15 January 2007 | 102 words
Faramir lay on his back, head on Aragorn’s bared chest, counting upon his fingers.
“Seven, I make it. Or is it eight?”
Boromir harrumphed from his comfortable place on the king’s stomach.
“There’re far more than that, little brother. You’ve left out some of the best! There’s Filthy Ranger for starters. The filthier the better in my opinion.”
“Agreed! There’s Orthanc Pants!”
“And Bilbo Biggun!”
“Mmm yes! Long Cleever! I’d forgotten that!”
Aragorn sighed sadly. There was no stopping the brothers once they’d got started.
And collecting interesting names certainly did seem to be his area of expertise…
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The following people read the story, enjoyed it, and would like to thank the author: Mel