Unknown

Sunlight shimmered through the gaps between the needles of the pine leaving a latticework of yellow among the periphery of the clearing. The only two who would partake in that glorious day were two onyx-haired lovers. The forest itself was silent as even the wood creatures appeared to have retreated to the sanctity of the shade. Nonetheless, the leaves rattled on lightly to the breeze, which was almost hesitant to interrupt the amorous moment between the pair.

In contrast to the tender tranquility of the day, Tinúviel was captured in the throes of her sorrow; meanwhile, Beren was working desperately to mollify her woes. Lúthien was knelt partway under the awning of the encompassing trees. The other half of Lúthien was open to the cerulean sky. Beren had extricated himself entirely from the forest's domain and was caressed by the rays of light that fell from the heavens. His blue eyes sparkled with emotion through the looking glass of tears. He had bent himself forward to meet Lúthien's troubled grey orbs and had gathered her weeping form in his steady arms, grounding her to the present. Lúthien lifted her face locked in a watery grimace,

"My love, how can we continue this? Us? It is as if the Valar and Maiar alike are opposed to the match. My father, Thingol, views you as a conniving pretender who only seeks to harm me. Your people, the Edain, see me as nothing more than a temptress that uses her beauty to enchant and ruin."

Beren gently grasped Tinúviel's chin and their eyes locked. There was an intensity in his cobalt globes that enraptured her in its steadfast promise of better times.

"Tinúviel, you are not only the most beautiful of all, but also the most graceful and otherworldly. Within you lies the potential to redefine your circumstances through song or mere thought. Do not allow the doubts and protests of others to ruin this love that you and I have made. All we need is faith in each other and the bond we share."

New tears ceased to spring from Lúthien's eyes, the ones from before continued their descent upon her ivory cheeks. Beren's affirmations had breached her barrier of incertitude, but there remained the raging epicenter of fear.

"Beren, you speak with such determination and affection that it is impossible to deny you, and yet my dubiety remains with its talons puncturing my heart. We come from two distinct worlds which have never mingled before in the way in which we intend. I desire only to see the future as rosily as you do, but we are separated by our very beings."

Tinúviel's lips trembled and her voice broke at the end of her speech.

Beren remained impervious to his lover's despondency and permitted a thoughtful smile to grace his features. He would see that their love last.

"I do not fail to see the validity in your concerns, but the fact that we have come together at all is beyond what any Vala, Elf, or Man could imagine. Already we have overcome the greatest adversary to our affair: bridging the gap that has lasted for millennia. Isn't that truly something to celebrate?"

Lúthien hesitantly nodded her head in agreement. Her mouth quivered slightly until it found the courage to break into a timid smile. Tinúviel nodded her head and kissed Beren on the crown of his raven locks, conveying her undying affection.

"There is wisdom in your words, Son of Barahir, I will heed your counsel and cast aside my doubt and build this life together that we dreamt of. Now, as you raised me up, I will do the same for you. Stand, Lord of Ladros."

Tinúviel rose from her perch on the soft turf and gathered Beren's hands into her own, drawing him up with her. Their movements were fluid and unimpeded, like waves prancing on the smooth surface of the sea. They could have been mistaken for one entity to the ignorant eye.

Once they had arisen, however, their visage shifted. No longer were the edges of the shrubbery and their splendid leaves as linear and defined, nor the colors of the sky and grass as sharp or vivid. All aspects of the image congealed together to reconvene in a new picture with foreign subjects and landscapes to gaze upon.

The undercurrent of the situation was the same: an intimate exchange between lovers.

In this newly materialized world, clarity is once again restored to apply a story to its accompanying illustration. The characters come into view.

In place of Doriath was the Mallorn-studded realm of Lothlórien, resplendent in its golden hue. Upon a slight knell stood a man and woman alike, except they were no ordinary Men. One was of lineage from the House of Húrin, and the other Peredhil.

The man with a cap of hazel hair, a noble brow and indigo eyes was of an unknown identity to Evenstar, but the woman opposite him was frighteningly familiar. With her alabaster skin, slate optics and crepuscular hair that winded down into oblivion it was like looking in a mirror to Arwen.

