elvenpiratelady (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elvenpiratelady) wrote2007-05-26 10:52 pm
elvenpiratelady) wrote2007-05-26 10:52 pm
Entry tags:
'The inspiration's now blowing due Dol Amroth, Captain...'
Title: Cygnets
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Imrahil/His wife is rather implied by the children, but I haven’t come up with a name for her yet.
Summary: Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos await the birth of their youngest sibling, but things don’t go exactly as expected…
Warning: Several mentions of sibling fights.
AN:b2wm sicced the Imrahil muse on me a couple of days ago, and this is one of at least four fics that spawned because of it… I wrote this at close to midnight last night (don’t panic, I’ve re-read it since then), which may be why this isn’t my normal style – it’s longer, and much more verbose, but I like it. It seems to suit Amrothos’ point of view. If you’re not familiar with the Dol Amroth clan, there’s a slight twist at the end. And I blame 50lyricsfanfic entirely for the references to Narn i Hin Húrin cropping up.
As for the characters: Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos are Imrahil’s sons. In this fic, Elphir is twelve, Erchirion is nine, and Amrothos is five. Imrahil is forty-four, and his wife has no name or specific age as of yet, although I freely admitb2wm’s Ainaelin was a major influence.
The title: well, I couldn’t really go around calling it ‘The Birth of [Stop! Fic-spoiling information]’, could I? And I like one-word titles. Cygnets are baby swans, and all kinds of cute. Love ‘em.
_________________________
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Imrahil/His wife is rather implied by the children, but I haven’t come up with a name for her yet.
Summary: Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos await the birth of their youngest sibling, but things don’t go exactly as expected…
Warning: Several mentions of sibling fights.
AN:
b2wm sicced the Imrahil muse on me a couple of days ago, and this is one of at least four fics that spawned because of it… I wrote this at close to midnight last night (don’t panic, I’ve re-read it since then), which may be why this isn’t my normal style – it’s longer, and much more verbose, but I like it. It seems to suit Amrothos’ point of view. If you’re not familiar with the Dol Amroth clan, there’s a slight twist at the end. And I blame 50lyricsfanfic entirely for the references to Narn i Hin Húrin cropping up.As for the characters: Elphir, Erchirion and Amrothos are Imrahil’s sons. In this fic, Elphir is twelve, Erchirion is nine, and Amrothos is five. Imrahil is forty-four, and his wife has no name or specific age as of yet, although I freely admit
b2wm’s Ainaelin was a major influence.The title: well, I couldn’t really go around calling it ‘The Birth of [Stop! Fic-spoiling information]’, could I? And I like one-word titles. Cygnets are baby swans, and all kinds of cute. Love ‘em.
_________________________
‘I hope it’s a boy,’ said Erchirion.
‘I certainly don’t,’ said Elphir with a grimace. ‘I have enough trouble from you two without another brother to pester me.’
Amrothos said nothing, at least for the moment. He secretly agreed with Erchirion, at least about having another brother. If they banded together, they could probably beat him, and it would be nice not to be the youngest, and by default the scapegoat and punching bag of the siblings, any more. Life was hard at five, Amrothos reflected, being old enough to fight but young enough that everyone else was bigger than you. Elphir had become especially annoying the last few months. Instead of helping his younger brother, as an elder sibling ought to do, he would read or just stare out the window while Erchirion was grinding him into the dust in plain sight! Any requests for help were met with ‘I’m not going to act like a barbarian because of you two’ or worse, ‘you need to learn to fight your own battles, Amrothos’, which Amrothos was sure was a sneaky way of saying ‘I’m on Erchirion’s side, really’. Father was allowed to say those sorts of things, but for Elphir to say it was a terrible betrayal of trust among brothers.
The three of them had been herded into one of the rooms that looked out to the sea, evidently little used if the clutter of mismatched furniture was any indicator. One of Mother’s aunts had sent them there and told them to amuse themselves. They could go to the kitchens if they were hungry, she said, or back to their bedroom if they wanted a book to read, but nowhere else. Amrothos understood that mother needed peace and quiet, but couldn’t they go to the stables, or to the yard to watch the guards practice? And Mother’s aunt had said no, not today, and father had come in looking rather distracted, and said be good boys, and do as your aunt says. The door had swung open behind him again, and under (or perhaps over) the women’s voices, Amrothos had heard Mother saying the most amazing words, almost as interesting as the ones Aglardir had said last week when he dropped the box of armour on his foot…
So now they were in this old, musty room, being good boys and staying quiet, and most importantly, keeping Out Of The Way.
‘I wonder what they’ll call him?’ Erchirion said thoughtfully.
Elphir shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’ll name him after Grandfather.’
