Like a Shadow of Shifting Silver by Kimberleighe

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Chapter 5: Confessions & Proposals

Thanks to the LC for their help, as always!

 

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Chapter Five: Confessions & Proposals

 

Alqualondë glimmered along the curve of the shore like a slippery eel bending beside the water.  The grey stone road served as a dark spine, leading up over the dunes to a tall cliff where it halted.  Overlooking the ordered swirl of homes and businesses on that high bluff sat the palace of Olwë glistening bright white among the green-yellow sea grasses.  Finwë’s builders had constructed it as a gift to the leader of the Teleri.  Far off in the sea, Anairë caught sight of the swift swan-ships bobbing towards the great Island.  Mélasúrë, as if sensing her rider’s distracted gaze, slowed to a walk. 

“I am sure we will pay King Olwë a visit,” Aracáno pulled his horse to a stop beside her.  “It would be rude for the Children of Finwë to travel so close without a proper visit.”

“Did your father tell you that?” Anairë teased him.

“Ara did,” Aracáno replied, his own disbelief revealed.    “I think he intends to speak to Olwë about Eärwen.”

The news was unsurprising to Anairë.  In fact, it seemed terribly overdue.

                “They are a smart match,” Anairë said.  “I heard Irimë and Veryómo have also been seeing one another.”

On the trip from Tirion, she had half-listened to the gossip. 

                “Veryómo already spoke to Atar about Irimë, unawares to her,” Aracáno replied.  “Yet, Atar will suffer no one to wed before Findis or I.”

                “It is tradition,” Anairë pointed out. 

                “It is ridiculous.  I would not push my children to marry in order.”  His tone carried an apparent disdain for the custom.

                “Children before vows?  What scandal, Nolo!” she teased him, eager to impart some humor to his scowling expression.

The joke worked like she hoped.  His gaze declared his appreciation for her glib words.  Instead of continuing their conversation, she urged Mélasúrë into a slow trot forward. 

They continued North past Alqualondë for a few more miles until Aracáno brought his horse to a halt.  Anairë slid off her horse, moving quickly to the cliff edge to gaze down at the sea.  Aracáno joined her silently, looking down at the barely visible caves openings white-foamed with water.  It was a steep drop down into the water, sharp rocks revealed when the waves ebbed.  It would be a tricky jump.

                “Well, shall we?”  He easily stripped off his shirt, beginning to undo the ties of his leggings.

Anairë followed suit, stripping down to her undergarments.  There was no time to admire his form, or to allow him a similar moment.  Her body surged with adrenaline, and she sent him a wild grin, walking backwards away from the ledge.

                “Ana,” he began seriously, but she was already sprinting towards the clouds, ignoring the warnings that he yelled. 

She brought her hands up over her head, angling straight towards the water.  The wind whipped cold as she fell; the frigid water slapped her into instant movement.  She broke to the surface with a loud gasp, wiping her hair back, and feeling the waves push her back against a rough rock.  She laughed loudly, punching the air with her fist victoriously.  A wave covered her head and she fought back to the surface, sputtering.

                “It’s cold, Nolo,” she cried, paddling to stay afloat among the waves. 

He stared down at her, obviously contemplating his manner of entry. 

                “Just jump.  Your balls will freeze either way.”  She impatiently pointed out.

                “My balls are none of your concern, Anairë,” he called back.

                “True, it seems you have none.  Jump!”   Another wave covered her head and by the time she resurfaced, he had dived in beside her. 

                “It is freezing,” he agreed, treading the water beside her.

                “Did you think I was lying?”  Anairë lunged, pushing his head beneath the waves.

She thought she’d caught him by surprise, until he, quick as a fish, wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down with him.  This descended into an energetic game of diving, and then a race up to breathable air. 

                “The caves,” he reminded her of their original intention.

Anairë took a deep mouthful of air before diving towards the gaping cave mouths.  Aracáno swiftly caught up to her, a curious blue light emitting from his hand.  It illuminated the stone teeth jutting out dangerously to catch them.  They maneuvered past other obstacles, until he pointed ahead to a place that they could surface.

                “What is that?” she exclaimed, swimming close to inspect the light in his hand. 

Their legs brushed together as she treaded the water beside him.  He put an arm around her waist in an effort to keep her close.  Usually, she would have ignored the touch, but this time, a thrill tingled up her spine at the intimacy.  She rested an arm on his shoulder comfortably, letting him support some of her weight.  He was more than capable of handling it.  His initial response was to tighten his grip on her waist.

