Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, Tolkien does. I only own characters not present in any of his works.

A/N: As a reminder, when we last left Arnen she had just been stolen away to a paradise – even though the Fellowship is in the heart of Moria – by a Vala named Irmo, the master of dreams. Let's see what he had to say…

Before the Beginning

The silence of the paradise unnerved Arnen. Standing before one of the figures from stories she was told since childhood did not help either. Irmo looked nothing like she imagined. She thought he would have resembled Elrond or Glorfindel. He was more like a man than an elf. His body was not as lithe as the Elves'.

Stepping closer to him, she looked into his deep eyes. She found herself lost. Searching the blue she could see stars. They soon began to come together in the shape of a woman. Just as Arnen could make out her definite features the picture became an ocean; in its depths she saw a terrible man. His beard flowed as the current and at his side she could see a horn. The pictures changed again and again causing the blues of his iris to dance hypnotically.

Irmo's hand lying on her shoulder drew Arnen from her trance.

"Nay, I will not tell you; I will show you. First, child, I must know, do you remember anything before Aragorn found you?"

Elrond had endeavored to help her many times before. Every time, she would reach into her memory; then she felt something push her out.

Arnen closed her eyes. Hot tears pour down her cheeks as she tried to push back in but was met with the same force. Shaking her head, Arnen opened her eyes.

"I cannot. There is nothing before Rivendell."

Irmo pushed the hair back from her face and placed his hands on her cheeks.

"Close your eyes; picture the river, the tree, the sun in the sky, all on the day that Aragorn found you. Then, do not fight that which pushes. Just allow it to take you."

Arnen closed her eyes again. By Bruinen stretched E-ngaladh and sitting beneath the tree she saw a child. Walking toward her, the woman could feel something pressing against her chest. Instead of fighting it she just fell…and fell…and fell. In fact, Arnen did not touch the ground at all as she suspected she would.

Instead, when she opened her eyes, she saw that she was not beside the Bruinen any longer. A vast, white emptiness is all that met her pupils. Soon though, in the distance she could see something. It drew closer and closer. Scorching pain ripped through her insides. She could almost feel herself being torn limb from limb. Arnen tried to cry out but found she couldn't even open her mouth.

Whoosh.

She finally stopped falling and stood on solid ground. Arnen was at a wedding. There was no sun or moon and yet a great light revealed her surroundings clearly. A large company was standing in lush green grasses before a mighty tree. Its branches were laden with succulent smelling, scarlet flowers. They grazed against the top of her head. Behind the crowd sat a palace, immense and a white that dazzled the eyes. She smiled at the blossom of warmth budding in the depths of her stomach. Arnen was undeniably happy.

"I will miss your loyalty and service, my child," spoke a gentle voice to her left; "you will always be welcome to return. I am certain that your spouse would not mind."

She turned and saw before her a stunningly beautiful woman. Her hair was silver and her eyes midnight blue. Her skin was pale yet glowed; her cheeks blush. The ears Arnen saw sticking from beneath the woman's crown were pointed unlike Irmo's. She wore a flowing dress, a blue so deep it would swallow the light if its source was not so powerful. Circling her hips was an incredibly jeweled belt. In it were sapphires, diamonds, and pearls. But her crown outshined it completely.

The base was made of thin, intertwining, silver wires. On the front there were three peaks, the middle higher than the other two. They too were crafted by the silver. In the highest peak was a glittering jewel. It was too bright to be a crystal, too dazzling to be a diamond. It was light in solid form.

'Who are you?' Arnen tried to ask, but instead she found herself saying, "My Lady Varda, I will certainly miss your company as well. But we will not be far apart and I will visit you as often as I am able."

'Varda?' Arnen thought. 'What is happening? Why can I not speak, and why did I just call her Varda?'

'Hush, child,' the voice of Irmo invaded her mind. 'These are memories. You are just a bystander. Do not even attempt to alter your past; it is impossible.'

