Kisses, Tears & Friendship - one shot/flashfic
Kisses, Tears & Friendship
Characters: ÉomerxLothíriel (Lord of the Rings)
Rating: PG
Theme: Off on the wrong foot
Word Count: 946
Disclaimer: Not my property, not for profit.
Summary: For fictictactoe (GAME #1). After returning home from Gondor Éomer presents his son, Elfwine, with a gift. Set several years after the events in Return of the King. †_(ﾟｰﾟ*)β
Notes: Leofwine means “beloved friend.”
Lothíriel eyed her son, who was seated on the floor in front of the hearth, quietly absorbed in play with a pair of wooden horses. Her eyes then drifted back to the wriggling mass of wiry brindled fur barely contained in her husband’s arms and raised a dubious brow. “Faramir gave him to you?”
“Yes. It was his idea actually. A good one, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lothíriel watched, amused, as Éomer readjusted his grip on the excited animal, in the process allowing the dog too close to his face and receiving a slobbery kiss for his efforts. Not inclined to comment directly on the Prince of Ithilien’s choice in gift, even though she had her doubts, Lothíriel tilted her head towards the puppy asking instead, “Is the pup not too big? Elfwine is only three after all…”
“Nonsense,” Éomer scoffed, “a good hunting dog is one you grow up with, form a bond with, so that together master and beast can think and act as one. In turn they will become better hunters-”
Lothíriel let Éomer passionately ramble on about the bond between man and hound, hunting and Rohan tradition, listening with half with an ear. Moving closer to the pair, she reached out an upturned palm for the pup to sniff, while taking the moment to examine the still wiggling Deerhound Éomer had now tucked under one arm.
It was a beautiful pup, barely two months old, with a set of large paws and gangly legs it had yet to grow into. Its rough coat of brindled fur was long and course, the colour reminding her somewhat of her father’s own hunting dog when she was a child. Hazel eyes staring up at her imploringly, a wet nose pushed at her hand, sandpaper tongue giving a quick succession of sloppy licks. Smiling at the puppy's antics, Lothíriel rubbed the top of his flat head affectionately, still not quite convinced their son was ready for such a gift, as lovely as it was.
Éomer ended his speech with a dazzling smile and a kiss to her cheek and Lothíriel felt hard pressed to point out that by the time Elfwine would be old enough to start going on hunts the dog would most likely be ready to retire from the task. Her husband was too enamored with the idea of presenting their son with his gift that she would not spoil it for him no matter her worries.
“Come Lothíriel and witness the meeting of two new friends.” Turning
Éomer strode to where Elfwine sat, preoccupied with racing his toys against one another. “Elfwine come- put down your valiant steeds and meet your newest companion, Leofwine. Named so, for in time he will be your most beloved friend.” Squatting down beside his son he placed the large pup in front of him, holding onto him by the sturdy collar around his neck.
Looking up from his playthings Elfwine’s eyes lit up at seeing the furry gift tucked between his father’s legs. Horses forgotten, he stood and reached out a pair of stubby arms, laughing in delight at the licks and kisses to his tiny fingers. Leofwine, encouraged by Elfwine’s giggles unexpectedly lunged forward out of Éomer’s grasp, attacking the boys face with wet-happy-kisses. A wail of fright went up as Elfwine fell backwards, landing harmlessly on his rump. The pup, equally as startled letting out a woof of his own and retreating under Éomer’s legs.
Rushing forward Lothíriel scooped up Elfwine ensure he was naught but startled. Satisfied she watched as Éomer tried to get a hold of the exuberant pup without much success. Scampering away, Leofwine bounded out of reach, back end still shaking in excitement, a trail of liquid following behind him.
“Hush now, Elfwine don’t wail. Leofwine only wants to be friends.”
Lothíriel bounced the colicky baby on her hip; all the while making soothing noises as she walked around the room, fighting the urge to point out this was inevitably going to happen. Instead she leveled a pointed stare at Éomer. “It reminds me of when we first meet.”
“I did not lick your face. Nor did I relieve myself in your presence.”
At Éomer’s indigent face she couldn’t help the peel of laughter that escaped her lips. “Thankfully not! But, I do believe you made me cry.”
Her husband pouted. Even after all the time gone by, he still felt badly about their regrettable first meeting, it was endearing but silly. Although, she had a feeling that this particular scowl had much more to do with Elfwine’s unfortunate reaction to his father’s gift.
Éomer, a hound enthusiast dismayed that his son, never mind that he was only three, didn’t seem to share his passion. Setting a now quieted Elfwine in his previous play spot, Lothíriel moved into Éomer’s arms, melting against him as he pulled her closer, his face burying itself in her dark hair.
“Not every first meeting starts with bright smiles. Sometimes there are tears.” Leaning back she tilted her chin upwards until blue eyes met dark brown. “We didn’t turn out so bad, did we? Just give them time and then there will be no separating them.”
“No. We didn’t,” he conceded planting a chaste kiss to Lothíriel’s lips before allowing her to turn around in his arms and lean back against his chest.
Éomer’s arms once again wound around her waist, their fingers entwining together as they gazed down upon their son.
Elfwine, weary from his bout of crying was now fast asleep on the hearth's rug. Stretched out beside him, and snoring was his gift, Leofwine, Elfwine's small head of dark hair resting peacefully on his soft furry tummy.
She squeezed her husband’s hand in assurance, her own reservations aside. “See,” she whispered, “they are already thinking as one.”
Éomer’s answering squeeze was enough to tell her that this disastrous first meeting was already forgotten, and with time and supervision they were sure to be the fastest of friends.
