Before TTP!Disclaimer: I don't own AF or the Nightingale. Those belong to Eoin Colfer and Hans Christian Andersen.
Once returning home Artemis had -not of his own free will mind you, but still- spent nearly every free moment with his younger siblings. It that time he had noticed something. Something… odd.
Myles had not said a single word in the entire two months he had known him.
He had communicated, mind you, just in the most common way presented to him.
"Don't worry about it, Arty. He hasn't said a word to anyone, so don't take it personally." His mother had told him. Of course he had probed further upon gaining this knowledge. "He's just… A late bloomer in that way. He'll talk when he's ready." And that was left to that. Of course the teen was still curious; it was his character, after all.
So he had tried to get is younger brother to speak, though to no avail. Beckett would answer every question Artemis had asked, fully wanting his big brother to know him better. Myles, on the other hand, would continue with his odd version of sign language which he had fully expected his big brother to be able to translate. Artemis had of course, but that still brought up the fact that the toddler refused to speak.
Which brings us to the current date.
Artemis sighed quietly as he slowly entered his little brothers' room, having been appointed 'story teller' for the night. Myles and Beckett each awaited eagerly on their beds. Myles pointed to the bookcase, then locked his thumbs together, then pointed back to the bookcase. Beckett nodded in agreement.
The raven haired teen in the doorway chuckled slightly as he made his way to the shelves, plucking a red book with golden illustrations on the cover amongst the many fairy tales. "The Nightingale then?" he questioned. Both twins gave a quick thumbs up. Artemis chuckled again, and began.
"In China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to hear it now before it is forgotten…" Both the twins seemed to become lost within the words as their older brother spoke, their eyes closing to see the world described clearer.
Myles made a small movement with his hands as the Nightingale's song was played in his imagination, something like how someone moves their hands when describing rain's pitter patter to someone who can't hear. 'It sounds so pretty,' the movement said, or so Artemis assumed, and continued.
And then, far too soon, the ending words were rolling off the geniuses tongue. Beckett looked at him in disappointment, and then moved over to his own bed, climbing under the covers in a half dejected way. Artemis smiled, and then turned back to Myles.
The blond was making rapid movements with his hands, his eyes glowing with delight, and Artemis couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the words.
'Your voice was so nice,' His littler brother's hands told him. 'Say another story. I wanna go somewhere else before bed! Please?' But Artemis knew it was not true, at least he thought it wasn't. His voice was not silken and made for story telling, like that of his mothers. It was cold and detached, ready to push people away. It didn't take someone to where he was reading about. It was simply… there, out in the world to be heard.
He shook his head, and Myles eyes dropped to the ground in disappointment. "Tomorrow," Said Artemis, a rare smile lighting up his pallid face. "I'll read two stories to make up for only one tonight, okay?" The boy looked up and nodded eagerly and Artemis' smile grew a fraction wider as he stood up and turned around.
He slowly made his way to the door, only shutting off the light once he heard the covers rustling; indicating Myles would soon be asleep. "Goodnight boys." He muttered quietly, trying to shut the door without having it creak and failing miserably, wincing at the racket he was making.
And then, a small voice broke through the (almost) silence, like that of someone who was half asleep. "G'night, Arty." Artemis smiled for the second time in so many minutes as the stubborn door finally clicked shut.
"His first words" -he paused- "Were to me." He shook his head in disapproval, more so to himself then anything. "I don't deserve it." And with that, he started making his way back to his own bedroom.
A/N: Run through spell check seven times (quite literally mind you) so there should be no spelling errors. NONE! Any OOCness I take full responsibility for though.