Post by weaselbeast on Aug 12, 2007 10:55:45 GMT -5
This is, essentially, a novellization of the movie told from a third person point of view that includes a little bit of most of the characters. This telling of the story also includes darker overtones to it. So yes. Below is my first sampling of the fic, any feedback would be nice. And yeah. Heh.
Grimbsy was seasick again. The tang of sea-salt was particularly pronounced today, and the ocean was lamentably strong. Staring down the side of the great ship he stood on, he noticed a perverse correlation between the shade of the water and his own face. He mournfully drew his gaze back up; the constant singing and shouting from the sailors had brought on a headache, and Max was insufferably excited.
Despite all of this, he maintained his grip, tenuous though it was, on dignity. An aristocrat always had bearing. That he never lost. The ship gave another lurch, and Grimsby clutched the side of the rail, sincerely hoping that this time he would not further humiliate himself.
Eric stood out in the prow of the ship, balanced recklessly, relishing the day. “Isn’t this great? The salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face… a perfect day to be at sea!” Grimsby looked up over the rail at his prince. Eric was a sad story. His late father, King Alfred of blessed memory, had died over two years ago, and his mother hadn’t lasted much longer than her husband.
Not only was Eric the Crown Prince, he was the only child born of Alfred and Matilda, and he had been an heir without coronation for almost three years now. Even more so after King Alfred died, though Grimsby had always done his best, he had tried to raise and educate Eric to his important position. Eric, the last blood of an ancient dynasty.
Yet Grimsby often felt that he had failed the boy. He felt it more keenly than ever looking over the handsome young man Eric had become with his guileless blue eyes and his lack of interest in the throne. The last time Grimsby had spoken with him, Eric’s response had been heated. “I don’t want the crown, Grim! They should make you king. You’re suited to it the way I’ll never be!”
He had been like that as a child too. A bold little boy, charming, impulsive, and one who had acted on impulse more often than thought. He was still like that now. As all of these thoughts flashed along Grimsby’s mind, he managed, “Delightful,” before turning back to the railing with urgent necessity at the constant swelling of the aquamarine waves.
None of those things were really the problem. Eric was surpassingly clever when he applied himself to a task, he was discreet and kind. He did not, perhaps, have a gift for subterfuge, but with good people around him, that would not be a problem. No, the succession, coronation and the marriage were all the real problems. A royal tangle, that one.
“A strong fine wind and a following sea. King Triton must be in a friendly-type mood.”
Grimsby glanced over at the seafaring man. The sailor was short and built quite broadly, inclining towards plumpness. His deft handling of the ropes, however, belied the impression that his sizable girth was fat rather than muscle.
Eric had looked over too. “King Triton?” Grim heard the puzzlement in his voice. It was a reasonable question. Grim might have asked it too. He had never heard of a King Triton.
A one-eyed peasant busily sorting through fish glanced up in sardonic amusement. “Why, ruler of the merpeople, lad. Thought every good sailor knew about him.”
Grimsby rolled his eyes in disgust. Though this was an exceedingly minor incident, it was exactly the sort of thing that disrupted Eric’s thought and lessened Grimsby’s influence with him. But, Grim had never stopped trying.
Straightening up and smoothing out his purple tie he said with a suitable air of indulgent disbelieve, “Merpeople! Eric, pay no attention to this nautical nonsense.” Eric more or less ignored his comment, a phenomenon Grim had come to expect even if he always hoped otherwise.
The sailor stopped in the midst of his work, looking comically outraged. He seized a flopping fish from the barrel, stumped over to Grimsby so close that his beard was practically soiling Grim’s excellent black coat, and started threatening him with the fish.
Really, the nerve of the man! Grim would have to get his judicial friends, Marlowe in particular, to run the fellow up on a minor charge.
“But it ain’t nonsense, it’s the truth! I’m tellin’ you, down in the depths o’ the ocean they live!” Grimsby was about to ignore the fellow as he deserved when the fish desperately squirmed free of the sailor’s grasp and through itself forward, landing on his face first before successfully falling off of the ship. Typical.