‘Which one?’ asked Amrothos, puzzled.
‘Maybe both.’
‘I hope they call him Túrin,’ Erchirion said enthusiastically. ‘They’ll call him Túrin, and he’ll go and slay a dragon…’
‘And then marry his own sister? That’s disgusting!’
‘He won’t have a sister, Elphir, you’re being stupid. Or maybe they’ll call him Glorfindel, and he’ll go and kill a balrog and a thousand orcs, all at once…’
Then Elphir thought that they might name him Denethor, after their uncle, but Amrothos was doubtful. Denethor hadn’t killed any monsters, so Erchirion wouldn’t like it, and besides, he couldn’t imagine anyone except Denethor being called Denethor. It wouldn’t be right. Personally, he thought that Beren was a good name, or maybe Tuor. While Túrin must have been awfully brave to kill a dragon all by himself, he hadn’t had any brothers, and Amrothos didn’t want to be in a place like Nargothrond, in case it was invaded. Living with a dwarf and a band of outlaws might be exciting, though.
‘Or Beleg,’ Erchirion continued, ‘or Mablung, they killed a lot of orcs. Or they could name him after Boromir, I’m sure he could kill a thousand orcs at once…’
‘They can’t call him Boromir, you dolt, he’s our cousin!’
Erchirion and Amrothos kept suggesting names until Elphir said that they would never be able to remember them all, and that they should write them down. A trip to the bedroom was made to fetch paper, quills and ink, and Elphir was reluctantly coaxed into acting as the scribe. On the way back to the room, however, the stairs that led to the kitchen proved too tempting, and the names were forgotten in the presence of stew and bread and baked apples.
It was fully dark by the time they returned to the room, and the paper had been left in the kitchen. The stars and moon were shining clearly, and Elphir, who had recently discovered astronomy, pointed out some of the brighter ones, although it took a long time for him to explain that Eärendil having a flying ship didn’t necessarily mean that he had to fight flying pirates too. Both Erchirion and Amrothos remained unconvinced.
And then… they must have gone to sleep at some point, sitting on the windowsill and covered by an old, ragged blanket that they’d found in the room, because the next thing Amrothos remember was their aunt shaking them awake and telling them that they could see Mother now. The castle corridors seemed very different at night, and his head felt warm and muggy after being woken up at an odd hour, but Amrothos hoped that when Mother and Father did eventually name the baby, they wouldn’t follow Erchirion’s latest suggestion and call him Ar-Pharazon. He didn’t seem like a very nice king even if he had defeated Sauron, and the name would be hard to spell.
Mother was lying in bed, and looked tired too, but she smiled brightly at them when they came in. Father was standing next to her with his hand on her shoulder, and looked much less distracted than before. Erchirion started to tell them about all the names they’d thought up, and would they call the baby Túrin or Boromir, because Túrin was very brave and he was sure Boromir wouldn’t mind having a cousin named after him, until–
‘Erchirion,’ said Father gently, ‘wait a moment.’
And then he beckoned them to come closer, and Mother lifted away a fold of blanket, and Amrothos saw a small, wrinkled face, now asleep, and a tiny hand clutching the sheet…
‘Oh,’ he said.
________________________________
A few days later, when he’d had some time to get used to the idea, Amrothos reflected that it hadn’t turned out too badly, in the end. Erchirion was sulking because they wouldn’t name the baby Isildur or Anárion, but Lothiriel was a pretty name, and he wasn’t the youngest any more in any case. They’d be able to play Tuor and Idril in Gondolin, and Erchirion could be Glorfindel and kill a thousand orcs, and Elphir could be someone old and wise like Turgon…
And when she’d grown up a bit, she could be a diversion, and he could tackle Erchirion from behind when he wasn’t looking.
‘I certainly don’t,’ said Elphir with a grimace. ‘I have enough trouble from you two without another brother to pester me.’
Amrothos said nothing, at least for the moment. He secretly agreed with Erchirion, at least about having another brother. If they banded together, they could probably beat him, and it would be nice not to be the youngest, and by default the scapegoat and punching bag of the siblings, any more. Life was hard at five, Amrothos reflected, being old enough to fight but young enough that everyone else was bigger than you. Elphir had become especially annoying the last few months. Instead of helping his younger brother, as an elder sibling ought to do, he would read or just stare out the window while Erchirion was grinding him into the dust in plain sight! Any requests for help were met with ‘I’m not going to act like a barbarian because of you two’ or worse, ‘you need to learn to fight your own battles, Amrothos’, which Amrothos was sure was a sneaky way of saying ‘I’m on Erchirion’s side, really’. Father was allowed to say those sorts of things, but for Elphir to say it was a terrible betrayal of trust among brothers.