Characters: ÉomerxLothíriel (Lord of the Rings)
Rating: PG
Theme: Off on the wrong foot
Word Count: 946
Disclaimer: Not my property, not for profit.
Summary: For fictictactoe (GAME #1). After returning home from Gondor Éomer presents his son, Elfwine, with a gift. Set several years after the events in Return of the King. †_(ﾟｰﾟ*)β
Notes: Leofwine means “beloved friend.”
Lothíriel eyed her son, who was seated on the floor in front of the hearth, quietly absorbed in play with a pair of wooden horses. Her eyes then drifted back to the wriggling mass of wiry brindled fur barely contained in her husband’s arms and raised a dubious brow. “Faramir gave him to you?”
“Yes. It was his idea actually. A good one, wouldn’t you agree?”
Lothíriel watched, amused, as Éomer readjusted his grip on the excited animal, in the process allowing the dog too close to his face and receiving a slobbery kiss for his efforts. Not inclined to comment directly on the Prince of Ithilien’s choice in gift, even though she had her doubts, Lothíriel tilted her head towards the puppy asking instead, “Is the pup not too big? Elfwine is only three after all…”
“Nonsense,” Éomer scoffed, “a good hunting dog is one you grow up with, form a bond with, so that together master and beast can think and act as one. In turn they will become better hunters-”
Lothíriel let Éomer passionately ramble on about the bond between man and hound, hunting and Rohan tradition, listening with half with an ear. Moving closer to the pair, she reached out an upturned palm for the pup to sniff, while taking the moment to examine the still wiggling Deerhound Éomer had now tucked under one arm.
It was a beautiful pup, barely two months old, with a set of large paws and gangly legs it had yet to grow into. Its rough coat of brindled fur was long and course, the colour reminding her somewhat of her father’s own hunting dog when she was a child. Hazel eyes staring up at her imploringly, a wet nose pushed at her hand, sandpaper tongue giving a quick succession of sloppy licks. Smiling at the puppy's antics, Lothíriel rubbed the top of his flat head affectionately, still not quite convinced their son was ready for such a gift, as lovely as it was.
Éomer ended his speech with a dazzling smile and a kiss to her cheek and Lothíriel felt hard pressed to point out that by the time Elfwine would be old enough to start going on hunts the dog would most likely be ready to retire from the task. Her husband was too enamored with the idea of presenting their son with his gift that she would not spoil it for him no matter her worries.
“Come Lothíriel and witness the meeting of two new friends.” Turning
Éomer strode to where Elfwine sat, preoccupied with racing his toys against one another. “Elfwine come- put down your valiant steeds and meet your newest companion, Leofwine. Named so, for in time he will be your most beloved friend.” Squatting down beside his son he placed the large pup in front of him, holding onto him by the sturdy collar around his neck.
Looking up from his playthings Elfwine’s eyes lit up at seeing the furry gift tucked between his father’s legs. Horses forgotten, he stood and reached out a pair of stubby arms, laughing in delight at the licks and kisses to his tiny fingers. Leofwine, encouraged by Elfwine’s giggles unexpectedly lunged forward out of Éomer’s grasp, attacking the boys face with wet-happy-kisses. A wail of fright went up as Elfwine fell backwards, landing harmlessly on his rump. The pup, equally as startled letting out a woof of his own and retreating under Éomer’s legs.
Rushing forward Lothíriel scooped up Elfwine ensure he was naught but startled. Satisfied she watched as Éomer tried to get a hold of the exuberant pup without much success. Scampering away, Leofwine bounded out of reach, back end still shaking in excitement, a trail of liquid following behind him.
“Hush now, Elfwine don’t wail. Leofwine only wants to be friends.”
Lothíriel bounced the colicky baby on her hip; all the while making soothing noises as she walked around the room, fighting the urge to point out this was inevitably going to happen. Instead she leveled a pointed stare at Éomer. “It reminds me of when we first meet.”
“I did not lick your face. Nor did I relieve myself in your presence.”
At Éomer’s indigent face she couldn’t help the peel of laughter that escaped her lips. “Thankfully not! But, I do believe you made me cry.”
Her husband pouted. Even after all the time gone by, he still felt badly about their regrettable first meeting, it was endearing but silly. Although, she had a feeling that this particular scowl had much more to do with Elfwine’s unfortunate reaction to his father’s gift.
Éomer, a hound enthusiast dismayed that his son, never mind that he was only three, didn’t seem to share his passion. Setting a now quieted Elfwine in his previous play spot, Lothíriel moved into Éomer’s arms, melting against him as he pulled her closer, his face burying itself in her dark hair.
“Not every first meeting starts with bright smiles. Sometimes there are tears.” Leaning back she tilted her chin upwards until blue eyes met dark brown. “We didn’t turn out so bad, did we? Just give them time and then there will be no separating them.”
“No. We didn’t,” he conceded planting a chaste kiss to Lothíriel’s lips before allowing her to turn around in his arms and lean back against his chest.
Éomer’s arms once again wound around her waist, their fingers entwining together as they gazed down upon their son.
Elfwine, weary from his bout of crying was now fast asleep on the hearth's rug. Stretched out beside him, and snoring was his gift, Leofwine, Elfwine's small head of dark hair resting peacefully on his soft furry tummy.
She squeezed her husband’s hand in assurance, her own reservations aside. “See,” she whispered, “they are already thinking as one.”
Éomer’s answering squeeze was enough to tell her that this disastrous first meeting was already forgotten, and with time and supervision they were sure to be the fastest of friends.