time to process things- if we give her some time to process us- maybe that would be best. Perhaps tonight we should just eat dinner, sing some songs, and keep things cheerful”.
You close the bathroom door behind you and quietly walk to the dining room, putting a smile on your face as you enter your hosts’ line of sight. Your face is still very red from crying, and you sit in your place next to Thingol.
“Are you alright?,” he asks as he passes you a plate.
“Yes… yes… I am fine. This is just a lot. You… you are all a lot to process. That’s not meant as an insult. It’s just frankly unfathomable to be in your presence…”, you manage to stammer.
Celebrían raises an eyebrow and turns to you.
“My friend, you seem to have forgotten that we’re just people. We bleed, we eat, and we shit,” she begins as Elrond starts to chuckle. “If you think we are divine, mythical beings, you’re wrong. All of us at this table,” she continues, pointing at the other Elves, “All of us are made of flesh and blood. Thingol is admittedly a little special since he got to see the Trees, but that just means he’s old.”
“Way too old,” Thingol snickers as he saws into the bread. Everyone - including you - laughs.
“The only thing that really differentiates between the three of us and you is Fate. But even in matters of fate, the four of us are more closely related than it may seem at first,” Celebrían says.
“How so?” you ask.
“I think you already know,” Thingol says under his breath.
“How would I know…” you begin, but you trail off as it dawns on you… “Choices”... you murmur as you answer your own question.
“Do you want to talk about mortality?” you ask. You’re oblivious to the growing discomfort in the room because you’re halfway through your second glass of wine on an empty stomach. You should know better than to try to keep up with the Elves.
“Perhaps we can discuss it after dinner,” Celebrían says, forcing a smile. “Dinner will get cold if we talk instead of eat, and I’m sure Elu would rather we enjoy his creation hot.”
Dinner is very delicious - the roast lamb and vegetables are cooked to perfection and go well with the wine, which is flowing freely at this point in the meal. The bread is sour - VERY sour - but you load it up with butter and cheese and tell Thingol you think he got the recipe right. Elrond and Celebrían groan. Thingol laughs and says he can tell you’re lying, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Elrond and Celebrían ask what your profession is and you tell them about your career. You’re proud of what you’ve accomplished, even if it isn’t something that’s celebrated on a world stage. You’re just happy you have a place to live and a career that has been relatively fruitful. They nod and say that your career sounds interesting, and that they know others who are in your profession.
Naturally, your thoughts drift toward the future - who you wish to become in this life and what you hope to accomplish in your career. Elrond, Celebrían, and Thingol take turns talking about big things they’ve done in their lives. These are Very Big Things, things of song and story that dwarf your comparatively mundane accomplishments. You listen for a time, then remark that lately you’ve just been trying to avoid a big Midlife Crisis, and that so far you’ve succeeded. Unexpectedly (or perhaps very expectedly), the Elves are suddenly very keen on knowing exactly what you are talking about.
“A midlife crisis? Do all of you go through it? What happens to you?”, Thingol asks. His voice is almost scientific as he lifts another slice of sourdough to his mouth. Celebrían begins to describe the phenomenon in clinical terms, and Elrond is silent. He’s known enough mortals and rescued enough patients in this phase of Mortal life that he knows exactly what you’re talking about.
“We have a Mortal here with us” Thingol says, cutting Celebrian off as he eyes you, “Maybe she’d like to explain it.”
I would NOT like to explain it, you tell yourself, but you do anyway. You take another sip of wine and begin.
“Mortals are aware that they will die almost from birth. When we are young, this knowledge is intellectual. At that time, a natural death from old age is so far off that we can’t really imagine it happening to us,” you begin. You notice that the room has gone very quiet - no one is moving, no one is trying to interject, and all of the attention is on you. You are trying to keep it brief, but Thingol urges you to continue.
“To add to that - our bodies usually don’t carry a lot of pain when we are very young. So for many of us, an existence that’s any different than that is merely theory,” you continue.
“But then things change…” Thingol says, trailing off with an expectant pause at the end.
Elrond’s eyes flicker at you before settling into his glass of wine again. You are unsure how to interpret this, so you continue, taking a sharp inhale to speak.
“Yes, Thingol, things change. We become aware of our mortality, and this has different effects on different people. Some of us don’t worry about it, and some of us worry a lot. For those who worry, sometimes they feel a need to re-assert themselves in various ways. They put more attention into their appearance, or they go out and buy a flashy car, or dye their hair, or get many tattoos, or completely change their lifestyle, or get a divorce… the list goes on. These are just some of the ways that people cope with the knowledge of their own mortality when it goes from an intellectual fact to a physical reality,” you say.
