Author's Note: From now on, the chapters will alternate perspectives, starting with Arwen. That is why the chapter numbers (within the document) will repeat. This is chapter one of Arwen's memoirs, the next chapter will be chapter one of Eowyn's memoirs. I hope this makes sense...

The Manuscript Commences Here

Chapter I: Shadows Of The Past…

Midsummer, 2951

"I will see you again," my mother said, stroking my hair as she held me close. "Tíndomerel—I will see you again!"

She held me away from her at arm's length and looked me up and down. Then she tore at the chain around her neck, breaking it and holding the pendant out to me. It was a white stone called Evenstar, only found in Valinor. It had been cut fashioned to look like the true Evenstar, the one that shone down on us as we said goodbye on the steps of Imladris.

"Nana?" I stared at the glittering jewel. The light danced across it until I could almost believe it was alive. How could she give me this? It meant more than the world to her. Her mother, Galadriel, had brought it from across the Seas, and had given it to her as a wedding present when she had married Adar. I could not remember a time when she had not worn it.

She took my hand and pressed the pendant into it. "Keep it until we meet again."

"I will."

"Do you promise?" she asked urgently.

"I said I—"

"Promise!"

I promised in a whisper, closing my fingers around the stone. The damp afternoon at the Havens made everything cold, but the jewel seemed to give off a kind of warmth.

"You must leave now, Celebrían," Adar said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "May the Evenstar shine brightly upon you, until we meet again."

"And you, Elrond," my mother said. "Harthon gerithach aeair vilui1."

Adar's lips brushed my mother's, then he said, "We will meet again, you and I, and Elrohir and Elladan…"

Then he looked at me, and his eyes suddenly focused on something beyond me. "…And Arwen," he added. "We will meet again. Namarië!"

Sílet, my mother's servant and confidante, looked up at me sadly. Her brown eyes were full of emotions as she watched our bitter parting. I knew her well… she was the mother of Lambë, my own servant. She took my mother's hand now, and gently led her down the steps. "Come, milady," she said in a voice as silver as the gown she wore. "We must go." A dark strand of hair strayed from Sílet's braid, and she slid it behind her ear.

My mother looked up at me , and I knew she was fixing me into her memory as I was fixing her. The way her blond hair swirled about her on the wings of the wind. The way her green eyes were sparkling with tears as they looked back at Adar and my brothers. The way her white and green skirts swirled about her as she ran down the steps to where the other Elves her waiting. The way her hands trembled as she mounted Mírnen, her white mare. The way her mantle rippled behind her as the company began the journey to the Havens. The way a tear fell to the ground as she looked up for a last goodbye.

A bird's song broke into my reverie. I was wandering outside my room in Imladris, briefly allowing myself to slip into a nostalgic daydream. I felt my mother's touch, all the way from Valinor; saw her dim reflection when I looked in the mirror; heard her voice speaking through my own at times. She had promised she would see me again when I rode the ships to Valinor—oh, how long that seemed! I missed her, having not seen her for many a mortal's lifetimes, and knowing it would be many more until I saw her again.

Years ago, in 2509, my mother had been waylaid by orcs while travelling to Lôrien, where her kin lived. The orcs had scattered her party and captured her, and before my brothers were able to rescue her, she had suffered much at their hands. I remembered the whole of it vividly. Elladan and Elrohir had brought her home, her arm torn open and bloody. Father had healed her bodily, so that there was not a trace of the ragged, hardly Elven thing they had rescued. But my mother had been too wounded in soul to have any delight left for the things of this world, and had chosen to leave us for the pleasures of Valinor.

And that was the moment I was reliving in the gardens of Adar. I was happy to be in the house of my father once more; I had just returned from a long visit with my grandparents, my mother's parents, Celeborn and Galadriel. But being home brought back too many memories, and I had not realised till I had returned that my journey to my relatives in Lothlorien had been as much to escape the memories as out of joy to see them.

I wandered aimlessly until I rounded a large ash tree, almost colliding with a young Man who was sitting on the mossy forest floor, resting his back against the tree trunk. An involuntary scream of surprise escaped me: I had never seen him before, and it surprised me to find an intruder in a garden I thought to be private.

My first thought was flight, and I took a step backwards to flee, but before I could go further, he sprang to his feet, calling to me, "Tínuviel!" as if it were my name.

I paused, cocking my head. "Why do you call me by that name, milord?" I asked.

His forehead creased and uncreased quickly, and he took a cautious step closer, his cheeks a little pink. "Because at first I thought you to be Lúthien the Fair, of whom I had been singing." I saw a small harp lying in the grass beside the tree. "But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness."

I thought of how Lúthien had sacrificed her love for immortality for her love for Beren. Many had told me of the uncanny likeness I bore to the famed Elven Nightingale. I had never seen her, and anyway, would have been unable to judge for myself. "So many have said," I told him. "However, I am not she. But mayhap my fate will not me unlike hers." I was jesting. "But who are you, milord?"

