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“ ‘Tis a son!” our young king bellows, waking the hall with the exuberance of the cry.
He would not be hustled away to drink alone during the birth, no, not our king! He stayed through it all, wide-eyed though pale, squeezing our lady’s hand; and caught the gasping, howling boy himself, to our embarrasment and great delight.
“A son, a son, a son!” Riders, farriers, and scullery maids gather laughing in the stableyard to wet the baby’s head. Our grey-eyed sea-queen sleeps, smiling, while the king breaks out the mead; then dispatches our very fastest riders off to Ithilien.
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