A\N. For Ardhoniel Marvelite, who never fails to prompt me.

It was with awe she softly stepped into the swelling surf. The sun-rippling waves came to her knees and surged, clear under her feet. She stepped upon the white sands and looked up. Trees the like of which she had never seen before towered above her, fairer than even the trees of Lothlorien. Lissuin flowers of deepest gold carpeted the green grass as she walked farther.

Arwen halted under a tree. It was shaped as a willow, but its trunk was smooth silver and branched upwards, and then like a fountain slender boughs fell down, clad in blossoms the hue of gloaming's violet. She laid a hand on the trunk and felt the life within. It brought a thrill to her heart. "So these are the Blessed Realms." she whispered. "How fair they are."

Without hesitation she sprang into the trees, letting the flowery curtain hide her. Life was thrilling through her blood, tingling in the air. The beauty was not that of noontide, soft and languid, but that of the brilliant morning. It shone with new life, flooding across the Lost Isle even as the light of dawn came upon them. Her heart verily ached for a joy she had never known and now would never leave her. She sat throughout the day, watching the comings and goings of the Blessed Realms, and found it twas the twilight that brought her the most delight, as it wove together the threads of day and night, clad in violet skies and silver stars, deep, profound, hanging in between the inevitable and the impossible, soft with sweetness, poignantly clear and timeless.

When it came Arwen slipped from the tree and wandered through the glades of Lairelossë and Nessamelda. Burdens she had never know she carried were lifted from her, and her feet were as light as sea foam. And so she danced and knew it not.

"It is said that Lúthien Tinúviel was a mortal. How comes she to the Blessed Realms and Tol Eressëa?"

Arwen spun round, the light silk of her garment swirling around her feet. An Elf stood watching her, long golden hair glimmering in the twilight. "I am not Lúthien Tinúviel." she said softly. "I am Arwen Undómiel."

"Indeed." said the Elf with a courteous bow. "And I am Inglorion, son of Finrod and Amarië."

"Well met." replied Arwen with a smile. "I have heard much of Finrod. He was a mighty warrior, one who could stand before the King of Darkness."

"Indeed he is." replied Inglorion, and his deep eyes were solemn. "But let us dwell on the doings of Morgoth no longer, not here."

"There will be a time when all of the Firstborn Race will go forth against him. So shall I, and so shall you, and he will fall."

"Who knows how many Ages away the End shall be, Lady Undómiel?"

"It may be tomorrow. It may."

"So it may, and it may not."

"But it is always wise to be prepared."

"You speak as one well versed in warfare." said Inglorion amiably.

"I have wielded sword before." replied Arwen.

"Indeed. It is not often that the nissi take to such weapons." replied Inglorion.

"We often do." retorted Arwen. "You may see that we fight among the neri."

"I believe it, at least amongst the Sindar and the Noldor. It is rare, though, among the Vanyar."

"You forget the Avari." muttered Arwen. "They have other customs than ours."

"So I have hard, and would wish to learn more." said Inglorion with a smile. "Will you not walk with me by the shore and tell of Middle-Earth? In turn, if you desire, I will tell you of the Lost Isle."
Arwen consented. "I know not of what to tell you." she said at last, gazing out upon the sea. Telperion's waxing blossom reflected in the dark, shimmering waters. "Sauron has been gathering his forces, and Orcs multiply. We have suffered much at their hands." she added bitterly, remembering of her mother's torment in their vile dens.

"How?" Inglorion's fair face was troubled, a glint of anger in his eyes.

Arwen hesitated as hundred memories of grief came flooding back to her. "They took my mother and they took her soul, and left her bleeding body." Arwen paused. The agony of sleepless nights came back to her, as she sat with her Nana's head upon her lap and begged her to come back. The Orcs had tormented her, and as Arwen first beheld her, she saw a pale body, once long silver hair now shorn above the shoulders and entangled with dried blood. The blue eyes that had shone with life were empty of everything except pain. But as they sailed, a change had come upon her. Life was returning, a brilliant gleam to her eyes, and laughter had risen to her lips as she leapt ashore.

"I am sorry." said Inglorion, pulling her back to the present. "Sorrow is not often dwelt upon here."

"Sometimes joy is sweeter when mingled with sorrow." murmured Arwen.

"I see what you are saying, but I doubt it." returned Inglorion.

