Like a Shadow of Shifting Silver by Kimberleighe

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Chapter 4: Madly, madly

Credit to elfscribe, pandemonium and oshun for their suggestions and support!

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Chapter 4: Madly, Madly

 

                One, two, three.  One, two, three.  The hooves beat out a rhythm.  Anairë could see the stallion wander close to the fence and watch her galloping approach with interest.  Her hands pulled gently at the pale gold of Mélasúrë’s mane.  Obediently, the horse slowed to a walk, returning Lintaráto’s greeting with ambivalence.  Anairë slipped off the pallid yellow mare, leading her into the paddock with little resistance.  The horses greeted each other with a tender brush of their noses.  Anairë leaned her elbows against the fence, watching the meeting with interest.  If only she could convince Lintaráto to trust her, then perhaps he could be ready in time for the Games.  So far, he had resisted each of her father’s tricks.  Anairë hoped that Mélasúrë could help calm the wild horse.

                “There you are.”  The voice close to her shoulder surprised her.

Anairë turned abruptly, at first irritated by the intrusion.  It fell away when she realized her companion.  Aracáno leaned against the rail beside her, watching the horses as well.  His dark blue robes were long, stiff and terribly formal, decorated with the silver crest of his father’s house.  He must have been in Tirion’s councils again, filling the space Fëanáro left empty. 

                “Was I lost?”  She tried to smile easily, but knew it fell flat.

For the past month, there had been a sense of self-consciousness between them.  The next time they met following the Festival, he had reminded her, in great detail and with much laughter, how he had delivered her home to her father.  When he had inquired how she was feeling, his eyes had asked if she remembered, if she knew.  Like a coward, she had complained of the combination of too much wine, dancing and Findis, saying nothing about the word that spun her thoughts.  Madly.  He had laughed, but a glimmer of disappointment remained every time he looked at her.  Anairë wondered if he knew about her dishonesty, but most of all, she questioned if he had been telling the truth, or if she had even heard him correctly.  Madly.  She was being driven crazy by a single word.  It confused her, the fact that this word affected her so. 

                “Anairë,” he repeated. 

                “Yes?” she mumbled.

                “Are you alright?  You’ve been out of sorts lately.”  When he looked down at her, Anairë felt a sense of longing.  She told herself it was just the play of light across his face.  Again, she found herself detesting the absolute fear that kept her mouth firmly shut.

Impulsively, she leaned her shoulder against his, linking arms with him.  He caught her hand, interlocking their fingers loosely.  She tightened the grip just enough to feel his palm curved with hers.

                “Altacáno,” Anairë said meaningfully, glad she had an easy excuse ready.

                “Ah.”  Aracáno nodded.  “Has he been rough on you?”

Altacáno was their football trainer.  He tended to run them through different plays for hours, until Anairë was sure she would be running them in her dreams.  Her entire body ached daily from his practices. 

                “He is relentless.  And you, our fearless captain, have not been at practice.”  She pushed him slightly.  “Where have you been?”

                “Atar is tired of his sons being notoriously absent from the government of Tirion, so he has asked me to take on some duties,” Aracáno replied morosely.  “I wish Ingo was the elder now.”

                “How dare you even entertain the thought!” Anairë scolded.  “You are no doubt doing splendidly, Nolo.”

                “I would rather be on the field with you,” he replied lightly, although he seemed grateful for her honesty.

                “I wish you were there as well.”  Anairë’s gaze was caught by the sudden movement of the horses.  They were playfully chasing each other, flirting and neighing freely.  “While Sorniswë is quicker than you, I don’t always know where he is.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “We have played so long together, Nolo.  I always know where you are on and off the field,” she admitted. 

                “Really?”   He looked skeptical.  “Then close your eyes.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and closed her eyes at the exact same time.  The horses’ hooves drowned out any sound of him moving through the grasses.  He was still there though; she reached out to her left, grasping the edge of his robe. 

                “See?”  She lifted her chin victoriously, opening her eyes when she felt his hand slide up her arm.

When his fingers glided softly to her jaw, she did not move away.  Instead, her neck curved into his touch, betraying her innermost desire. 

