The Lord of the Rings : The Journey of a Transmigrator

I couldn't sleep.

I had tossed and turned in that Elvish wooden bed for at least an hour. And trust me, even if it's carved by the most elegant hands in Middle-earth, when you've got three busted ribs and a mind spinning like a blender, even a bed in Lothlórien won't help.

So I did what any idiot injured in the middle of a thousand-year-old Elven kingdom would do: I went for a solo walk in the middle of the night.

Genius, I know.

Telperion was shining high in the sky, casting its silver light through the branches of the Golden Wood. It was beautiful. Calm. A little eerie too, but in a "mystical beauty hiding ancient secrets" way, not in a "hungry wargs in the bushes" kind of way.

Above me, I sometimes heard the soft singing of Elves who apparently didn't sleep either. Or maybe they did sleep while singing — honestly, in this place, I wouldn't have been surprised.

I walked aimlessly, letting my feet guide me, until I ended up in a small garden, strangely silent. A silver basin sat atop a pedestal shaped like a tree. Polished like a mirror.

A mirror...

I blinked.

Oh.

No.

Galadriel's Mirror.

The mirror. The one Frodo had seen the Shire burning in. The one that could show you the future, the past, or just scare the life out of you for three days straight.

And obviously, because my life is written like a bad fantasy novel (wait a sec...), a soft voice rose behind me:

"Why not take a look?"

I turned. Arwen. Of course.

She was holding a small silver pitcher, her black hair cascading down her nightgown. She looked like a dream. Or a divine trial.

"I don't know what I might see in there... and I have no desire to pry into Elven secrets," I muttered.

Translation: I was terrified of seeing whatever that thing might show me.

Arwen smiled. She wasn't mocking. Just... patient.

"There are no Elven secrets here." She stepped toward the basin and gently poured the water into it. "This is my grandmother's mirror."

"And what does it show?" I tried to sound neutral. Hard to do when an Elven princess is two meters from you.

"The past. The present. Or the future… sometimes all at once."

I sighed and shrugged. Then stepped forward.

The dark water reflected the moon. Nothing else.

I glanced at Arwen, feeling a little awkward.

She whispered, "Patience."

So I looked.

And the surface changed.

Smaug. A dragon. Flames. A city burning. The sky, red.

Then the image shimmered and shifted... and another scene appeared.

Two figures beneath the moon. In front of a white palace. A woman. A man.

I recognized her immediately. Arwen.

Him too. Because it was me.

They drew closer. They embraced. They kissed.

The image faded like mist.

I froze.

Arwen, standing beside me, was watching my expression. I could feel it.

"What did you see?" she asked softly.

I scratched the back of my neck. Very mature. "Blurry images... like you said."

She nodded. Then, without looking at me, she refilled the basin.

And this time, she looked into it.

I saw her blush. First her cheeks. Then her neck. Then her ears. It was... incredibly endearing. And honestly, kind of adorable.

She looked away, stepped back.

Our eyes met.

She knew what I had seen.

And I knew what she had seen.

A long, awkward silence followed. I broke it:

"And you?"

She hesitated. Then murmured:

"The same thing. As always."

Which meant it wasn't the first time she'd seen that vision.

But this time… she had recognized the man's face.

Mine.

"I didn't think destiny would come knocking so soon..." she whispered in Elvish.

And that's when I panicked internally.

Not because of what she said.

But because she didn't know I understood Elvish.

So I kept quiet.

We left the garden without a word. Not because there was nothing to say. But because no word felt neutral enough to say without everything spiraling out of control.

We ended up in a small gazebo surrounded by glowing flowers. I don't even know how we got there. I think my feet decided, "Yeah, we're not going back to the same room right now."

Arwen finally broke the silence.

"What did my grandmother say to you, after I left?"

I thought for a moment.

Then I told her the truth. Or part of it.

"She asked if I knew the tale of Beren and Lúthien."

Arwen didn't respond, so I continued.

"And to be honest, the first time I saw you... I thought of her. Of Tinúviel."

I turned toward her.

"You have her grace. Her gaze. That diadem, your hair... I think that's what overwhelmed me."

She smiled. Softly.

"Many have said the same. But I am not Lúthien. Though... perhaps... my fate may resemble hers."

The word fate hit me like a blow.

"Do you want to know what I said to your grandmother?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I asked her if the Music of the Ainur had truly written everything. If my fate was already set in stone."

"She told me: the fate of Men is not written in the Music."

I looked her in the eyes.

"Then I'll carve mine myself."

Her eyes welled up. She looked away.

We talked for a long time after that. About her. About me. About Galadriel. The past. The worlds I had crossed. The girls I had loved and lost.

She listened. She didn't judge.

And then I told her that we would be leaving soon, together, for Rivendell.

She smiled.

And as we parted, she stopped, resting her hand on my arm.

"Edward... do you know why Lúthien chose to die with Beren?"

I frowned. Trick question.

"Because she asked the Valar to bring him back. And in return, she gave up her immortality."

Arwen shook her head.

"No."

She looked up at me.

"She chose between an empty eternity... or a short life, filled with love."

And I found nothing to say.

Because I wasn't sure I had the strength to make that choice.

Not yet.

But maybe... someday.