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tindomiel is born on the summer solstice, when the stars twinkle, lingering in the violet summer air and as fireflies twinkle like stars against the cool grass. a royal pronouncement is sent across numenor at her birth, and her father brings vardamir in the room to see her.
she learns to walk by toddling across the magnificent, frescoed floors and halls of armenelos' aramar. the glass is cool beneath her small feet as her mother, despite her work to do as queen, gives her a steady place to hold, whenever she needs it.
though as she grows older, it is clear she is not all like the other children of numenor. sometimes, like when she smiles, she has too many teeth. sometimes her eyes are just a little bit too bright and sometimes her hair is deeper than black. her father says it is because their family has the blood of gods and eldar and men running through it, when she asks. but as a ten-year-old, this does not concern her too much. she thanks him and then she frolics away, chasing after her friends.
when she is older, her father teaches her to use the palantiri. he teaches her how to channel her will into the stones without forcing it and imparts the lesson - sometimes it is better to let things go where they will, elenya, and if they come back to you, you will know that you are meant to have it.
tindomiel sees someone, in the palantir. it is not her, this woman, this girl has ears that are pointed and not rounded, and she faintly glows like all the eldar do, like her father does sometimes. but the girl is similar enough, they could almost be twins, like atanalcar and manwendil, and she wonders: who is she?
arwen is born on the winter solstice, when the stars are faint and cold but brilliant, and the hearthfire is warm and chill air dances through imladris. elladan and elrohir race each other down the halls to be the first one to see their new baby sister, and elrond has to warn them to be gentle with her.
when arwen is young, her favorite place is the rose gardens of imladris, though some of the rose bushes are higher than she is, and she pricks her fingers on the thorns more than once, and she does not mind. she does not notice she is bleeding until long after the fact, and after a dress or has been stained. she dances sometimes, because otherwise it feels like she is going to explode, like there is too much of her, and her body cannot contain the sheer force of her fea, and some days it leaks through the cracks in her hroa. but most days, arwen is fine.
she plays games of strategy with her father, she learns from her mother how to make lembas, and she learns the art of sneaking sweets from the kitchen from her brothers.
when she visits her grandparents in lorien, her mother's mother teaches her how to use the mirror to scry, and looking into the depths of the silver water, she sees more than she could have imagined and, sometimes, arwen sees a face in the mirror. it is like and yet unlike her own, enough to be deeply unsettling, but comforting at the same time.
no, they do not meet but they share a dream, ages and worlds apart.
they stand alone the darkness that is deeper than dark, pierced by three bright shining lights and music more fair than they can imagine, and then the dream changes. they are wearing white, white stained with blood and armor that is too big for them, but they wear it anyway, and the smell of smoke and fire and blood surrounds them, cages them, and they fall.
only, it is not like falling. it is more than that, as wind rushes past them, twisting their hair into knots, grabbing at their clothes as they tumble against the wall of the cliff, scraping against their arms and their legs. the sea gets closer and closer and then for a few brief seconds, just before they hit the water, they fly.
tindomiel. morningstar of numenor.
undomiel. evenstar of the eldar.
they are similar. but they are different. they are mirrors of each other, and opposites. choices are offered to them and blood of the gods flows through their veins and they look fate in the eye and say:
these are my people,
this is my choice.
i will not be parted from either.
but still, arwen is frightened when she dies. she does not regret it, not in the least, but there is still a part of her that feels fear creeping through her veins, like she stands upon a precarious ledge and the darkness clouds the landing. she knows more than she did when she was young. she knows of her father's brother's daughter, who she nearly shares a name with, who died an age before she was born.
she closes her eyes and slowly, everything fades.
a voice speaks to her, soft and gentle.
welcome home. i am glad to meet you, cousin-mine.