When Arnen refocused on her surroundings she saw before her a man. What a man he was. His physique was lithe and airy though it held a certain amount of firmness to it. Amethyst orbs pierced hers and the heart within her breasts leaped with the intensity of his gaze. The hands that held hers were gentle and strong. His skin was bronze. Braids and intricate knots decorated his light brown hair. About his neck was a golden cord holding a white cape on his shoulders. His entire being was clothed in white and gold robes.

A wide voice shook the skies, "In this union I find favor. May you compliment one another as I have created you to. May you, Mélië (affectionate), assist him in whatever way you can and give him tender care. May you, Alindo (thriver), watch over her, show her love and never leave her. I give both of you the command to remember, above all, where you have placed your loyalty that even the sanctity of this bond must acknowledge.

"Do you, Mélië, come into this union of your own freewill?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise to keep in mind that which I charged you with?"

"I promise."

"And do you, Alindo, come into this union of your own freewill?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise to keep in mind that which I charged you with?"

"I promise."

"Then I give you my blessing as Ilúvatar, the All High."

Light engulfed Alindo and Arnen – who, after a little while, figured out that she was the one Ilúvatar called Mélië – and then the being before her took her in his arms and kissed her. Arnen's insides twisted and danced in response to his affections. Pulling him closer she allowed him to deepen the kiss.

"I love you, my Méla (loving, kind)," he whispered into her ear.

The smoothness of his voice made Arnen shiver.

She spoke into his neck, for he was a head taller than her – he smelled of earth and fragrant burning wood, "I love you, too, Meliseë (lover)."

The sight before her began to fade and another took its place.

About her was the sound of many voices. They were all singing different songs and yet one song. Arnen rocked to the music. There was joy and happiness to it but also a great sadness that crushed her heart. Looking around she could see bright beings swaying to the music an singing. Then, Arnen realized she was also taking part in the song. Her voice rose and dipped as a bird, rumbled as thunder in an angry sky, danced as light upon water.

Then, one voice, terrible in its fury, rose up causing a cacophony. Another voice, sweeter and stronger, drowned it out. Twice more this happened. Arnen heard Alindo switch from harmony and join the violent chord along with many other Maiar. His voice continued to go between the two until he finally rested with Melkor's "music". She persisted to sing but turned her head to look at her husband. She saw that his eyes were an odd color; the amethyst had become slightly foggy and the light in his orbs dimmed just a little.

The images before her blurred again.

Suddenly, Arnen was in a bedroom. The floor was made of polished, misty hued wood. One wall was open with three long steps leading to a veranda garlanded with lush greenery. Pale jade sheets covered the large bed opposite the garden. An armoire and a bookshelf stood beside one wall while another was covered with a beautiful tapestry depicting the union of her and her husband.

Alindo was pacing the room frantically, fury in each of his steps.

"How can you not see that he is the one we should be following? His power is great enough to contest with that of your precious Ilúvatar!"

"Have you forgotten yourself, Alindo?" Arnen hissed. "Do you not realize he can hear every word that you say? Melkor is just one of his creations. No creation can contest its Creator. No, no I will not follow you down this path, Meliseë. This one you will have to tread alone. Just know that it ends in certain darkness and defeat."

The man turned on her, gripped her shoulders, and slammed her against the wall. The uneven sandstones dug into her back painfully. Flames leapt into her husbands eyes and his bronze face turned dark.

"You fool!" he growled into her face. "Melkor will overtake you and your master. What of those promises you made to me? Have you forgotten them already? Have you forgotten that you promised to follow me wherever I go, to assist me in everything I do? What of that capricious love you swear you hold for me? Was that all a lie?"

Hot tears poured down Arnen's face.

"I love one named Alindo. He was the man I married. He would never raise his voice to me nor speak such blasphemy – much less think it – knowing it would sadden the heart of Ilúvatar. That was my husband." Arnen's voice fell to a whisper, "You are a stranger to me."

