Aragorn stood there for a moment trying to process what Belthil had just told him. His wife was in labor... but that could not be, she was only... only two weeks shy, Aragorn realized, seeing that it was time enough for delivery. Brushing past Faramir and Belthil, Aragorn ran toward his end of the hallway.

"My Lord, she has been taken to the Houses of Healing already!" Belthil called.

Aragorn turned with alarm written in his stare. "The Houses? But those healers have never treated an Elf!" Immediately the King went running back down through his house, past the tower, and across the courtyard toward the tunnel. He slipped on an icy spot near the fountain, nearly taking out the White Tree, but he collected himself instantly and did not slow down until he burst into the Houses, earning more than a few glares, dutifully accompanied by bows, of course.

"Where is my wife?" he tried to demand, but being out of breath as he was it came across as more of a plea.

"Her ladyship is in the birthing chambers, my liege," said a nearby healer. "But you can not go in there."

"I am King of this gods-forsaken mountain!" Aragorn roared. "I have gone into those chambers before to help deliver other men's wives and you mean to tell me i can not go in to see my own wife? I assure you, sir, i have had more intimate contact with her than birthing!"

Everyone in ear-shot looked petrified. They had never seen their King so distressed and more than one of them feared what he might do if he was not permitted into the birthing chambers. Yet it was utterly unprecedented that a man should be in the same room in which his wife was giving birth. Even if this healer-King had assisted with deliveries before, this was his own wife and, to the minds of those in the healing quarters, that changed everything.

"Estel...?" Arwen's ordinarily dulcet, but now rather strained, voice called from down the hallway which lead to the garden, and Aragorn rushed past everyone in his way.

ooo

Berethil came rushing into Faramir's apartments moments after Aragorn went rushing out. She feared something was wrong and her first instinct was to ensure Elboron's safety. Faramir was thankful that someone was there to watch his son until he returned, for Belthil needed to return to his post, yet Faramir wanted to be there for his father. He had not forgotten how terribly nervous he was when his little ones were born.

Faramir had hurried no slower than his father to the Houses of Healing, though he himself had made certain to avoid the icy patch which had always formed by the fountain and tree. That habit was ingrained in him since childhood. Some of the healers looked no more pleased to see Faramir come rushing into their peaceful space than they were Aragorn, though at least the Steward looked less fear-provoking and some hoped that he would even be able to persuade the King to calm down and perhaps wait in a tavern until the Queen was delivered. After all, the young Steward did seem to be able to prevail upon the King quite often, so it was said. It did the people of Minas Tirith good to see their King and Steward so close, almost like father and son, some said.

Faramir thought nothing of it when he was told that the King was inside the birthing chambers, and as indignant as the healers themselves were, the nurses had not voiced a complaint. Wondering how long Elven women could be in labor, Faramir decided to be seated in a waiting chamber. It was unfortunate that it was so bitterly cold that day, for even in winter the healing garden could be quite beautiful when the weather was comfortable enough to stroll there.

As he made himself comfortable on a chaise, Faramir felt something in his pocket, though he did not especially recall carrying anything. It was to his surprise that he brought forth Boromir's book. He smiled to himself thinking that either he was growing forgetful or it had been fate that the book just happened to be there with him just when he was thinking how he wished his brother could have seen these days. Out of all the books Faramir had ever read, this one was clearly the most special to him.

After a while, though, as his eyes grew tired, Faramir slipped the book back into his pocket. He wondered how long he had been there and how long it would yet be. All accounts said that his mother had been in labor with him for an extraordinarily long time and, though he was sure that his anxiety had severely tainted his judgment of how long Éowyn had taken to give birth, he knew it was at least a few hours.

Faramir's thoughts began to turn back toward Boromir. He often wondered what it would be like if his beloved brother was still with him. Would Boromir have accepted Aragorn as the father his half-brother? Even though Faramir was sure now that Denethor had told the elder sibling many years ago that the younger boy was not his own, he yet had to wonder if Boromir ever believed it or if he just took it for another of Denethor's mad suspicions. Still, Faramir never for an instant doubted how much his brother loved him and he was confident that Boromir would have been maybe even more happy than he himself was to finally have a real father. How many years had Boromir spent standing up for his little brother and defending him? How many times had Boromir attempted to be all things to his little brother -sibling, father, and mother? Faramir was pulled from his thoughts by someone gently calling his name.

"Faramir...," a familiar voice whispered from the doorway. "There is someone here who would like to meet you. His name is Eldarion." Aragorn, holding a tiny bundle close to him, moved to sit beside his elder son. Faramir smiled recognizing that mist in his father's eyes, he remembered very well when it had been in his eyes.

Looking for the first time upon the heir of Gondor, there were suddenly tears in Faramir's eyes, accompanied by a bittersweet smile. "Welcome, son of Gondor," Faramir whispered in a choked voice.

Aragorn shifted to look at his first-born, reading there in his eyes an emotion that was rather unclear. "Faramir? Are you all right, my son? Surely you do not think that you are to be replaced in my heart -"

"No, adar," Faramir said. "It is just that i only now came to realize that i am to be the big brother now. May i hold my little brother?"

"Aye, of course," Aragorn said softly, laying his son into his son's arms. "When i first held him, i thought of the morning you were born. Then i thought of something a wise old Elf once said to me, 'Every time a man holds his newborn child for the first time, he grows another heart.'"

"Everything about him is perfect, father," Faramir said. "May the Valar grant that i can be half the brother to him that Boromir was to me. I pledge to protect you, Eldarion, son of Aragorn, from this day forth," Faramir spoke solemnly.

Aragorn smiled. It seemed that his every wish was coming true here and now. "I can not tell you how much i love you both, my Faramir and my Eldarion, my sons. There was a time when i was sure that i would never see this day," he said, receiving the sleeping baby back into his arms and still not able to manage his voice above a whisper.

Father and sons peacefully sat together for a while, reveling in this blissful tranquility. After a while, Faramir began to yawn and nod and Aragorn thought that Arwen was likely to be revived by then. Aragorn insisted that his elder son go and get some sleep as he himself rose to return to his wife with their precious son, who was starting to wake again and looking a little hungry. Upon the morrow the child who would be called the Heir of Elessar would be announced to the kingdom, it was going to be a busy day.

Faramir embraced his father and gave his new little brother a soft kiss and went to make his way to his bed and his own son. Emerging from the tunnel up to the Citadel, Faramir looked up into the winter night's sky where the hunter reigned, his glittering belt the symbol of his rank. Faramir smiled brightly through his tears as he just happened to see a shooting star go dashing across the sky. "Thank you, Boromir," he whispered from his very heart, "for being the best model of a brother i could ever have had."

The End.

ooo

But not quite the end! I have decided there will be an epilogue. And i am rather sure that i will start work on The Return of Chaos soon too, which is to be set further into the future (but don't worry, i will do a run through of the years up to that point as well, as i rather looking forward more to the run-through than the actual story itself).

Elenhin: I am vastly glad that the last chapter kept you so amused, though it was not my intent to cause such mirth that it was difficult to read:) And no, they scarcely obey me at all. Always i go into these stories thinking "this one will probably only be about 20 chapters or so" - but they have their own thoughts, you know. Do not have too many nightmares as you know i have no intent to stop writing, even if i do have nasty carpal tunnel syndrome.

linda: Was that a plot-bunny that just hopped in on your last review? Denethor alive when Aragorn claims the Crown, eh? Might have to look into that one.