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Ecthelion
Ecthelion sat across his son, uncertain what to do. Many noblemen never cared much for children, except using their wealth and power to grant them the best of everything. He shared their same instinct, that children were better off with women than with men, until they grew into men themselves.
But his son was too solemn. Denethor was thoughtful and quiet, spending more time watching and silently learning rather than playing in the gardens like children should.
Denethor sat in front of him, studying him with a grave expression that rivalled his own. It was strange to see such a look on a child barely of seven summers. Ecthelion would have any emotion other than impassivity. Anything.
"I do not suppose you are ticklish." Ecthelion said suddenly.
Denethor's face changed to wariness.
"I shall take that as a yes." Ecthelion answered himself and lunged. Denethor gave a loud screech and scrambled off the seat but did not reach the door before he was swept into his father's strong arms.
Peals of laughter rang out as Ecthelion found his son's sensitive spots and his wife entered to see him and their son playing on the floor of his study.