Alindo threw her to the ground and Arnen rolled until a leg of the bed jolted her to a stop.

"Very well, when you are dying on the battlefield where the army of Melkor and "the All High" meet just remember that you had your chance for power. And I, I will be standing at the right hand of Lord Melkor, you will see. You will see."

New pictures flashed before her eyes faster and faster. In one, her head was in the lap of Varda as the lady wiped the tears from her face. Another, she was in the land created by the Song, beautiful, wild, and only lit by the stars of Varda. Then, she walked with the Maiar that served Manwë, her confidant Olórin in his grey cloak at her side .

After that, she saw pandemonium as Melkor – now hideous in his form – attacking the dwelling of the Ainur and destroying the Two Lamps Illuin and Ormal shrouding the island in darkness. Before her mind took her to another memory Arnen caught a glimpse of her husband at the right hand of Melkor sneering insanely.

The images slowed in their onslaught and one drew her in slowly. Rich in its texture, a song lifted to the starry sky. After a few minutes, Arnen saw two lights begin to glow in the ground. Brilliant drops of water fell upon the two spots causing them to grow brighter. The song of Yavanna grew in its intensity and as it did two shoots curled up from the dirt. One was shining gold while the other was shimmering silver.

They continued to grow and curl to the sky until their trunks were so big that even Tulkas – the strongest, most athletic Vala – could not wrap his arms around them. Nienna sat beside them weeping and weeping, her tears the brilliant drops of water that nourished the trees. As light emanated from Telperion and Laurelin Arnen felt her eyes begin to burn. Squeezing them tight, she tried to block out the pain but it stayed with her. Just as sudden as it appeared, the fire in her orbs left.

Opening them she found herself looking into a mirror. Her eyes were glowing with the colors of the Two Trees.

"I believe you took a liking to the new fauna outside," Olórin chuckled behind her.

"It is not funny. Even when I take a different form I have these same eyes. I wonder if they will ever return to the original color."

The Maia stood behind his friend, put his hands on her shoulders, and smiled at her reflection. His eyes were grey and kind. "I think it compliments you greatly, Méla."

Another sight pushed its way into Arnen's mind. A burning Valimar – the city where nearly all of the Vanyar and Valar dwelt – was in the background. In the foreground sang a forest green clad Yavanna and a mourning Nienna, kneeling beside the dying Two Trees of Valinor.

Then another memory: she saw about her a terrible battle. She fought off a werewolf as Elves fought beside her and Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, lead the army on to defeat Melkor, who was to be eternally known as Morgoth.

Arnen blinked and another scene was before her. She was sitting at a table of elf lords and ladies in the Halls of Námo, where the slain Elves wait till the End. Her heart grew heavy as they told her of Middle-Earth. She learned from them that Alindo was true to his word. He was at the right hand of Morgoth, until the day he was utterly defeated. Then, her husband hid himself and began to sow seeds of discord and evil in the world of Elves and Men. He would befriend them and then kill them. She learned of the forging of the Rings. She listened to the few who knew of the One.

Again she blinked. She stood in the center of a circle of seated Valar. Arnen was facing a pedal stool raised above the rest. On it sat Varda and to her left was her spouse, Manwë. His robes were blue velvet, matching the incomparable hue of his iris. Shiny black curls were pulled away from his face, unveiling the powerful gaze he set upon her.

"Please, allow me to go into Middle-Earth. I want to help," Arnen pleaded.

"Nay, child," Varda's voice was crisp. "I will not consent and it must be a collaborative agreement amongst us. I will not send you over there. You are too closely related to this issue."

"My Lady, please. He was my husband. I feel that I should have some part in bringing him to justice."

"I agree with Varda, Méle," said Aulë, the Vala of craftsmanship. "You should not take part in this. You would be of better service here in Valinor."