                “Fëanáro sent it to Atar.”  Aracáno’s voice revealed his admiration as he undid the leather ties that kept the jewel tied to his wrist and handed it to her.  “He has encased light within his jewels.  Atar wonders if we might use them as lights for the tunnels beneath Tirion.”

Anairë marveled at the blue flame curling and flaring within the clear crystal casing.  It had been smoothed into a round shape that fit comfortably in her hand.  She grudgingly admitted to herself Fëanáro’s brilliance, but rather than voice it, she returned the light to Aracáno.

                “It is useful today.”  She looked around, and up at the endless cavern.

He lifted the light above his head, and Anairë let out an amazed gasp.  The ceiling glimmered when it caught the light.  Aracáno swam closer to the wall, using the ledge to pull himself up to closely inspect one of the stones.

                “Diamonds.”  He grinned back at her.  “Atar will be happy to hear of a new source.  I’m sure we can convince King Olwë to part with this wealth.  Or perhaps Arafinwë can.”

                “I did not come all this way for you to think only of politics.” Anairë splashed at him.

He fell back into the water, resurfacing directly in front of her.  He moved like one of Ulmo’s water spirits, swift and graceful through the water.  To herself alone, she admitted that he was as fair as one of the Water-Lord’s men.

                “Why did you come then?”  There was a strange seriousness to his voice.

                “You asked me,” she answered simply and then dived down into the darkness, hoping he would follow with Fëanáro’s light. 

He did pursue her into the depths, holding out the light for her.  They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the diamond lined walls.

                Hours later, they emerged on the beach.  Anairë collapsed on the sand with a laugh, ignoring the gritty rasp against her skin.  He stood over her, shaking his head and smiling down at her.  Anairë propped herself up on her elbows, her smirk drawing him to kneel beside her.  He placed the crystal on her bare stomach.  She hissed at the coolness on her skin, flattening her stomach in an attempt to escape the touch.

                “Nolo!” she exclaimed, amid his rough chuckles.

His gaze lingered on the crystal casting blue shadows on her breasts.  She tossed a bit of sand at him, grinning when he flushed. 

                “By your gawking, you have surrendered this,” she said, only partially teasing.

She would never ask for something Fëanáro made.  He only sent her a brief nod.  She tied the gift around her neck, her hand lingering around it.  She caught his prolonged gaze again.  This time she did nothing to dissuade him, pretending to be caught up in her admiration of the jewel.  There was something different about his expression, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not detect the singularity. 

                “Of course,” he answered, looking to the east.

Dark clouds rolled over the sea, building higher and higher.  Thunder rumbled and faint flashes could be seen within the approaching storm.  Anairë could not help her smile; she loved the rain. 

                “We should find our clothes and horses before it hits.”  Aracáno pointed out, ever logical.

Anairë rose, twisting the water from her long hair and brushing the sand off her legs and butt.  He had his back to her, still frowning at the clouds.

                “I would rather let it rage around me here.”  Anairë opened her arms wide and threw her head back, as if to receive the sky.

                “Ana.”  His voice trembled low and unsure as he turned.

His eyes followed the curve of her body from her ankles up, and lingered on the crystal shimmering against her pale skin.  Anairë’s arms dropped to her sides as he slowly approached her.  His fingers traced the leather tie from the side of her neck over her shoulder to the jewel resting in the center of her collarbone.  Her skin betrayed her, small bumps immediately rising as if she was chilled by his touch, when in fact, he set her afire.  She could not muster any humor, lifting a hand to smooth his hair back over his shoulder.  It was as if some strange enchantment had caught and rendered her unable to move away. 

                “I am only jesting, Nolo.” Her voice broke the spell, and her hand fell numb to her side.  He seemed disappointed, and she wondered if her face revealed the same displeasure.  She linked an arm with his, surprised when she found his skin warm.  “Come on.”

                They barely made it to their clothes and horses before the rain started.  He pointed out a grove of trees, and they took shelter, the City too far to attempt.  She first made sure the horses were warm, while he took care of starting a fire.  She picked up her dress, frowning as she shook out the sand from it.  He had already tied up his leggings, an unusual action since they rarely returned to their clothes this soon after a swim.  She tossed her dress back at the ground, hands going to her hips as she faced him.  He glanced at her, and then knelt back beside his pack.

                “Do you have an extra…”  She smiled when he anticipated her question and held out an extra tunic.  “Perfect.”