The sailor guffawed loudly and stumped back over to his barrels muttering, “Landlubbers! They know nothing.”
Grimsby gathered his dignity as best he could and sidled over to Eric. “I say, Eric. I know it’s your birthday and I saw your reaction, but it’s not too late. If we hurry back you could make amends… save the situation.”
Eric turned to him with laughing eyes. “Oh, Grim,” he chuckled. “Let me explain it to you in your language.”
---
“I don’t like this,” muttered Aquata.
Arista snorted. “You’re touchy alright. Why’s this concert got your tail in such a knot?”
Aquata bristled. “That’s not fair! That’s not even true!”
“Say what you will, sweet sister, you never caused this kind of fuss when Father had a debut concert for any of us before.”
Aquata opened her mouth and then shut. She tossed her head and snapped, “I’m not causing a fuss! I just don’t like it.”
“Well. That’s not so surprising. You’ve never liked Ariel before. Why start now?”
Adella interrupted, her eyes widening. “Why, dearest Arista! Whatever are you implying of our sweet sister?”
“You know perfectly well what I’m implying. She doesn’t like Ariel. And anyway,” resumed Arista as she turned back to her eldest sister, “You’ve become much more uptight since you started helping father as an active heir.”
Aquata drew herself up stiffly. “I don’t have to listen t_”
“Shhh!” hissed Alana. “Baldwin’s started!”
---
Sebastian peered out of his place behind the rock listening with keen anticipation for the moment when Baldwin would announce him. The little sea horse drew himself up, blew a puff of breath out of his chest, straightened his ruffles and began, “Ahem… His royal highness, King Triton!”
At that the king of the merfolk, in his great clamshell, came out waving to the wildly cheering crowd. Triton was getting older, but he was still a most impressive specimen, fit and shrewd. He had ruled Atlantica well for almost 40 years and the burdens of responsibility rested easily on his shoulders. He reigned with a strong hand full of justice and generosity. Unfortunately, he was just as wrathful as he was generous and his rages were famous.
Sebastian belatedly heard Baldwin already half-way through the introduction! Hugging himself, he hurried to get out. “… Ignatius Crustaceous Sebastian!” He only barely managed to make a dignified entrance, and his greeting from the crowd was not terribly enthusiastic. Despite his high place in Triton’s court he had never inspired much in the way of fondness.
He floated over to King Triton who leaned over a look of happy anticipation lightening his face. “I’m really looking forward to this performance, Sebastian.”
Sebastian smiled. “Oh Your Majesty, This will be de finest concert I have ever conducted. Your daughters…” he struggled for a moment to find the suitable word, “they will be spectacular!”
Triton smiled indulgently. “Yes, and especially my little Ariel.”
Sebastian agreed politely with him, “Yes, yes, she has de most beautiful voice…” He, as well as the rest of the kingdom, was aware that it was really Ariel’s performance that excited the king. She was the child of his old age and he loved her, perhaps more than his other daughters. As he floated down to the podium he muttered, “If only she’d show up for rehearsals once in a while.”
Having stopped before the podium he banished all such thoughts from his mind. He would be remembered for this concert. With more than a little eagerness he freed his sheaf of music and placed it before him. Waiting for an appropriately intense moment, he began.
The band sprang into life at his command playing with all the strength of performance night, even better than they had been. The clamshells opened and Triton’s daughters began to sing. He could hardly believe it; they were all on form tonight. Even Aquata was, and Sebastian had always thought that, despite Triton’s insistence, she was far too light-minded and pouty to make much of a singer.
If he hadn’t been conducting with all his strength he might have hugged himself in delight. Nothing could go wrong; he had coached Ariel hard_ when she had bothered to show up.
The last rising note of the concerted song was rising as the clamshell was slowly starting to open, “… sister, Ar-i_” the note was cut off in a sharp gasp. Sebastian gaped mindlessly for a moment at the empty shell before understanding sank in. He glanced nervously behind him and saw. Triton had seized his trident clinging it tightly in his rage.
