arwen, at the dawning of the third age
When she is no longer a child, yet not quite anything more, Mithrandir bends down and cups her face in his thin hands. He peers deeply into her eyes, and then he smiles. 'There is more than just the likeness of Lúthien about you,' he tells her gently. 'You would have her wildness, and fire, and bitterness too.'
She keeps that under her tongue for long years, waiting to give it voice.
Her brothers wander afar with the Dúnedain sons fostered in Imladris; she is permitted only to read the letters that come later, proclaiming the death of yet another son of Númenor. Her naneth teaches her the politesse of a lady and mistress, as well as all the private efforts which feed the illusions ease and hospitality. But when her ada welcomes princes and warriors to his chambers for counsel, she is left alone, on the cold side of the doors.
So she waits, as Lúthien did in Doriath.