"I mean no disrespect, my Lord, but what can I do here? I am more needed there than anywhere on this island." She turned to Manwë. "Please, I will waste away if I must continue to see the Children slaughtered by him. Call upon Eru. Ask him if it is his will that I be there. You know I would not have brought this matter before you if I thought he would deny me."

A light penetrated the walls of the meeting room. All present went down to their knees, heads bowed in reverence.

"Mélië is justified in what she speaks. I want her to be in Middle-Earth. I allowed the union between she and Antaino to progress, knowing that his heart would turn from both her and I. In my mind I held this moment.

"But when you enter Middle-Earth, there will be terms to which you must agree."

"Anything, my Father."

"First, you must arrive as a child of Men. Second, you must grow and mature just as they do. I want you to understand their reasoning behind going to war. I want you to be among them and not conspicuous for that is the last thing we need in the war. Third, your memory of this place and this life will be taken from you until the perfect time presents itself."

Arnen lifted her head and looked into the light.

"I agree to your terms."

A hand rested on her shoulder and when she turned around Arnen was back in the silent paradise. But it had a name now; she could remember. It was a field in Valinor where she, Olórin, and the elves that had crossed the Sea would sit and talk about everything they could think of. Then there would be dancing, feasting and singing. Other Maiar would join and when it was all over Arnen could remember falling into a dreamless sleep.

"Mélië?" Irmo asked, searching her soul with his eyes.

"My Lord…I remember," Arnen murmured, sinking to her knees.

Irmo wrapped her in a comforting hug. "It will all come back to you soon enough, Méla, because I can guarantee there is more. But right now its time to return to Moria. They are calling you, Arnen."

He let go of her shoulders and then everything was dark.

"Ah! It's that way," Gandalf said almost giddily.

"He's remembered!" Merry was tired of Pippin's complaints of hunger; they reminded him of his stomach's groans.

"No, but the air does not smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose."

Aragorn smirked and turned to where Legolas sat against a rock. "Get Arnen up. She is probably sound asleep."

"Ai!" The elf jumped to his feet, searching the ground.

"What is it, Legolas?" Aragorn's voice was wary.

"She's gone."

"Gone? You say that as if you don't know where she has gone to."

"Unfortunately, my friend, I do not know where she went."

Aragorn nearly screamed. He searched the ground for any sign of which way she went. Fear choked him when he couldn't find anything. Losing his sister was not apart of the plan for the trip; she was supposed to make it to Lothlórien and then he would be able to somewhat rest knowing she was safe. It wasn't even his idea to allow her to travel with the Fellowship.

Gandalf, seeing the ranger scanning the ground, approached.

"Lost something, Aragorn?"

"Arnen."

"Come again," he feigned deafness.

"That is right, Gandalf. The elf and the man have lost a grown woman," Gimli grumbled, trying to hide his dismay at Arnen's disappearance. "Never mind we have a Dwarf here who is accustomed to searching for clues in the darkness of the earth."

"Alright, Gimli, which way did she go?"

"Well, Elf, I would have to say she went in this direction. I am amazed she did nott trip over anything the way she was dragging her feet."

So Gandalf, feeling it was a little ridiculous to have everyone go in search of Arnen, took Gimli and Legolas with him leaving Boromir and Aragorn with the Hobbits – it should be mentioned that the ever patient Strider did grumble under these arrangements.

"Arnen, Arnen." They went along whispering; what sense would it make to cry out and there may be danger near by, but they felt they had to call.

Legolas's eyes were searching frantically, his ears at their most alert state. A wrenching in his chest made it hard to breathe. The prince took in deep gulps of air attempting to calm himself…the only thing he succeeded in doing was gag on the stale air of the mine. He continued to tell himself that Arnen was alright, that nothing was wrong with her, and that there was no reason for him to feel like his heart was being squeezed of all its life.

He stopped. Standing very still, he listened…. There it was – a grunt. Legolas went in the relative direction of the sound. Stopping again, he willed with all of his might for Arnen to make some other noise. Again, he heard her. Hurrying, he jumped over small chasms and weaved through rubble.

