Author's Note: I readily acknowledge that all places and characters in the story came from the genius mind of J.R.R. Tolkien and as such belong to the Tolkien estate. I mean no infringement whatsoever, and take no profit of any sort from my fanfiction. All other ideas in here are mine, and not to be copied without written permission, with one gigantically notable exception. The tale of the Swan-maiden of Dol Amroth is the work of the brilliant and extremely talented DrummerWench, taken (with permission) from her Fairy Tales of Middle-Earth—they're published on this site, so PLEASE check them out. They're beyond fantastic. (It's not meant to be a plug, it's a reference. Anyway, check them out.)
"…At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins. 'Hail, lord!' he said. 'It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth's haven west over water.'
'So it is said in the lore of my land,' said the Prince."
-The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
29 Cemië III 3016
Dol Amroth
The city of Dol Amroth sprawled just south of Edhellond, at the inlet of Cobras Haven in the Bay of Belfalas. Tirith Aear rose over the city, its spires and turrets nearly piercing the clouds, grey-white stone against a blue-grey sky. The palace itself was carved into the White Cliffs, hewed from the stone to brush the ocean with its base. The waves slipped into the arched tunnels and caves beneath the palace, brushing softly over the rich green moss clinging to the walls. Winding paths meandered down the slopes, leading to soft sand beaches backed by rolling dunes. The city itself was carved of white marble, native to Dor en Ernil, and glittered silver and white in the noon sun, while the beaches sparkled with bits of mica.
Down on the beach, two figures sprinted toward the waves, followed by four traveling at a more sedate pace. The two in front vied for the lead—one, a girl in a white linen shift, the other, a young man who could only be her brother.
"Run faster, Amrothos!" the girl called to him, hiking her skirts up until the hem brushed against her knees. The four behind them laughed softly, shaking their heads in amusement.
"It is a sad day indeed when your younger sister—your twelve-years-younger sister at that—can outrun you, little brother," the eldest of the four called. Amrothos—the runner—turned, glaring at his elder siblings and cousins.
"I blame you for that, Boromir," he retorted. "Every winter, when we come to Minas Tirith, you take Lothíriel off to train with the Citadel Guard every evening."
"Do I not also teach you, Amrothos?" Boromir asked, quirking up one eyebrow.
"Faramir trains with me," Amrothos replied. "And she always manages to convince me to teach her more whenever we come home."
"She uses that face on you, doesn't she?" Boromir asked, half-smiling. "The one with the sad eyes, and the pout, and the begging?"
"How did you know?" Amrothos asked, puzzled. Boromir grinned wryly.
"She used the same face on us, when she wanted to learn archery," he admitted. "And it worked."
"Will you come to the ocean already?" Lothíriel called, placing her hands on her hips. "The water is perfect for swimming, and you just stand there like a herd of deer."
The herd of deer in question turned to face her. On the face of the next eldest—Amrothos' and Lothíriel's eldest brother—a wicked smile began to spread.
"For that, little sister," Elphir replied, that hint of a smile chasing across his face, "I do believe you'll be the first to take a swim." Lothíriel's eyes widened.
"Elphir, don't you dare—" she started, beginning to back away. Before she could finish, Elphir had her arms pinned to her sides. She kicked furiously as he hoisted her over his shoulder. Behind them, Amrothos, Boromir, Faramir, and Erchirion watched, laughing, as Elphir tossed her from her perch into the ocean. She surfaced, spluttering, glaring at her brother.
"I am no deer, sister mine," he informed her, laughing.
"Indeed you are not, elder brother," Lothíriel retorted. "I believe you are more of a fish!" She grabbed his ankles, yanking him in as well. Safely on the shore, her brothers and cousins roared with laughter.
"And don't think you're safe, either," she said threateningly, her face drawn in mock anger. She struggled to her feet, fighting against the weight of her sopping wet dress, which clung to her petite form like a second skin. She lunged for Amrothos, who easily evaded her she chased him across the beach. Hiking up her skirts, she dove and tackled him into the sand.
