Aragorn was not so much annoyed as puzzled.
They'd discussed it hadn't they? Aragorn knew Faramir had been reluctant about celebrating his birthday but he thought he'd managed to talk him into it finally.
The Steward had not even intended for anyone to know the occasion. From what Aragorn knew, it had never been much of an affair in Denethor's household. To be told someone else was organising a gathering to celebrate and then to be told he was to attend it was overwhelming. But hobbits were an enterprising lot and when Pippin had inadvertently learnt of Faramir impeding birthday, that had sealed it.
Even then, he had baulked at the suggestion. It had taken much coaxing and cajoling from Aragorn, but Faramir had finally acquiesced even if rather reluctantly, to be present at the small party that Merry and Pippin had wished to organise for his birthday.
Well yes, he'd lived up to his promise and been present, but he'd left so soon! True it was no longer a small party, but they couldn't leave out any of those invited. And yes, they hadn't really discussed how long he needed to be there but really, it was after all, Faramir's birthday not his. And Faramir had agreed.
And there weren't even going to be any speeches or anything. Well, yes there had been his toast to Faramir, but he was the king! He had to toast his steward on his birthday, especially when said Steward was also his lover!
The least the Steward could do was to sit through the thing! And that when Merry and Pippin were visiting too! Although, Aragorn thought distractedly now, that would be reason enough to flee. The two hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli, and the twins all under one roof. It was a wonder the citadel was still intact. The last he had seen them they had all started off on a drinking game interspersed with many renditions of the bawdiest songs he had ever heard.
He heard the soft sound, and was alarmed for only the briefest of seconds, and a gleeful smile soon graced his features.
"Well, little one," he said softly, "I knew you were the perfect one. Come to me sweetheart," he crooned softly and pushed himself through the gap in the bushes that led to the tiny garden his Steward favoured as a quiet retreat.
"Whuff," came the agreeable reply.
Aragorn bent down and gently patted the pup on his head. The dog nuzzled his palm, making soft sounds.
"And where is he?" Aragorn asked softly.
"I wondered why you might give me a hunting dog," Faramir's voice was wry and amused.
"I didn't give him to you," Aragorn said calmly, "I wished you to help me select a hunting hound of the finest pedigree from the best breeders in the city. You were the one who fell for the little fellow here who was nosing about in the kennels, remember. And I think he chose you too."
It hadn't missed Aragorn that the tiny pup had been left alone in a corner, unwanted by most buyers due to his sickly and thin frame. Or that his young Steward had immediately been drawn to it. The owner had been more than happy to sell the runt of his litter to the king, no less. He looked anything like that now, though. In the one week Faramir had had him, the runt of the litter had blossomed into a beautiful, even if somewhat scrawny, dog.
"I think," Faramir said walking forward and picking up the dog, "That he's better than any hunting dog."
"I agree," Aragorn said eyes twinkling, "He helped me hunt you down."
"No," Faramir said patiently, "He led you to me."
Aragorn's eyebrows went up a fraction of a millimetre.
Faramir placed the dog down on a basket nearby, "Off you go to sleep now, little one," he said patting it's head, and then rose and turned to Aragorn.
"The halflings have some interesting ideas about birthdays," he said softly, and undid the collar of his cloak, "They give presents to other people on their birthdays." He removed the cloak, which Aragorn realised was all he wore.
"I hope you will like my present," Faramir said softly.
The little dog cocked an ear as he heard a soft sound almost like a moan followed by a growl from near the apple tree.
"I liked it very much indeed," Aragorn said when they lay resting under the tree, Faramir leaning back against his chest, the cloak drawn up over them to ward off the slight chill.
"Mmm..." the Steward mumbled, "Do you suppose they give presents even if it's not a birthday?"
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