"Estel I was called," he said, pulling himself up. "But I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir, Lord of the Dunedain." He recited the titles with an air of juvenile pride. It annoyed me, and I gave him my best imitation of a Galadriel stare.

It must have worked, because his face flushed red again. "Then we are akin from afar," I said. "I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond, and also called Úndomiel."

Aragorn's eyebrows lifted. "Often it is seen that in dangerous days men hide their chief treasure. Yet I marvel at Elrond and your brothers, for though I have dwelt in their house from childhood, I have heard no word of you. How comes it that we have never met before? Surely your father has not kept you locked away in his hoard?"

"No, of course not," I said, looking to the East, where Lothlôrien lay. I had enjoyed my stay there. Celeborn and Galadriel had done all they could to ensure me a pleasant visit. But the roads had grown perilous, and Adar had sent for me, for had I not returned then, we might have been cut off from each other by war, or if I had tried to return, my fate might have been as my mother's, or worse. "I have dwelt for a time in the land of my mother's kin in Lothlôrien. It is many years since I walked in Imladris."

He did a double take, his eyes flicking from me to the east. I smiled—nearly giggled—at the astonishment in his eyes. A mortal could not understand that the Elves do not age—though I was hundreds of years older than he was, I appeared about his age or younger.

"Do not wonder, milord," I said. "For the children of the Eldar have the life of the Valar."

He blushed yet a third time. I held his gaze serenely for a moment, then we both broke out laughing. It was then I looked at him—truly looked at him. He was taller than me by nearly a head, and was long and thin, clad in Elven clothes that appeared to have seen the elements repeatedly. His eyes were grey, but like crystal, clear as glass and as piercing as the stars. Long dark hair that touched his shoulders moved a little in the twilight breeze.

"Hiril nín2?" Lambë was calling me.

I usually do not go when she calls; I usually let her come to me; but though we laughed, the air was thick with something, and Lambë was a welcome excuse. "I must go, milord," I said, and, gathering my skirts, left him where he stood. I looked back just before I turned round the tree. He was looking back at me with a wistful expression on his face. I lifted a hand in farewell, and was gone.

I saw Aragorn many times after that. We often met in the banquet hall, or in the corridors of Imladris, or, more often, in the library. We seldom spoke, save for courteous greeting, but I saw something in his eyes—something he would have kept hidden, I think.

I did not tell anyone about it—only scarcely allowed myself to believe it, so incredible did it seem. I cared for him—as a friend—and if Adar learned of his feelings, I feared for Aragorn. Adar did not approve of marital union between Elves and Men. It was not done, in his eyes, though there had been two such marriages—Lúthien Tínuviel and Beren the One-Handed; Irdil Celebrindal and Tuor. I did not want Adar's wrath to come upon Aragorn or his mother, who also dwelt with us in Imladris: Gílraen, daughter of Dírhael and Ivorwen.

It was not long after that Lady Gílraen had an air of heaviness about her. I wondered if she knew of Aragorn's passion, and feared, as I did, the possible repercussions. While my father would never be unjust to any he had accepted into his household, general disfavour might be their punishment.

One night, I found my father alone in the garden, and called him softly. "Ada?"

"Aye, Tíndomerel." He did not turn, but stared at a statue of a dancing woman as if he could not look away.

"What troubles you?" I asked. "What is the matter?"

He finally looked at me, and I read in his eyes the weight of his burden. "I fear for you," he said. "I have just spoken with the son of Isildur—I pray not too late. I never should have granted them shelter, Tíndomerel."

"You could not have turned them away," I said. "You are no Man; you do not have the cruelty they have. You could not have turned a young mother, bearing her child in her arms, away from your gate, knowing she was bereft of husband and home—you could not have done it."

"Had I known… I could have killed him."

"Not a baby, Ada. Not a baby." I shook my head. No one could be so cruel, and the Elves can be the cruellest of all creatures.

"I could have killed them both."

"I do not love him, Ada. I do not return his love."

"But you will. You cannot help your heart. You are destined to love him, and I…" his voice broke. "I am destined to go to your mother and tell her: Your daughter will not come."

I looked away, thinking of Adar's hesitation on the steps of Imladris. "You have known, haven't you, Ada? All this time… you knew."

"I knew."

"Who am I?" I begged on impulse. "Who will I be?"

"You are my daughter. And you will be…" He looked away.

The unsaid words hung on the air. A mortal.

I left him there. I went to my rooms and lay on my bed. I did not love him. I knew that. But if Adar spoke—he could not be telling the truth. I could not choose death for anyone… a life of pain? Even for love I could not…

…could I?

