"You know, Elrond, this afternoon walk and wine thing we've got going on is great. We really should make a habit of this," I said to him as we sat on the balcony adjoining his study, sipping wine and playing a game of checkers in the lazy afternoon sun.
"We have made a habit of this, Rhodri," Elrond reminded me as he jumped one of his red pieces over my black one. "We've been making a habit of it for the last year. You've even named it 'Happy Hour.'"
"I know," I said casually. "I was just checking you were paying attention."
Elrond laughed and shook his head. He was a curious sort. The process of getting to know him was reminiscent of mapping out an iceberg: the deeper I got, the more I realised I had yet to learn about him. It left me feeling distinctly shallow in comparison until I reminded myself that he was about 55 times my age.
My afternoons with Elrond were unfailingly delightful. I have always been the perpetually impulsive, ecstatic jumping bean of my friends, and often attract similarly loud and energetic folks (cases in point: Bregedúr and Glorfindel). I find, however, that I nurse a particularly soft spot for the quiet, cautious, introverted people in my life. Whether this is a case of opposite personalities complementing each other beautifully, the fascination of novelty, or perhaps even some desire to emulate these mature traits, I was not sure.
What I did know was that we both left Happy Hour the better for it. Elrond came out making progressively sillier jokes, his smiles were broader, and he seemed more optimistic. I would emerge relaxed, less easy to startle, and more able to enjoy the moment. We did each other good, and were open with each other about how we valued our friendship.
Our hours on the balcony were spent swapping stories, news, and opinions, making observations, and teaching each other what we could. On this particular day, we had lapsed into a small silence as we focused on the game. But then we finished (Elrond having won, of course), and the silence continued.
"Is something the matter, Elrond?" I asked as we packed up the checkers game. "You've been impressively quiet this afternoon, outdoing even your usual standard of reticence."
"Rhodri, could I ask you something?"
"You can ask me anything you like," I replied.
"But I want you to answer me as my friend, not as a psychologist," he added.
"Sure. What's on your mind?"
"How am I?"
I looked at him blankly. That was a very open-ended question that had a lot of possible interpretations.
"What sort of an answer do you want?" I asked after a moment.
"Well, an honest one that's tactfully put, if possible. But in terms of details, I want to know how you think I am faring in life."
"Am I really the one to tell you that, Elrond? Our ideas of success and fulfilment might not align, and so my answer might either make you complacent when you do not wish to be, or unnecessarily make you feel lacking when you are not."
"That is a risk I am willing to take," he replied serenely.
I was in a slightly difficult position here. He did not wish to be psychoanalysed, which is fair, but he was asking someone who gave psychiatric help for a living to give an informal assessment of him. He had not come to me in my professional capacity as yet, and so I had not ever formally assessed him, but I had a feeling he had a fear of abandonment which impacted his life now somewhat. I had mentioned it to him only in passing, and he brushed it off, which was probably why he only wanted the opinion of a friend and not a therapist: Elrond wasn't ready yet.
There's not much that you can do to help someone unless they want to help themselves, and that's one of the biggest guarantees for any psychological intervention. You have to want to change, and also be willing to put in the work to get there. I had a gut feeling that he would, at some point, come to me in my professional capacity, too, but that was a long way off.
For today, I decided I would stick to agony aunt sort of topics, like relationships, motivation, hobbies, and money. Instead of being the psych, I would simply be that friend who 'has seen quite some shit.'
I sighed and thought about his question for a moment. "Very well, I will answer, but you must keep in mind that I am a fraction of your age, so my answer could be inaccurate."
"You act nothing like your age. Please proceed if you wish to," he made a polite gesture inviting me to speak.
"Well, Elrond, you have had an extremely difficult start in life," I began. "Being born into an active war zone is not enviable in the least, and it cost you your mother and father, the rest of your family, and your home."
I looked up at him, aching a little on his behalf. That loss was a feeling I knew all too well, and the kind smile he gave me only made the pain worse. Such a good person, put into such awful circumstances. I drew a deep breath, and kept talking.
"And then there was the loss of Maglor on top of that, who, though he had expressed contrition over his oath to his father, was, at the end of the day, still partly responsible for the horrors that befell you and Elros in Valinor."
"I also cannot imagine what it is like to lose a twin, even though you would have had some yén to prepare for it. Hearing Elros choose mortality like that must have been… well, crushing, really. And then, after all that hardship, you go on to fight under Gil-Galad and rise to the very top, second only to him in authority. That's an incredible effort." I nodded for emphasis.
"And now, here we sit, some few yén later, on a balcony in your own established settlement of Imladris. Such a turnaround in circumstance is something most of us could only dream of, I think. You are an exceptional healer. I cannot fault how you run the place; you lead with grace and wisdom, and on top of it all, you have a sterling character. Unswervingly kind and generous, loyal, and well-intentioned. You're loved by many, respected by even more. So ostensibly, you're faring very well."
Elrond was staring at the closed-up checkers board, and seemed to be rather deep in thought with what I had just said, and started to say, "Hmm-" when I gently raised my hand to interrupt him.
"However," I said.
He looked up and politely awaited my next monologue.
"I have had this impression for some time that you're not wholly content with things as they are now, which changes the answer somewhat."
He raised his eyebrows, and then lowered them again.
