Disclaimer: Still not mine (except for Daeron, Meriel and Laedren)
And Still Another Thing That Never Happened to Daeron Greyvale
By Dancingkatz and Rhyselle
Daeron peered around the edge of the doorway to his father's study, his sturdy five-year-old frame clad in a dark green tunic over black leggings and soft ankle boots. "Ada? What are you doing?"
"Come in, Daeron." His dark-haired father looked up from the map that was spread across the broad desktop, smiled and gestured for the boy to join him. "I'm planning a journey." He lifted Daeron onto his lap and pointed to the representation of the seven tiers of the city. "That's Minas Tirith."
"That's where we live! Where are you going to go, Ada?" Daeron asked, fascinated by the finely detailed drawings of towns and manors and fortresses that dotted the stiff parchment.
"Cair Andros." The child's forefinger was gently guided along the road that led from Minas Tirith to the boat shaped island on the River Anduin. "And then I will take ship to travel south to Pelargir, and then come home via Lebennin and Lossarnach."
Daeron followed the route, painstakingly sounding out the tengwar labels of the various destinations, pausing briefly at Lossarnach to point out "Granther's house" and finishing up proudly with "and then home!" just as they heard a light rap against the doorframe.
Both father and son looked up and got to their feet, Daeron giving a joyful crow, "Grandfather! You're better!" as he pelted across the room to throw his arms around black robed knees. "I'm sorry you were sick. I wanted to come see you but Nana said I had to stay away until you got better. Ada is going to Cair Andros, Grandfather, an' Pelargir too! Look!"
The older man smiled and allowed the boy to tow him to the desk and hid an indulgent smile as Daeron described his father's itinerary. When he was done, his father suggested that Daeron go fetch his wooden practice sword so he could accompany him to the training yards for a while before luncheon.
The five year old's grey-green eyes lit up and, after hugging his father excitedly, he dashed from the room, leaving the two older men to smile at each other at his antics.
Suddenly a woman's voice could be heard from the corridor. "Daeron! What have I told you about running in the hallways?"
"Like father, like son," remarked the older man as the woman came into the study and curtsied to her father-in-law. "Good morrow, Meriel. While Daeron goes to slay dragons in the training yard with his father, will you keep an old man company in the King's Garden?"
The green-eyed woman pressed a kiss on the Steward's cheek, and agreed before moving around the desk to greet her husband with a like salutation. "Just don't let him get too dirty, Boromir. We have guests arriving for luncheon today."
A patter of footsteps heralded the return of young Daeron, his wooden sword clutched in one hand and a small jerkin embroidered with the differenced arms of the House of Hurin in the other. He stopped just inside the door and beamed at the three people he loved most in the whole world: Ada, Naneth and Grandfather. "Cap'n Laedren said he'd come, too, Ada! Hurry or he'll start without us!"