Rain Dance

Rain Dance

Ithilin Palandiriel


Rating: R/NC-17

Summary: After their wedding, Ithilin finds she has much to learn about her new life and it’s not as easy as she thought it would be.

Discaimer: *Checks Bank account* Nope! Sadly not mine. I bow in difference to the master, Tolkien.

Rain Dance

Chapter 1

Silence reigned in the Library except for the scritch scratch of a quill against parchment and the whispered mutterings from the lone student who would stop occasionally to dip her pen into the inkwell. Black ink stained her small hands even as her quill moved across the page. The soft light that filtered through the large, high windows highlighted the long blonde hair that had once been confined to the thick braid that hung down her back.

A tall stately elf paced back and forth in front of the chalkboard, his long, blue-black hair swaying in the light breeze that came through the open doors at the other end of the chamber as he waited for the scratching to subside.

He stopped, his piece of chalk poised to start the next lesson as he looked back at his pupil who still sat scratching away at her desk.

"The next letter we will accomplish today will be . . ." he began to draw the florid curls and tails on the blackboard, "the letter for Ando, meaning gate

"Damn it all to the nine hells!!" Ithilin snarled, jamming her quill back into the inkwell with aching, ink-stained fingers and angrily pushed away from the desk.

Erestor rolled his sea-blue eyes toward the heavens, begging Ilúvatar for patience with this latest outburst from his lord’s daughter.

"It will not come overnight, penneth," he said, trying to sound soothing. "It takes time."

Ithilin glared at her father’s counselor as she rubbed her right hand, trying to ease the muscle cramp that had caused all the problems in the first place.

"I am more than well aware of that, Lord Erestor," she hissed testily as she rose from her chair and began to pace the length of the Library-turned-schoolroom. "However, at the rate of success that I am having with this endeavor, I will be as ancient as Ada before I master even one letter.

"Hên -"

"I can not even begin to fathom how long it will take beyond that before I learn to read!"

"Let me see what you have done so far, child," he placated, reaching for the piece of parchment that lay on the desk.

Ithilin snatched away, crumpled the parchment and tossed it on to the cold hearth. "It is nothing but hen scratch, Erestor. Let’s just face the facts, I’m too old to relearn everything."

She bowed her head trying to will the tears that had surfaced away. In the moon since her wedding to Legolas nothing had gone right. Her wedding night, itself, was a fiasco, owing to the fact that she was now considered a minor and Legolas would have to go through Naur Echui again before they could lie as husband and wife. That, alone, could discourage even the most patient of elves but coupled with feeling sick much of the time, her in-laws hating her, her daughter passing her in studies and Legolas not touching her unless she initiated the contact, frustration didn’t even begin to cover it. Not only that, Estel and Arwen had just announced that they were expecting. She was happy for them but she was angry too. Angry that Iluvatar would bless them yet keep her barren. She felt stupid, lost, and isolated.

"Little one, while you are older than many elflings," he tried diplomatically, "I am certain that you can lean to read and write."

"Right."

"What is really upsetting you?" he asked gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

Erestor knew Elrond did much the same thing when faced with a seemingly difficult task. He had to rant and fuss for hours before he was settled enough to tackle the problem with his keen mind. And from the way Ithilin was reacting, she was no different than her father. However, Erestor could sense that there was something else beneath the surface, something that was hurting the child badly.

Ithilin shrugged off his hand and moved toward the window, letting the silence fall heavily on the room.

"Little one,"

"Don’t, Erestor. I don’t want to talk about it."

"It might -"

"I assure you, it won’t."

With that she left, leaving a very concerned and frustrated Erestor in her wake.

With a sigh, he bent and retrieved the wadded up piece of parchment. What he found upon opening it baffled him even more. Here on the page were perfectly formed letters in Elvish and Westron, but the words written there brought tears to his eyes. The child was heart-sick.

"My feä feels torn asunder. I am cast adrift in an unknown sea.
My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me?
How have I offended thee?
My arms are hungry, yet you have given my child away.
You have turned my herven away from me,
leaving me bereft of even that comfort.
What have I done? Show me my sin.
I beg thee, oh Lord, on penitent knee."

"Oh, child," he whispered as he reverently folded the paper, recognizing the poem for what it was: a loud cry for help. Elrond had to see this. Maybe he could fix this before she became too despondent.