                “Nolo,” she whispered.

                “Let’s go away,” he mumbled, and then his voice strengthened.  “Come with me to Alqualondë.  We can go, and Atar has that small home outside of the sea-city.”

A small home to him was a modest palace adorned with pearls and other gems, and a staff of attendants to see to his needs.

                “We cannot go alone,” she reminded him, recalling Indis’ wrath the last time they had dared.

                “I will ask Ara and Sorniswë.  You find out which of the ladies will come.”  He seemed sure, allowing his hand to rest on her shoulder.  “But I have no intention of spending the time with them.”

                “Of course not.”  Anairë grinned at him.  “They will all want to simply lounge beside the waves.  We will have to explore the coast.”

                “Perfect.  Shall we meet at the East Gate at Laurelin’s Hour?”  He glanced into the sky, taking note of the time.

                “We shall.”  She clicked her tongue.  Mélasúrë reluctantly ambled towards her rider.  “Ah, come Mélasúrë.  I promise to return you to him.”

                “They would produce fine foals, and fast ones,” Aracáno noted.  “Have you asked Atar?”

                “Not yet.  I would have Mélasúrë compete in the Games before any stallion covered her.”  Anairë easily pulled herself on top of her horse and then looked down at him.  “Do you intend to walk, Nolo?”

He laughed, and then carefully mounted behind her, his hands settling lightly on her hips.  Mélasúrë shifted with a snort under the extra weight.  Aracáno’s chest pressed close to Anairë’s back as he reached forward to brush his hand against the horse’s neck with a word of thanks.  In an effort to ignore the enjoyment of him so close, she elbowed him softly in the ribs.  In return, his fingers poked her side causing her to squirm.

                “Are you quite finished, Nolo?”  She managed a stern expression.

He regarded her, unaffected by her piercing glare. 

                “You are the one in control, Ana.  I am waiting on you.”

When Anairë unexpectedly urged her mare into a full run, his arms encircled her waist.  She laughed at the surprised curse exclaimed by her ear.  For the first time in weeks, she was utterly content.  In the short span that it took to reach the stables, Anairë realized that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, she too was madly entranced.

                Sartion greeted them both, giving the horse he led to one of the apprentice groomsmen.  Anairë caught the respectful bows from her father and his men as Aracáno dismounted.  With a subtle gesture of his hand, he motioned for the men to rise.  Today, he had no need for their formalities.

                “Is this an official visit, Prince Nolofinwë?”  Sartion asked, eyes darting between them and lingering on Anairë.

                “No, Lord Sartion.  I just came to see Anairë,” Aracáno answered, turning to offer his hand to her.

Normally, she would have scoffed at the gesture and smacked it away.  Today, she took it firmly, ignoring her father’s surprise as she was helped to the ground.  She brushed at the thin layer of dust on the side of her skirts, ignoring the men for a moment.

                “I see,” Sartion mused.

The men gazed evenly at each other.   

                “Do not lie, Nolo,” she chided with a smile.  She leaned in close to her father, glancing at Aracáno while she spoke.  “He came to see Lintaráto.”

                “Now, that is untrue, Ana,” he protested.  “I have little love for the horse.”

Her breath caught at the word love.

                “The councils are making you silver-tongued.”  Her voice was unnaturally quiet to her ears.

                “It is a hazard.”  Now she was sure their longing was noticeable.  He kept her gaze only a moment more, before sparing her father a polite smile.  “Would you mind if I stole Ana away for a few days?”

Both Sartion and Anairë looked surprised at the request.  Since she had reached her majority, Anairë had rarely asked permission for her travels to Valmar or Alqualondë.  She always indicated her destination and companions, but she did not need her father’s blessing to leave.

                “Where and with whom?” Sartion replied.

                “To Atar’s home in Alqualondë, and I’m not sure exactly who else shall accompany us,” he answered honestly.

Her father merely glanced at her, raising a brow. 

                “I doubt she would listen even if I told her no.”  Sartion nodded his assent. 

                “You are right, Atar.”  She kissed his cheek, waving away the stableboy who dared approach Mélasúrë with the intent of caring for her. 

                “Then I will meet you at the East Gate,” Aracáno replied. 

