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Sons of Forgotten Kings  by Cairistiona

Because spring sometimes brings more than beauty...

Aragorn sneezed, violently.

“Valar bless you,” Halbarad muttered.  For the seventh time.

“Thanks,” Aragorn mumbled.  He blew his nose. 

“Just pray do not give me your plague.”

“‘Tis no plague.  ‘Tis this tree.”

Halbarad pulled a branch lower.  Insignificant reddish flowers festooned every branch.  “These?” he asked, scarce believing.

Aragorn took a step back.  “Yes, those.”  He blinked watering eyes and sneezed again.  He groaned, then pinched his nose shut.  “Ebery tibe I bove, I zdeeze.”

“And scare off any game within a league.”  Halbarad sighed.  “Come.  The hunt can wait until the flowers wither.”

Aragorn nodded. 

And sneezed again.

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