Notes of appreciation for my astounding team: Kat – thanks for your incredible "waffly" reviews, for your enthusiasm and encouragement, and for being such a constant light. Bella – thanks for making me smile with the lovely nagging and the ever-Tookish excitement. Derby – thanks for offering your expertise, your time and your energy and for always being so supportive.

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. I don't own
these characters. This story is not meant to violate the rights held
by New Line, Tolkien Enterprises, nor any other licensee, nor is any
disrespect intended.

Ere The Final March VII chapter III

A Singular Comfort

part II of II

by Larrkin2@yahoo.com

part I ending:

“Aragorn!” I swatted down hard and watched him arch and yell.

“G-Gandalf . . . he-he gave it to me!”

“Gave what to you?”

In a quick, hushed voice, he said, “The Palantir.”

I froze, hand raised again. A wave of horror shot through me. “What?”

“H-He said it belonged to the one true K-King, and that I should do with it what I w-would, look or not, but to k-keep it safe, and h-hidden.”

I had sometimes questioned Gandalf’s wisdom. Giving Aragorn the Palantir was probably the diplomatically correct thing to do, but knowing my lad as I did, I could not help feeling some resentment towards the wizard. I imagined Legolas would be furious as well.

“It w-was sc-scary, Hal’brad.”

I stared down at him. “Do you mean to tell me you looked into that thing?”

“Aye.” He hesitated, then added in a small voice, “Twice.”

“Twice!” Struggling to remain calm, I lowered my hand to Aragorn’s blazing bottom, resting it there, feeling the intense heat, trying to quiet my panic before asking my next question and wondering if I should even ask it, “Aragorn, what did you see?”

My pup held quite still for a moment, then he burst into renewed weeping, fighting to speak through his tears:

“I saw h-him! Sauron! H-His great red eye! And-And I s-saw . . . I-I saw --”

Aragorn trembled violently now, gulping for air. I feared he might be sick. I turned him over and gathered him up, holding his quivering body tightly against me. He grasped at me with a desperation that made my eyes sting.

“Shhh, shhh,” I murmured. “I am here. You are safe, little boy. Shhhhhh. Breathe, Aragorn. Quiet down.”

I kept on in that manner, murmuring to him, rocking, waiting until he could breathe normally. I could not imagine what else he had seen that had terrified him so. Aragorn was made of raw courage. He had suffered many a severe spanking because that courage had led him into wildly fearless and foolish deeds. What horrors could have reduced him to this?

Clearly this was the darkness Aragorn wanted to protect me from, to protect Legolas from, that and the fact that he had dared look into that loathsome device at all, something I would address with him when this crisis was over. Regardless of that darkness, he was going to tell me of it, and then I planned to purge it from his system. It would torment my pup no longer.

When Aragorn had calmed I sat him on my lap, smoothing the tangled hair from his face. His breeches were still bunched at his ankles but his billowy red shirt protected his modesty, and he sat quietly, looking like a lost twelve-year-old, shudders shaking him now and again. His gaze remained lowered. I would allow that. This was going to be hard enough on him without having to look at me as well.

“Now,” I said. “Go on, sweetling. Tell me what you saw that frightened you.”

Aragorn’s face tightened, but he bravely sucked a deep breath and said, “I saw Arwen, dead. Dead. So very dead! And I dropped the Palantir, and I wanted to r-run, but I heard him, laughing, an ugly laugh. He dared me to pick up the Palantir again, look again, see what I was about to be the cause of by leading my pitiful army against the power of Mordor. He said, ‘Come! Behold what thou shalt reap, Elessar!’ And . . . And I picked it up again, and . . . .”

Aragorn looked stricken, fresh tears coursing down his cheeks. I held him tightly and said, “Shhh. You are here with me, my pup. You are safe. Just tell me. All of it. Tell me at once, little boy.”

As he had since our time in the cave, Aragorn obeyed that tone of mine he knew so well: “I saw everyone d-dead. I stood in a field of dead warriors, there at the Black Gate, and I was the only one left alive, the only one standing there amongst all that death. I had done th-that, led them to their deaths! And you – you --”

He paused, a short burst of new tears erupting from him. Twisting and squeezing the bottom edge of his shirt over and over, he said, “You were dead, my Hal! Dead! And Gwin! Horrible deaths! And – And Legolas! And Boromir! And – And --!”

Again Aragorn shattered, sobbing, near choking on his shudders. He wrapped his arms around his waist, bending over, as though holding himself together. Part of me ached to let him stop talking, but this poison needed to be released lest it continue to fester within him. He was too frantic to continue, though, so I grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms from his middle.

