Sometimes Arwen wants to scream.
Or take a precious, irreplacable vase to throw it against her father’s head.
But she was raised not to be mastered by her emotions, so she doesn't.
Still, one beautiful day in Lothlorien she loses her composure.
"I am not Luthien."
She tells her grandparents with emphasis: "I cannot sing. Certainly not like her. And I will not. I will no longer be compared to this woman."
Arwen is sick of hearing Luthien's name instead of her own.
Among her own people, she fears it's hopeless. They will only ever see the reminding beauty of a lost age.
Perhaps this why doesn't fear the fate of men, why she loves Aragorn so much?
To him she's Arwen. Not the image of Luthien or the elleth who cannot sing.
To her surprise her grandparents are more understanding than she ever hoped them to be.
Celeborn looks at his wife and dryly comments he remembers this temper fairly well.
He saw it in the woman, who crossed the grinding ice on her bare feet.
Galadriel smiles sheepish, takes her granddaughter to the side and tells her about Artanis.