Newsgroups: rec.arts.books.tolkien
Subject: The Power of Arwen (was Re: Why Frodo had to go)
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Quoth Creole  <<<Creole38 -aaatt- hotmail -daht- com>>>:
> It recently dawned on me that Arwen is only four generations removed
> from Luthien, or five generations removed from Melian... I do wonder
> sometimes what powers she possessed beyond that of the typical elf.

Just wait a couple of years... there are some movies coming out that
are sure to highlight every last bit of Arwen's divine powers. :)  

   Over the lip of the little dell, on the side away from the hill,
   they felt, rather than saw, a shadow rise, one shadow or more than
   one.  They strained their eyes, and the shadows seemed to grow.
   Soon there could be no doubt: three or four tall black figures were
   standing there on the slope, looking down on them.  So black were
   they that they seemed like balck holes in the deep shade behind
   them.  Frodo thought that he heard a faint hiss as of venomous
   breath and felt a thin piercing chill.  Then the shapes slowly
   advanced.

   Their eyes fell on Frodo and pierced him, as they rushed towards
   him.  But just as they were about to fall on the company in wrath,
   they were stopped with a great shock: as if they had run into some
   web like a great spider's, only invisible.  Frodo could see no
   obstacle, but something too strong for their will to overcome
   barred the way.  The black forms looked about, and then within the
   shadow of the dell they saw a new form take shape.

   Frodo was astonished to see an Elven maiden stride into the circle
   of firelight, defiantly advancing against the servants of the
   Enemy.  Young she was and yet not so.  To Frodo's surprise, she
   seemed to be clad in elven-mail, which glittered in the firelight
   where it wrapped tightly round her shapely chest.  The braids of
   her dark hair were touched by no frost, her white arms and legs,
   unhampered by armor, were flawless and smooth, and the light of
   stars was in her bright eyes, grey as a cloudless night; yet
   queenly she looked, and thought and knowledge were in her glance,
   and when she looked upon Strider it was clear that she had known
   many things that the years bring.  Above her brow her head was
   covered with a cap of sliver-steel netted with small gems,
   glittering white; but her hard shining mail was fashioned as a
   girdle of leaves wrought in silver.

   "Begone, foul servants of Sauron!" she cried, leveling a long, thin
   blade at the wraiths, "and do not strive to penetrate the Girdle of
   Arwen: it will avail ye naught.  None may pass it against my will,
   unless one should come with a power greater than that of the
   heiress of Melian the Maia, but your Master is far away.  Now get
   ye gone, ere I throw down your mounts and lay bare the pits of your
   tortured souls!"

						Steuard Jensen