Taking his hands in mine, I held them in his lap and said in a stern tone, “Aragorn, stop! Quiet down. You are a Dúnedain, sir, a Ranger of the Grey Company. You will do as you are told. Now take a breath and calm yourself, then tell me everything you saw.”

He trembled, but he took his deep breath as ordered, then he gazed off at nothing and went on in a low, dreamy voice, as though he could speak of this only if he first removed himself from it. Perhaps that was how he had managed thus far all day, by pushing aside the anguish of these cruel visions.

“My Legolas, my beloved elfling was dead, lying at my feet, and beside him my beloved fledgling, my Boromir. And the dear little ones were hacked to pieces, and Gandalf, and Gimli, and Eomer – everyone, Hal’brad! All dead! All around me, those I loved.”

Quickly losing the edge of his fragile control, Aragorn began weeping once more in his subdued, desperate manner, his hands tightening in mine. I could not recall ever seeing him this distraught. The images must have been very real indeed and very hideous to look upon.

“Is there more?” I asked.

He nodded quickly. “Aye! Then this bad, scary thing, like a man, but not a man, rode up on a great black horse and he said he was the Mouth of Sauron – and, ohhh! He was so foul! And he looked down at me, and he laughed, a nasty, ugly laugh, and he smiled a horrible, black smile, and he had a little bundle with him, and-and --” Aragorn burst into heartrending tears yet again. “And he-he dropped it at my feet and it fell open, and it was what was left of Frodo! I-I saw what they had done to him! Ahhh!”

Aragorn made a strangled noise of anguish and tried to scramble from my lap. I doubt he knew where he was going. He was just desperate to escape those hideous visions. I sensed that this was the first time he had let himself fully recall them, and perhaps the only time he had let himself truly feel them.

I could scarce blame him for his grief. They were indeed horrendous illusions fashioned just for Aragorn. Of course he would want to flee from them in terror. But he was not in his right mind. I held on to him, pinning him where he was on my lap; then I gave him a shake.

“Look at me, Aragorn,” I ordered. “Stop this at once and look at me!”

My voice was still stronger than that evil, thank the Valar. Aragorn turned and looked directly at me, his eyes red-rimmed, glassy with tears and full of wretchedness. Again, I longed to pull him into my arms, hold him and rock him and comfort him.

But comfort was not what Aragorn needed. Right now he needed these visions purged by someone bigger than they were, someone scarier than they were, someone who could make them seem small in comparison. The visions were too real to Aragorn, and he had given them too much importance. They had to be diminished and shown for what they were – nothing. So I needed to fight for Aragorn by using the same weapon as the tormentor within him.

My pup knew that he never need fear me. He knew that he never need fear losing my devotion, that there was nothing he could do to lose that. So, at the moment, I preferred that my suffering lad dread me rather than those hurtful visions. I was no vision. I was very real. And, though I was safe, I was about to become scarier than any false illusion Sauron could conjure.

“Those were frightening things you saw, and I am sorry you had to see them,” I said. “But we have something bigger to discuss than mere visions, for you have been very naughty indeed, little boy.”

Aragorn blinked, then stared at me with a faint look of surprise, clearly expecting to be comforted, clearly puzzled by my abrupt tone and my reference to the terrors that tormented him as ‘mere’ visions. “B-But Hal’brad,” he began.

“Hush.” I said. “You know what you have done, sir. What is more, you knew at the time that you should not be doing it.”

He gazed at me in utter bewilderment, astonished by my severe look and surely wondering why I was not hugging him, murmuring gentle words to him and soothing his distress. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Aragorn simply held very still, studying me with anxious fascination, hiccupping a little, but otherwise silent. I charged on:

“You have much to answer for, my wild pup. You kept secrets from Legolas and myself, something that is strictly forbidden. What is more, you went behind our backs and did a very foolish and perilous thing.”

Aragorn’s eyes flashed. “But, I-I had to show him!” he sputtered, sounding youthfully defensive. “I had to show Sauron who I was, Hal! And-and I had to make him scared of me! I had to--”

“Hold!” I fixed him with my glare that always made Gwinthorian gulp. “You did not have to do anything, sir. You chose to do it, alone and at great risk. Aye, maybe you had a noble goal in mind, misguided though it was, but you knew that what you were doing was wrong because you kept it a secret. You stole away in the night to do it, did you not?”

Blushing severely, Aragorn nodded.

“Answer me.”

“Aye, Halbarad.”

“Aye. You somehow managed to sneak away from Legolas, who you knew full well would never have allowed you to do such a thing, especially not alone!” I gave him a sharp look. “Did you drug Legolas as you once did me, you willful brat?”

