Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 20 |
| Sons of Gondor (Aragorn) |
| The crowd gathered in the Citadel commenced a loud cheer as we appeared. Faramir announced the birth, holding the blanketed infant proudly. Our people shouted at the sight of the Steward and his heir. I was King, but Faramir was known and beloved throughout Gondor. It was somehow fitting that his son be born first, here in the City where his ancestors had ruled. My own heart swelled with the hope that I would one day know the same joy of fatherhood that now lit my Steward’s tired face. I already felt a secret healer’s pride in the child; since my hands had restored his parents and enabled them to come together in fruitful joy. Éowyn had stayed awake long enough to nurse her child and concur in his naming, then had dropped into a much needed slumber. Faramir turned, and, unexpectedly, proffered his son to me. I took him gladly. Newly born and named, Elboron was a healthy, handsome child, with a fine down of golden hair atop his head. The crowd roared approval, but I scarcely heard the joyous cries. The babe yawned then, shifting slightly toward me and then nestling in my arms. Faramir grinned. I had never seen him look so much at ease with the world. "He is already loved, this newest son of Gondor" I observed, happy to see the glow of paternal pride so clear in Faramir’s eyes as once I had seen it brighten his own father’s sterner visage. Faramir smiled broadly, and turned the full weight of his gaze on me. "Yes, he is Gondor’s son, and he will serve her well. But your son, Sire…" His grey eyes glinted as if he could pierce the very veils of time. "When your heir is born, he will be Gondor's son, and more. He will be a gift of the Eldar to Men; and he will inherit all that we fought for, all the hope you brought us, and all that you will build. His name shall be cried not only in Gondor but throughout all the lands of Middle-earth. " Faramir’s eyes shone bright with confidence and love. Standing there with the precious weight of his son in my arms, I looked into a future where our children would reap the dearly sown fruit of peace. Before us, its branches rustling in a soft wind of Spring, the White Tree bloomed. |