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Tales of Life  by Aelaer

Happy birthday Aragorn!

Also, I made the front page of with my drawing of Aragorn and a post about, well, him for March 1st. Yes, I'm ridiculously estatic.

Prompt 31: Touch
Ficlet: Hands
Rating: G
Arnor, Spring 2931

For the first time since the birth of her child, Gilraen was alone. Arathorn, after being abroad for months, had finally come home in early February. Through letters he had known her to be with child, but had not seen her stomach grow slowly but surely as the weeks had passed. To her amusement he had tried to forbid her from moving those last couple of weeks- she, of course, knew how much her body could handle, and deftly ignored this 'command'.

Her husband was extremely nervous the couple of days before her water broke, simply knowing that his son would be born soon. Her mother had dreamed of a son, months ago, and Gilraen did not argue with her; she, too, had felt it would be a son. And so it had been; the boy, named Aragorn, was born in the early morning of March 1st.

Arathorn had spent all of his free time with her and Aragorn. She could see that he absolutely adored him, and to her it seemed that her husband would never leave Aragorn's side, if possible. Alas, the world was cruel, and once again, a few weeks after his son's birth, Arathorn had left once more with a patrol that morning.

Gilraen stood over the simple crib that held her child, deeply asleep. The woman gently stroked his cheek, and moved down his body to let her fingers rest on his small fist. 'He has a strong grip' was one of the first comments her husband had made. 'He will be a great swordsman.'

'Strong grip indeed,' she thought. Her son shifted slightly in his sleep, and took hold of two of her fingers. 'Such a soft touch- I wonder, my son, how soft will your hands be when you are your father's age?' She was no fool; she knew that he would take up the sword before long, and that he would follow in his father's steps. Gilraen deeply wished it were not so.

'Oh, Aragorn, if only your hands never had to pick up the sword,' she thought longingly. 'But that is a fool's dream.' She gently released herself from the child's grip, letting her hand linger for a second on his soft fingers before she left the room.

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