Arwen Undómiel.
Daughter of Lord Elrond. Granddaughter of Lady Galadriel. Sister to Elladan and Elrohir. She was the jewel of both Rivendell and Lothlórien—the Evenstar of her people, last and brightest light of Elven-kind in the waning days of the Third Age.
Within her veins flowed the mingled blood of many lineages: of Men, of Elves, and of Maiar. Through her father, she was heir to the noblest houses of the Eldar—the Teleri, the Noldor, and the Vanyar. Through her mother, the grace of the Undying West was reborn in her. She was a being of light and fate, bound to a destiny as vast as the evening star that gave her name.
Her title was no mere ornament. The Evenstar signified the dusk of the Elder Days—the last radiance before nightfall.
In the original tale of Arda, it is told how Arwen, for love of Aragorn, forsook immortality, choosing the Doom of Men. Her choice, and their love, became legend—sung beside the ancient tale of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren the Mortal. Yet where Beren and Lúthien's love defied death itself, Arwen's carried the sorrow of acceptance—the burden of fate and duty intertwined with love.
When Aragorn was but twenty, he beheld her for the first time in Rivendell and loved her at once. But Elrond, wise and grim, forbade their union. For though Aragorn was Isildur's heir, no mortal, however noble, was worthy of his daughter, who had seen the light of Aman in her mother's eyes.
So the young man wandered the wild for many years, carrying both hope and heartache. He grew through trial and battle, until in Lothlórien he met her again—and destiny's web drew tight around them both.
Elrond, foreseeing the turning of ages, decreed that only the King of both Gondor and Arnor could claim Arwen's hand. Yet even he knew that such words were but a shield against sorrow. For in his heart, he feared the Doom of the Half-elven: that one of his own blood would choose mortality.
And so it came to pass. When the time of the Elves was done, Elladan and Elrohir remained in Middle-earth as wanderers. Arwen, the Evenstar, chose the fate of Men, wed Aragorn Elessar, and reigned beside him in peace for many years. But when he died, she returned alone to Lothlórien, where the golden leaves no longer sang and there she faded in solitude beneath the fading trees.
Their love, though sung as immortal, was woven with sorrow. For Beren and Lúthien's passion had once moved the very Valar to mercy; they had died and been restored beyond doom itself. Arwen's tale was gentler, quieter—a love bound not in rebellion, but in surrender to the order of the world.
As these thoughts crossed his mind, Kaen felt a strange melancholy. Fate… what a fragile and mist-bound thing.
The boats drifted to shore. Flowers rained softly from unseen hands, and the sweet scent of Lórien's blooms filled the air.
Kaen stepped onto the green land of Lothlórien, and all those gathered bowed low before him. At their head stood the maiden whose name had haunted his thought.
"Welcome," said Arwen Undómiel, her voice soft as the wind among the mallorns. "Welcome, King Kaen Eowenríel, Mithrandir the Grey, Artemis of the Maiar, Lady Cathril, and the warriors of the King's Guard. I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond, princess of Rivendell and Lothlórien."
Kaen inclined his head, smiling. "I have seen many fair faces in this world, yet yours still stirs my heart. I think this may be the fairest visage I shall ever behold."
Arwen's laughter was light as silver bells. "And I, though I dwell long in Caras Galadhon, have heard your name sung in both forest and hall. You too are unlike any I have seen—radiant beyond words. Many kings I have known, but none carry the grace that you bear. You are… singular."
She had lived for over twenty-seven centuries, her wisdom older than most realms. The long years had lent her a grace so natural, it seemed otherworldly. In her eyes shimmered the reflection of countless ages, deep and bright as starlight—the light of Aman remembered.
Kaen smiled gently. "Then allow me to speak plainly, Lady Arwen. Set aside the titles—call me Kaen. Beyond crowns and thrones, I am but Elrond's student, and you his daughter. It is fitting I should call you 'sister' or perhaps 'teacher's kin.'"
Her eyes softened, and she said, "Then you may call me Arwen."
They exchanged smiles, and so began a conversation that wove warmth between them like sunlight through leaves. Then Arwen turned gracefully, gesturing toward the south.
"Come," she said, "I shall guide you to Caras Galadhon."
The city of the Golden Wood rose upon a great green hill,built high among the mighty boughs of Mallorn trees, a network of great platforms, or flets, linked by graceful bridges that shone in the silver light. An earthen wall, living and green, encircled the hill's base, and only through a single gate could one enter,a threshold passed not by force, but by elven word and will, into a city woven from living wood and light.
This was the heart of all Elvendom east of the Sea. No mortal feet might tread its courts—save now, in this age, for one.
Kaen's coming was without precedent. A Man, a Maia, a wizard, walking with the grace of equals beneath Lórien's golden canopy. Even the soldiers of the King's Guard were permitted to pass.
At Arwen's murmur of power, the earth trembled softly and the way to Caras Galadhon opened before them.
Beyond lay wonder.
Great trees towered like pillars of heaven, their trunks silver and their blossoms gold. These were the mallorn, the living crowns of Lothlórien. In autumn their leaves fell like coins of light, carpeting the ground in gold—hence the realm's name: Laurelindórenan, the Golden Wood.
Among their branches gleamed the dwellings of the Galadhrim, houses of light and air built high in the boughs, shining like lanterns among the leaves. Music drifted through the air, and garlands of flowers descended as the Elves sang in welcome.
Kaen breathed deep. "Truly wondrous," he said softly.
Gandalf smiled beneath his beard. "It has been many long years since last I walked these paths. The beauty of Lórien is eternal."
Arwen's eyes shone as she said, "Few from beyond our borders ever walk these ways. Your coming has brought joy and astonishment alike."
They walked beneath the mallorns until at last they reached the heart of the city, where one tree stood mightier than all others—its silver trunk thrice as broad as the rest. Beneath its vast boughs stood gathered the noblest of the Eldar, awaiting their arrival.
And there Kaen beheld faces long familiar: Galadriel, shining with unearthly light; Celeborn, tall and silver-haired; Elrond, calm and grave; and Glorfindel, radiant as the dawn.
The council of the wise awaited him beneath the golden leaves of Caras Galadhon.