Aragorn flushed in anger and exclaimed an indignant, “No! Of course not!” He huffed. “Legolas was just tired! Very, very tired!”

His blush suddenly took on a different and deeper hue and he glanced off, careful not to meet my eyes. I imagine Legolas was tired indeed, as he and my pup were now sharing their bed with the Steward of Gondor.

“Do not snarl at me, my boy!” I pulled Aragorn around to face me more fully, delighting in his gasp when his sore bottom grazed my thigh. “You told neither your loyal elf nor me that Gandalf had given you that cursed thing. Correct?”

He dropped his gaze and muttered, “Aye, Halbarad.”

“Look at me, Aragorn, and speak up.”

He obeyed quickly. I delighted again, for the look in Aragorn’s eyes was more rational than it had been since we had entered this room. He looked petulant, but calm.

“Aye, Halbarad,” he said, a sulky but clear confession.

“So in keeping this a secret, you lied to us. Correct?”

Aragorn’s compliant pout instantly turned into a fierce scowl. He sat up rigidly and glared at me. “No! I did not lie to you!” he shot back. “I do not lie, sir! I was protecting you and Legolas from an evil you did not need to know about! I did not tell you what I saw because it was so terrible!”

I tipped him towards me, swatted him hard, and settled him back on my lap. Aragorn yelped and grimaced and reached behind to furiously rub his offended backside. I frowned, but I was inwardly delighted once more with his spirited defiance.

“Mind your manners, my lad.” I gazed levelly at Aragorn until he flushed, then I said, “Do you allow Legolas or Boromir or anyone the right to decide for you what you will and will not hear?”

His sulk returned. He knew he was wrong. “No, sir,” he said.

“So should you have decided what Legolas and I were allowed to hear?”

It took Aragorn but a moment to come to the only conclusion he could. Legolas and I held a place in Aragorn’s life that dethroned convention and rank, and no more needed to be said. So my boy gave the only answer he could give, the only answer he wanted to give:

“No, sir,” he said with a small shake of his head. “No. I should never decide what you and Legolas are allowed to hear. That is not my decision to make, and I was wrong to do so. I am sorry, Halbarad.”

I was tempted to haul him up and hug him senseless. I instead nodded once to acknowledge his apology and I pushed on: “So, again, in keeping this matter secret, sir, you lied to me and to Legolas. Correct?”

“Aye.”

“And what happens to little boys who play with evil Palantirs and keep secrets and do things they know they should never do, and therefore get themselves into scary places?”

Aragorn looked both provoked by my language and horrified by my meaning. But I knew his limits better than he did. Years of taking him over my knee had taught me just how much spanking he could endure. I would not exceed those limits. But my pup was about to be escorted right to the edge of his endurance.

Of course Aragorn dreaded what he knew I was about to do. Again, this would be no gentle comfort spanking. But there was for him, and for myself as well, a singular comfort to be found in a severe spanking as well as in a gentle one. I knew Aragorn could withstand more, and at this moment another spanking was about to become far more real to him than the lies of the Palantir.

“Well?” I lifted a brow. “What happens to such little boys, Aragorn?”

“They get . . . they get spanked?” Aragorn murmured.

I nodded. “Indeed they do, sir.”

Aragorn began to squirm, instantly slipping back into that boyish place. “Oh, pleeeease, Hal’brad! Noo! Pleeease do not spank me again! My bottom hurrrrts!”

“It is about to hurt more.”

“Noooo!”

“Hush. You have earned another spanking, little boy, and you know it,” I said my tone deadly serious. “You kept a big secret from Legolas and me. You decided for us what we would not hear. You recklessly and willfully looked into that terrible thing, and then you said nothing about it. Is such naughty behavior allowed, sir?”

“Nooo, but-but-but --”

“Then there is nothing more to say. Come, Aragorn.” I began to turn him. “Let us finish attending to these matters. We are not yet done.”

“But I was scared!” he bellowed, wrenching back into a sitting position, desperately seeking an out. “Wait, please! Hal’brad, I had an awful scare, and I-I saw scary, scary things! Gruesome things! Terrible things! Does that not count? I was frightened, and now you are going to spank me more! No fair! No fair, Hal’brad! It was awful! And you do not even care!”

I vow he would have been stunned to hear how he sounded at the moment. I had listened to better arguments from a six year-old. But I reveled in it, for this was no longer a terrified, broken warrior. This was simply Aragorn at his most mutinous, his vulnerable boyish self, and it did my heart good to see it.

“I do care,” I told him firmly, settling his struggles. “Aragorn, I do care. But you were afraid of something that was not real. Visions, my cub. Empty illusions. Lies and tricks of the mind. I know they were terrible to see. Sauron made them uniquely terrible especially for you.