She watched the Prince’s departure, returning his wave when he reached the property gates.  It was hard to ignore how noble he looked in the sapphire blue color.  His robes were well tailored to show off his strong arms and lean waist.  She knew the pride he took in his body; it bordered on, at times, vain.  He had inherited only the best qualities of his parents, in Anairë’s opinion: the strong nose and brow, as well as the proud bearing and tall stature of Finwë; the gentle eyes, lips and temperament of Indis.  Her father’s hand squeezing her shoulder startled her from her admiration, and her wide-eyed gaze flew to him.  The knowing gleam, paired with a curious protectiveness, revealed he had noticed her stare.  Anairë pressed her lips together tersely, looking away at the silhouette of Tirion in the distance.  Part of her wanted to flee in complete embarrassment, but she had never retreated before and found herself unsure how to escape.

                “There are stars in your eyes when you look at him, Ana.”  His words were meant only for her ears.

Her cheeks flushed hotly as she looked up at her amused father.  Something in her expression caused him to lose his laughter and observe her seriously.  He steered her away from the stables, leaving Anairë’s horse with one of the more senior apprentices.  They silently approached the house, and were nearly at the entrance steps when he spoke.

                “When I met your mother, the world stopped turning, the stars became over-bright in the sky, and no longer was the darkness to be feared,” he began softly.  “I have only ever wished that you find someone who does the same for you.”

Part of her desired to loudly declaim his observation, to tell him she cared for Nolo only as a friend.  A larger measure of her heart ruled, quietly reminding her that her father would never betray her, and would not mention this, even to her mother.  So, she finally voiced her heart.

                “He is that one, Atar, but he is my dearest friend,” she whispered.  “I would rather spend the ages as a friend, than risk scaring him away with my true feelings.”

Sartion’s gaze was keen on her face. 

                “Oh, Ana.”  Her father hugged her close.  Anairë clung to him, suddenly feeling all the emotions she had so long pushed away, stinging her eyes with tears.  “That is a terrible way to live.”

                “What should I do, Atar?”  Her voice remained at a whisper, all her strength focused on keeping the tears off her cheeks.

                “I would not think in such absolutes, Ana, and,” he paused, offering her a small smile.  “I would speak to him.”

                Throughout the ride to Alqualondë, her father’s words repeated in her mind, a beat adjacent to the stride of the horses.  Thankfully, they were such a large group that no one noticed her pensiveness.  Beside Finwë’s daughters rode Silmalírë, Rilyendë, Lúlacë, and Eärwen.  They laughed merrily, sharing bits of the never ending gossip that lined Tirion’s streets.  Arafinwë rode ahead with his elder brother, Sorniswë and Sorniswë’s lady, a healer-apprentice of Lord Lórien.  Anairë hadn’t paid attention to her name, but that lady was caught up in a lively conversation with Aracáno.  Arafinwë and Sorniswë raced over the dunes.  Arafinwë let out a loud yell when they reached the top of the next hill and the glitter of the sea greeted them.  It was not much longer to the residence, an open dwelling with more rooms and finery than necessary.  Attendants were quick to greet Findis and Aracáno, and he offered an embrace to a few of them, speaking kindly and familiarly.  Anairë softly called the horses after her, leading them towards the enclosure.  She waved away the two men who came to her aid.

“Thank you, but I will do it,” she said firmly.

They instead saw to filling the water troughs and gathering up a number of blankets to place over the horses’ backs.

                “Ana, come on.  We are going swimming,” Eärwen called.

She cast a black shadow against the light sand, stripping off her thin dress and running free towards the foaming waves after everyone else.  Anairë closed the corral gate behind her, slowly walking through the sand.  She enjoyed the feel of the beach shifting under her toes.  Aracáno stood beside the pile of clothes, tossing his tunic into the mix.  Anairë noticed that while he had been absent from their practices, his figure had lost none of its tone. 

                “Are you coming?” he asked.

In a fluid motion, she slipped her dress over her head and threw it at him, standing comfortable in her undergarments.

                “Of course.  Hurry up, Nolo!”  She took off, running towards the waves.

