The Silver Flame (LOTR)

Bridging the Divide

The soft whisper of waterfalls filled the air as Visenya made her way through the halls of Rivendell. Her steps were slow, deliberate, as she took in her surroundings. Every inch of the elven city seemed to radiate with light and grace, from the delicate arches overhead to the pale stone walls bathed in hues of silver and blue. But despite the beauty, there was a restlessness within her, a tension she hadn't been able to shake since her arrival. Something in her mind kept reminding her that this was a world she didn't belong to—one she hadn't chosen to be in.

She paused as she reached the entrance to one of Rivendell's gardens, her eyes scanning the rows of flowers and trees that blossomed in the eternal light of the elven realm. It was peaceful, serene even, but her heart was unsettled. For all the kindness shown to her, she still felt like a stranger.

As she stepped into the garden, her eyes fell upon a figure already seated on one of the stone benches near the fountain. A woman, ethereal in her beauty, with long, raven-dark hair cascading down her back, sat gazing thoughtfully at the water. Her pale gown shimmered in the sunlight, and though Visenya had never met her, she knew immediately who she was.

Arwen.

The daughter of Elrond, and one of the most beloved figures in Rivendell.

Visenya hesitated for a moment, feeling a slight tension rise in her chest. She had heard of Arwen's grace and beauty, her wisdom and strength. But there was something about the woman that gave her pause. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, distant and aloof, as though her thoughts were far away. Or perhaps it was the simple fact that Visenya had never been good with people like Arwen—people who seemed perfect in every way.

With a deep breath, Visenya stepped forward.

"Lady Arwen," she greeted, her voice steady but guarded.

Arwen's head turned slightly, her deep grey eyes meeting Visenya's with a calm and unreadable expression. There was no warmth in her gaze, but neither was there hostility. Just quiet observation.

"Visenya Stark," Arwen replied, her voice soft and melodic. "My father has spoken of you."

"And what has he said?" Visenya asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"That you are a warrior," Arwen said simply. "One who has seen much and endured more."

Visenya nodded. "That much is true."

An awkward silence followed, the sound of the fountain's gentle flow filling the space between them. Visenya shifted slightly, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She wasn't one for small talk, and something told her that Arwen wasn't either.

Finally, Visenya spoke again. "I understand we are to spend some time together while I'm here."

Arwen inclined her head. "Yes, my father thought it might be beneficial for you to learn more about our ways from me."

Visenya arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "He didn't think Legolas or his sons were enough?"

A small, almost imperceptible smile flickered across Arwen's face. "Perhaps he thought you might prefer the company of another woman."

Visenya chuckled dryly. "Well, I can't say he's wrong about that. Though, I suspect we have little in common."

Arwen's eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger. "Do you think so?"

Visenya shrugged. "You seem... proper. Graceful. Like you belong here." She gestured around at the garden. "I don't."

Arwen's gaze softened, but her tone remained steady. "Appearances can be deceiving."