He tossed her leggings as an after-thought.  The temperature had dipped slightly with a cool wind sweeping down from the North.  She held her hands out to the fire, grateful for the extra warmth.  Lightening split the sky and Anairë waited for the sky to rumble out its dissatisfaction. 

                “Ossë is angry.”  Aracáno sat close to her, watching the play of light across the clouds and the wrathful waves crashing against each other.

Anairë leaned into him, relishing the warmth he provided.  Whereas Fëanáro’s fëa-fire shone in his eyes, Aracáno’s emanated from his body in an intensity that drew others to him.  He offered her some of the mix of nuts and dried fruit he had packed. 

                “Ah, I almost forgot.  Since I do have to replenish Atar’s wine, I thought there was no harm in taking a bottle for us.”  He rose to rummage around in his pack, producing a carefully wrapped bottle and two metal cups.

                “Such a lush, Aracáno,” Anairë teased, anticipating his incredulous expression.

                “When you carry me home, then you may call me a lush,” he retorted, sitting back beside her.

She smacked his arm, shaking her head.

                “I would never carry you home, Aracáno.  I’d leave you in the chair you passed out in,” she replied with a smirk.

His brows rose and he almost laughed.

                “Oh, would you?  Well, see if I am troubled to care for you next time.”  His expression attempted seriousness.

                “You will,” Anairë said confidently, sharing a grin with him. 

The gentle affection on his face as they gazed at each other affirmed her statement; Anairë was the first to look away.  Quietly, they watched the downpour.  Anairë counted the seconds between the flashes and rumbles, announcing the number to Aracáno until the storm drowned out her voice.  When his horse grew spooked, he rose to calm him.  Mélasúrë, though nervous, remained calm, familiar with the storms her rider tended to strand herself in.

                When the rain evened out to a musical patter and the lightening ceased to break the sky, Aracáno returned to the fire and refilled their glasses.  While the silence seemed comfortable, Anairë felt tense and uncomfortable.  Her mind continued to race through different ways to speak her heart.  They were alone.  When else would she have such a chance?  Yet, did she dare?  The air thrummed with the aftermath of the storm.  In a second, it would shift back, becoming calm and gentle, smelling of sea salt and grass.  With a deep breath, she made her choice.

                “So your father intends for you to marry.”  She broached the subject suddenly, and then regretted the question.

He blinked, freezing with his glass half-raised to his lips.  His expression unexpectedly grew distant and guarded as he stared at her.  Anairë pressed her lips together, knowing her uncertainty played on the edges of her expression.  She found herself wishing, for the first time, that she had her mother’s eloquence.  Aracáno took a long drink before responding.   

                “Yes, he went with me to speak to her father.”  His reply seemed reluctant.

Her quick inhale was audible.  “Oh,” she murmured, briefly wondering why he hadn’t mentioned this before.  “I did not know you were so serious about a lady.”

She was crestfallen.  She must have heard him wrong.  He had chosen a partner; he would probably begin publically courting her. Was it Islinyë?  Anairë felt her heart would be torn in two if he settled for such a boring lady.   Yet, another part of her argued that she should have expected it.  Had she believed he would ask her?  Something within her whispered yes. 

                “I have only spoken to my parents and hers,” he replied, shrugging and watching the horses.  “It does not matter; I do not think she will accept.”

                “What makes you think that?” she asked absently, playing with a thread at the hem of her borrowed tunic.

                “I know her,” he answered.

She could feel his stare, and knew she needed to meet it.  She needed to smile, tease him, and force everything back to how it had always been.

                “Aracáno, any lady would accept a silver ring from you.”  Her shoulder nudged his playfully, though her solemn voice was at odds with the action.  “It is with Ara they would hesitate.”  She sipped her wine, trying to feign nonchalance for her next question.  “What did her father say to you?”

                “He is amiable to the union.”  His gaze moved on to the rain.  “Yet, he is clear that the decision is his daughter’s to make.”

                “Have you spoken to her?”  Her curiosity, now allowed an outlet, was unquenchable.

                “Why are you asking so many questions, Ana?”   The sudden reversal of questioning caught her by surprise. 

Her gaze flew to his, and the truth was not an answer she was willing to give.  Not now at least.  Not if there might be someone else.  Somewhere, her mind logically whispered about the steadfastness of the heart, and how it chose only one.  She ignored it, caught up in the conversation.

                “Why are you so reluctant to tell me?” she challenged.