She heard him behind her and pushed herself harder.  She laughed out her surprise as the water hit her legs ice cold.  His arms swept her up, intent on tossing her into the waves.  Instead, she clung to him, catching him off balance and sending them both tumbling into the water.  She laughed and then closed her eyes when the next wave crashed on them.    He pulled her up, eyes bright with his competitive spirit.

                “Care to race to the islands?” 

There were a few landmasses too large to simply be rocks, but too small to really count as islands, but they served as perfect places for resting between dives.

                “What will I win?” Anairë replied, pushing his chest with a grin.

                “I’ll convince Atar to let you keep Mélasúrë’s foals,” he finally said after a moment.  “And if I win?”

                “You won’t!”  She took off running, diving into the next wave and paddling towards the isles.

His shout echoed after her, but she knew better than to look back.  Her arms sliced through the water fierce and fast; she had never once given him a victory he did not earn.  One, two, breathe.  One, two, breathe.  The strokes set the rhythm of her breathing as she fought against the current that would drag her back to shore.  Her lungs burned when a wave prevented her from taking a needed breath.  With a gasp, she grasped the edge of the rock, looking around quickly to be sure she had reached it first. 

                “I win!” she announced to a gull perched nearby.

The bird simply twisted its head to the side, peering at her curiously.  Anairë hauled herself up onto the isle, watching Aracáno’s approach.  He threw himself onto the shore, breathing heavily.  Standing tall on the sand above him, she lifted her arms victoriously.

                “I win,” she repeated, smirking openly.

                “By luck,” he pointed out, glaring up at her.  “I got caught up in some seaweed.”

                “You will need a new excuse when I beat you on the way back.”

“Excuse?”  For a moment, his eyes glinted hard with pride.  “And what will be yours when I win?”

“I never make excuses, Nolo,” Anairë replied seriously, sitting beside him to watch the others lazily cut through the waves towards them.

“I know.”  He brushed sand off her arm.

If she had looked at him, she knew she would have confessed her heart there.  She was saved by Arafinwë bursting from the waves with Sorniswë, both demanding Aracáno’s attention.

                The dim Mingling Hour (for beside the Sea were the Lights ever softer and gentler) drew them away from the water and to the glimmering palace.  Findis had given the attendants the Mingling and next golden and silver hours for their own amusement.  It was a rare occasion for the children of the Eldests to be allowed to fend for themselves, and it seemed they intended to take full advantage of it.  Eärwen and Arafinwë bickered in the kitchen over what to prepare.  Every so often, Findis or Rilyendë would chime in, eliciting a laugh or heating the argument further.  Anairë watched quietly, a small smile curling her lips at the exchange. 

                “Eärwen, let Ara cook,” she finally cut in.  “You burn toast.”

                “Now, Ana, she has come quite a way.”  Arafinwë defended his lady quickly, earning a fond smile from Eärwen.

                “I was only twenty, Ana.  Tell me you didn’t burn any toast then.”  Eärwen gracefully crossed the kitchen to sit close to Anairë on the small loveseat.

                “I knew to let Nolo attempt such feats,” Anairë smirked, first at the silver lady, and then Aracáno.

His chuckle indicated he remembered the incident in question.

                “Didn’t you…” and with those words, Sorniswë launched into a quiet tale from their youth.

The laughter was frequent and joyous throughout the meal.  After some snooping around, Eärwen and Lúlalcë found a store of wine.  Sorniswë was quick to uncork the bottles, reading off the words on the label as if they should matter. 

                “We’ll have to replenish it before Atar notices,” Arafinwë noted to his brother. 

                “You mean, I have to replenish it,” Aracáno corrected.

                “Exactly, Nolo.  Thank you for offering.”  Arafinwë clapped his hand twice on his brother’s shoulder. 

Aracáno laughed and drew Sorniswë and his lady, Astarinyë, into their conversation.  Aracáno glanced only once at Anairë, brow raised in an invitation.  Instead of rising, Anairë leaned back in her chair, allowing her attention to be caught by the group outside.  On the veranda, Silmalírë produced her harp, and caressed the air with her soft alto voice.  Findis sat at her feet, watching her lover with an absolute awe that Anairë envied.  To have someone gaze at her in such a way…

                “You are unnaturally quiet,” Eärwen murmured as she placed a glass of the pale yellow wine in Anairë’s hand.   “Usually you are there between Nolo and Ara, leading the stories.”