* * *


A warm summer breeze wafted through the open terrace doors, teasing and lifting a loose wisp of flaxen hair of the chamber’s lone occupant. The blond elf tucked the errant strand behind his pointed ear as he continued to inscribe the flowing elvish script the parchment that lay in front of him on the desk.

"So many delays," he moaned softly, setting the document aside.

Legolas rubbed his forehead wearily. The plans for the talan were not coming along as he had wanted. He had hoped to move his family to Ithilien before winter set in but with the delays in materials and the rebuilding of Osgiliath it would be spring before the talan would be ready.

He sighed. On top of that Ithilin was becoming increasingly more distant, keeping Moragain between them at night and practically disappearing during the day. She was not sleeping well and she had been ill from time to time because of it. Nightmares, too, still plagued her. In fact many nights he had to subdue her to keep from waking Moragain. He knew Glorfindel would be appalled to learn that he often was the one that yielded to avoid getting badly injured. He had spoken to Elrond about it but the elder elf was hesitant to give her anything stronger than a mild sleeping draught for fear of her becoming dependent on it. He prayed that something would change soon, that she would come back to him.

"Legolas," Aragorn’s voice broke through the silence of the chamber like a baritone bell.

"Yes, mellon-nîn," he replied softly, not looking up from the scrolls that littered the table before him.

"You look like hell, my friend," Aragorn observed none too gently as he pushed away from the door jam that he had been leaning against and strode over to the elven prince.

His friend looked like he hadn’t slept in some time. His long blond hair was dull and disheveled, his blue eyes were glassy and red-rimmed and his normally tidy appearance was rumpled and dirty. "What troubles you?"

"Do you not have enough troubles being a king, Estel, that you must add mine to your list?" he said raking a long-fingered hand through his unbraided hair.

"When you let yourself go like this, I do.," Aragorn answered, picking up a scroll to peruse as he sat down next to his friend. "Is Ithilin still having nightmares?"

Legolas nodded as he rubbed his temples. A monstrous headache was coming on due to the lack of sleep. "Aye. When she wakes she curls in on herself and pushes me away. She refuses to seek comfort from me and I do not know why. I have already spoken to Elrond and he will not give her anything stronger because she is so young. He says she just needs time to heal."

"I heard she has been ill as well."

"Aye."

"Could she be carrying and just not know? With the bond sleeping like this, it is a likely possibility."

"Nay, she is not. Moon Dark has come and gone in the last moon." He sighed heavily as he tried to rise from his chair, only to stumble. "Besides, she is considered an elfling. I will have wait for her to come of age and go through Naur Echui again to even lie with her."

"I do not envy you that, mellon-nîn." Aragorn caught him before he fell and helped him back into his chair. "How long has it been since you rested, my friend?"

"I do not remember. This is effecting me as much as it is Ithilin because even when I do, I do not rest well."

He rose again and managed to stay on his feet. Heaving a bone-weary sigh, he crossed the room and moved slowly out onto the balcony that overlooked the family gardens. With his proud head and shoulders slumped in exhaustion, he leaned against the balustrade.

"I have tried to talk to her but she will not respond. I can not figure out what I have done to make her angry with me."

Aragorn smiled as he followed and sat on the balustrade next to him, half afraid that, in his present state, Legolas might tumble over the railing. "It may have absolutely nothing to do with you, Legolas. You just happen to be the most convenient target. This may also just be her way of dealing with the rape and all of the changes in her life. Just be patient with her."

Legolas shot his friend a withering glare. "What, in Arda, do you think I am doing, Estel?" he asked. "I have no choice but to be patient. All I am asking is for Ithilin to seek comfort from me."

"Sîdh, mellon-nîn," Aragorn placated, trying console his frustrated friend. "I did not realize that it was affecting you this badly."

Legolas sighed and looked out over the garden. He was trying to be patient. He really was, but he was tired of having to fight this battle. He, too, needed the comfort that only his wife could give him and it just wasn’t there. So, in the end both of them ended up more frustrated.

"It is wearying, regardless. I want my wife back," he whispered.


* * *

Erestor searched the entire keep before finally locating Elrond in the House of Healing. He should have known that that was where he was, considering he could always be found there in Imladris. The Peredhil may be the High King of Elves but there were times when Erestor wondered if the Elven Lord would have been happier being a simple healer.