"She's got you now, little brother," Erchirion crowed, as Lothíriel grabbed Amrothos by the ankles and dragged him into the water. Amrothos twisted and grabbed her wrists, yanking her down.
"Boromir, are you just going to sit there and let your future wife get drowned?" Lothíriel yelped, writhing and twisting to break loose.
Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, had betrothed his daughter to the elder son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, when she had been just eight. Her distant cousin was over two decades her senior, but treated his fiancée well. At her father's strict order, Lothíriel was not to be married until after her eighteenth birthday, but spent much of her time with her brothers and cousins nonetheless.
"I don't know, Alqua." Boromir grinned mischievously, in mock hesitation. "I doubt your brothers would care for my interference."
"Boromir!" Lothíriel called warningly, narrowing her eyes.
"For such a tiny girl, she's quite imposing," Faramir whispered to Erchirion. He stifled a laugh as Boromir waded in, scooping her up out of Amrothos' reach and swinging her up to sit on his shoulders.
"Charge!" Lothíriel commanded, giggling. Boromir jumped forward accordingly, chasing after his brother.
"What did I ever do?" Faramir cried, moving just out of reach.
"Does it matter?" Boromir asked, tackling him into the water. Lothíriel fell off, landing on Faramir and holding him under the water. Boromir picked her up once more, and Faramir sat up, spitting saltwater.
"Can we please just have the picnic already?" he begged, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
"Let's ask the birthday girl, shall we?" Boromir suggested, craning his neck to look up at his cousin. "What do you think, alqua?"
"It's my birthday, too," Amrothos grumbled, trying to get the sand out of his hair. Boromir ignored him.
"Picnic time!" Lothíriel decreed, and Boromir passed her a dry blanket as he set her down on the beach. Elphir laid out the tablecloth, and Erchirion place his two baskets at the center. "What did Culuma pack for us?"
"Roasted chicken, white rolls, honey-glazed carrots, and sweet tea," Erchirion replied, putting down the food on the plates Faramir had set out. "And there's apple pie, because it's Amrothos' favorite, and pecan pie, because it's your favorite." Lothíriel smiled, pouring the tea into the glasses before them.
"A toast," Boromir proposed, lifting his glass. The others followed suit, raising their glasses as well. "To my Swan Princess and my cousin, may your year be filled with joy and happiness."
"Hail!" the others responded, glasses clinking in midair as they saluted the two youngest among them.
"He took the good toast," Erchirion grumbled, raising his glass once more. That drew a laugh from the others assembled there, and he smiled slightly. "To my favorite younger siblings—"
"We're your only younger siblings!" Lothíriel whispered loudly, and they fell into laughter once more.
"Do you want your birthday toast or not?" he demanded. Lothíriel and Amrothos nodded, and Erchirion nodded. "Very well. To my favorite youngest siblings, for a year filled with adventure and amusement."
"Hail!" they called once more, turning to face Faramir as they did so.
"To the best archer I know and the best sparring partner I've ever had, for a year filled with courage and beauty," he toasted, raising his glass.
"Hail!" they replied, following suit.
"My turn," Elphir announced, raising his glass. As the eldest brother, it was his duty to make the final toast. "To my mallos and to Amrothos, for a year filled with the blessings of Eru Ilúvatar, hail!"
"Hail!" The others raised their glasses, toasting them one final time.
"So do you want your presents now, or when we get back to Ada, at dinner?" Elphir asked, eyes twinkling.
"You have to ask?" Amrothos demanded. "Of course we want them now!" Lothíriel swallowed her too-large bite of chicken, nodding agreement. Amrothos chuckled, handing over two long, thin boxes.
"Ladies first!" Lothíriel called, reaching for her present.
"Eldest first!" Amrothos retorted, elbowing her out of the way and grabbing his gift. Lothíriel stuck her tongue out at him, but allowed him to open his present first nonetheless, returning her attention to her food. Amrothos' eyes widened at the longsword in his box, with a hilt wrapped in black leather, descending to a mirror-bright blade with a winter-keen point. Delicate Elvish script marked the blood channel, sparkling and winking in the sun as he drew it carefully. Underneath the blade lay a polishing cloth, a whetstone, and a small bag of sand. He stood slowly, drawing it to find that it fit his hand perfectly, as though merely an extension of his arm.
