Disclaimer: Not mine. You can use the royal family of Gondor if you want
but I don't really think you'd want to. Actually, the princesses and Laita
are mine, but Eldarion is not.
Summary: Princess Tinúviel, daughter of Arwen and Aragorn, is forced to escape Gondor and take refuge in the Shire.
My Brother's Kingdom
Chapter One: Tinúviel
A slim black-cloaked figure slipped through the empty streets of Minas Tirith. A few yellow ringlets escaped the hood and blew about in the windy December air. The silver tassel at the peak of the velvet hood swung back and forth hypnotically as she passed through the inner gate to her brother's tower.
Tinúviel, daughter of King Elessar, cast back her elegant hood, revealing her youthful beauty. Although only sixteen, she was quite mature and every bit as lovely as her ancestor of the same name. Raven-black, spiraling curls cascaded down her back and shoulders in a waterfall of shining locks reaching her waist. Keen, deep-set, soft grey eyes peered out from under heavy eyelids. Two spots of pink were high on her pale cheeks, and her lips, usually a healthy rosy shade, were tinged with blue. Her forest-green gown of satin provided scant protection from the freezing air of winter in her beloved city.
A brunette woman came dashing out of the doors carrying a thick velvet blanket. The Princess Pheriain wrapped the comforter around her younger sister and began frog-marching her into the castle.
"Tinúviel!" Pheriain scolded. "I've been worried sick."
Tinúviel's lips curved upwards into a smile. Although she was only a year older, Pheriain was quite protective of her little sister.
"You couldn't have been," she said softly. "We can't be sick."
"I was worried, though," Pheriain insisted. "And Eldarion will be furious."
Tinúviel winced. The oldest sister, eighteen-year-old Laita, served as Queen alongside her brother, tyrannical twenty-five-year old Eldarion. Laita was obedient and quiet when she was around Eldarion, but when with her sisters she was just like Tinúviel.
"They will be furious with you for coming to get me," Tinúviel said. "You're the heir. I'm just the lowly second-in-line."
Pheriain frowned, but laid her arm across Tinúviel's shoulders. She led the younger girl inside the castle, up the stairs, and to her room, where she said that Tinúviel must go to sleep.
"It's past midnight," she insisted.
"I've been up later," Tinúviel argued.
"You won't be tonight."
Pheriain watched, her arms folded, as Tinúviel changed into a white linen nightgown and crawled under the thick layers of fur blankets. She blew out the candles as she left. Although she fought it, Tinúviel quickly fell asleep. She was awoken the next morning by an anxious hissing in her ear. Groaning, she reluctantly rolled over and opened her eyes. The innocent grey eyes of her lady-in-waiting, Danika, met her.
"Majesty," she said. "The King Eldarion wishes to see you."
Tinúviel began muttering swear words in Elvish under her breath. Danika, of course, did not know what she was saying, as she spoke about two words of Elvish.
"He says that if you are not there in seven minutes, he will have you thrown into the tower for a week," Danika said timidly.
"He's bluffing," Tinúviel scoffed.
"Tinúviel!" the Queen Laita's voice called in a panicked tone. "Hurry up! Eldarion is absolutely furious!"
Laita burst into the room, golden hair disheveled, doe-brown eyes wild in fright. When she saw her sister and the look on her expressive face, she knew how much trouble she really was in.
"He is absolutely enraged!" she said fearfully. "I'll help you pick a dress; you have to look perfect!"
She picked up a cotton dress from the trunk. The skirt wasn't very wide, and the waistline was very high. The bodice was forest green, the skirt was deep scarlet, and the puffed sleeves were creamy white.
"It's so...simple," Tinúviel said, frowning.
"Simple can be good. Put it on, oh, and those green shoes over there."
Tinúviel obediently pulled the dress on, yanked the tiny shoes onto her feet, and sat down onto a stool while Laita plaited her hair.
"Ow!" Tinúviel yelped. "Don't pull so hard!"
"It wasn't on purpose," Laita snapped crossly.
Once her hair was plaited, Laita grabbed her younger sister's shoulders and literally pulled her into an standing position. They simultaneously began down the hallway and down the stairs to the throne room.
"What am I supposed to do?" hissed Tinúviel.
"Be apologetic. Be humble. It must be possible for you. Dip your head for once. At least your chin."
Tinúviel frowned, but quickly wiped it away and turned it into a face that might pass for humble. Never having been humble, she wouldn't know it.
The heavy mahogany doors swung open as the queen and princess passed through. At the front of the room sat two thrones, Laita's and Eldarion's. Eldarion himself sat sprawled across his throne, glaring at his sisters.
"Tinúviel!" he barked. "Tell me why you left last night!"