“But, listen to me, Aragorn, and mark me well – those images were false. They. Are. Not. Real. They are never going to be real. They were cruel illusions meant to scare you and hurt you. But they have no power to wound lest you allow them to do so. And, by the Valar, little boy, you are going to stop allowing it!”

Aragorn squirmed in my hands, but he had few physical reserves left, so he cried out again in his plaintive tone, “But I do not want to be spanked again!”

I snorted. “I dare say. Nevertheless, you most certainly are going to be spanked again. There is only one issue here and it usurps all others, little boy – you were willfully naughty. Because you were naughty you saw terrible scary things. That is unfortunate, and I am sorry you suffered such an awful scare. But, Aragorn, that evil could not have frightened you had you behaved yourself and never looked into the Palantir. Correct?”

Now beginning to cry, Aragorn could only sputter, “Pleease! H-Hal’brad! Please n-nooooo more spanking!”

“Answer me at once, my lad.”

“Aye! Correct! I w-would not have been s-scared if I-I had be-haved and never looked!”

“So do you fully understand why you are about to receive another spanking?”

“Aye! Unner-unnerstand! But I-I – p-pleeeeeease! Nooo! I’ll never, ever d-do it again! I-I am sorry, so s-sorrryyy!”

“I know.”

“I-I want to be held noww! Please, pleeeeease hold me! J-Just hold me, pleeeeease Hal!”

“Afterwards, sweetling,” I said, easily turning his struggling, weakened body over my knee. “First, however, as I said, we shall finish attending to these matters. We are not yet done.” Pushing up his red shirt, I blinked down at a bare bottom that was surprisingly near the same color. “And Aragorn, once again, I do not like that name.”

At my first swat Aragorn went rigid, sucked a huge breath and held it, too stunned to move or yell until several more spanks fell. Then Aragorn let go. His first howls rivaled my Gwin’s, and I believe his subsequent frantic sobs actually outdid my elfling.

I myself grimaced at that first spank. Still, I knew exactly what Aragorn could endure, although he probably would have questioned my judgment, given the way he nearly exploded off my lap after that first swat and now required a strong arm and a good deal of determination on my part to keep him in place. Thankfully this would take less time than his first spanking. It very much needed doing, though. Aragorn would do no less for one he loved. Deep inside, he trusted me to do no less for him.

This time I spoke to Aragorn as I spanked him, forcing him to engage in each moment with me. By the time I was finished with my lad he would fully understand the difference between fearing a vision and fearing a very real trip over my knee.

“Tell, me, my wild pup, what naughty things have you done to deserve this second spanking?”

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

“Try again.”

“OWW! OW!OW!OWW! H-Hal’brad pleease! I-I cannot take mor-- AHHHH!”

Aragorn now lost all control and threw a hand behind him, palm up, fingers splayed. I paused. This helpless move always touched me. Did these poor little ones really think it would help? When Gwin did this, and he did it all the time, I sometimes simply had to pause and grin. Nevertheless, all charm aside, I would not tolerate it.

“You have until the count of three to remove that hand, little boy. One. Tw – thank you. You can indeed take another spanking, and you will. So settle down, sir, and talk to me, for I shall continue until we have finished our discussion.” I resumed my swats with an enthusiasm that made him wail anew. “Now, I am waiting for my answer. What did you do to deserve this second spanking?”

“I-I k-kept a big secret from you and Le-Leg’las!”

“Indeed you did. What secret, sir?”

“‘Bout the P-Palantir!”

“And was keeping that big secret a naughty thing to do?”

“Uh huh! Big-gest, biggest naughty!”

Ahh. Aragorn had fully slipped fully into that little boy place. We had further to go, but we could move quickly now. I kept spanking.

“What should you have done the moment Gandalf gave that thing to you, sweetling?”

He whimpered at the endearment, then sputtered, “S-Should’ve told you and Leg’las!”

“Aye, you should have come and told us about it, but instead, what did my brat do?”

“I-I kept it secret and I-I sneaked away . . . I w-waited ‘till Leg’las fell asleep, so tired . . . he was s-so tired, because he and Bor’mir and I, we --”

“Hold!” I stopped spanking, feeling my face grow warm. Aragorn truly was without many of his natural defenses right now, including a decent sense of decorum. I grinned softly down at him and said, “No need to tell me why Legolas was weary, my pup. Just tell me what you did.”

He hesitated. “All that I d-did? Because Leg’las and Bor’mir and I --”

“No! Not all that you did, little boy! Just what you did with the Palantir.”

“Oh. Aye, Hal’brad. I-I am sorry.”

