Arwen was a lioness.
Her brothers were as night and day: Elladan the badger, Elrohir the eagle. When Arwen received a letter by owl, when she left home on a black-and-red train, they asked which brother she would become, and her answer was "neither one."
Arwen was not a badger; she was not an eagle. She considered being a snake, but she chose to be a lioness.
It was easy to forget, if Arwen let you. She never did.
oOoOoOo
In another world, a man named John Tolkien told of an epic quest to save a world, to defeat an evil, and Arwen was mentioned twice. The man who suggested giving the Ring to Tom Bombadil was spoken of more than the woman who fought for the life she wanted so hard she died for it.
But Arwen was never John Tolkien's story to tell.
oOoOoOo
She was eleven, and messages in red were written in the hallways, warnings to the defiant. Finwion was an ancient Wizarding name, but Arwen still held her book bag close to her body; there was a letter opener in it, sharper than her father knew when he gave it to her.
She was twelve, and Dementors surrounded the castle, and she had lost her mother (to Orcs in one world and to former Death Eaters in this one, to sailing and to suicide). Arwen's Patronus took the shape of a swan, graceful and deadly, and the Dementors bothered her once but they did not bother her twice.
She was thirteen, and there was a tournament, and a boy had died. They said that Harry Potter was lying, but Arwen held her wand tight and kept a switchblade in the pocket of her robe. Maybe they were correct, but maybe they weren't.
She was fourteen, and a woman from the Ministry took over their school and did not teach them. Two of Arwen's dormmates joined an army; Arwen joined her brothers in the library, where she found innocent charms that could be bent to less innocent uses, and Elrohir complimented her creativity even as the invader in pink condemned it.
She was fifteen, and the Headmaster's arm was burnt to a crisp, and then Dumbledore was dead. Arwen used those innocent spells — a potato-peeling charm works just as well on human skin — and defended the first-years in the Gryffindor common room as fiercely as any lioness would defend her cubs.
She was sixteen, and detentions left scars, and in class they were taught how to dominate, how to torture. Arwen told nice under the Imperius to go to sleep, and when forced to cast the Cruciatus she cast it at empty air.
She was seventeen in a world that was still rebuilding itself, and Arwen helped reconstruct castle walls, helped rebuild shattered hearts.
She was far more than a tale for the appendices.
oOoOoOo
When she was fourteen, in this world just as in the other, there was a boy. A halfblood boy, and a lion, a year younger than Arwen.
Aragorn Elessar was his name, and he was noble and good. He died for it, when she was sixteen and he was only fifteen, on the stones of the castle that should have protected him, in a war that should never have come to Hogwarts.
Arwen did not die with him, in this world. She lived, and bravely.
It was never Aragorn that made her a lioness.
oOoOoOo
In every world, Arwen Evenstar loved things that were not noble boys.
She loved the view from the Astronomy tower, where she could look over Hogwarts and see for miles beyond.
She loved the feel of flying, of a hippogriff beneath her, the wind on her face and the sky around her.
She loved the world and all it held, and she loved it with all her heart.
oOoOoOo
Tauriel was a lioness.
Her friend, her almost-brother, was sunlight and the hope of dawn. He became a badger, and expected her to go with him. She refused to be the sunset.
Tauriel was not a badger. She could have been an eagle, but she chose to be a lioness.
She made very certain that nobody ever forgot it.
oOoOoOo
In another world, a man named Peter Jackson told of an epic quest to reclaim a homeland, and Tauriel was a romance. The woman who left her friends, who was banished from her home, for the promise of new lands and the ability to help, became nothing more than a starry-eyed girl mooning over a handsome prince.
But Tauriel was never Peter Jackson's story to tell.
oOoOoOo
She was eleven, and Muggleborns like her were petrified every other week. While most of them stayed in the common room, Tauriel wandered the halls, because no monster was going to decide how she lived her life.
She was twelve, and shadowy things that radiated despair circled her school. Tauriel had never been through anything truly awful then, and so she simply avoided them — but she found Arwen too, and they studied together, and Tauriel never got more than a silver wisp but at least she got that far.
She was thirteen, and there was a contest, and You-Know-Who (she didn't actually know who, but nobody would tell her his real name) had returned. Tauriel watched, and waited, because being brave wasn't the same as being stupid.
She was fourteen, and "I must not tell lies" was carved into her skin nearly every night. Tauriel joined Dumbledore's Army and never stopped telling the truth.
She was fifteen, and she should not have been fighting but she was, just as Dumbledore should not have been dead but he was. Tauriel's feet knew how to run, where the quickest ways were; the wandering her first year had served her well.
She was sixteen, and Death Eaters had taken over the school she was no longer allowed into. Tauriel went into hiding — stayed in Thranduil's house, relayed messages over a secret radio channel. They called her Russa, for the fire in her eyes as much as the fire in her hair.
She was seventeen and allowed back into Hogwarts, and she took the chance. The badger boy she'd grown up alongside told her horror stories, and they found hot chocolate and remade their lives.
She was far more than a romance.
oOoOoOo
When she was thirteen, in this world as in the other, there was a boy. A Muggleborn boy like her, and a year younger.
His name was Kíli Durin, and he was playful and quick to laugh. He died laughing, at the Battle of Hogwarts, when she was sixteen and he was fifteen.
Tauriel did not die with him, in this world or in any other. She lived, and bravely.
It had never been Kíli that made her a lioness.
oOoOoOo
In every world, Tauriel Greene loved things that were not poor doomed boys.
She loved the night sky and its stars, so far away it took their light hundreds of years to reach her.
She loved the woods on the Hogwarts grounds, the way that the path seemed to rise to meet her even in the Forbidden parts, and how there seemed to be an endless supply of new trails to explore.
She loved the world and everything it held, and she loved it with all her heart.
oOoOoOo
Neither of them was the leader of any grand quest; neither was the Boy Who Lived.
But they were not appendices either; they were not romantic subplots. They were lionesses, and they were the girls who loved. That was enough.