"Your sword is Árecolindo, Lightbearer in the Elven tongue. You must promise to train with this sword, and keep it in perfect condition," Elphir instructed him. "Will you do this, Amrothos?"
"I promise," Amrothos replied reverently, brushing his fingers along the blade. Elphir nodded, turning to Lothíriel and smiling.
"Your turn, mallos," he announced, pushing her package closer. Lothíriel opened it carefully, preserving the wrappings. Amrothos glared at her impatiently, but she merely pushed back the fleece covers more slowly, eyes widening in awe as she beheld the recurve bow of pale white hickory in front of her, with sculpted gold vines around the arrow rest and at the tips. It spanned just over half her body length from tip to tip, with arcing curves between each tip and the arrow rest. A coil of string and a small jar of oil sat next to a quiver of two dozen slender arrows fletched with swan feathers. "I went through all the old tales, and the histories, and found that one of the histories of the Woodland Elves had descriptions of how to make an elven bow. This is made in the style of the bows of Lothlorien, the Golden Wood, but the family crest is embossed on the tips. "
"Elphir, this is beautiful," she breathed. "But please, please tell me you did not kill a swan for these." Elphir chuckled.
"No, Swan Princess, I did not," he pledged. "I picked up the feathers from among those the swans molted. I know the story as well as you."
"What story?" Boromir asked, curious.
"You never told him?" Amrothos turned to Lothíriel, disbelieving. "That's your favorite story."
"No, the Lay of Leithian is my favorite story, and then the Chronicle of Cirion and Eorl, and then the Ainulindalë," Lothíriel protested stubbornly. "The Swan-Lady of Dol Amroth was real."
"Now I have to hear this stor—this narrative," Boromir corrected hastily, seeing the look on her face.
"Alright," Lothíriel acquiesced, settling back in the sand until she was comfortable. "In the long ago, there was an Elven prince, a hunter of great renown. While hunting, he became lost in the forest, and made his way to copse of trees by lake, there planning to stay the night. Three swans flew over the lake, landing on the shore, and as one landed, she threw back her wings as you would throw back a cloak, and revealed herself to be a woman. The Prince watched her, entranced by her beauty, but fell asleep, exhausted by his hunting. He woke the next day to the flapping of wings, as the swans flew off once more."
"So was she a woman, or a swan?" Boromir interrupted.
"She was both," Lothíriel replied. "Now hush. The story's only just begun. He stayed at the lake, night after night, and saw that on a hot night, she threw her cloak off. Desirous of speaking to her while she remained a woman, he stole the cloak. He slipped back into the forest, and waited for her to rise. The next night, he returned, bowing before her, and offering the cloak.
'Hast though stolen my cloak from me?' the maiden asked, for she spoke Quenya. 'Know this, if I am a woman all day, once I regain the cloak, I must pay back the time, and remain swan all night for each day as a woman.'
"Full of sorrow, the Prince returned her cloak, asking only that she return and speak to him when she was woman once more. And she did so, and they began to learn of each other. The Prince learned that the other two swans were her father and mother, both of the First-Born, who had chosen to become swans rather than be separated from each other.
"After many days, the Prince regretfully realized that it was necessary for him to return to his lands, and did so with a heavy heart, pledging to make it the law of his land to protect swans. He feared that he would never see the Swan-maiden again, but one winter night, the three swans landed on his parapet walk, for the lake was frozen. The Swan-maiden begged shelter of him, and he gave it gladly.
"The swans wintered there, and the Prince and the Swan-maiden declared their love for each other in the spring, pledging troth to each other. The Swan-maiden's swan-cloak was put away in a trunk, and locked, so that she might not have to return to her avian form for countless days. They lived together happily, and had many children and grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. But while the Prince was gifted with a lifespan far beyond that of lesser men, he was yet of the Second-Born, and thus doomed to die. The Princess, however, was of the First-Born, and grieved as he felt the weight of his years upon him.