This doppelganger of Undómiel and her foreign companion leaned closer to each other, their breath intermingling, and shared a tender kiss with more meaning than simple words could express. Theirs was a timeless tale of fondness and passion that consumed their every waking moment with lustrous beauty. They were two stars in the night sky who had come together to begin a new constellation, glorious in its stellar nature.

Arwen jolted awake with the name Faramir on the cusp of her lips.

Arwen, Imladris, March 3, 3019

Arwen was well aware of the lore regarding her forefather and foremother. The tale of their first contact was the stuff of legend, and every one of her kin knew it by heart. Beren came upon Lúthien, who was dancing merrily through the woods, dodging every gnarled tree root and jagged branch that may halt her progress. She twirled and sashayed like the breeze itself funneling through the forest. Upon glimpsing Lúthien whilst she was unawares, Beren saw what was truly in Lúthien's heart when she had nothing to hide. Tinúviel was pure, unmarred by even Morgoth's taint, and an unassuming fount of power. Beren loved her for it.

He grew entranced and flocked to her whimsical figure like a parched man running to a stream. Beren's vigil would not last long, for in his awestruck state, Thingol noticed Beren's intrusion and commanded his daughter to flee, thus separating Tinúviel and her enchanted audience.

But it would seem that Eru Illúvatar blessed this union and deemed it acceptable for the two to find each once again. It was decreed that the line of Beren and Lúthien would never fail as long as Arda remained standing. Nobody had been brave or foolish enough to contest this conclusion, and Arwen lived her life believing it. Upon meeting Aragorn, and their own burgeoning love, they were described as Lúthien and Beren reborn, the second coming of a match that would reunite Men and Elf again. Arwen had met her match in Elessar, and they would continue the tale of Tinúviel and Erchamion, as their reincarnated selves.

Not once had Undómiel expressed doubt in her and Aragorn's part to play in the prophecy, as the pieces all seemed to fall into place. Arwen had never known a prognostic to ring false, Arwen's own father and grandmother masters of foresight. She believed portents of the future to be infallible. Arwen had maintained her faith, until the present. Two visions had unwound before her eyes, both which called the prophecy into question. Arwen was also in possession of clairvoyance due to her heritage and her own forecasts were always reliable.

Yet, who was she to question the truth of a centuries-old declaration? But was it not prudent for Undómiel to follow her own instincts, like she had been tutored by Elrond and Galadriel respectively? Arwen was torn between the transparency of history and the murkiness invading the here and now.

She had not the acuity or experience to untangle the jumbled and knotted plait of reality by herself. Her father would be the best source of discussion and discernment, but his confidence in Aragorn had only presently grown strong. Arwen couldn't risk undermining the delicate faith that Elrond had instilled in Elessar, her beloved intended, so she was left one option. Undómiel would seek the insight of Nerwen, in Lóthlorien, at the heart of her Galadriel power. Moreover, the inclusion of her grandmother's domain in her vision must be an indication that approaching Galadriel was the best course of action. Evenstar would devise a thorough note that spoke of her desire to travel to Lórien and treat with her grandmother, for if Arwen were to suspend her intentions until the morrow, and face her father, she might lose her nerve.

Dear Father,

It has been a considerable time since I last saw the green splendidness of Caras Galadhon, and I ache for the company of my grandparents. As of late, the absence of Mother has weighed heavily on my heart, and I feel the only balm to the wounds left by Mother's departure would be spending time with her parents. Do not fret for the fact that I left under the night sky with stars still at their glorious zenith, for I could wait no longer. It only seemed right that my journey begins immediately, and be christened by our luminous companions in the sky. Farewell for now. I will endeavor to return to you soon.

With all of my love, Arwen.

She left the missive on the granite table that acted as the focal point of her sitting room and traded her nightdress in for a grey tunic with utilitarian trousers and riding boots. Evenstar gathered a small supply of rations within her private pantry, mostly dried fruit and varying nuts, and then collected a few changes of attire. Arwen knew the way to Lórien well, so she could ride fast and hard.

She crept to the stables and met her silver mare with resolve in her countenance and purpose in her strides. Arwen made quick work of saddling and bridling her equine companion and very soon rode off into the moonlit beyond.

Faramir, Ithilien, March 3, 3019.

