Ah, Arwen. How lovely you are, even as you grow old. You were not meant to die, but fate and yourself have deemed it so. And, perhaps, your mortality makes you all the lovelier.
The day you entered this world was a blessed one; a girl-child, born to Elrond Half-elven and Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel! A daughter to complement the sons! The wind whispered its praise, and stars fell from the sky in their joy.
You grew, and from a newborn baby you become a child; from a child, you become a woman. The minstrels sang of your beauty, and named you the Even-star. So it was that you will always be connected to the stars. Does it not make sense? Your ancestors ride the sky, Earendil in his ship that is now made of space.
And does it not make sense, that you should repeat your ancestors' lives? They liken you to Luthien of old, and rightfully so. An elf-woman, more beautiful than any other living being. . . dark of hair and light of skin, with feather-weight feet and a dancing heart. Do they describe Luthien, or do they describe Arwen? One can only know by the name of the song. For you too fell in love with a mortal man, and you too took the chance of losing him. A Silmaril or the One Ring - what is the difference? Elven-made objects, powerful and strong and dangerous in their beauty; there is no difference.
Once again the sun smiled upon you - you did not lose your mortal. He is alive, and he is now a king. You joined him as his queen, and you live with him even now. Did not Luthien and Beren live out their days, happy and peaceful as do you?
Ah, but ashes must become ashes, and dust needs become dust. He will die, and you will die too; as Luthien died so that she would not live without her lover. It shows upon your beautiful face, this mortality. You seem to glow, as if your body was melting away, leaving only your beautiful soul. Evanescent, like star-spray. . . you will forever be the Even-star. Your body will be gone, but you shall not really die. No, you will live on. . .
The songs the minstrels sing of you will carry your name and beauty to the end of the world. They will never forget the elf who loved a man; nay, even as Luthien is not forgotten. Perhaps one day your stories will be melded, and you and Luthien shall be remembered as one. Only time can tell, but oh Arwen, your death does not really last forever. They will remember you until the end of days.
The day you entered this world was a blessed one; a girl-child, born to Elrond Half-elven and Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel! A daughter to complement the sons! The wind whispered its praise, and stars fell from the sky in their joy.
You grew, and from a newborn baby you become a child; from a child, you become a woman. The minstrels sang of your beauty, and named you the Even-star. So it was that you will always be connected to the stars. Does it not make sense? Your ancestors ride the sky, Earendil in his ship that is now made of space.
And does it not make sense, that you should repeat your ancestors' lives? They liken you to Luthien of old, and rightfully so. An elf-woman, more beautiful than any other living being. . . dark of hair and light of skin, with feather-weight feet and a dancing heart. Do they describe Luthien, or do they describe Arwen? One can only know by the name of the song. For you too fell in love with a mortal man, and you too took the chance of losing him. A Silmaril or the One Ring - what is the difference? Elven-made objects, powerful and strong and dangerous in their beauty; there is no difference.
Once again the sun smiled upon you - you did not lose your mortal. He is alive, and he is now a king. You joined him as his queen, and you live with him even now. Did not Luthien and Beren live out their days, happy and peaceful as do you?
Ah, but ashes must become ashes, and dust needs become dust. He will die, and you will die too; as Luthien died so that she would not live without her lover. It shows upon your beautiful face, this mortality. You seem to glow, as if your body was melting away, leaving only your beautiful soul. Evanescent, like star-spray. . . you will forever be the Even-star. Your body will be gone, but you shall not really die. No, you will live on. . .
The songs the minstrels sing of you will carry your name and beauty to the end of the world. They will never forget the elf who loved a man; nay, even as Luthien is not forgotten. Perhaps one day your stories will be melded, and you and Luthien shall be remembered as one. Only time can tell, but oh Arwen, your death does not really last forever. They will remember you until the end of days.