"Mmm," was all he said, nodding briefly.
"And look, it's perfectly fine—within reason, of course—to desire change. It's often the impetus for personal growth. But I get the feeling you think something is missing from your life. So, as a friend, I'd still say you're faring well, but you haven't quite reached where you want to be yet, and that has some small impact on your mood, bearing, maybe your manner a little as well."
My friend sighed, and turned his gaze to the setting sun.
"How did my answer line up with the answer you would have given?" I asked him.
Elrond hummed for a moment under his breath and, still not making eye contact, spoke.
"It was rather the same as mine," he said quietly. "I hoped it would be. To be frank with you, Rhodri, I feel very guilty for not being wholly content with life as it is now."
"Why is that?" I asked. "I suppose this goes beyond the usual sort of distress that comes with an impending war with Mordor, does it?"
Elrond looked at me, a little surprised that I had been so blunt about the topic everyone in Rivendell had been studiously avoiding. "Well, when you put it like that, I suppose so."
"Hey," I said, pointing at him affably, "You wanted me in friend mode, not psychologist mode. That means unsolicited, personal opinions, a distinct lack of sugar coating, the occasional expletive, and deep and abiding affection." I smiled sweetly. Elrond, bless him, took this in his stride and nodded. I saw fit to continue.
"Do you think you are greedy to want more than what you have presently?"
He nodded, and said nothing further. Getting information out of an upset Elrond, as I had had to do more than once this year, was like getting blood out of a stone. Not because he didn't want to talk, but because he wanted proof that the person had been listening and paying attention to him before he divulged anything personal. I knew this, and he knew I knew it, though we did not speak it. It had created an unspoken social ritual between us in which I did the digging and he made the information readily available for extraction, and then I would share my inferences and set the scene. If I had done it correctly, Elrond would typically crack, and finally open up. It was time for my implicitly solicited opinion.
"If I may, I would like to elaborate on the last part of my answer to your question," I said, preparing myself for the improvisation and attempted mind-reading I was about to undertake.
Elrond was polite enough to feign pleasant surprise at this request. He nodded and made an inviting gesture, holding his wine in his hand in an attempt to make himself look busy as I got started.
"I think the missing part is a family, friendo," I said gently. "It was taken away from you, bit by bit, and I don't doubt you must feel lonesome at times. You can be surrounded by beloved friends—best friends, even, but they do not necessarily become so intimately involved in day-to-day life as immediate family- parents and siblings while growing up, and then later on, if one desires it, a spouse and children."
"It's not for everyone, of course," I added quickly. "Some like to live alone; others prefer to live with friends. We are all different. But I think you are a steady, affectionate sort of person who enjoys the quiet home life, and, if you wanted it, you would be an excellent husband and father. So, Elrond, how did I go in my guess?"
Elrond drained the last drops of wine in his glass and set it on the table.
"Do you know," he said quietly, "I think that is precisely what it is. I see people all day, and yet I feel lonely—no offence meant to your company, of course," he added quickly, putting up a hand.
"A friend is not the same as a spouse, Elrond, not even a best friend," I said, waving his pre-apology away calmly. "If you started wanting all of us to marry you, then I would have to take issue."
Elrond giggled a little. "So I am not greedy for not feeling entirely content yet?"
"Well, look," I said plainly to him, "had you said this to me when you were a teenager, or a young adult of 20 or 25, I would have told you—as friends do—to take your head out of your arse and start finding meaning in life that goes beyond your relationships. But you know, you're over 1700 years old, now, so from what I've seen, if you've come this far, you've done an absolutely cracking job of finding meaning in life outside of personal relationships. You're allowed to want a family."
"A family," he echoed in a whisper as his eyes shone just for a moment. I don't doubt that in that moment, he saw himself as a delighted parent and spouse in his mind's eye.
"I think I would love to have a family," he murmured, half to himself, half to me. Aha. That was it. He'd opened up.
After admitting this, Elrond appeared slightly more mollified, and looked out at the sunset as though he were actually observing it this time, not just attempting to seem occupied to get out of making eye contact.
"It'll be okay, you know, El," I said. "The right person will turn up at some point. In the meantime, it'll go easier if you spend your energies on making yourself and your life as wonderful as can be until they arrive, like preparing a house for guests. It'll make you happier as an individual while you wait, and when the person arrives in your life, you'll have more to enjoy together. Whenever you get lonely, I want you to tell yourself this: the best is yet to come. Say it again and again until you feel better. And look, tell you what, I'll keep half an eye out for any eligible singles on your behalf as well, hey? Four eyes are better than two," I grinned.
"Rhodri: psychologist and matchmaker," Elrond laughingly mused. "Very well, I gratefully accept any services you might offer."
We sat there in a much more comfortable, amiable silence after that, watching the sky dim as the sun sank out of sight and the opportunistic stars crept into view.
"It is an excellent thing," he remarked to me, "having friends with special skills, like you with your psychology. They can assist more readily in that issue than one's other friends, and one can assist them in turn with one's own skill better than others might. Very beneficial, really."
"Mmm," I said in happy, inarticulate agreement, bringing my wine glass to my lips to enjoy the last mouthful.
He sat there for a second, considering his own words, and then said contentedly, "The joys of friends with benefits."
I suddenly started choking on my wine. Elrond never found out why.
