This was originally meant to be read as one whole story, but here I have divided it into several chapters to make it more reader-friendly.
The Title of the Competition was: Write the Beginning to the Continuation of The Lord of the Rings.
Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of her people, entered the now-deserted realm of Lórien, and into what remained of Caras Galadhron, her fingertips brushing against the smooth grey bark of the great Mellyrn-trees, waiting 'ere the day her doom approached, though it was not with dread that she waited. For this was the Arwen Evenstar who met and loved Aragorn son of Arathorn, who called her Tinúviel when he chanced upon her, and she thus chose the doom of Men, forsaking immortality, that she might dwell in bliss with him 'til the End of his days.
The End of his days, but not hers.
For in taking the gift of Mortality that Eru had bestowed upon Men, it was not Arwen's lot to die until all she had gained was taken from her. She trod lightly upon the grey soil, feeling the burden of age upon her, clad not in the elaborate gowns she wore as a Queen in Minas Tirith, but in the simple white raiment of an elf-maiden, wandering 'til the days turned to dusk and finally to night, when the stars sparkled against the bleakness of dark, waiting, waiting.
Occasionally Arwen would come across a simple object, a treasure left behind by the Silvan Elves when they departed to the Blessed Realm. A coil of hithlain, an arrow of the Galadhrim, a silver brooch of Lórien, a scrap of elven cloth. Then she would smile, remembering the days of old when she would journey so oft to the Golden Woods, to visit her mother's Kin, Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of the Lothlórien. But memories were but memories, this the lady knew, and the smile would fade from her lips, and she would stand alone in sorrow among the mallorn-trees with their leaves of gold, cold and distant. Then at last her time was nigh, and death stole up upon her like a shadow, but she was ready for what was to come.
It was then that Arwen Evenstar laid herself to rest upon Cerin Amroth, the place where Elessar and the Undómiel plighted their troth and it was there that she had chose her fate. And the same way the light in her grey eyes was quenched at the death of the King Aragorn, the spark of life in her now flickered and died, and she lay there, the Evening Star cold and dim, yet still radiant, full of beauty and wisdom, as her spirit faded 'til it vanished utterly from the World, the same way Lúthien Tinúviel did. And those who would behold her might gasp in awe, for she indeed was as fair of face as Lúthien herself, and it was not without reason that Aragorn Elessar had thought her so the day he first beheld her.
But there were none now who would be able to look upon her, for they were all gone, the Elves of Lórien, to Valinor, the Ream of the Valar, the Lands Beyond the Great Sea, and the Evening Star was left to shine utterly alone, even when its light died.
Such was the Passing of the Evenstar.