Again, Tolkien owns all and I still can't find anyone to take the Sue.

"Queen Galadriel, didn't you even listen to your minion?"

Galadriel put her hand to her head, a gesture she had learned from her daughter's husband, the Lord of Imladris, on a past visit. He did it often when it seemed as though Eru had turned Arda in its entirety against him.

"My name is Galenaёraeinea, beautiful princess destined to have ill-fated love, the Daystar, more beautiful and powerful than Liv Tinuviel, who is really weak and cruel, always jealous of me and angry because I broke up her and Strider for their own good. Father tries to disown her, but I have pity on my sister and use my charms to persuade him not to."

Galadriel, hand still on her head and now chewing back her lip to keep from bursting with indignation on her granddaughter's behalf, merely said, "It is Arwen Undomiel, child." Galenaёraeinea did not acknowledge her, so she added, "Are you not healed by now?"

The Sue rose, as though these were some magic words, and said, "Oh. Yeah, I am. Now, tell me about my arranged marriage."

The Lady of the Golden Wood sighed inwardly. Her patience had reached its end and Celeborn's words echoed in her mind. You must let these creatures believe whatever they wish, for it seems they always find Legolas of Mirkwood and die in his arms. She gave in, saying flatly, "Yes. Elrond and I have arranged for you to marry Prince Legolas next month and join the three largest Elf realms." The words sounded so artificial, but to the girl they meant something. They meant non-canonical plot.

Galenaёraeinea burst into tearful sobs. "How can I marry someone I don't know or love?!"

Galadriel's bottom lip found its way to between her teeth again. Oh, how much she wanted to burst out and say, "Elves never arrange marriages! Rivendell, Lothlorien, and Mirkwood are already joined by friendship! Well, Rivendell and Lorien and Mirkwood and Lorien at least. Elrond is my son by marriage so how could you possibly be the daughter of both of us without something terribly un-Elvish having happened?! Go back to whatever foul land you came from!" Alas, the bearer of Nenya could never say such a thing. With a calm and sad exterior, all fake, she said, "You must. You are our only hope." The utter cliché in these words burned her throat like sulfur and she left to find a drink of water.