When he entered the infirmary, Erestor heard the chief healer, a woman named Ioreth, speaking in a raised voice to an apparently deaf Elrond as he went about his task. Erestor suppressed a smile. The venerable elf really knew how to rankle certain people.

"This is *MY* infirmary, master elf. Not yours. I will not have - "

"Madam, do you wish this man - "

"You are interfering where you do not belong, sir," said the matron, her face flushed an angry red.

Elrond heaved a resigned sigh but still he continued to work on the unconscious man.

Erestor, suppressing a smile as he ignored the woman’s protests, approached and bowed low. "Heru-nîn,"

"Erestor, how many more times must I remind you not to abase yourself before me. I am no better than you," Elrond sighed, not looking up from the wound he was stitching closed.

The war was over and the Ring destroyed, yet the orc population had not diminished as they thought it would with the fall of Sauron. Skirmishes on the borders kept the House of Healing near overflowing with wounded and all of the healers here were grossly over worked. Elrond closed his eyes and sighed softly as his hands moved steadily over the deep sword cut he was stitching closed.

"You are my king and my lord, sire."

Elrond’s hand stopped and looking up briefly he leveled his chief councilor with an exasperated glare. "What is it, Erestor?"

"Ithilin, my lord."

"Give her time. Wounds like that do not heal overnight."

"I can not. Not after today. We may not have much time left."

This time Elrond did look up, alarm flashing across his grey eyes. "What do you mean?"

Erestor handed the crumpled parchment to him.

"I am proud that she has come so far in such a short time, Erestor, but why such concern?" Elrond replied after quickly scanning the page.

"Read it," Erestor commanded, holding it out again.

"When I am finished."

"No, my lord. Now!"

"Erestor, if I do not finish this poor man will be cauterized and bled to death by this barbaric woman that has the gall to call herself a healer."

Ioreth made an angry snort that earned her an icy glare from the Peredhil.

"Madam," he snapped, his brow furrowed deeply causing the ends of his dark eyebrows to angle angrily toward his hairline. The wimpled woman backed away slightlyas he continued to glower at her, "wounds of this nature need to be stitched not burned. Besides, are you so over-staffed, Mistress Ioreth, that you must neglect the patients with lesser injuries?"

The plump healer flounced away with an angry swish of her gown.

"Hurry, my lord. I would hate for you to lose her again."

Elrond cast Erestor a worried glance before he continued his task. He could feel Vilya pulsing on his hand as Ithilin’s turbulent emotions assaulted him when her tight shielding weakened slightly and knew that Erestor was over-reacting, as usual. She was too strong to give in to despair. She hadn’t before, he knew she wouldn’t now. With a calming breath, Elrond willed her anger, hurt, and frustration to the back of his mind. He knew she would eventually get them under control.

"I am aware of her pain, Erestor," he said softly as he finished the sutures, his regal head dropping forward wearily. "There is nothing I can do for her except allow her time to heal and grow."

"Elrond, I can not dismiss this as you do. I see her pain. She may do something!"

Elrond shook his head, giving his councilor a wry smile. "You really do not understand her, do you. Life has already dealt her so much adversity that she does have the ability to cope with this."

"But -"

"No, mellon-nîn, you need not worry over an attempted suicide. She see that as cowardice."

Erestor stared at him in disbelief. Why would his lord discount this? "My lord, your own beloved wife tried several times to end her life after the attack. Why do you not see that Ithilin could do the same?! You can not ignore this!"

"I am not ignoring it, Erestor," Elrond snarled, fixing the other elf with a withering stare as he pushed past and strode out the door leaving his councilor to catch up. "I know she has considered it once before, in Lórien, but tossed the thought away as an act of extreme weakness. Ithilin is not Celebrian!"

"I am not saying -’

"Yes, you are. You have marveled at their striking resemblance ever since you met her and have lamented that she is so very much like me. Cel may have been a spitfire before the attack but that event broke her. Ithilin is nothing like her! She is strong."

"Only because you want her to be, Elrond. This is eating at her and if left to fester it will consume her as it did your lady."

Elrond stopped and rounded on the long-time councilor. "YOU know nothing!"