                “I am not reluctant, simply interested to know why you are so nosy,” he replied.

                “I am not being nosy,” she argued, frowning at him.  “It’s madly…”  She paused, suddenly aware of her word choice.  It had twisted her thoughts for so long, and now verbalized, the world seemed to pause.  Even he seemed to be holding his breath.  “Forget I asked, Nolo.”

The silence lasted only long enough for her to take a drink from her cup.

                “You were not as drunk as you claimed, were you?”  He watched her, and she could see the hurt thinly veiled behind his eyes. 

His entire demeanor had reverted to a distant and proud mask that eerily reminded her of Fëanáro.  His chin tilted up proudly, mouth drawn straight and gaze cool and condescending.  He was incredibly still, and it concerned her.  He had never intentionally dissociated himself from her like this before.  This was exactly what she had not wanted to happen, but she could not retreat. 

                “I know what you said, Nolo.”  She looked down at her hands.  “But I did not know how to tell you.”

                “You could have done it the next day.  You could have told me then instead of letting me think…”  She could hear anger in his voice.

                “Letting you think what?” she interrupted, fighting between being irritated or confused. 

Silently, he pushed to his feet, agitated and halfway into the rain before Anairë could speak and stop his flight.

                “Nolo, sit down!  I did not confess my dishonesty to anger you.”  Anairë felt her own outrage growing.  “I did it to tell you I’m…” but the words were stuck, and her tongue refused to work.

It angered her how hesitantly she approached this moment, how she could not simply say what she meant and await the outcome.  Never had she been so worried about the consequences of one of her actions.

                “You’re what?”  He could not hide how he craved to know her answer. 

                Sitting meant staring up at him, and Anairë would not allow him that advantage.  She stood proudly, arms crossed over her chest, over the borrowed tunic with Finwë’s crest bright on her heart.  The rain dripped through the thin covering of the trees, soaking them both.

                “I think I am madly in love with you, Aracáno,” she professed bravely.  “And perhaps I say this too late, but I cannot remain silent.”

She dropped her gaze away, her courage wavering in the silence.  When she heard his steps, her shoulders dipped down, assuming he moved away.  His soft fingers cupping her chin caught her by surprise.  She fought the urge to move her face away, to withdraw back behind her sharp exterior.  Her lips parted, ready to ask a question, but something about his expression held her tongue.  He looked as anxious as she felt.

                “I only spoke of you, Ana.”

She forgot how to breathe, staring dumbly at him.  She didn’t know how to respond, completely surprised as her mind turned over their conversation.

“You spoke to my father?” she whispered.

“The day Russo got his horse.”  He answered, moving his hand from her chin to her shoulder.

                “But not to me?”  It was as if pieces were slowly beginning to fall into place.

                “Why would I have, Ana?  Until today, you never gave any indication of your heart,” he pointed out.  “I spoke to your father to be sure no other had requested your hand.”

                “You idiot!  Did you ever plan to ask me about this?” she asked, anxious to inquire while he seemed so forthcoming.

                “I’ve always planned, Ana,” he answered.

They were still, gazes locked, his hand still on her shoulder.  Neither had moved any closer. 

                “Maybe you should.”  She shifted unperceptively closer, issuing the challenge quietly.

                “Would you ever think of marrying me?”  There was no hesitation in his voice.

They stared at each other through the rain.  She blinked furiously against raindrops, for once contemplating her response.  The idea was one she had entertained before; brief daydreams slipped through her mind, notions she had always dismissed as improbable.

                “Yes.”  Her voice was stronger than she felt.

He froze, staring at her as if he had heard incorrectly.  “Yes?”

Her chin tilted and she closed the distance between them. 

                “I said, yes, Aracáno.  I would accept a silver ring,” she repeated, her words gathering more momentum.

                “Are you certain?” His hands slid onto her waist.

It was as if he’d never touched her before, the contact burning hot through the wet tunic.  For the first time, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensations.  Anairë tentatively circled his neck with her arms, her glare a silent warning against repeating such an inane question.  A contagious smile spread across his face.  When his fingers tenderly caressed her cheek, her eyes slipped shut, leaning into the touch.

                “Then I will commission the rings once we return.” 

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her intently, as if determined to verify this was no joke.

                “Do not let Fëanáro craft them.”  She felt awkward and hesitant.  He nodded quickly, and she continued speaking.  “And, I do not intend to accept the ring right away.”

It seemed there was no way to keep the smile from his face as he continually gazed at her.

