Like a Shadow of Shifting Silver by Kimberleighe

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Chapter 9: Lines in the Sand

It only took 5 years to post this...

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Chapter Nine: Lines in the Sand

 

                Judging by the subdued alarm growing on Aracáno’s face, she must have been staring at him for longer than she thought.  He stepped closer to her, nudging her arm slightly.  The warm touch brought her away from the thoughts swirling in her mind.

                “Breathe, Ana,” he murmured.

She automatically curled her fingers around the stem of the glass he pressed into her hand. 

                “How did it happen?” she asked before sipping at the sweet drink.

Aracáno blinked twice, staring at her.  A barely perceptible smirk brightened his eyes before they shifted to slide over the people behind her. 

                “I was under the impression that you understood those mechanics,” he answered before taking a quick drink.

His cheeky response drew a laugh from her.  She smacked his arm and shook her head in playful exasperation.

                “Seriously, Nolo.  You know what I meant,” she sighed.

                “Do I?  I’m quite certain the question you asked—” he feigned ignorance.

                “I see, you want to test my knowledge?”  Anairë interrupted.

Her gaze flew back to him when her mind caught up to what her mouth had said.  Aracáno’s gaze slid down her figure, sparking a warm flush to her cheeks.  She arched a brow, attempting to seem unaffected.  His smile told her that she was failing spectacularly.

                “Atar has been very clear with Ingo and I on the consequences of a similar indiscretion,” he replied.

For some reason, his answer evoked disappointment.  The sudden curiosity in his eyes revealed that she had not disguised that reaction well.  She cleared her throat, continuing to meet his gaze unwaveringly.  Every second made itself painfully known as she refused to look away.  Her skin came alive under his warm hand sliding across the curve of her back to gently request her closer.  She acquiesced, though maintaining her gaze elsewhere.

                “Do you have any idea how bewitching you are?”   His words were warm against her temple. 

She could feel the tremor of a smile against her hairline.  Her own lips spread in a pleased smile and she made no attempt to move from his arms.  It was surprising how comfortable she felt when he touched her, yet it was as if they had never been any different. 

                “I don’t see how this has anything to do with Olwë,” Anairë murmured suddenly.

                “Olwë’s reasons for being infuriated with my Uncle and Lord Sarámo are much different than Atar’s.”  His eyes narrowed.  “If I tell you, Ana—”

                “Yes, yes, I will not do anything rash.”  She waved her hand carelessly.

Aracáno’s disbelieving gaze elicited a glare from her. 

                “Lord Sarámo and Uncle Ingwë put in a request for a change of venue for the Games.”  Anairë’s grip tightened visibly around her glass. “And according to the laws of—”

                “I know the rules, Nolo,” she sharply interjected.  “That is why Ingwë asked if we were up for the challenge.”

A request for a change in venue backed by two or more teams immediately initiated a tournament in which the winning team would garner the honor of hosting.  Rarely did one team dare to insult the other by taking the honor of hosting the Games. 

                “Yes,” Aracáno answered, taking a brief sip of his wine and scanning the crowd.  “Tell me honestly, Ana, can we beat Ingwion’s team?”

Anairë’s eyes unwittingly sought out the fair haired Prince of Taniquetil.  He stood laughing between Tulcando, Valmar’s team captain, and Arafinwë. 

                “It’s not a matter of if we can,” Anairë replied fiercely.  “We will have to ensure they are out of the competition so Alqualondë can win.”

                “I plan to speak with Telparyon as soon as he arrives,” Aracáno said.  “I trust you can restrain yourself from insulting Ingwion?”

                “When have I ever been anything but kind to your cousin?”  Anairë glanced at him with a small smile.

He returned the smile, his fingers tipping her chin up as he shifted closer to her.  Anairë felt herself gravitate towards him.  She rested an arm around his waist.

                “Last year,” he reminded.  His gentle kiss discouraged any protest on her part.  “And the year before that, and before that.”

