Elrond’s home had been prepared by Celebrian his wife, as she awaited his arrival in the West. It was somewhat like the Last Homely House of Imladris, and yet also quite different. Rather than a feasting hall within the house, the dining hall was on a wide veranda leading out to a series of terraces. It had a magnificent view of the strand, the sea, and of the shores of Aman beyond.

Galadriel stood by the wide columns, gazing not to sea, but to the door through which others were arriving: there was Mithrandir (for so she still thought of him), and at his side the beloved figures of Frodo and Bilbo—and with them what appeared to be an elderly hobbit matron. Mithrandir led her to be introduced.

Galadriel saw clearly through the hröa to the remarkable fëa within. She had been told. And yet she had not understood. Mirimë was Mirimë, and yet she was wholly Adamanta as well. As Olórin had done when he had taken the guise of an Istari, and become in truth the Grey Pilgrim, an old man subject to all of the ails of Men, Mirimë was fully Adamanta, and seemed even more tightly bound to her hröa than he.

She returned Galadriel's scrutiny with aplomb. "It is good to see you again, Artanis," she said. "You have both remained the same and yet changed a great deal since last we met."

The Lady nodded, an amused smile on her face. "You have changed a good deal," she said, “and are not at all the same.”

Adamanta laughed at this, which drew both Bilbo and Frodo-- who had been conversing with Elrond-- to her side. She turned to them with a smile, and then back to Galadriel. "Of course, you know my great-grandsons."