                “Am I correctly hearing that the anti-romantic Anairë intends to be courted?”

                “I am not anti-romantic,” she protested amid his laughter.  “And yes, I insist.”

                “Any other demands?”  His eyes revealed that he would suffer any injury for her.

                “A kiss.”  The words were bold from her mouth before she could stop them.

                She pressed her lips together quickly, as if trying to recapture the sounds.  Instead, his warm hands cupped her face instantly and his mouth was firm against hers.  When his hand curled around the back of her neck to keep her close, she forgot her hesitance, her response honest and passionate.  She smiled against his lips, unexplainably happy.  He leaned back, brow furrowed with concern.

                “What?” he asked.

                “I did not mean to call you an idiot.”  She gently pushed back a wet strand of his hair.

He laughed, strong arms sweeping her up to kiss her again.  The thunder boomed overhead, startling them both into motion.  They returned to the horses and wine, resuming their seats, though inches closer than before.  He tapped his cup against hers with a small smile.

                “I think I am beginning to see your love for storms.”

She laughed unreservedly, lifting her cup and drinking quickly.  When his arm rested around her, she made no complaint, instead gladly shifting into him and watching the waves.

                The gentle patter of rain lulled them both into an easy sleep.  When her vision cleared, the storm had not let up, even though they were well past Telperion’s hour.  She sat up, acutely aware that she was alone.  His horse stood quiet beside Mélasúrë, but Aracáno was not there.  She brushed her blanket to the side, rising and stretching her arms up over her head.  He couldn’t have gone far.  She greeted Mélasúrë, murmuring to her softly in an attempt to quell her anxiety.  They had said their declarations under Laurelin’s light.  How would it be beneath Telperion’s?  A rustle in the bushes nearby caught her attention.

                “Nolo?” she called, adrenaline surging through her.

                “What?” He grunted, coming into view.  With his tunic slung over his shoulder and hair wet, he had obviously gone swimming without her.

Anairë’s hands fell to her hips immediately, relying on instinct to overcome her anxiety.  He stopped a step away from her, mimicking her pose. 

                “You’re finally awake,” he said, heavily empathizing the word finally.

                “You could have woken me,” she replied, unable to stop the smile sliding across her face.

He held out his hand after he shrugged. 

                “I know the dangers of disturbing you,” he teased.

Her hand fit firmly in his and he drew her close, as if it were the most natural action in the world.  His surety calmed her fast beating heart and racing mind.  When his hand rested on the curve of her hip, Anairë titled her head to the side, noting his tired eyes.

                “Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

                “No,” he answered.  “I worried I would wake and find I had dreamed it all.”

Her lips were soft against his cheek in a fleeting kiss.  His content smile warmed her to her bones.

                “Silver tongued, indeed,” she mumbled, unable to ignore the strange satisfaction she felt.

They stood quiet for a moment more.  Then Mélasúrë let out a loud sigh, shaking her silver mane back.  Anairë released his hand to press her hand against her mare’s nose.

                “I think we could ride out in this.  It seems to be clearing,” he reported.

                “I am not afraid of a little rain,” she replied.  “But, Nolo…”

                “Yes?”  He glanced at her briefly.

                “What do we say when we return?” 

                “About what?” he asked, clearly confused.

                “Well, us,” Anairë replied.

A frown crossed his face and he shrugged.

                “We do not have to say a thing until we decide,” he answered simply.  “But I will not hide-”

                “Honestly, Nolo!” Anairë interrupted with a sigh.  “I was not asking because I want to keep it secret.  I simply,” she paused, lifting a shoulder carelessly before mounting Mélasúrë.  “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do.”

He placed a hand on Mélasúrë’s nose, keeping Anairë from riding away.  His other hand found Anairë’s, and he held onto it firmly.  She looked down at him, feeling her anxieties slip away when she spied his easy smile.

                “Neither do I, Ana.  If there wasn’t a challenge, you wouldn’t be half as interested in this,” he teased her in a dry tone.

She protested; he argued her objection.  Their world continued to spin exactly as it had since they had met and climbed the tallest tree in Tirion.

 

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Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

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

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

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

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.

Olwë: King of the Teleri & Alqualondë; husband to Elenetyë and father to Eärwen.

Arafinwë: also called Ara or Ingalaurë (Ingo); youngest son/child of Finwë and Indis.

Mélasúrë: Anairë’s horse.

Ilsinyë: daughter of Finwë’s chief counselor.