She just laughed, leaning her head back and feeling a few loose strands of her hair tickle her neck.

                “He started it,” she objected.

                “Of course.”  Aracáno did not look entirely convinced.

                “I think you may have just made that announcement your mother was begging of you,” Anairë said softly.

Aracáno surveyed the crowd nonchalantly.  Conversation had ceased, and many heads had turned towards them.  Anairë recognized her mother’s pleased gleam from across the room.  Oh, she would never hear the end of it now.  Aracáno distracted her attention by gently securing the loose strands of her hair behind her ears.  His fingers lingered on the curve of her ear sending a chill of bumps down her arms.

                “That was much easier than I thought it would be,” he replied.  “I’m finding myself inclined to repeat it.”

Again, she found herself laughing, but she did not evade the second kiss. 

                “You are incorrigible, Nolo.”

                “You started it,” he chuckled.

She smiled against his lips.  There was no use arguing; it was true.  Aracáno stepped to the side, keeping his arm firmly around her waist.  Quietly, they meandered through the crowd until they reached Arafinwë and the other Captains.

                “Nolofinwë!” Ingwion, blond and confident, greeted his cousin with a wide grin. 

                “Ingwion, Tulcando.” Aracáno returned the smile, clasping his cousin’s shoulder. 

Tulcando’s braids jingled with the soft music of bells as he nodded a quick greeting to the couple. 

                “And Anairë.  You’re never far from your Captain.” Ingwion held out his hand to her.

Anairë stepped from Aracáno’s embrace and placed her hand in Ingwion’s before Aracáno could prompt her.  She bowed her head to the Prince respectfully.  As much as Ingwion vexed her, he was still the son of the King of Taniquetil. 

                “My co-Captain, Prince,” she corrected.

Ingwion’s gaze darted between them.

                “Is that what you’re calling it?  I must say, well done, Nolo,” he said with a smirk.  “I always imagined Anairë’s reaction would be much different.”

                “To you, perhaps,” Aracáno responded simply.

The air between them was silent for a brief moment as the two Princes stared seriously at each other.  Ingwion’s lips split in a broad grin and he laughed.

                “My mistake.”  Ingwion squeezed Anairë’s hand before releasing it.  “When will you announce the betrothal?”

                “When there are rings,” Aracáno answered enigmatically.

Anairë enjoyed the annoyance flashing across Ingwion’s face.

                “Come now, Cousin.  Do not be so secretive!”  Ingwion pressed.

                “Don’t worry, Prince,” Anairë laughed.  “When I ask him, I’ll be sure to send a bird to you personally.”

                “When you ask me?” Aracáno’s question was echoed laughingly by Arafinwë and Ingwion. 

                “Oh, Brother, would you honestly expect any less?” Arafinwë cut in.

Aracáno held Anairë’s gaze for another moment.  Though his expression was serious, his eyes were light.  A fond smile instinctively curved the edges of her lips.  A familiar thrill shocked her to her toes.  She took a lazy sip from her glass, looking away at the crowd as Arafinwë struck up easy conversation. 

Tirion’s court had turned out to greet the lords and ladies from the other cities.  The distinctions were easy to see.  Taniquetil’s fair-haired lords and ladies shimmered in variations of white and grey.  Valmar’s nobility brought music wherever they went with the bells woven into their hair or on their sleeves.  Their skin shone brighter; these men and women basked daily in close proximity to the Trees.  Anairë wished for the gentle shades of Alqualondë blue and green to disrupt the warring brilliance of the others. 

                “Well, Co-Captains, is your team ready for competition?” Tulcando’s voice demanded her attention.

Anairë tilted her head to the side, gazing at the two Captains seriously.  Ingwion positively glowed at the question, his focus sharpening entirely to Aracáno.  Tulcando’s demeanor remained serious and stern.  When Aracáno did not immediately answer, Anairë took it as a sign.