“And which are you? The worrier, or do you accept your fate gracefully?” Thingol asks.
“Well, you know the answer to that already,” you say slowly.
“But they don’t,” Thingol replies. He’s very insistent, and you can sense a different tone in his voice when he says this. You straighten in your chair.
Celebrían and Elrond look at you with an inquisitive expression on their face. “Please, continue,” Elrond finally says. “Do you accept your fate with grace?”
You know from your flight spent sitting next to Thingol that there’s only one way out of a conversation with elves who really want to know something, and that’s to just answer their questions.
“No,” you answer quietly. “I do not accept my fate with grace. I… I can’t accept it. There’s too much-” you continue, but you’re cut off by a sob that you did not expect. You take a deep breath and stare down as your cheeks burn.
“There’s too much to see, to know, to think about, to feel. One life-…” you trail off as an even larger sob wracks your body, “One life isn’t even close to enough. What am I supposed to do now that I see that there’s more time behind me than ahead? If this is the natural order of things, why is it so damned hard?”
Your sniffling is the only sound in the room for a long moment, besides the jazz that is providing a soft and moody accompaniment in the background. Then, Elrond meets your eyes as you look up.
“What do you think the three of us do, knowing that our years will never stop coming?”, he asks softly.
“I have no idea,” you reply as fresh sobbing erupts. Thingol shifts uncomfortably next to you.
“We LIVE! We simply live. You are alive now, are you not?” Elrond presses.
“Yes,” you sniffle.
“So… if you are alive, then LIVE.”
“But what about all of the things I want to do? How can I choose? How can I be happy?” you ask.
“Choose what you love most, and pursue it,” Celebrían adds, joining Elrond in the encouragement. “Do what brings you joy, or peace, or love, or satisfaction.”
“But I don’t want to die afterward!”, you wail. Fresh sobs erupt. Celebrían speaks again.
“No one does, but anything could happen at any time to any of us. Elrond could fall into a glacier during his next rescue mission and never be seen again. I could crash the car on the way to the clinic in Borgarnes. Some previously unknown volcanic system could erupt under our feet right now and swallow us all! There’s just no way to tell. So we all must live - that’s all we can do,” she soothes.
“Live…” you trail off, sniffling.
Before it fully dawns on you that you’re not the only one who has been sniffling, Thingol has grabbed the newly-filled carafe of wine and exited the dining area in a burst of silver hair and sobs. You hear a door slam shut, rattling the entire house. Before you can even ask what happened, Elrond is halfway to the door with Celebrían in tow. You stumble out after them.
In the moonlight, you see Thingol’s lanky silhouette sprint toward the beach then disappear behind a large rocky outcropping; Elrond follows him there. You hear the sound of the carafe being obliterated against the rocks and stop. Then, you hear their voices.
“No…” Elrond trails off, “...she LIVED, Elu. She lived and LOVED. That’s more than some of even the Firstborn could say…”
“He tricked her!!” Thingol screams.
“No, she CHOSE. You know she was happy,” Elrond says.
“You have NO IDEA… She followed him into… I tried to stop her… ” Thingol wails between sobs.
“ELU!”, Elrond says, “She was happy with her choice, as Arwen was. Did you really think a tree-house could contain true love?”
“That BASEBORN… ” Thingol growls.
“No, he was a good man…” Elrond interjects, cutting him off.
“It’s unfair… I’ll never see her again….” Thingol sobs.
“You don’t know that,” Elrond offers with a shaky voice.
Now there are two pairs of sobbing voices and hitching breaths. Your heart sinks - you feel like your presence as a mortal is making this all worse, even if Thingol was the one who pushed you into the conversation in the first place. You begin to cry again.
“This has been a very long time coming,” Celebrían says softly as she motions for you to follow her back to her house. “He’ll be okay. They just need to talk for a little while. Elu needs to work through his grief. This is the first time he’s really let it out.”
“I’m so sorry… I had no idea he was still processing it. On the plane, it sounded like he had come to terms with it,” you sob as you follow her back.
“He’s handling it very well, all things considered. He’s as stoic a person as you’ll ever meet in some respects, and the most fiery person you could encounter in others. Very few things have a middle-ground with him. All or nothing. But he’s still trying to make it make sense, though he is now realizing that it’s not for him to make sense of,” she explains softly.
“Not for him to make sense of…” you murmur as you wipe another tear from your eyes and step inside the house again. You and Celebrían make your way to the dining area. As you begin to clear the table, Celebrían opens a tall cabinet and begins searching through its contents. Finally, she removes an ornate wooden box.
“I think we’re all a little on edge tonight. I’ll make some tea. They’ll be back soon enough,” she says.