I was standing in the meeting-place of millions of roads. They spun around me, leading in every direction; I could see the Misty Mountains down a path, the Seas down another, Gondor down another. When I would focus on a whirling path, I would stop, and the end could be seen as if it were a hand's breadth away.

"Arwen!" My mother was at the end of a path, calling to me. Her shining white robes shone like the Sun in the Light of the Valar, and blew frantically in the breath of a monstrous wind.

"Nana!"

Adar was down yet another path, beckoning me. "Arwen…."

"Ada—" I lifted an arm to wave to him—to tell him I was coming—but my billowy sleeve fell across my face, and when I pulled it away, there was yet another path. Elladan… Elrohir… Galadriel… Celeborn….

I turned slowly in a circle. Lambë… Bragolcú… Erlin… Elves past, present, and future called me, held their hands out to me….

A hand on my shoulder made my surroundings vanish. It was Aragorn. His eyes met mine, and I heard him as if he were speaking… Come with me, Arwen.

And I was powerless. He took my hand and led me down yet another path… I saw we were walking through the streets of the White City, but the end was Rath Dínen. Lúthien stood at the doorway, her white mantle filling the crypt with an eerie glow. I shrieked and pulled away from him, but he clutched after me—grabbed my sleeve to stop me.

I tore away, ran up the path in the direction of Adar. But the path somehow switched—I was running straight into Aragorn's arms. He wrapped them around me, clinging desperately as I struggled to get free. Then he released me, so suddenly I tripped backwards. But I steadied myself before I fell, and stared at him. He was slowly backing away, calling with his eyes, his voice… "Arwen."

I tried to run away, but it was useless. I gave in and ran towards him. "Wait!" He was so far away now. He held a hand out to me…

All the Elves of the paths reached for me, clutching at me. My mother grabbed my sleeve and screamed, "No!" Her face was streaked with tears. I fought them off, and raced on to Aragorn.

I ran—and ran—and ran—and ever Aragorn was before me, holding his hands out to receive me.

I opened my eyes. The ceiling above me was such a start after my dreams, that I jumped. I sat up, and blinked. Things couldn't change in one night. Things couldn't be different.

But they were. I loved him.

"Lambë!" I needed living reassurance after the horrors of my dreams.

She entered quickly. "Are you all right?" she asked worriedly. "I thought I heard a cry."

"I dreamed," I said. "That was all."

"Would you like something to drink, milady?" she asked. "I'll get you some wine, Arwen; you look pale."

I touched my cheek. It was cold as ice. I nodded.

I got up, brushed my hair, and changed out of my rumpled gown into a simple grey robe. After Lambë returned with the wine, I drank it, laid the empty cup on the table, and slipped out the door to the nearby gardens. Adar and Aragorn stood by the gave of Gílraen, who had recently passed on, conversing quietly.

I neared them, my bare feet silent in the lush grass. Both of them seemed troubled, and I didn't wish to disturb them. Adar put a hand to his brow. His face was full of anguish. His lips moved, but I couldn't catch his words. After a few moments, he said, loud enough for me to hear, "The years will bring what they will. We will speak no more of this until many have passed. The days darken, and much evil is to come."

He swept on, not allowing Aragorn another word.

Aragorn turned and saw me. He turned to leave, but I raced after him.

"Mas ledhiach3?" I asked when I'd caught up with him.

"Arwen…" he said, taking my hand and pressing it to his lips. It was customary… all court folk did this… yet it felt different than Ergil or Bragolcú… it meant more. And he called me Arwen… when did I become Arwen to him? Not milady… not Lady Arwen… just Arwen.

"Man na nat4?" I asked.

"I must leave here."

Something very sharp pierced something in my chest. "What? Is it my father? Has he driven you away? He can't—he mustn't—"

I turned to run after Adar, but Aragorn had not let go of my hand, and he used it to pull me back to him. "He does not drive me away, Arwen. I go freely. It is my fate."

I looked up at him through my lashes. "Until you are King, you must wander alone." I saw it, in his eyes, like a mirror… the passage of years stretching out like the paths in my dream… and leading to Rath Dínen… but not ending there.

"Then we must wait for it, Arwen." Arwen again.

"We?"

"Will you not wait for it?"

I was silent. Suddenly he looked tired… so much older.

"Don't give answer now," he said. "When we meet again…"

Again he kissed my hand, and started to walk away.

I cleared my throat, and he turned. "Milady?"

"I will wait for you, Aragorn Estel-nín."

He stared at me for a moment… at my mouth. For a moment, I thought he would kiss me. I wanted him to. But he did not. He merely murmured, "Meneg hannaid5," and left.

1. "Harthon gerithach aeair vilui:" May you have kind seas

2. Hiril nin: milady

3. Mas ledhiach: Where are you going?

4. Man na nat: What is it?

5. Meneg hannaid: A thousand thanks