The three of them had been herded into one of the rooms that looked out to the sea, evidently little used if the clutter of mismatched furniture was any indicator. One of Mother’s aunts had sent them there and told them to amuse themselves. They could go to the kitchens if they were hungry, she said, or back to their bedroom if they wanted a book to read, but nowhere else. Amrothos understood that mother needed peace and quiet, but couldn’t they go to the stables, or to the yard to watch the guards practice? And Mother’s aunt had said no, not today, and father had come in looking rather distracted, and said be good boys, and do as your aunt says. The door had swung open behind him again, and under (or perhaps over) the women’s voices, Amrothos had heard Mother saying the most amazing words, almost as interesting as the ones Aglardir had said last week when he dropped the box of armour on his foot…
So now they were in this old, musty room, being good boys and staying quiet, and most importantly, keeping Out Of The Way.
‘I wonder what they’ll call him?’ Erchirion said thoughtfully.
Elphir shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’ll name him after Grandfather.’
‘Which one?’ asked Amrothos, puzzled.
‘Maybe both.’
‘I hope they call him Túrin,’ Erchirion said enthusiastically. ‘They’ll call him Túrin, and he’ll go and slay a dragon…’
‘And then marry his own sister? That’s disgusting!’
‘He won’t have a sister, Elphir, you’re being stupid. Or maybe they’ll call him Glorfindel, and he’ll go and kill a balrog and a thousand orcs, all at once…’
Then Elphir thought that they might name him Denethor, after their uncle, but Amrothos was doubtful. Denethor hadn’t killed any monsters, so Erchirion wouldn’t like it, and besides, he couldn’t imagine anyone except Denethor being called Denethor. It wouldn’t be right. Personally, he thought that Beren was a good name, or maybe Tuor. While Túrin must have been awfully brave to kill a dragon all by himself, he hadn’t had any brothers, and Amrothos didn’t want to be in a place like Nargothrond, in case it was invaded. Living with a dwarf and a band of outlaws might be exciting, though.
‘Or Beleg,’ Erchirion continued, ‘or Mablung, they killed a lot of orcs. Or they could name him after Boromir, I’m sure he could kill a thousand orcs at once…’
‘They can’t call him Boromir, you dolt, he’s our cousin!’
Erchirion and Amrothos kept suggesting names until Elphir said that they would never be able to remember them all, and that they should write them down. A trip to the bedroom was made to fetch paper, quills and ink, and Elphir was reluctantly coaxed into acting as the scribe. On the way back to the room, however, the stairs that led to the kitchen proved too tempting, and the names were forgotten in the presence of stew and bread and baked apples.
It was fully dark by the time they returned to the room, and the paper had been left in the kitchen. The stars and moon were shining clearly, and Elphir, who had recently discovered astronomy, pointed out some of the brighter ones, although it took a long time for him to explain that Eärendil having a flying ship didn’t necessarily mean that he had to fight flying pirates too. Both Erchirion and Amrothos remained unconvinced.
And then… they must have gone to sleep at some point, sitting on the windowsill and covered by an old, ragged blanket that they’d found in the room, because the next thing Amrothos remember was their aunt shaking them awake and telling them that they could see Mother now. The castle corridors seemed very different at night, and his head felt warm and muggy after being woken up at an odd hour, but Amrothos hoped that when Mother and Father did eventually name the baby, they wouldn’t follow Erchirion’s latest suggestion and call him Ar-Pharazon. He didn’t seem like a very nice king even if he had defeated Sauron, and the name would be hard to spell.
Mother was lying in bed, and looked tired too, but she smiled brightly at them when they came in. Father was standing next to her with his hand on her shoulder, and looked much less distracted than before. Erchirion started to tell them about all the names they’d thought up, and would they call the baby Túrin or Boromir, because Túrin was very brave and he was sure Boromir wouldn’t mind having a cousin named after him, until–
‘Erchirion,’ said Father gently, ‘wait a moment.’
And then he beckoned them to come closer, and Mother lifted away a fold of blanket, and Amrothos saw a small, wrinkled face, now asleep, and a tiny hand clutching the sheet…
‘Oh,’ he said.
________________________________
A few days later, when he’d had some time to get used to the idea, Amrothos reflected that it hadn’t turned out too badly, in the end. Erchirion was sulking because they wouldn’t name the baby Isildur or Anárion, but Lothiriel was a pretty name, and he wasn’t the youngest any more in any case. They’d be able to play Tuor and Idril in Gondolin, and Erchirion could be Glorfindel and kill a thousand orcs, and Elphir could be someone old and wise like Turgon…
And when she’d grown up a bit, she could be a diversion, and he could tackle Erchirion from behind when he wasn’t looking.