They don't call Rivendell the Valley of Imladris just to make elvish brochures sound fancy.
No, really. This place was more than a postcard backdrop.
It felt like nature had decided to outdo itself—and the Valar had signed off on it with a whisper.
That night, Telperion—the Silver Tree suspended in the firmament—shone with an almost otherworldly glow.
Its light cascaded over the forests, the white stone arches, the moss-covered elven rooftops. The wind rustled the leaves with such reverence, it was like even the air had been taught to walk on tiptoe.
And me? I was lying on a bed carved from millennia-old wood, trying to levitate an inkwell, two pebbles, and a butter knife without blowing everything up.
Spoiler alert: I nearly blew up the knife. Again.
Then I heard it.
Cuckoo… cuckoo…
I froze.
It wasn't a real bird. I knew that sound by heart.
It was our secret call—the one Arwen used back in Lothlórien to get my attention during Galadriel's rounds.
Yes, it's true. We had secret signals. That's how you flirt in Middle-earth.
I rushed to the window and saw her, standing under the moonlight in the garden.
Arwen. The Evenstar. Wrapped in a silver veil that caught Telperion's glow like she was part of it.
Her dark hair danced around her face like living mist. Her eyes were deep—so deep I half expected to fall in.
And the first brilliant thing I said?
— "You do a better cuckoo than me."
She smiled—that kind of smile that melts you faster than snow on Mount Doom.
— "When I saw you at the window," she said, "I felt like Lúthien… and you were Beren."
Yeah. My brain froze.
Being compared to Beren and Lúthien is like hearing someone say, "You're better than every love song ever written."
Then she raised an eyebrow.
— "You planning to leave me out here alone under the moonlight?"
Romance emergency activated.
I grabbed my blue-grey cloak and bolted down the stairs like my soul depended on it. It probably did.
She was waiting at the path's edge, fake patience glowing in the moonlight.
We began walking beneath the silver canopy of trees.
The silence between us was… comfortable. Natural, even.
— "You've been here for days," she finally said. "And yet… you never came to find me."
Oof.
— "I… I didn't know if I should," I stammered. "Your father, you know… I'm not exactly winning any Parent Council votes."
She shrugged, but I could tell she wasn't fooled.
What I didn't know was that—up high in the watchtower—Elrond was watching us. Arms crossed, face unreadable, eyes sharp as stars.
When he saw his daughter under my window… I swear I felt a cosmic judgment fall upon me like a silent guillotine.
Wonderful.
— "He spoke to you, didn't he?" Arwen murmured.
I sighed. No use lying. She always knew.
— "He told me you were his treasure. His sun. His light.
And that if I wanted to be with you… I had to be willing to face everything. Including myself."
We reached a moonlit glade.
The grass glowed faintly, like it had soaked up starlight.
She took my hand. Her palm was cool. Her fingers, feather-light.
— "And what's the trial?" she asked.
— "There isn't one," I said. "And that's the real problem.
He said I wasn't enough. Not noble enough. Not strong enough.
Not immortal enough.
Just… a weird guy with strange powers and a modern face."
She frowned, ready to protest.
— "I'm not saying it to get pity," I added. "I told him I loved you. Like Beren loved Lúthien.
That I'd give everything. Even my life."
Her eyes shimmered—but a shadow crossed her face.
— "He told you," she whispered, "that if I loved you… I'd have to give up everything I am."
— "Yes. The light of the Elves. Your immortality. Your father. Your people."
She closed her eyes. And when she opened them, she said:
— "Then I've already made my choice, Edward."
I blinked.
— "Wait… what?"
— "I made that choice the day I saw you, in Lothlórien.
I knew, then and there, that my fate had changed."
She rested her head against my shoulder.
My heart beat like an orcish war drum.
— "But I don't want you to make that choice for me," I whispered. "Not yet.
Not before I've proven I'm worthy of it.
If your father sees me as unworthy…
Then I'll become worthy."
She looked up at me.
— "Do you really think you can defy fate?"
— "I think fate could use a good kick in the teeth."
She laughed—a clear, crystalline sound.
I took both her hands.
— "Don't choose yet. Give me time.
Not to change your heart…
But to change the world."
She nodded, quietly. Then murmured:
— "But if I wait too long… the choice might no longer be mine to make."
I pinched her nose. She squeaked.
— "Hey!"
— "You're getting too serious, Evenstar. I'm a ranger, not a tragic poet."
She burst out laughing, tears at the corners of her eyes.
But then, I turned serious again.
— "I'm making you a promise, Arwen. One I've never made to anyone before.
Before this story reaches its final chapter,
I will stand before you—free, worthy—and ask for your hand."
And maybe… just maybe… it will be enough to prove fate wrong.
She didn't answer. She just squeezed my hand.
Tightly.
Like she was saying: I believe in you.
And there, beneath Telperion, an elf and a man sealed a promise.
Not the kind you find in fairy tales.
Not the kind you read in elven songs.
But a promise made in the light of a star—
—and the fire of a human heart.