Faramir jolted awake under the same resplendent rocky satellite as the journeying Undómiel. He had the most confounding dream, the culmination of weeks' worth of fragments that he encountered in his rest. Before, the images were choppy and unfocused, rendering it impossible for Faramir to glean comprehension of his unconscious dwellings. But now, the intricacies of his dream were brought to the surface.

It began as a private moment between a distraught woman and her comforting beloved occurring in a serene meadow, a brief respite inside the immense body of a lively forest. But soon after, the pair shared a gentle meeting of the lips, and they transformed into entirely dissimilar individuals. A woman of Elven heritage, with a strong gaze and incomparable beauty, and himself in close proximity to the caliginous haired Peredhel. They carried themselves like fond swain, which Faramir found very anomalous.

Faramir had never met this woman in his life, and yet she was the focal point in his nightly imaginings. Their location was unknown to him, but its features were striking nonetheless. The air was perfumed with age old magic, a soft song carried throughout the wooded space, and magnificent trees populated the nearby areas.

The Captain of Rangers of Ithilien was struck dumb by how familiar this foreign place felt. The name of it was on the tip of his tongue. Faramir struggled to grasp any mention of its existence within his memory but the knowledge was insistent on remaining out of reach.

Upon realizing the futility in this exercise, Faramir ceased to blindly grab hold of random mentions or phrases in his mind, and instead decided it was best to focus his search. Only one being approached the learned nature that Faramir sought, and that was the wizened and worn Wizard, Gandalf.

Faramir had come across Gandalf not long ago in the libraries of Minas Tirith. He had engaged the conjurer in conversation to sate his own curiosity of lands beyond Gondor, and Gandalf spoke especially fondly of the land ruled by Lady Galadriel and her consort, Lord Celeborn. It appeared that Gandalf planned to eventually make his way to their realm for it was an origin of great knowledge and foresight. And that realm adorned in the massive spires of the beech-like trees was known as Lothlórien.

If Gandalf's praise of Lady Galadriel was to be believed, she would be Faramir's best chance at revealing the meanings of these persistent nocturnal visions

Elrond, Imladris, March 3, 3019

Lord Elrond traversed the corridors of his Haven with the emergence of a pastel dawn to accompany him. All seemed to be well within the walls of Rivendell as the elf's sharp eyes could discern. The early morning was devoid of sound for the most part besides the occasional bird call of the sparrows and doves who tumbled and twirled in the cool air with reckless abandon.

Elrond smiled contentedly as he paused momentarily and extended his right knuckle outward, as if waiting for a phantom entity to clasp his outstretched hand. It was not an incorporeal being that touched his manus but a juvenile dove with sapphire streaks that ran from beak to tail feather. It remained silent for its tenure on Elrond's hand but kept bold eye contact and tilted its head from side to side as if deducing a lasting opinion of Elrond's character. The little creature was Arwen transmogrified into avian form and this fact reminded Elrond to visit his daughter immediately. However as not to frighten the delicate creature perched on his now aloft forefinger Elrond delivered a soft whistle to the youthful bird with gentle encouragement to rejoin its friends in merriment. The dove once again cocked its head and it's wings flared outward in order to capture the gale and take flight. Soon enough the feathers caught the visiting breeze and flapped to ride its currents, but not before it gave an nondescript nod to Elrond.

The Master watched the fledgling depart for several moments until it was out of sight, undoubtedly having reunited with its fellows. Elrond was thus inspired to reconvene with his own kin. Hence, he resumed the path to Arwen's chambers and found the doors ajar.

This was not particularly peculiar as Undomiel favored an open and airy space but what he found odd was that the doors were not intentionally perched behind the halting presence of tomes acting as doorstops. Instead the doors were randomly askew, vulnerable to swinging with the whims of the wind. Elrond opened the doors enough so he could pass through and upon the completion of a few steps into Arwen's quarters he found a note on a central table.

Elrond knew what the message entailed due to his instinctive prescience. Thus he knew the significance of the script etched onto the parchment: Arwen had left to reunite with the Lady of Galadhrim, and at this he smiled. Some prophecies were misread, but he had full confidence that the one of Luthien and Beren's legacy would not be misconstrued. Arwen would meet her true match in due time.