I vow I heard something gleeful in his voice, some teasing little note from a Ranger-imp who was enjoying my discomfort! Ah, well. If Aragorn was having some naughty fun at my expense, so be it. I thought it a promising sign that he was doing well, but I intended to keep his mind on the matter at hand.

“Go on. You stole away, keeping the Palantir a secret.” I started spanking again, a bit more lightly. Aragorn hissed and arched, the imp chased away by a throbbing bottom.

“Then I-I looked into it, and I saw scary, scary things!”

“And did you tell Legolas or me about the scary, scary things so that we might help you?”

“Noooo.”

“Why not? Were you afraid of how angry we would be when you admitted the naughty thing you had done?”

“Noooo! I was protecting y-you! Too scary t-to tell you!”

“So you decided for us what we would and would not be able to hear. Is that permitted, young bratling?”

“Nooo! I-I am not allowed to decide for y-youuu!”

“No, you are not. And you kept all the scary things to yourself, correct?”

“Aye! So, so h-horrible!”

Aragorn shuddered hard, the experience with the Palantir resurfacing even amidst my severe questioning. Time for him to fully accept that experience for what it was.

Swatting a bit harder now, I gained his full attention once more. He cried out, and I said in a stern voice, “Aye. You looked into that thing, knowing you should not do so, knowing it was wrong to keep such a secret, and you were attacked by an evil that poisoned your mind and wounded your heart, all of which could have been avoided little boy, had you not been so naughty. Correct?”

Kicking and sobbing, Aragorn wailed, “Aye, s-sirrrrr!”

“Were those terrible images real, my lad?”

“Nooooo! No! Not-Not real!”

“Could you touch them or feel them touching you?”

“Noo!”

“Does this feel real to you, little one?” I swatted down hard several times. Aragorn arched and howled.

“AHHHH! AYE!”

“So should you fear the empty, unreal visions sent to you by a nasty wicked evil?” I demanded, returning to my normal swat strength. “Or should you fear what will happen to your bottom if Legolas or I ever hear of you touching that Palantir again without first talking to us about it?”

Aragorn kicked wildly, trying to wriggle away, but I pulled him back against me so firmly he gasped through his wails. He was very near his limit of endurance. “F-Fear, f-fear . . . fear thiiiiis! F-Fear wh-what will happen t-to my-my OWWWWW!”

I swatted down again and again, loudly and rapidly, but not strongly enough to truly further damage his already scorched backside.

“Are you saying that this spanking is more real than those lying visions?”

“AYE!”

“And do you understand that, should you ever try such a thing again, you will receive another spanking just like this, if not worse?”

“AHHHHHHHHHH! Unner-stand! Aye! I un-unnerstand!”

“Then heed me Aragorn, and heed me well,” I said, my voice low and stern. “You shall now cast off those false images. Remove them from your mind and from your heart. They are illusions. They are not real. They will never, ever be real. They have no power to hurt you, and Sauron has no power to make them come true. They are tricks of the mind. Empty annoyances, and they deserve neither your time nor your attention. I shall not allow you to lend them credence one moment longer. They. Are. Nothing!

“So let those falsehoods go, for now and forever. And I shall know if they are still tormenting you. I am watching, my lad. Should I feel the slightest sense that you are thinking of those visions, you will find yourself right back over my knee, regardless of where we are or who might see you kicking and squirming or hear you wailing. And I shall spank you until those lies are truly gone from your mind.

“I am very real indeed, little boy, and you know full well how real my spankings are. And if you need a reminder, then by the Valar just hint that you are thinking of those lies and I shall help you remember! Do you understand?”

“AHH! Aye, Hal’brad!”

I spanked him for another full minute, and then I paused, letting him think. I listened to his ragged breathing and his sobbing, waiting until he had becalmed enough to talk to me. This was Aragorn’s limit. I could take him no further, and there was no need to go further. He had completely collapsed over my lap, softened, weak, surrendered and all mine.

I had needed to be bigger and scarier than the monstrous evil that had attacked Aragorn. My voice had needed to be more real to him because I was a safe fear for my pup. And that was all he had needed. Something bigger to prevail over that evil.

Finally, when his weeping began to slow, I said, “Aragorn? Have you done what I ordered you to do?”

He nodded between his low, hitching crying. “Aye, sir. G-Gone. All gone n-now. Not real. F-False visions, so-so they are g-gone.”

“Gooood, sweetling. Very good. You did well, my pup. I am proud of you.” I patted his bottom lightly, murmuring my litany of comfort: “You were very brave. All done now. All over. No more, spanking. Rest now, little one. Shhh. Rest over my lap. You are safe.”