“Ahrial,” he croaked.
Grimbsy was seasick again. The tang of sea-salt was particularly pronounced today, and the ocean was lamentably strong. Staring down the side of the great ship he stood on, he noticed a perverse correlation between the shade of the water and his own face. He mournfully drew his gaze back up; the constant singing and shouting from the sailors had brought on a headache, and Max was insufferably excited.
Despite all of this, he maintained his grip, tenuous though it was, on dignity. An aristocrat always had bearing. That he never lost. The ship gave another lurch, and Grimsby clutched the side of the rail, sincerely hoping that this time he would not further humiliate himself.
Eric stood out in the prow of the ship, balanced recklessly, relishing the day. “Isn’t this great? The salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face… a perfect day to be at sea!” Grimsby looked up over the rail at his prince. Eric was a sad story. His late father, King Alfred of blessed memory, had died over two years ago, and his mother hadn’t lasted much longer than her husband.
Not only was Eric the Crown Prince, he was the only child born of Alfred and Matilda, and he had been an heir without coronation for almost three years now. Even more so after King Alfred died, though Grimsby had always done his best, he had tried to raise and educate Eric to his important position. Eric, the last blood of an ancient dynasty.
Yet Grimsby often felt that he had failed the boy. He felt it more keenly than ever looking over the handsome young man Eric had become with his guileless blue eyes and his lack of interest in the throne. The last time Grimsby had spoken with him, Eric’s response had been heated. “I don’t want the crown, Grim! They should make you king. You’re suited to it the way I’ll never be!”
He had been like that as a child too. A bold little boy, charming, impulsive, and one who had acted on impulse more often than thought. He was still like that now. As all of these thoughts flashed along Grimsby’s mind, he managed, “Delightful,” before turning back to the railing with urgent necessity at the constant swelling of the aquamarine waves.
None of those things were really the problem. Eric was surpassingly clever when he applied himself to a task, he was discreet and kind. He did not, perhaps, have a gift for subterfuge, but with good people around him, that would not be a problem. No, the succession, coronation and the marriage were all the real problems. A royal tangle, that one.
“A strong fine wind and a following sea. King Triton must be in a friendly-type mood.”
Grimsby glanced over at the seafaring man. The sailor was short and built quite broadly, inclining towards plumpness. His deft handling of the ropes, however, belied the impression that his sizable girth was fat rather than muscle.
Eric had looked over too. “King Triton?” Grim heard the puzzlement in his voice. It was a reasonable question. Grim might have asked it too. He had never heard of a King Triton.
A one-eyed peasant busily sorting through fish glanced up in sardonic amusement. “Why, ruler of the merpeople, lad. Thought every good sailor knew about him.”
Grimsby rolled his eyes in disgust. Though this was an exceedingly minor incident, it was exactly the sort of thing that disrupted Eric’s thought and lessened Grimsby’s influence with him. But, Grim had never stopped trying.
Straightening up and smoothing out his purple tie he said with a suitable air of indulgent disbelieve, “Merpeople! Eric, pay no attention to this nautical nonsense.” Eric more or less ignored his comment, a phenomenon Grim had come to expect even if he always hoped otherwise.
The sailor stopped in the midst of his work, looking comically outraged. He seized a flopping fish from the barrel, stumped over to Grimsby so close that his beard was practically soiling Grim’s excellent black coat, and started threatening him with the fish.
Really, the nerve of the man! Grim would have to get his judicial friends, Marlowe in particular, to run the fellow up on a minor charge.
“But it ain’t nonsense, it’s the truth! I’m tellin’ you, down in the depths o’ the ocean they live!” Grimsby was about to ignore the fellow as he deserved when the fish desperately squirmed free of the sailor’s grasp and through itself forward, landing on his face first before successfully falling off of the ship. Typical.
The sailor guffawed loudly and stumped back over to his barrels muttering, “Landlubbers! They know nothing.”
