A/N: Firstly, I'm very sorry this isn't finished - but I did promise HaMalka HaLevana to update on 24th or 25th August. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out. Secondly, this is a draft and incomplete - I will definitely try to edit and complete it as soon as possible, but hopefully you, my dear reader, will make do with this version for now. My sincere apologies!

Also, this is for HaMalka HaLevana, who has very kindly translated the first vignette of this series into Hebrew, posted on her blog, and always encouraged and motivated me to continue writing. Kudos to her and a thousand thanks!

Artanis has always been a child of the light. Her childhood was spent frolicking in the frothy waves and golden light characteristic of Aman, her beautiful golden hair radiant and bright. And yet she remembers most vividly the scent of rain on her last evening in Aman. Strangely reminiscent of the peace in the Blessed Realm, there are never thunderstorms – only light drizzles. The refreshing scent has always reminded her of Aman, and yet she has never been fond of the rain there, because the light, almost feeble pattering of raindrops have never appealed to her.

She encounters her first thunderstorm in the ship of the Teleri, nearly thrown off the side in the chaos as the skies turn dark and ominous. The wild untamed nature strikes a chord somewhere in her, and for a moment she almost hopes it will not end. Then lightning flashes, and her brother is shouting for her to take shelter.

In Beleriand, she forgets the storm, forgets the scent of rain – but in her nightmares she can still feel the coldness of ice on her lips as it cuts viciously into the flesh in a scuffle, only the slightest bit warmer than the stare of a dark-haired Telerin elf before he releases her roughly, recognizing her mother's features in her face. It is neither her beauty nor her wit that saves her then, the shocking sensation of bitter ice not in the least comparable with the blade at her throat that does not leave carefully enough to avoid a thin cut that as faded beyond even Elven sight.

Then she leaves Beleriand, and in Doriath she meets a prince of silver hair and blue, blue eyes – eyes that pierce and observe just as hers do, that flicker with amusement and yet doesn't warm the slightest bit when they announce themselves to be kin of Elu Thingol. He beckons for them to follow him, and melts into the trees, only the glint of his silver hair giving him away. When he passes her in the hallway after their audience with Thingol, they are close enough for her to catch the faintest scent of rain, and she stiffens.

He pauses for a moment, sensing her reaction, and she almost fears that he will ask, but he only bows his head slightly to her, and continues on in his path.

For the next few months he disappears, and when he returns there is new understanding in his gaze – new understanding that she somehow fears. And for all her eloquence, she cannot bring herself to speak one word to him. Thingol and Luthien welcome their presence, if curious about their experiences, but Melian, gentle and peaceful, sees even keener into others' thoughts than she does.

Once when Luthien has other matters to tend to and cannot be Artanis' company, she snags Celeborn and forces him to abandon his duties to accompany her.

Amused, and very slightly disconcerted, she smiles at him. "I cannot think of why she did that – if you have duties you have to attend to, attend to them, please."

He raises a brow, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "Indeed? I believe this is much more interesting than attempting to pick out threads of information of our people's welfare from Daeron's songs – I'd rather stay."

She shrugs elegantly. "I would not know – I am hardly good company today."

The amusement does not disappear, but the slightest hint of concert flashes across the sapphire depths. "Indeed – the Moriquendi cannot possibly be as satisfactory a company as your kin on Aman."

Her eyes swiftly raise to look at him.

He does not even bother to look back. "You do miss them, you realize."

The tone is so patronizing that she rises from the chair and finds him much closer than she has expected. Suddenly the scent of rain is almost tangible, only this time it is also the scent of home, and she almost breaks then.

His voice is neither harsh nor soothing when he speaks again, not moving an inch from her, almost as though he knows how his proximity affects her. His finger touches the barely noticeable scar on her lips. "What happened?"

She almost says it then – almost lets loose the secret she has been keeping so painstakingly – but at the last moment rationality crashes back on her, and she takes a step back. "I bit too hard once."

He laughs. The sound is untamed and wild, and it reminds her of the thunderstorm she met when she left Valinor – only it isn't merry laughter – it's steel and ice and everything the Telerin elf who almost killed her was. And she suddenly wonders if she has made a mistake.

Please do review, and as usual any criticisms and/or suggestions are welcome, but please don't flame me if it's horribly done because I'm going to rewrite it again! ;D You're welcome to flame me after I do. THANK YOU!

R.B.