As she opens the box, the scent of its contents overwhelms you.
“What’s that? It smells so good,” you say as you sniff the air.
“Oh, it’s just something from home,” she replies. “Elrond grows it. By the way, there’s a room ready for you upstairs. We’d love it if you stayed another day or two.”
“Oh, I could stay at least one more night. I don’t have to leave for a few more days,” you say, then pause. “I hope I didn’t say something that brought up painful memories. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Nonsense,” Celebrían counters. “Thingol put you on the spot. He likely thought that your response would validate his feelings about Lúthien in some way. But Elrond… he’s been working with him. Or people have a near-inability to let go of things, even when they must fade and pass away because that is what the natural order of things dictates. And it doesn’t help that so few of our people have gone through the things he and Elrond and I have.”
“I can only imagine. Even I have a very difficult time saying goodbye,” you say.
“When Elrond came home, Arwen was not with him, and I was furious at both of them for a long time. I was happy that she married the love of her life, but so angry that she chose to fade away with her husband instead of coming home.
Once Elrond had been home for a few weeks, he handed me a letter that Arwen had asked him to give me after her wedding. It took me years to get the nerve up to read it, but when I did, my viewpoint changed. My anger was dispelled, but my grief still remains. But when I feel it well up, her memory reminds me to accept what I cannot change, and celebrate the fact that she lived the way she wanted to.
Elu never got a letter, and there was a lot of unresolved tension between his daughter and him. He was so angry that Lúthien would choose Beren over him, and he’s only now processing that part of his grief.”
The two of you continue to discuss this as the large kettle of water heats up on the stove. Celebrían sets out four cups, and then the door opens. Elrond and Thingol have returned.
“Our girls are probably dancing together somewhere…,” Thingol trails off, chuckling.
“No doubt they are,” Elrond muses as he turns the corner into the kitchen.
“Ah, perfect timing!” Celebrían says as she passes out cups of tea.
“You’ve been in Elrond’s herb box and are bringing out the good stuff,” Thingol says, sniffing.
“Rightfully so,” Elrond says. “We need it.”
“The good stuff?”, you ask. “What’s that?”
Elrond begins to recite a litany of detailed pharmacological facts about each constituent herb in the tea, but Thingol cuts him off.
“Oh, you’re about to find out. It doesn’t really do anything unusual to us, but to you Mortals… let me just advise you to pace yourself,” he says with that characteristic smirk that you’re so thankful to see again.
“Okay, but if I start tripping balls later, I’ll be the one making the tea the next time,” you giggle.
“If you trip WHAT?” Celebrían asks, barely containing her laughter.
You slowly realize that your Sindarin version of that phrase is absolutely scandalous and you begin to turn red and laugh with the rest of them. Elrond says he’s going to have to add that to his mental list of “hilarious linguistic blunders that Mortals make”. You tell him that you hope it takes first place, and he assures you that it definitley does.
Once you catch your breath, you explain that the expression - in your language - means “to get very high”. Elrond tells you you’ll be fine, brushing off Thingol’s comment.
You take a sip of the tea, and it is good. The flavor is almost indescribable - it tastes of crushed mint, and something else.
“Elrond… Celebrían… What exactly is this? It’s incredible,” you murmur as you stare into the purple brew.
“Oh,” Elrond begins, “it’s got a few special herbs from home. I may have accidentally taken a few seeds with me.”
“More like a few bags of seeds,” Celebrían interjects, rolling her eyes. Elrond doesn’t dispute this - he just shrugs.
“From home? From… Aman?”, you ask.
Elrond shrugs again. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you out to the greenhouse and show you some of the specialties I like to cultivate. Enjoy the tea… it’ll warm you up and take the edge off everything. Sometimes I take a thermos of this with me on rescue missions. It really helps when you’re stuck on the ice with a patient waiting for a helicopter.”
The four of you continue your conversations late into the evening. Thingol talks more about his studies, Elrond goes on and on about his herb garden, and Celebrían talks about some upcoming lectures she will give in Europe. You simply say that you’re so very happy to be among friends, and that you hope that this isn’t the last time you meet. All of the elves assure you that it won’t be.
After a while you can tell that the tea is doing its job, and the time comes to head upstairs and go to bed. Celebrían shows you to your room and Elrond pops in with a glass of water, setting it on the bedstand. The two of them bid you goodnight, and then you’re alone. This time, you don’t try to process the last few hours - you simply let them be as they were. You finally feel okay about your life, and that is more than enough for you right now. You wash your face, then settle into bed saying a silent thank you to whatever force of nature has allowed you this fascinating experience.
Then, you drift off to sleep in the house of your favorite elves in beautiful, emotional, magical Iceland.