The Lord of the Rings : The Journey of a Transmigrator

Honestly, I knew this moment would come.

From the instant I laid eyes on Arwen in Lothlórien, I told myself:

"One day, you're going to have to talk to her father."

And now that the day had come—guess what?

I regretted not fleeing straight into Moria with a warg nipping at my heels.

Because I wasn't just facing any protective father.

I was facing Elrond. The Half-elven Lord of Rivendell. Counselor of kings.

And possibly the most intimidating being in all of Middle-earth.

But I couldn't back down now.

This wasn't just about me anymore. It was about what I stood for. About what she meant to me.

So I did the only thing that felt right: I looked him dead in the eye and said, without flinching:

— "The day I saw your daughter for the first time in Lothlórien… I fell in love with her."

No jokes. No dramatic flair.

Just the truth. Raw and undiluted.

— "I don't know if she feels the same way… Maybe she never will.

But I know I love her.

And if the choice is mine… I will choose her. Every time."

Elrond didn't respond right away.

He stood motionless, like a statue carved from ancient memory.

Then, slowly, he rose.

There was no fury in his eyes—just pain.

Deep, old, enduring pain. The kind that no healing spell could soothe.

— "You don't understand what you're asking…"

His voice cracked like ice under weight.

— "Arwen is my heart. The last light in my world.

I could give you treasure, ancient blades, even the One Ring if I held it.

But I cannot give you my daughter.

Because doing so… would mean saying goodbye. Forever."

He turned away. I could see it was not easy for him to show this side of himself.

— "I am immortal. So is she. But you, Edward…

You are a Man.

You will age.

You will wither.

You will die."

The words fell like stones into a well.

— "And if she remains an Elf, she will mourn your passing for all of time.

If she chooses mortality…

Then it is I who will mourn. I will watch her fade, day by day. And I do not know if I have the strength for that."

He turned toward the window, his posture noble but weary.

How many farewells had this man endured already?

I understood then that this wasn't just a father being overprotective.

This was someone who had seen the ages turn like pages in a book… and lost pieces of himself along the way.

Galadriel had warned me.

"This kind of love makes hearts shine… but burns souls."

Now, I knew what she meant.

I took a deep breath.

— "I may not be worthy of her today.

I have no crown. No name written in elven song.

I am just… me."

I paused, then stood taller.

— "But I can change. I will change.

I promise you, Lord Elrond, I will spend every breath, every heartbeat, becoming a man worthy of loving Arwen.

And I will prove it—not with words, but with actions."

Still, he said nothing. But something in his gaze softened.

He walked to the mural—depicting the Last Alliance—and stared at it as if reliving the battle.

Then, he spoke again, more gently this time:

— "Do you know the tale of Beren and Lúthien?"

I nodded. Of course I did.

The mortal man who won the heart of an elven maiden.

A Silmaril stolen from Morgoth's crown. A love that defied gods and fate alike.

Elrond continued:

— "From them came my brother Elros and myself. After the War of Wrath, the Valar gave us a choice. Elros chose mortality. I chose the life of the Eldar.

And now, Arwen inherits that choice."

He turned, and for the first time, looked not like a legend… but like a father. A man caught between duty and love.

— "She should never have to make that decision.

But your presence here… has changed everything."

He sat down beside me. For a moment, we were just two men—two souls bound by love for the same person.

— "She told me," he said quietly, "that she has found her fate.

And that fate… is you."

The weight of those words hit me like thunder.

My heart swelled—and my stomach twisted.

Because now, it was real. This wasn't a dream.

Elrond exhaled slowly.

— "Love between Elves and Men… is never a fairytale.

It's a tragedy.

Always."

His voice carried centuries of sorrow.

But I wasn't of this world.

I didn't come from its stories. I hadn't been written in its pages.

I had come here to forge my own fate.

So I replied, softly:

— "I cannot promise you eternity.

But I can promise you every moment.

And as long as I breathe, I swear Arwen will never shed a tear for me."

He studied me for what felt like forever.

Then, he closed his eyes.

— "Then go.

I cannot stop you from loving her.

And I cannot stop her from loving you.

But if darkness rises again… if the world breaks…

You must be ready to protect her.

Even if it costs you your life."

I nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.

As I left, I saw Ellohir waiting nearby, leaning casually against a pillar.

— "So?" he said. "Talked about dragons, politics… or Arwen?"

I raised an eyebrow.

— "A little of everything. Mostly fate."

I returned to my room, heart thundering in my chest.

I knew Ellohir would tell her. Probably immediately.

But I didn't mind. Not this time.

Let her know. Let her hear. Let her choose.

As for me?

I had begun my journey to become the kind of man who could change the world—

—or die trying.