                “Tirion is always up to a challenge,” she answered.  “I only hope you will realize what a foolish campaign this was, and is.”

                “Foolish?  It is a great honor to host the Games.  Why shouldn’t we battle for it?”  Tulcando replied, his cheeks growing flushed. 

                “But why now?” Anairë challenged, vaguely noting Aracáno shift closer to her.  “Would Valmar or Taniquetil have dared to challenge Tirion’s right?”

                “I think you misunderstand, Anairë.”  Ingwion’s tone was calm and his expression ambiguous as he maintained his focus on Aracáno.  “The Games have never been a political statement.”

Anairë fixed an incredulous stare at Ingwion and opened her mouth to respond.  Aracáno beat her to it. 

                “You forget your audience, Cousin,” Aracáno said quietly, his gaze caught on something behind Ingwion.

Anairë traced his stare to his parents and uncle.  Indis stood silently, a tense line driven between the men. 

                “What are you saying, Nolofinwë?” Ingwion asked sharply.

Aracáno’s gaze darted back to his cousin.  All traces of joviality had left his face.  It was unnervingly attractive, Anairë realized, to watch. 

                “It seems tedious to remind you of the current negotiations taking place,” Aracáno answered blandly. 

Anairë made a mental note to inquire about those negotiations later.

                “Why do you assume the request is meant to be taken personally?” Tulcando inquired.

                “Because it is,” Telparyon’s voice cut in.

Anairë enjoyed the brief flash of annoyance across Ingwion’s face.  Tulcando’s solemn expression did not change.  The silver haired Prince of Alqualondë situated himself between Arafinwë and Aracáno. 

                “You are mistaken,” Ingwion said.

                “You will regret this,” Telparyon replied.

                “Indeed,” Anairë echoed.

One soft word charged the air between the men.  Ingwion blinked slowly, almost as if he did not believe what he had heard.

                “Cousin?”  Ingwion questioned Aracáno as if she had spoken wrongly or out of turn. 

                “So Tirion makes its intentions known,” Tulcando mused with a frown. 

                “Anairë simply voices what we believe,” Arafinwë began quietly, glancing briefly at his brother.  “This is a foolish challenge.”

                “And I suppose Tirion will simply forfeit its right if your team wins?” Ingwion’s tone bore a sharp edge to it.

                “No,” Telparyon spit out vehemently.  “Alqualondë will not accept anything less than our own victory.”

Again, Ingwion looked to Aracáno to verify the truth of those words.  Aracáno nodded curtly.

                “I wish you well with that,” Ingwion bowed his head slightly.  “Excuse me.”

Tulcando and the Prince made their exit towards their respective city leaders.

                “Watch them scuttle to their Kings,” Telparyon grumbled angrily.

Arafinwë placed a hand on his shoulder.

                “They foolishly underestimate the strength of your team,” the youngest son of Finwë murmured.  “Let them.”

The quiet words seemed to placate Telparyon.  He held out a hand to Anairë. 

                “You are surprisingly quiet, dear Ana,” he said.

Anairë placed her hand in his, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

                “I was already warned against any unseemly behavior,” she replied. 

                “I see.”  Telparyon exchanged a knowing glance with Aracáno. 

                “Captains, with me.”  Altacáno’s gruff order came from behind them.

Telparyon forfeited his hold on Anairë’s hand.  She spared him a brief smile before falling in step beside Aracáno and the rest of her team mates.

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Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

 

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

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

Olwë: also called Olue (Telerin); King of the Teleri & Alqualondë; husband to Elenetyë and father to four.

Sarámo: Lord of Valmar and outlying lands.

Ingwë: King of the Vanyar & at Taniquetil.

Ingwion: Eldest child/son of Ingwë.

Tulcando: Captain of Valmar’s football team.

Telparyon: Eldest child/son of Olwë and Elenetyë, and brother to Eärwen; High-Prince of Alqualondë.

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

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

Altacáno: coach for Tirion’s football team.