As some of you already know this year I began a podcast as an act of self care, hope seeking, and from a belief that we need to be lights shining in the darkness, as fascism and hate rise around us. You can read more about Go Not To The Elves for Counsel here.

This summer I recorded an episode on Arwen Evenstar, a fascinating character who I have loved since I was a child first reading The Lord of The Rings.

Arwen was, famously, a late addition to the story. This fact is often used to fuel debates, sometimes even spurring the criticism that Tolkien only realized Aragorn needed a wife when he was almost finished. As any deep dive into the History of Middle-earth shows, this is simply untrue. Aragorn had a planned wife: Éowyn. Their union would have been a fascinating early twist, uniting Rohan and Gondor. But as Tolkien famously wrote, often feeling like he was watching his characters on a stage, things changed. Éowyn was “stolen away” by Faramir, a development of two people finding solace and strength outside the roles society (or even early drafts) had expected of them.

This left the King without a Queen just as the story needed a wedding—a classic trope of fairy tale and historical romance. And so, Arwen was inserted, mostly via the Appendices.The Appendices are not like a Marvel movie end-credit scene. They are a vital part of the framing device, claiming to be part of the translation of the Red Book of Westmarch. Just as an Anglo-Saxon footnote can hold immense historical value (like the text of Cadmon’s Hymn), the Appendices are indispensable for understanding the full legendarium.

But when Estel was only 20 years of age, it chanced that he returned to Rivendell.That day, therefore, Elrond called him by his true name, and told him who he was and whose son…Aragorn, full of hope, walks alone, singing a part of the Lay of Lúthien. Then he sees her, a maiden so fair he thinks he has strayed into a dream and suddenly, even as he sang, he saw a maiden walking on a green sward among the white stems of the birches. For behold, there Lúthien walked before his eyes in Rivendell…Aragorn cries out, “Tinúviel!” (a name of Lúthien) and when she turns, this exchange occurs:“Who are you? And why do you call me by that name?” And he answered, “Because I believed you to be the, indeed, Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness.”

“So many have said,” she answered gravely, “yet her name is not mine, though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers. But who are you?” “Estel I was called,” he said, “but I am Aragorn, Arathorn’s son, Isildur’s heir, Lord of the Dúnedain.” But she laughed merrily and said, “Then we are a kin from afar, for I am Arwen, Elrond’s daughter, and am named also Undómiel.”

The Question of Doom and what is means is a complex one. One of the most crucial lines here is Arwen’s contemplation of her “doom.” From a modern perspective, doom suggests a bad or tragic event. But Tolkien nearly always uses it in the older, Anglo-Saxon sense meaning fate or destiny. It is I believe deeply misogynistic to assume Arwen’s grave contemplation is merely about who she will marry. The “doom” of Luthien was more than falling for a hot vegetarian, it was choosing mortality over immortality, the human unknown ending over the elf known circle of birth and rebirth. So often commentators, academics and indeed readers seem to reduce her agency to a choice of husband as if that is the only important choice any woman can have to worry about. Whether it be on a podcast or in the therapy room falling into the trap of compulsory heterosexuality is something many of us do, reguardless of our own relationship with gender and sexuality. The assumption that every life path is about marriage and children can be as big a burden on the cis het woman contemplating a career, or a child free marriage, as on the queer teenager wondering how they can ever be “normal”.

Lúthien’s most important act was not who she married, but the choice she made afterwards: she chose mortality and died alone of all the Elves, passing beyond the circles of the world with Beren. When Arwen wonders if her doom will be like Lúthien’s, she is, I believe asking: “Will I choose to stay in Middle-earth?” She has this choice, quite apart from who she marries, as do her brothers. I notice no one ever seems to assume Elrohir and Elladan will only choose mortality if they get hitched. Sometimes internalised misogony and compulsory hetrosexuality go so deep that people arent even aware they are motivated by them. The twin brothers are allowed, in the readers minds, to make a decision, to deem their doom independently. Arwen, even in the moment of introduction, when she has no romantic attachment to Aragorn, is not given the agency of independence.

I think we can better understand Arwen’s psychological state at this meeting by applying Erik Erikson’s model of psychosocial development. Erikson’s model, unlike earlier concepts, considers development across the entire lifespan, with each stage defined by a core conflict to be resolved. While Arwen is chronologically ancient, in terms of developmental stage, she is right alongside the 20-year-old Aragorn .

In this crucial moment of identity versus role confusion both Arwen and Aragorn are contemplating the answer to the question – “who am I?”

Aragorn has just received his titles and heirlooms. His heart is high because he has been given a role to aspire to, Lord of the Dúnedain. He is defining himself by his lineage and considering what that means for his future. Arwen is doing the same kind of contemplation, even while she has been given no new or hidden knowledge. She is contemplating stepping out of her inherited role, or at least the role that has been assumed for her. She is Half-Elven, she has the agency to choose her destiny: go to Valinor with her father and brothers, or stay in Middle-earth and die. She is in the deep moment of saying, “I need to be me, not who you want me to be.”Elrond, like many parents, assumes she will conform, that his assumed path for her is the same as the path she will choose. There are parallels here with the moment an LGBTQAI+ child comes out. Most parents will have assumed a life path even if they are not conscious of it, and the moment of coming out can feel like a rejection, even if that life path was nothing more than a parental fantasy.

Arwen is wrestling with the monumental, world-changing choice that will define her identity forever. Her conversation is a moment of profound identity versus role ronfusion, long before it becomes a choice about Intimacy versus Isolation (Erikson’s Stage 6). Arwen is not a romantic teen mooning over her handsome prince. She is asking the fundamental question: Who will I be? And that is a far more important question than simply “Who will I marry?” We each have to find our own identity, our own doom. Arwen’s greatness lies in her knowing this and choosing her path with full integrity.

I sometimes think the greatest power of queer readings of a text lies not in the identification of this or that character as LGBTQAI+ but in the challenge to assumed and inherited normativities which can constrain each and every one of us. So often the challenge whether on the page, or in the theraputic relationship is how do we be our authentic self when the people around us believe that their imagined idea of our authentic self is more real than the living breathing person before them.