These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. This story was written purely for pleasure and not for profit.

Swordplay

The King made his way silently to Arwen’s chamber and crept into his dressing room. He swiftly changed into his nightshirt, having no need of a light after long years in the wild had left him able to find his way in the dark almost as easily as a cat. He padded barefoot across the floor and climbed into bed beside his wife.

Arwen stirred as he settled beside her.

“Did I wake you, beloved?” Aragorn asked contritely. “Maybe I should have slept in my own rooms tonight?”

“No, please stay here, my love, I like to have you beside me, especially at the moment,” Arwen replied. “I was just lying here wondering, which of us our child would most look like when it arrives. Did you have a pleasant evening, Estel?”

“Much more pleasant than this afternoon!” Aragorn chuckled. After a good supper, he was able to see the funny side of it. “You were right about Éowyn all those months ago, she does indeed have a good heart. And Faramir has grown so very dear to me.”

He nestled his head against Arwen’s huge belly, marvelling yet again at the miracle of new life moving within her. Her child, his child, the precious fruit of their love, was growing larger by the day, and was almost ready to enter the world if Éowyn’s instincts were correct.

“I know our child will be the most beautiful, adorable babe ever to be born!” Aragorn said, fervently placing a kiss over where he assumed the baby’s heart was, before moving up the bed to kiss Arwen on the lips. “It cannot be as fair as its mother, though!”

“Wait until you have met the babe!” Arwen laughed, returning the kiss and running her fingers through her husband’s unruly tresses. “I hope it has your hair!” The waviness never ceased to fascinate her and the fact the dark locks were now flecked with grey, something which she had never seen amongst her own kind.

Aragorn did not reply, as he was already snoring gently. Arwen smiled indulgently, thinking she would be weary too, if she had had such an adventurous day. Before many minutes had passed, she too was asleep, nestled against her husband.

***

The next morning, Legolas appeared completely recovered, just as Aragorn had predicted. No sign of the rash could be seen on his face or hands, and as he was sitting comfortably upon his horse, it had presumably disappeared from everywhere else as well.

His health and spirits restored, he cheerfully bade Aragorn and Faramir farewell and set off for Yves Lasgalen with Gimli where they were planning to remain for several months.

After they had gone, Aragorn told Faramir of the Elf’s misadventures of the previous evening.

Faramir was surprisingly sympathetic. “Poor Legolas!” he exclaimed, “I can think of nothing worse than having any injury in such an embarrassing region!”

“He is recovered now, though I gave him a jar of salve just in case the itching lingered,” Aragorn replied. “It takes a great deal to make an Elf blush, unlike we humans. It was the fact his skin was blemished, rather than where the rash was that so distressed him!”

“It cannot have been easy growing up amongst the Eldar,” Faramir said, finally bringing up a subject, which had long intrigued him.

“I enjoyed it as a child and was as uninhibited as Legolas then,” Aragorn confided, "but when I reached adolescence, I became far more self aware. First I developed spots on my nose, and worse was to come when I grew hairs on my chest and a beard! I have been self conscious ever since!  Some of the Elves would tease me about how different and imperfect I was. I doubt they meant to be cruel, but for a sensitive youth it was very painful. Some even tried to tweak my beard and pull off my clothing to gratify their curiosity! My mother did her best to reassure me and even scolded the Elves that teased me, but I still find those memories painful to recall. I often wish I could have grown up with other human children as well as Elves. It was because of my own experiences that I was so anxious to treat your scars when I realised how much they distressed you.”

“I always felt inferior when compared with my brother.” Faramir said, a hint of melancholy in his voice. “He developed early and was very tall, muscular and strong whereas I was just tall and skinny. Boromir never made fun of me but the other boys and my father did. No one could compare with my brother.”

“You are a fine man in your own right and you are loved and valued now!” Aragorn replied, placing a comforting hand on his Steward’s shoulder. “You have my word that I shall protect you as your brother would have done. ”

Faramir smiled.” It is bliss to know I will never be beaten again and be free of my scars. I shall always endeavour to be worthy of all the kindness you have shown me, my friend. I will never let you down.”

“I know you would not and you richly deserve what little have given you. I count myself blessed to have you at my side.” Aragorn reassured him, patting his shoulder. “I hope you did not find yesterday’s events too distressing.”

“I enjoyed our swim until the goats came,” Faramir assured him. “And even afterwards I was sure you would think of something to spare our blushes!”

“We will leave a Guard with our clothes next time!” Aragorn grinned, touched by Faramir’s faith in him. “I will see you later at the Council Meeting, as I promised Arwen I would breakfast with her. I had better hurry if I want any, she is eating for two at present!”

“Éowyn said she would stay with the Queen later while we are in Council. I shall look forward to our next swim together, without the goats that is!” Faramir replied, grinning broadly.

“We are fortunate indeed to have you both.” Aragorn smiled, before they went their separate ways.

 Early September

Steel clashed against steel as the King and his Steward honed their skills on the practise yard.

Aragorn was the better swordsman by far, while Faramir had the advantage of youth. The bout seemed destined to last all morning when the sound of a maidservant’s crying child distracted the Steward.

Aragorn took advantage of the lowered guard and swiftly levelled his sword tip at Faramir’s throat. A bead of blood appeared where the sword pricked the skin. “You are hurt!” Aragorn’s voice was full of concern. ”Come let me see!”

“It is nothing, I did not even feel it. You win,” Faramir said calmly, not batting an eyelid.

“You dropped your guard!” Aragorn chided, examining Faramir’s throat and wiping away the spot of blood. The Steward was right. It was a mere pinprick

Faramir shrugged. ”I would be more careful on a real battlefield, but I trust you in practise. Rematch?”

Aragorn nodded.

This time Faramir fought with renewed vigour and threw himself wholly into the bout.

The swords rang while the two experts each tried to surpass the other. This time Faramir won, by virtue both of making the older man tire to match his swift strokes and Aragorn being somewhat distracted. He held the point of his sword to Aragorn’s heart,

“I yield!” Aragorn threw up his hands in surrender and laughed. ”I made the mistake of underestimating you! With anyone else I would be more wary!”

“That is one match each!” Faramir exclaimed jubilantly. It was rare that he could best Aragorn with a sword, which made his occasional victories all the sweeter. “Shall we return to the ladies now?” he suggested.

“They are waiting for us.” Aragorn’s keen eyes had spotted his wife and Éowyn watching from an upstairs window.

He waved and Faramir did likewise before they sheathed their swords. Aragorn heaved a inward sigh of relief.  After his vision, part of him had feared to spar with his Steward. It seemed the ‘vision’ had just been the jumbled workings of an overtired mind.