"One night, as the Prince and the Princess and all their family sat in the garden, the Princess felt the chill of the autumn air, and wished for some covering. The grandson of the Prince's heir ran inside, eager to please his great-grandmother, and found a cloak of white feathers in the trunk in the corner. Tiptoeing through the garden, he snuck up behind her and draped it over her shoulders, meaning to surprise her. It was he instead who was surprised, as her form melted into that of a swan. Her husband embraced her, knowing that Ulmo, Lord of the Seas, would call for him to return home soon as well. Indeed, he lived but one winter longer, with the three swans constantly at his side. They returned to their lake in the woods only after his death." Lothíriel finished the tale and smiled up at Boromir.
"And that is why the crest of Dol Amroth is a swan," Amrothos explained. "Lothíriel believes that the story is true. The rest of us grew out of it eventually, but she holds on to the tale."
"Don't start fighting, Alqua," Boromir said quickly, placing a restraining hand on her arm. "It's your birthday, after all."
"And it's my turn to hand out presents," Erchirion interjected, before Lothíriel could say anything. "Lothíriel, you can go first this time." Lothíriel grinned at her big brother, taking the small box he offered. "I hope you'll like it."
Lothíriel untied the thin gold ribbon around the box, slipping it open and unwrapping the thin white fabric to reveal a delicate flower of pure gold, hammered so thin as to nearly be translucent, framed by lacy silver leaves.
"It's for your hair," he explained, uncertain. "There's cloth underneath, so that it's comfortable, and—"
"It's beautiful, big brother," she replied, smiling. "I love it." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he smiled in return, relieved.
"Can I put it in for you?" he offered, and she nodded, handing it over. He slid the clip into her hair, pinning back the loose sepia curls. "There. You look beautiful, little sister." She smiled shyly, and Erchirion kissed her forehead before handing over a larger box to Amrothos.
"This is for you, runt," he teased, as Amrothos tore it open, pulling out a gold chainmail belt the width of three fingers, with four notches of various sizes for weapons spaced along it. "It took me nigh on a week to make, but it will serve you well."
"Thank you, Erchirion," Amrothos replied, clipping the belt on over his water-soaked breeches.
"I'll let my sparring partner go first," Faramir decided, passing Amrothos a fist-sized box. "Although I can't say I made it, unlike Erchirion."
"I'm sure I'll like it anyw—Manwë and Varda!" he exclaimed.
"Guard your tongue, Amrothos," Lothíriel admonished, frowning at him.
"Just look at it, Lothíriel!" he insisted. Lothíriel sighed and did so, and gasped audibly. The box held a round silver clasp, inlaid with crystals strung along a silver wire to form the swan crest of Dol Amroth. "How did you get this, Faramir?" Faramir smiled.
"I spend a lot of my time in the smithies and armories, and one of the smiths had always wanted to be jeweler," he explained. "So when I mentioned that I wanted to get you a cloak-pin for your birthday, he wanted to help."
"I haven't words enough to thank you for this," Amrothos replied finally. Faramir clapped him on the shoulder, and handed over Lothíriel's gift.
"This is for the fairer half of my favorite youngest cousins," he quipped as she accepted a box the length of her forearm. "And I do believe you'll find it useful, in light of the reports my father received recently, regarding the movements of orcs along the border."
Lothíriel disregarded her former sedate pace and tore the box open. She sat, trembling, as she looked at its contents, and her brothers regarded her curiously.
"This is an Arnorian blade," she said reverently, hardly daring to lift it out of the box. It was a long, leaf-shaped dagger, damasked with serpent-forms in red and gold, resting inside a sheath of black metal, set with small red gemstones.
"Made by the Dúnedain," Faramir agreed, smiling proudly. "I found it at the back of one of the old armories, underneath a pile of melted-down scrap metal. Whatever gift it has been endowed with, it did not burn."
"They say these blades are wound with spells for the bane of Mordor," Lothíriel whispered, drawing it cautiously. The blade was twice as long as her handspan was wide, with a cylindrical hilt inlaid with gold wire and red stones. Along the blade, Sindarin script arced and curled. "Foe of the great-fear," she read, tracing the letters. "Faramir, if you ever wish my life, you may have it, for this alone." Faramir chuckled, ruffling her hair.
