The stars twinkled against a cloudless blue-black sky. 

Singing Elbereth’s praises, Arwen danced, her head thrown back in ecstasy, intoxicated by the sheer beauty of the spring night. Gems glistened in her unbound hair, while her unshod feet seemed hardly to touch the ground.

Hardly of Arda she seemed, too ethereal to be a creature of flesh and blood, but rather that she were made of stardust, her song sweeter than the nightingale’s.

Aragorn watched entranced. His heart soared at such beauty and grace, but how could he ever hope to win this star daughter?

Overhead, Gil-Estel seemed to smile.