She was sprawled on the ground seemingly unconscious. A cloud of dust rose as he fell to his knees and hugged her against his chest for a moment.

Arnen could feel something beneath her cheek. It wasn't the cold rock she expected but cloth. When she shifted to bury her head into its dimming fragrance of trees and rain the cloth moved from beneath her cheek. Arnen clutched the fabric and refused to let go when a pair of gentle hands tried to pry her fingers away. She wanted to stay with the scent that reminded her of Yavanna and Valinor. A past she so dearly wanted to go back to at that moment.

"Home," she sighed into the cloth. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she tried to hold onto the last sweet moments she had with someone from her past, the one who had told her who she was.

Legolas tried to wake her up, but it was no good. Surrendering to her wishes, he cradled her in his arms and took her back to the others. Gimli raised his eyebrows at the sight. Gandalf breathed a sigh of relief.

"You can let her go now, Legolas," Gimli chuckled. "She does not seem to be injured."

"Er, um, I tried to. I really did. But she will not let go," Legolas stuttered, doubly embarrassed because he knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Gandalf looked the young elf in the eye. What he saw made his thought pattern shift for a moment. Shaking his head at himself, the wizard approached the woman in Mirkwood's prince's arms. He pulled up one of her eyelids. The light the gleamed past the skin made him put it down in a hurry.

"Arnen, child, can you hear me?"

The woman, now half-conscious, stirred and whispered, "Olórin, is that you? How did you find me?"

Gandalf's stomach jumped to his throat. He had not heard his proper name spoken in years. Gazing at Arnen he wondered if what his heart told him was occurring was in fact the truth.

"Is she alright, Mithrandir? Has anything happened to her?" Legolas's voice brought the old one back to the present.

"Of course she is alright. She was just sleepwalking."

"Arnen does not sleepwalk."

"How would you know that, Master Elf?"

"She told me."
A smile crept across Gandalf's face. "And how would she know that?"

Legolas pondered his words and realized his folly. Suddenly, he felt Arnen stirring in his arms.

"Walk with me, Arnen," Gandalf said as the woman looked confusedly from him to Gimli to Legolas, who still held her.

Gently, she was put on her feet. When they got back to the others, Gandalf warned everyone off with a look and took Arnen with him to the front where they began to converse in whispers.

"You remember everything?" Gandalf asked in wonder.

"No, Irmo said there is more, but with all that I have remembered I doubt there could possibly be anymore. What I saw could last a lifetime."

"You must remember, child, that your memory starts before the Song, and so before time. You lived through many ages before you came here. Just think, child, you are as old as I am."

"Then, perhaps, you could stop calling me child?" Arnen tried her luck but it failed.

"No. It's all a part of your agreement. You are still a child compared to me while we are here in Middle-Earth, and so I reserve all the rights to call you one. Glaring at me like that is only helping my case…child."

Arnen punched the wizard playfully.

"It is good to have you back, my old friend," he continued; "It lifts a burden from my heart to have someone near me who remembers all of those years; someone whom I know does not look to lean on me for strength but can help me carry the troubles. I see now why Nienna weeps."

"No. You do not know why she weeps until you see your friends leave to fight a battle you are forbidden to take part in."

Gandalf looked at Arnen from the corner of his eye. She may not have been in the glorious state he recalled from Valinor, but she certainly was Mélië in every other way. Her gait was as graceful as a queen's even on the broken ground; her voice was more musical; her eyes held a greater depth; her presence was more commanding. Yes, before him was the friend he had feasted with in the halls of Manwë and Varda. Even in the oppressive darkness of Moria, Gandalf had gladness in his spirit that he had not felt in many years.

So, you must have put the pieces together as the memories progressed. Now you know her real name and where she's from. If it was a surprise to you, that's great. If it wasn't, oh well I tried to cover it up the best I could.