Aragorn wept more softly now, ragged, childlike weeping, a post-spanking release. And when I began to rub lazy circles over his tense back he started making small humming sounds of pleasure in his throat, muttering under his breath, “All gone now . . . n-not real . . . all g-gone . . . bad s-scary visions . . . gone, g-gone.” He hiccupped and fussed a bit and moved his bottom, then reached back to rub at the hot skin, allowing himself that.

Smiling quietly, I watched him. I loved seeing Aragorn reduced to his boyish state. It had been a while. Legolas saw my pup like this more often than I did. I envied the elf that.

“Gone, g-gone.” Aragorn kept muttering into the bedding. “All gone now . . . bad s-scary visions, gone.”

“Shhh, I know.” I patted his hot bottom again. “You were so brave, little one. And I am proud of you.”

“Thank y-you.”

“You are most welcome, sweetling,” I said, petting his damp hair. He was utterly disheveled, a rumpled lad, drooping across my lap. I left him there, resting, letting him calm further. Then I said, “These visions cannot hurt you anymore. You do know that, do you not, my wild pup?”

“Aye, Hal’brad. I know that,” he replied, lifting his head. “They are n-not real. They never were real. They never will b-be. All gone. All gone now. Not real. Stupid lying visions.”

I sniffed another fond grin and rubbed his back in slow circles, “Aye, stupid indeed,” I murmured. “Well said. How wise you are, little boy.”

Turning his head towards me, he lay quietly for some time, gazing off through swollen eyes, staring at nothing. I watched him, smoothing his damp hair back from his face. I touched his bottom lip.

“No blood. Well done, my lad.”

He grinned and blushed, so guilelessly pleased by my words it made me grin, too. Ridiculous how this rugged man could look so impossibly youthful at times. He and Devon shared that ability. Suddenly he sobered though, and he looked back at me.

“I am sorry, Hal’brad,” he said. “I am so very sorry for keeping secrets from you and Leg’las. I-I know better. And I am sorry for looking into the Palantir. I should never have done that.”

“I know, sweetling. I know you are sorry. And all is forgiven, little boy. Shhhh. All over now.”

“Those stupid visions were not real.”

“Nay.”

“A spanking is very real, though.”

I nodded and grinned. “Aye. That it is. And what else is very real? Why do I take you over my knee and spank you?”

“You spank me because you care about me, and because . . . .”

“Because?”

He glanced back at me again, turning and bracing himself up this time, his eyes glassy with a sheen of fresh tears. “Because you love me.”

“Aye, sweetling. That is very real.”

“Love is the realest thing there is, Hal’brad.”

I smiled quickly at his childish word. “It is indeed. The most realest. Again, how wise you are, little boy.”

He paused, then said, “Hal’brad?”

“Aye?”

“I-I like it when you call me ‘little boy.’”

I raised my brows at him. “Even after I called you that a hundred times?”

He nodded.

“You said you hated it.”

“I know.”

“You are an incorrigible bratling, sir.”

“I know.”

“And I should wash your mouth out with Gondor’s strongest soap for the lies you have told me this day.”

He fell back down and pushed his face into the coverlet, moaning, “Noooo!” into the bedding.

I laughed softly. “Nay, my sweet little boy. You have been through enough. Come then. You wanted to be held earlier. Let me hold you now.”

I gathered up Aragorn’s limp body, hugging him and rocking him, careful to keep his hot bottom off my lap. He held on fast, reminding me so much of that young twenty-two year old I first took over my knee. Aragorn was ever ageless to me, my eternal pup, a human elf, my captain and my little boy. “Come then,” I repeated, “and rest easy in my arms for a while. We have some time before they come looking for us.”

“Before who comes looking for us?” he asked in my ear.

“Our elves of course,” I replied. “Legolas will be able to fend off my Gwin for just so long.”

I heard him grin, then: “You shall needs discipline your naughty elfling for being so impatient and giving Legolas trouble, my lord.”

I sighed with exaggerated dismay. “Aye. My poor weary hand.”

Aragorn laughed, his throat a bit rough from crying. It sounded perfect, though.

I carefully picked up Aragorn and maneuvered us to the top of the bed, then I leaned against the headboard, drawing him onto my lap, his throbbing bottom suspended between my spread legs. He leaned against my shoulder, well settled down now.

“Hal-Hal’brad?”

I felt I knew what his next question was about to be – the one question that Aragorn always asked and always needed to have answered in the same manner. I let him ask it.

“Aye, little boy?”

“Were you . . . were you ang--”

“Angry with you?” I smoothed the tangled locks from his cheeks and sniffed a small grin, watching him half-grin back at me. “Nay, sweetling. At no time was I angry with you, nor disappointed in you. As I told you over and over, you have made me very proud of you. In all you have done, you have made me proud. You can believe in that and trust in it. I was unhappy with what you chose to do, my pup, because it hurt you, and I cannot bear to see my little boy tormented by such a false evil. I was angry with that hurtful evil, never with you.” I kissed his brow.

