It has now been some days since I was in the House of Elrond, having been sent there on an errand by my allies in Esteldín. I confess that I was afraid, for never before had I met so many of the Fair Folk, nor stayed in their halls. Sire Angild would on occasion trade with the Fair Folk of the Greenwood, but seldom, and never did I accompany him to those far distant borders.
However, my fear was also tempered, both by the reassurances of the Rangers in Esteldín, but also by what I myself have heard. Even in Dale, the hospitality and kindness of the Lord Elrond is known, and spoken of as truth.
Nonetheless, it was with apprehension that I approached the strange and winding roads leading to Imladris, as the Fair Folk call it - but as I rode into the final valley, a strange joyful calm descended upon me, such as I have not felt before.
And now I have done what tales oft cautioned me against. I have eaten the food of the Fair Folk, and drunk their drink. I have tarried in their chambers and heard their songs, and spoken long with them in counsel, in mirth, and in anger. And I have emerged unscathed - or at least, I believe that I have done so.
Though even now, sometimes, I doubt even that.
So now, having had some time to sit and think after my departure from Elrond’s halls, I find myself at last able to set down my impressions of the Fair Folk.
I will say firstly that much of what I have heard said of the Fair Folk is, kindly put, an error. They are most certainly other than us, but yet they be not wholly sundered. They eat, they drink, they make merry and they enjoy beauty and craft - their culture and habits are other, but little more so than any two nations of Men may be sundered.
Indeed, the Fair Folk are like us - but more. More intense, more joyous, more sorrowful, more easily moved and more unfailingly somber. It is so that the Fair Folk live far longer than the mortal races, and I cannot understand how that be so, for so intense are they that I would readily guess they burn all the faster.
Yet perhaps therein lies the answer to my own riddle - perhaps the Fair Folk live more, as they do all else, and remain, unchanged, as the long roll of years passes them by. Then, my fear might be that instead of themselves being consumed by their lives, the Fair Folk may consume all the rest of the world - the dwellers in Elrond’s halls spoke of wearying and fading, but I saw no such signs, and if these be wearied Elves, I should dread to see them in their youth. Mayhap, again, there lies the answer to my own question - maybe they weary because they must, because if they did not then either they or the world would give way.
Indeed, the Fair Folk be so near us that it be hard to set aside what separates them, beyond this lively fervour. Many of them are arrogant and cold, yet still others are cheerful and lively. I will say that, perhaps, they seem less changing and surer than many Men. Not that I believe them to be fixed in their views, manners or ways either - but there is a certainty about them, as if once set on a course of action or determined to present in a certain manner, they be not easily dissuaded. A Man is easily swayed from fair mood to foul, and even the most stubborn of Men retain a fear that they be proven wrong. The Fair Folk feel far less changeable, or willing to change. This may be due to little more than their own longevity, but I think not - it is a part of their nature, in a way I cannot fully explain.
Strangest of all, though, there is indeed a magic about the Fair Folk, a bewildering and dangerous magic. Not of the type that we dreamt of as children - I saw no summoned bursts of lightning, no illusions, no transformations. Neither did I feel that I was enchanted or bewitched, as the elder folk would have one believe.
Or, at least, say not that the Fair Folk themselves bewitched me. Say, rather, that I was bewitched by them. It may feel a meaningless distinction, I will try and explain.
While I was in Elrond’s halls, I sat long hours in the Hall of Fire, a room of gathering and of company that he keeps. And it was so that, while there, I felt myself become changed, in some small way. More Elf-like, perhaps.
Every sorrow and every joy that I perceived I perceived clearer than ever before, and remained so long dwelling upon them that I wondered if perhaps a week had passed without my knowing. I sang a little, though I know not what I sang, or how I came to be singing at all.
The company kept was wondrously diverse, I met with a Dwarf of great friendliness, and believe I spotted a waitress of Bree, though I cannot imagine what business she may have been attending. There were also some other Men, one or two of whom I have met passingly before - but of course, the greater part of the company was the Fair Folk.
As I said, there be little enough to mark them as being distinct from us, they are not supernatural or alien creatures. Or, at least, they may be so in a far subtler, far stranger way. For I found myself rising to them, meeting them in turn despite myself. With some, I shared in their wonder and their joy, and with others, their fears and their griefs. With one, an elder whose name I know not, though she seems to be a healer of repute and rank, I even dropped my manners and addressed her with discourtesy, as she had to me.
I, address a stranger with discourtesy! And one of the Fair Folk! I still can scarcely believe it, yet it was so. I have wondered over these past days whether I regret it, and have nearly come to decide that I do several times - but perhaps the mighty and subtle powers of Rivendell stay within me, for always I decide I do not.
Indeed, I do not doubt that she did not realise the extent of her own rudeness in her speech with me, for I was of little consequence to her. Perhaps, then, I would have been better served to allow it to rest, to do as I originally did and leave her company. But nay!, for what purpose does courtesy serve? It is a question I have seldom pondered, but surely it be to show one’s consideration and regard for the well-being and comfort of those around? A regard she had little patience for, and in doing so wounded me deeply. So nay - my words to her were likely unwise, and perhaps unjust. But I regret them not, for they were most certainly not unearned.
And this then, this is the magic of the Fair Folk. Not in sorcerous displays or enchanting falsehoods, but in how they may move and change a man. For changed I think I be - or perhaps, not changed. I am the same as I ever was, but mayhap a little more so. A little stronger in resolve and faster in thought, more wrathful and more merry. It is a strange change and perhaps not for ill. But still I find myself wary of it.
I must return soon to Elrond’s halls, and I will not shy away from it. But also will I not tarry there overly long, for it is mighty perilous to one such as I, and the Fair Folk that dwell there be perilous in turn. Not dangerous as once I may have dreamed, nay. The perils of the Fair Folk are far less harmful, and far more powerful for it.