"When my mother was returned to me, I saw what I had lost and never fully appreciated. Now that she is healing and her heart is once more her own, now she is no longer ruled by fearful dreams of the past." replied Arwen.

Inglorion smiled at her. "Indeed, you prove your point well. But is there more than sorrow and pain in Middle-Earth?"
"Middle-Earth will always be beautiful, Inglorion, because blood and tears watered it. The blood and tears of our people. Though, at the last, if every blossoms withers, a thousand memories of love will still bloom there."

"I see." he sighed, his face pensive as he gazed out over the sea. "Sometimes, I wish to follow the path of the Noldor and tread upon the land that lies beyond the waves. One day, I hope to see the fairest and proudest of their race. Have you heard of her?"

"Galadriel the White Lady. Or Artanis the Fair, as she is more often called here." said Arwen. "Aye indeed, for she is my foremother."

Inglorion stared at her. "Now that is no heritage to be ashamed of. Daughter of Galadriel upon the mother's side, I am correct. I have heard Galadriel had a daughter, though I do not recall her name."

Arwen nodded her head. "Lady Celebrían, born near Lake Evendim."

Who then did she wed?" asked Inglorion curiously.

"Elrond, son of Elwing and Ëarendil."

"Daughter of Dior, son of Lúthien, who in turn was the daughter of Melian, the Nightingales' Queen, who danced in Lórien." murmured Inglorion. "Indeed, renown and beauty flow freely through your blood, Lady Arwen, and I do not wonder that you bear the likeness of Lúthien."

"The beauty of Lúthien is not who I am." she answered, her voice sharper than she intended it to be. "My name is Arwen Undómiel, not Lúthien Tinúviel, and though I may be her daughter by descent I am not her."

"Pray forgive me." said Inglorion. "But many would think it the greatest honor to be held in comparison to Lúthien."

"I heard it too many times. But I am not like her. She never sailed. I have." replied Arwen. "She died. I live in the Undying Lands."

"And I am most glad you do." said Inglorion with smile, as the sea breeze twisted his golden hair back from his face. "Well then, Lady Arwen, may I escort you to your mother?"

Arwen sighed. "I do not know whither she might have gone, though I hope she has left for the gardens of Lórien and Estë. The tree was suitable companionship."

"Ai! Was that a slight?" laughed Inglorion. "Very well, thither I shall return you, and leave you to converse with it."

A smile crept across her face. "It was wearisome to only talk to a tree. Perhaps it can find abode for you, for a while."

Inglorion grinned. "I would be delighted."

They crept under the flowering curtain and into the silver branches. "Now tell me of the Lost Isle." demanded Arwen.

"I am in the same strait as you. The places where we dwell or dwelt are so familiar to use that we cannot justly describe them. It is fair as you see…..and filled with many fair Vanyar." he added.

"I hope you do not mean yourself!" she laughed, and he shook his head. "Nay, I am only half Vanyar, on my dear mother's side. I do not flatter myself that highly, but there are others who would be delighted to accompany you wherever you wish."

"Ah, and I had wished to escape that, hoping that the maidens would be fairer here." said Arwen with a wave of her hand. "I believe I shall stay here, in the tree. Do you have any other family then, Inglorion?"

"My brother Anorion and a sister, Amarel. They are twins."

"Younger?"

"Nay, older. I myself am the youngest."

"I have twin brothers as well." said Arwen. "I hope they may join me soon."

"If they bear any familial resemblance to you, half of even the Vanyar Maidens will find them irresistible."

"Alas! They are indeed fair, and have a charm of speech that will wheedle a soft spot in many a fair maiden, even if they do not do it intentionally." laughed Arwen. "They can hardly walk through Imladris without being followed."

"Such a hard fate. I pity them." said Inglorion solemnly, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

"I pity their followers. My brothers have little interest in anything now….save bloodshed." said Arwen. "I hope they will come here soon, ere some misfortune befalls them. That is one of the two things that held me back from sailing at first. I had hoped that perhaps I could restrain their blood wrath. The other was for my father."

"It may have been the better, for even if you could not persuade them to join you now, without you they may come the swifter."

"I hope so." answered Arwen. "Now Inglorion, I deeply desire to meet your family. Finrod is sung in many songs."

Inglorion leapt to the ground and offered her his hand, but she came lightly down with a smile. "Nay, though I thank you. It would be a poor tribute to my Sindar blood if I could not move through the trees. Come now."