He was silent for a long time, playing with the lacings on my jerkin. I left him to his thoughts. He would share them with me when he was ready. Aragorn’s thinking was often sluggish when he was in this state. It took him some time to reason things out, and even then he might need help with what he was trying to say. But he did ask for that help when he needed it, so his spanking worked immediate wonders.

“Hal’brad?”

I rested my cheek on the top of his head, smiling at Aragorn’s old childish habit of calling for the grown up’s attention before speaking. “Aye, little boy?”

“I thought you were going to give me a comfort spanking.”

“I thought I was, too. But when you had your quite impressive tantrum, I knew something very big was troubling you. Much too big for just a comfort spanking.”

“Oh!” he suddenly said, his head popping up. “I had forgotten --”

“Aragorn,” I said trying to pull him back into my arms. I had hoped to prepare him before he saw what he had done to the room. Too late now, though. He gasped and stiffened, looking all around.

In truth, it was quite terrible. My lad had been both furious and thorough. I still had no idea how this destruction could be explained. We would simply needs count on the discretion of the very able servants. No doubt they had seen much over the years.

“Ohhh, Hal’brad!” Aragorn breathed. “I did all that?”

“None other, my bratling. And in a matter of only minutes. It was most impressive.”

He turned to me, aghast and wide-eyed. “What shall we tell the servants?”

“Perhaps they will not notice.”

He gaped at me, then he laughed. Finally pulling back from his chuckling for the sake of guilt, he said, “But Hal --”

“Shhh. We shall say nothing, of course, little one, for there is nothing we can say. Let them consider what they will. They will likely think that if their future king can wreak such havoc upon innocent furniture, Sauron is in for a worthy fight.”

He chuckled again, then lay back against me and I gathered him close. He grew quiet. I waited, and after a few long moments, he said, “Hal’brad?”

“Aye, little boy?”

“I do not feel like a future king.”

“Go on, my pup.”

“I . . . sometimes I-I do not want to be Aragorn son of Arathorn.”

He had spoken of this before, and it pained him to speak of it. He usually only did so when he was safe in this little boy space. I was here. I would fend off any vicious orc-ish whisperings that came to torment him, telling him that he was weak and low and craven for having such dishonorable thoughts.

I hugged him and said, “I know. That is understandable, sweetling.”

“It is?”

“Aye.”

“I have never had a choice.”

“I know it seems that way,” I said.

He drew back to look up at me. “Seems?”

“You could have refused your destiny. Left it behind and drifted into obscurity for the rest of your life, the mercenary Ranger, alone. You did that for many years.”

His features clouded over. “Aye, but . . . but something was . . . .”

“Missing. I know. Your valor called you back from that life, little boy. Your inner call to rise up against injustice surged forth. You had to be who you were born to be. Aye, you had no choice but, in fact, you did. You chose to listen to your destiny.”

He gazed at me, nodding, a mixture of excitement and melancholy in his eyes; then he leaned back against me again.

“Hal’brad?”

I grinned. “Aye, little boy?”

“I fear making mistakes.”

“Mmmm. As do all great leaders, Aragorn. They question themselves. They have doubts and fears. There is great wisdom in that. It is what you do in the end despite those doubts and fears that matters. Leaders follow their hearts, their instincts. Your instincts, Aragorn, are most profound. They set you apart from all others.”

“But, Hal’brad, I-I make mistakes all the time! And people suffer because of it!”

That surprised me. But Aragorn often looked at matters with a skewed and brutally self-critical eye. Curious to see where he would take this, I said, “Who has suffered, sweetling, and how?”

“I-I sent Boromir and Gwin to Osgiliath, and it was a bad, bad decision, Hal’brad! I know that now. And many I love were hurt because of it. My fault.”

Stunned to silence, I listened as Aragorn went on to explain how his decision had brought pain and woe to both sons of Denethor, both halflings and my Gwin. “I make lots of mistakes like that. And it scares me, Hal’brad,” he finally said. “What if I make a bad decision about --”

“Hush, little boy,” I said. “Enough.” I pressed another kiss atop his head. My poor lad! Aragorn’s version of the events that took place a few days ago was so distorted that I fought a chuckle. Of course, that would not do. He was clearly upset, his confidence shaken.

Little wonder. He had been making countless monumental decisions for weeks now. It took enormous confidence to do that repeatedly. Aragorn’s certainty may indeed be wavering, but it was still there, still strong. It merely needed some enlivening. Aragorn was starving for some of the encouragement he so freely gave to others.