In spite of herself, Tinúviel felt her arrogant temper rising in her chest. Her humble face was replaced my her usual aristocratic features with a hint of stubbornness, determination and anger thrown in for good measure. She tossed back her head with an arrogant huff. Behind her, Laita groaned slightly.
"I left because I had to see something," Tinúviel snapped.
"You can See just fine in the castle," he said imperiously, misinterpreting her statement. "You have your crystal and you have your mind. Don't leave the castle again. Entertain yourself. Get a pet or something."
"Unlike some pigs I could mention, I don't torture small animals for fun," Tinúviel said tartly.
Laita whimpered.
"Unlike some impudent little children I could mention, I don't disobey the king," Eldarion snarled, his voice dangerous.
"Eldarion, I may be impudent, but I'm ten times the ruler you are," the youngest princess insulted in a way that was somehow arrogantly regal.
That was the last straw. Eldarion stood slowly, his black cape unfurling behind him. He had only to snap his fingers, and five guards would march Tinúviel right up to the tower prison.
"How dare you speak to your king in such words," Eldarion roared. "Guards!"
Aforementioned guards came marching out from where they were hidden, waiting for orders.
"Take her to the tower."
They grabbed her arms and started dragging her out of the room backwards, so as not to show her backside to the king. As they pulled her out, Tinúviel spat onto a life-size portrait of her brother. The spittle smacked onto the painted Eldarion's face, and the king could have sworn that in a nearby family portrait, Tinúviel's painted mouth curved upwards into a smirk.
With a loud slam, the doors of the throne room shut. Laita began towards her throne, her head bowed. Before she reached it, however, Eldarion stopped her. He put his hand on her chin and tilted her head upwards toward his face.
"Just like Grandmother," he observed.
"Thank you," Laita said complacently. "Personally, I believe you to be the picture of our father."
"And Pheriain? Tinúviel?"
"Pheriain looks much like our maternal grandfather."
"And Tinúviel?"
Laita did not know how to answer in a way that would please her brother. So she spoke the truth. "Tinúviel has every feature of the ancient Lúthien Tinúviel, our ancestor."
A sharp, "As you well know" was bitten back. Eldarion seemed pleased, but it was difficult to tell. His brown eyes were looking straight into Laita's, and she suddenly realized how close he was. He was actually coming closer to her, and they were almost touching already-
"Excuse my sudden leave," Laita said quietly, quickly and gracefully withdrawing. "I must attend to a friend."
She backed out of the throne room as quickly as she could without seeming suspicious, thankful for her quick mind.
Summary: Princess Tinúviel, daughter of Arwen and Aragorn, is forced to escape Gondor and take refuge in the Shire.
My Brother's Kingdom
Chapter One: Tinúviel
A slim black-cloaked figure slipped through the empty streets of Minas Tirith. A few yellow ringlets escaped the hood and blew about in the windy December air. The silver tassel at the peak of the velvet hood swung back and forth hypnotically as she passed through the inner gate to her brother's tower.
Tinúviel, daughter of King Elessar, cast back her elegant hood, revealing her youthful beauty. Although only sixteen, she was quite mature and every bit as lovely as her ancestor of the same name. Raven-black, spiraling curls cascaded down her back and shoulders in a waterfall of shining locks reaching her waist. Keen, deep-set, soft grey eyes peered out from under heavy eyelids. Two spots of pink were high on her pale cheeks, and her lips, usually a healthy rosy shade, were tinged with blue. Her forest-green gown of satin provided scant protection from the freezing air of winter in her beloved city.
A brunette woman came dashing out of the doors carrying a thick velvet blanket. The Princess Pheriain wrapped the comforter around her younger sister and began frog-marching her into the castle.
"Tinúviel!" Pheriain scolded. "I've been worried sick."
Tinúviel's lips curved upwards into a smile. Although she was only a year older, Pheriain was quite protective of her little sister.
"You couldn't have been," she said softly. "We can't be sick."
"I was worried, though," Pheriain insisted. "And Eldarion will be furious."
Tinúviel winced. The oldest sister, eighteen-year-old Laita, served as Queen alongside her brother, tyrannical twenty-five-year old Eldarion. Laita was obedient and quiet when she was around Eldarion, but when with her sisters she was just like Tinúviel.
"They will be furious with you for coming to get me," Tinúviel said. "You're the heir. I'm just the lowly second-in-line."
Pheriain frowned, but laid her arm across Tinúviel's shoulders. She led the younger girl inside the castle, up the stairs, and to her room, where she said that Tinúviel must go to sleep.
"It's past midnight," she insisted.
"I've been up later," Tinúviel argued.
"You won't be tonight."