                “Let Sorniswë have his turn.”  Anairë shrugged.

                “What’s the matter, Ana?  You are never this quiet unless there is something on your mind.  Even Nolo looks concerned.  He’s been watching you,” Eärwen pressed her.

Anairë’s gaze unconsciously jumped to Aracáno.  His stare shifted to Arafinwë as soon as he realized she’d caught him. 

                “I’m just tired, Eärwen.”  The excuse was weak.

                “Manwë’s balls, Ana,” Eärwen said the curse quietly and daintily.  Anairë couldn’t help her brief laugh.  Eärwen rarely used such language, and even when she did, it sounded sweet and prim.  “I have been your friend too long to accept that lie.”

                “I know.”  Anairë looked deep into her glass, wishing it was large enough to dive into.  “You have been spending far too much time with Ara, Eärwen.  That curse almost sounded like you meant it.”

Eärwen’s next colorful phrase caused her cheeks to flush and Anairë to break out into a loud fit of laughter. 

                “Ai, Cousin.  What is so funny?”  Sorniswë asked.

Anairë noticed his arm had slipped around Astarinyë comfortably.  She smirked at Eärwen before answering.

                “Eärwen called me a-” she began.

                “Anairë, don’t say it.  It’s terrible!” Eärwen exclaimed, clapping a hand over Anairë’s mouth.

Of course, Eärwen’s refusal only fueled the inquiries.  After a while of fruitless interrogation, it descended into a guessing game invigorated by wine and good company. 

                “What did she say?” 

Anairë glanced at Aracáno leaning casually in the doorway between the sitting room and the kitchen.  She shrugged, turning her attention to the basket of bread.  She snagged a piece, tearing off a portion to eat.  Then she returned her gaze to him, finding he was sitting at the table, clearly having no wish to report her answer to his brother.

                “I will never tell,” she replied mysteriously, taking the seat beside him.

                “Ah, I forget sometimes that I am second to only one person.” His fingers traced the rim of his glass.

Anairë chewed her bread slowly, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. 

                “I cannot tell if you are being sincere or if this is a new approach to wheedling information from me.  All those hours in your father’s council makes me wonder what tactics you have learned,” she finally said.

His lips curved into a sly smile, and he drained the last bit from his glass.

                “I will never tell.”  He leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

                “Then we are at an impasse, Nolo.”  She offered him a piece of the bread.

                “So it would seem.”  Their fingers brushed when he took it.

Her fingers burned, but she ignored it, eager to address their next adventure.

                “So, I heard you talking to Eärwen about some caves?” 

Within minutes, they had composed a note and found their horses. 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Lintaráto: name of one of Finwë’s horses. 

Mélasúrë: Anairë’s horse.

Anairë: also called Ana; daughter of Sartion and Nénuilsë.

Aracáno: also called Nolo or Nolofinwë; middle son of Finwë; second born of Indis.

Fëanáro: also called Curu or Curufinwë; eldest son of Finwë and Crown-Prince of Tirion; husband to Nerdandel and soon-to-be father of many children.

Findis: eldest child/daughter of Finwë and Indis; once studied under Estë.

Altacáno: coach for the football team.

Sorniswë: cousin of Anairë and son of Alyalótë; closest friend of Arafinwë.

Indis: Queen of Tirion; sister to Ingwë, King of the Vanyar; wife to Finwë and mother to four children.

Arafinwë: also called Ara or Ingo (in reference to his mother-name: Ingalaurë); youngest son/child of Finwë and Indis.

Sartion: father of Anairë; husband to Nénuilsë. 

Eärwen: daughter of Olwë and Elenetyë; princess among the Teleri.

Rilyendë: friend of Anairë’s; daughter of a smith

Lúlalcë: friend of Anairë’s; a poet.

Silmalírë: Findis’ partner; poet/singer; Vanya.

Astarinyë: apprentice of Lórien’s.