He was ready to listen, ready to once again hear the truths he knew so well, yearning for the same reassurance that a comfort spanking provided, his silent plea now deafening: ‘Please tell me I am doing well, that I have made good choices and done the right thing.’ Simple reassurance carried enormous power. As others had sought it from him, Aragorn now needed it from me. This odd little matter of Osgiliath was the best place to start.

“Aragorn, listen to me. You have not done badly by those you love. Quite often what seems to be a mistake is simply Fate taking a hand, and someone such as you following their instincts to bring the best outcome for all.”

“Best outcome? But, but --” Aragorn pulled back to frown at me as though I had not heard him correctly. “Hal’brad everyone suffered because of me!”

“Did they, sweetling?” I smiled at his confused pout and brushed the locks from his eyes. “‘Suffered,’ you say. I see. Very well. Let us look at it another way: Because of your decision, Merry and Faramir had the fun of planning several escapes and actually trying one out, getting as far as the courtyard before they were caught. Faramir therefore received some much needed attention from his future king – much needed because this lad is one who shall likely never get enough attention and shall always seek more, like my Gwin.

“Merry also received some attention. The little one’s naughty plan ended with a sore bottom for him as well, along with the pleasure of seeing his beloved Pippin, another co-conspirator, delivered to his bed and ordered to serve time there as penance.

“Pippin, meanwhile, had the opportunity to release the sorrows and frustrations that had been plaguing him. He turned his fury upon Legolas, who loved the little one, and who would suffer no ill effects from battling a wild bratling hobbit ‘tween. In fact, I vow that Legolas had a fine time and was most entertained. Pippin also received some attention, too much in his opinion, but he had the pleasure of watching Legolas kick in the door to the king’s bathing chamber and he had the fun of making a glorious mess with shattered bottles. For his part in Merry’s naughty plan Pippin also ended up with a scorched bottom and the delightful penance of being forced to go to bed and stay there, his Merry’s bed, as it so happened.”

Aragorn had started smiling halfway through my telling and now he was outright laughing, remembering that, indeed, this was a fair rendering of events. His pretty smile warmed my heart. Pulling him close again and grinning, I pressed on:

“This escape plot would have been neither planned nor attempted had you not separated the two brothers in the first place. But Faramir needed to be free of his overly attentive big brother in order to get some rest, and you needed information about Osgiliath. So because of your decision, mischief took place, a naughty Ranger was spanked, two naughty hobbits were spanked and ended up sharing the same bed, and all were brilliantly entertained by a master storyteller who provided them with a wonderful tale to becalm the healing.”

My pup’s soft laughter vibrated through me. It was too delightful. I hugged him and rocked him, then went on at a slightly slower pace now.

“You also mentioned Gwinthorian’s suffering. But, trust me, little boy, it is good for Gwin and I to separate occasionally. I sometimes send him on maneuvers with our scouts. They spend several nights out reconnoitering the wild. He pouts upon returning and seeks revenge for my cruelty and is rewarded with much attention from me for days afterwards, just as it happened this time.”

I paused to stroke Aragorn’s tangled locks, then I said, “As you know, sweetling, Gwin suffers deep fears during times such as these, as does your Legolas, so, aye, it was hard for Gwin to be alone, but it was good for him, too, because that forced separation gave him purpose and cause. He felt he now had grounds to misbehave, and he set about doing just that.”

“Gwin never needs grounds to misbehave,” Aragorn said.

I chuckled. “Aye, but having those grounds makes Gwin feel justified and eager to earn the kind of spankings that will help ease the true hurt in his anxious heart. So, because of your decision, Gwinthorian decided that he had good reason to be naughty, and he was naughty, and he was thoroughly seen to.”

I kissed my lad’s head yet again, going on:

“As for the sons of Denethor, Faramir did have time to rest, so he was finally healed enough to withstand the special attention he longed for from his big brother. Faramir made certain that he had quite a spanking coming. He clearly hoped that Boromir would catch wind of all his disobedience and rush home to deal with him.

“Like Gwin, Faramir was eager for cause. He would have had no reason to act out had Boromir been here every day making certain he ate well and giving him plenty of attention. So because of your decision, Faramir also felt that he had a perfectly good reason for misbehaving. Like Gwin, he set about to do just that.

“And Faramir’s tale should have ended there, but there was a bigger problem. This is where your decision made the greatest difference, my wise lad. Faramir was carrying a dark secret within. He was suffering a burden of guilt for the way he had mistreated Frodo and Sam. Boromir knew nothing of this. But you learned of Faramir’s torment when he let it slip after you had spanked him for his escape attempt.