"I am glad it pleases you, cousin," he said fondly. "Now, I believe Boromir has yet to offer his gifts."
"Amrothos may go first, but only because I wish to give Lothíriel her present after all her other presents have been given," Boromir announced. "Amrothos, I do not bear your gift with me. Rather, when we return home, you will find, in your stables, the black stallion you so admired when last you visited Minas Tirith." Amrothos' face reflected shock and delight, and Lothíriel laughed to see it.
"May I give Amrothos his gift?" she interjected, breaking Amrothos' silent shock. She passed him the smallest box that had yet been given, blushing slightly. "I apologize for its size, and if it is not pleasing to you, I will find something better, I promise." Amrothos opened the box, bemused, finding an intricately woven ring of gold wire and tiny seed-pearls. "Those times you caught me sneaking out early in the morning—I was coming here, to harvest the oysters, and make you this."
"It's perfect, onóre," Amrothos insisted earnestly. "I'll never take it off." He slipped it out of its wrapping, placing it on his finger then and there. "And this is for you. Close your eyes and hold out both hands."
"If you so much as think about putting a frog in them—" she warned, complying. Amrothos chuckled, and she felt the soft rub of leather against her forearms and wrists, tightening until they fit well. She opened her eyes, glancing down and smiling back up at him immediately. "Did you make these?" 'These' were a pair of handworked leather armguards, stamped with silver vines from wrist to elbow. Silver buckles held them in place, each one embossed with the crest of Dol Amroth.
Amrothos looked at her, and her smile broadened. He grinned in reply, raising one eyebrow, and she nodded.
"I feel so foolish when they speak without talking aloud," Faramir whispered, leaning toward Elphir. Elphir merely chuckled, shaking his head.
"You become accustomed to it after a time," Erchirion admitted. "It comes of their being the youngest of the family, I suppose—she and Amrothos have always been especially close." Lothíriel rose to fasten the sheath of her new dagger to her belt, and Boromir turned to face her.
"There's one last present, mallos," he reminded her, holding the small box he'd been toying with all afternoon. Half-rising from his seated position, he bore his weight on one knee and held out the box. "We have been pledged by our fathers since you were less than half as old as you are now, but it is you I wish to ask now." He opened the box, revealing a lacy silver band set with a star sapphire of purest blue. "Lothíriel Mithelessa, Swan Princess of Dol Amroth, will you grant me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Lothíriel held out one shaking hand, looking straight into his eyes.
"There is nothing in the world I would be happier to do, laire," she replied, voice trembling. Boromir smiled up at her, slipping the ring over her fourth finger and kissing the back of her hand.
"It will be an honor and a pleasure, mallos," Boromir said, rising without letting go of her hand.
"We should return soon," Elphir announced finally, beginning to pack the empty dishes into the basket. "Perhaps wear something more formal for dinner?" Lothíriel giggled, looking down at her still-dripping dress and the blanket she wore over it. Erchirion passed her the box containing her new bow, which she tucked under her free arm. Boromir took the tablecloth as Amrothos picked up his gifts, leading the way back up the cliff.
A/N:
Hello! My first story here is officially underway, and I'm very excited. I'm always open to reviews (unless they're flames or trolls) and PMs, so feel free to chat anytime. Hope you enjoy!
Words to Note: So I've included some Quenya words in here, but only because Dol Amroth was rumored to have Elven blood in the line. I assumed that after spending time around their cousins, Boromir and Faramir would pick up on a few words as well. The words used are mostly terms of endearment.
Mallos: a golden flower that grows on the plains and mountains of Gondor
Laire: summer
Onóre: sister
Finally, I had planned to mess with Tolkien's world (sacrilege, I know) and make Amrothos and Lothíriel twins, but I decided not to do that—I just gave them the same birthday. Other than that, everything is canon—ages, names, etc.
Also, here are the links to the blends I created of my characters and Tolkien's—just you have an idea of what I was thinking of when I wrote them.