Grimsby gathered his dignity as best he could and sidled over to Eric. “I say, Eric. I know it’s your birthday and I saw your reaction, but it’s not too late. If we hurry back you could make amends… save the situation.”
Eric turned to him with laughing eyes. “Oh, Grim,” he chuckled. “Let me explain it to you in your language.”
---
“I don’t like this,” muttered Aquata.
Arista snorted. “You’re touchy alright. Why’s this concert got your tail in such a knot?”
Aquata bristled. “That’s not fair! That’s not even true!”
“Say what you will, sweet sister, you never caused this kind of fuss when Father had a debut concert for any of us before.”
Aquata opened her mouth and then shut. She tossed her head and snapped, “I’m not causing a fuss! I just don’t like it.”
“Well. That’s not so surprising. You’ve never liked Ariel before. Why start now?”
Adella interrupted, her eyes widening. “Why, dearest Arista! Whatever are you implying of our sweet sister?”
“You know perfectly well what I’m implying. She doesn’t like Ariel. And anyway,” resumed Arista as she turned back to her eldest sister, “You’ve become much more uptight since you started helping father as an active heir.”
Aquata drew herself up stiffly. “I don’t have to listen t_”
“Shhh!” hissed Alana. “Baldwin’s started!”
---
Sebastian peered out of his place behind the rock listening with keen anticipation for the moment when Baldwin would announce him. The little sea horse drew himself up, blew a puff of breath out of his chest, straightened his ruffles and began, “Ahem… His royal highness, King Triton!”
At that the king of the merfolk, in his great clamshell, came out waving to the wildly cheering crowd. Triton was getting older, but he was still a most impressive specimen, fit and shrewd. He had ruled Atlantica well for almost 40 years and the burdens of responsibility rested easily on his shoulders. He reigned with a strong hand full of justice and generosity. Unfortunately, he was just as wrathful as he was generous and his rages were famous.
Sebastian belatedly heard Baldwin already half-way through the introduction! Hugging himself, he hurried to get out. “… Ignatius Crustaceous Sebastian!” He only barely managed to make a dignified entrance, and his greeting from the crowd was not terribly enthusiastic. Despite his high place in Triton’s court he had never inspired much in the way of fondness.
He floated over to King Triton who leaned over a look of happy anticipation lightening his face. “I’m really looking forward to this performance, Sebastian.”
Sebastian smiled. “Oh Your Majesty, This will be de finest concert I have ever conducted. Your daughters…” he struggled for a moment to find the suitable word, “they will be spectacular!”
Triton smiled indulgently. “Yes, and especially my little Ariel.”
Sebastian agreed politely with him, “Yes, yes, she has de most beautiful voice…” He, as well as the rest of the kingdom, was aware that it was really Ariel’s performance that excited the king. She was the child of his old age and he loved her, perhaps more than his other daughters. As he floated down to the podium he muttered, “If only she’d show up for rehearsals once in a while.”
Having stopped before the podium he banished all such thoughts from his mind. He would be remembered for this concert. With more than a little eagerness he freed his sheaf of music and placed it before him. Waiting for an appropriately intense moment, he began.
The band sprang into life at his command playing with all the strength of performance night, even better than they had been. The clamshells opened and Triton’s daughters began to sing. He could hardly believe it; they were all on form tonight. Even Aquata was, and Sebastian had always thought that, despite Triton’s insistence, she was far too light-minded and pouty to make much of a singer.
If he hadn’t been conducting with all his strength he might have hugged himself in delight. Nothing could go wrong; he had coached Ariel hard_ when she had bothered to show up.
The last rising note of the concerted song was rising as the clamshell was slowly starting to open, “… sister, Ar-i_” the note was cut off in a sharp gasp. Sebastian gaped mindlessly for a moment at the empty shell before understanding sank in. He glanced nervously behind him and saw. Triton had seized his trident clinging it tightly in his rage.
“Ahrial,” he croaked.