Pheriain watched, her arms folded, as Tinúviel changed into a white linen nightgown and crawled under the thick layers of fur blankets. She blew out the candles as she left. Although she fought it, Tinúviel quickly fell asleep. She was awoken the next morning by an anxious hissing in her ear. Groaning, she reluctantly rolled over and opened her eyes. The innocent grey eyes of her lady-in-waiting, Danika, met her.
"Majesty," she said. "The King Eldarion wishes to see you."
Tinúviel began muttering swear words in Elvish under her breath. Danika, of course, did not know what she was saying, as she spoke about two words of Elvish.
"He says that if you are not there in seven minutes, he will have you thrown into the tower for a week," Danika said timidly.
"He's bluffing," Tinúviel scoffed.
"Tinúviel!" the Queen Laita's voice called in a panicked tone. "Hurry up! Eldarion is absolutely furious!"
Laita burst into the room, golden hair disheveled, doe-brown eyes wild in fright. When she saw her sister and the look on her expressive face, she knew how much trouble she really was in.
"He is absolutely enraged!" she said fearfully. "I'll help you pick a dress; you have to look perfect!"
She picked up a cotton dress from the trunk. The skirt wasn't very wide, and the waistline was very high. The bodice was forest green, the skirt was deep scarlet, and the puffed sleeves were creamy white.
"It's so...simple," Tinúviel said, frowning.
"Simple can be good. Put it on, oh, and those green shoes over there."
Tinúviel obediently pulled the dress on, yanked the tiny shoes onto her feet, and sat down onto a stool while Laita plaited her hair.
"Ow!" Tinúviel yelped. "Don't pull so hard!"
"It wasn't on purpose," Laita snapped crossly.
Once her hair was plaited, Laita grabbed her younger sister's shoulders and literally pulled her into an standing position. They simultaneously began down the hallway and down the stairs to the throne room.
"What am I supposed to do?" hissed Tinúviel.
"Be apologetic. Be humble. It must be possible for you. Dip your head for once. At least your chin."
Tinúviel frowned, but quickly wiped it away and turned it into a face that might pass for humble. Never having been humble, she wouldn't know it.
The heavy mahogany doors swung open as the queen and princess passed through. At the front of the room sat two thrones, Laita's and Eldarion's. Eldarion himself sat sprawled across his throne, glaring at his sisters.
"Tinúviel!" he barked. "Tell me why you left last night!"
In spite of herself, Tinúviel felt her arrogant temper rising in her chest. Her humble face was replaced my her usual aristocratic features with a hint of stubbornness, determination and anger thrown in for good measure. She tossed back her head with an arrogant huff. Behind her, Laita groaned slightly.
"I left because I had to see something," Tinúviel snapped.
"You can See just fine in the castle," he said imperiously, misinterpreting her statement. "You have your crystal and you have your mind. Don't leave the castle again. Entertain yourself. Get a pet or something."
"Unlike some pigs I could mention, I don't torture small animals for fun," Tinúviel said tartly.
Laita whimpered.
"Unlike some impudent little children I could mention, I don't disobey the king," Eldarion snarled, his voice dangerous.
"Eldarion, I may be impudent, but I'm ten times the ruler you are," the youngest princess insulted in a way that was somehow arrogantly regal.
That was the last straw. Eldarion stood slowly, his black cape unfurling behind him. He had only to snap his fingers, and five guards would march Tinúviel right up to the tower prison.
"How dare you speak to your king in such words," Eldarion roared. "Guards!"
Aforementioned guards came marching out from where they were hidden, waiting for orders.
"Take her to the tower."
They grabbed her arms and started dragging her out of the room backwards, so as not to show her backside to the king. As they pulled her out, Tinúviel spat onto a life-size portrait of her brother. The spittle smacked onto the painted Eldarion's face, and the king could have sworn that in a nearby family portrait, Tinúviel's painted mouth curved upwards into a smirk.
With a loud slam, the doors of the throne room shut. Laita began towards her throne, her head bowed. Before she reached it, however, Eldarion stopped her. He put his hand on her chin and tilted her head upwards toward his face.
"Just like Grandmother," he observed.
"Thank you," Laita said complacently. "Personally, I believe you to be the picture of our father."
"And Pheriain? Tinúviel?"
"Pheriain looks much like our maternal grandfather."
"And Tinúviel?"
Laita did not know how to answer in a way that would please her brother. So she spoke the truth. "Tinúviel has every feature of the ancient Lúthien Tinúviel, our ancestor."
A sharp, "As you well know" was bitten back. Eldarion seemed pleased, but it was difficult to tell. His brown eyes were looking straight into Laita's, and she suddenly realized how close he was. He was actually coming closer to her, and they were almost touching already-
"Excuse my sudden leave," Laita said quietly, quickly and gracefully withdrawing. "I must attend to a friend."
She backed out of the throne room as quickly as she could without seeming suspicious, thankful for her quick mind.