This was a birthday gift for my sister from a couple months back. It took a while to upload, but better late than never! (Woah it's really short I didn't notice that before huh.)
Pairings: Cherche/Lon'qu, implied Nah/Gerome.
Words: 654
Rating: K
Warnings: Slight spoilers regarding Lon'qu's backstory, and due to it being based off the pairing's epilogue, I suppose there's spoilers for that, too.
Lon'qu really doesn't need this hat.
Sure, Regna Ferox is cold, but Lon'qu is used to it by now. So really, the hat serves to do nothing more than provide Basilio unnecessary amusement. Lon'qu doesn't dare mention it to the weaver, though - after all, the hat is warm, and he really does appreciate Cherche's efforts... Even if wearing a blue hand-woven toque to and from work is a bit embarrassing. Besides, Lon'qu is somewhat afraid of the wrath is wife would unleash upon him if he didn't wear the toque.
He sighs as he marches diligently through the snow, pulling the hat down so that it properly protects his forehead from the bitter winter wind. Work was fairly uneventful that day, but for whatever reason, Lon'qu feels exhausted. He is so tired that when he peers through the flurries of snow to see long pink hair frantically blowing in the wind, he assumes he is hallucinating. When he hears Minerva's tremendous roar of glee, he allows another sigh to pass through his lips as he picks up his pace.
"What are you doing outside?" Lon'qu asks upon finally reaching them. Cherche, who is kneeling in the snow with little Gerome cradled in her arms, smiles up at her husband innocently. Minerva is crouched down beside her mistress, a hat nearly identical to Lon'qu's perched upon her head. "... Gerome shouldn't be out here."
Cherche giggles, pulling up Gerome's scarf so that it covers his nose. "He's well-bundled up. And we were just waiting for you." Lon'qu is about to protest when she continues, "I was hoping you could peel the potatoes for the stew. And we received a letter from Gerome and Nah." Lon'qu sighs, nodding silently as he extends his hand to his kneeling wife. Cherche quickly checks to make sure she has a proper grip on Gerome before accepting the offered hand, allowing her husband to pull her up to her feet. As they start to slog through the snow, Cherche turns to Lon'qu, smiling gently. "How was work?"
Lon'qu grunts, looking ahead of him rather than at the woman who addressed him. "... Good," he grumbles. "... The next tournament is approaching."
Cherche giggles as they reach their doorstep, digging the key out of her pocket as she says, "I bet Basilio's all fired-up for that again, hm?" Lon'qu nods stiffly as they step into the household, taking Gerome from his wife's arms while Cherche goes to tend to Minerva. Lon'qu sighs, looking into the eyes of his son. Although Lon'qu would never admit it, Gerome's eyes - eyes he inherited from his mother - are beautiful. He never saw the older Gerome's eyes, which he absent-mindedly thinks is a bit of a shame. Lon'qu knows that his son must have a reason, though - perhaps the mask is to create some sort of... Distance between Gerome and his comrades. If so, Lon'qu applauds his son's genius and wonders why he had never thought to wear a mask himself. But then again, the mask seems to only ever heighten the female soldier's interest in his son, so maybe it's just as well. Lon'qu lifts his gaze from his son's at the soft sound of the door closing, meeting the gentle gaze of his wife.
"I'll take this little guy to bed," Cherche notes aloud as Lon'qu gently hands Gerome to her. "He's had a long day."
Lon'qu nods while Cherche takes their son into the baby's bedroom, leaving him standing alone. He sighs, breathing in the aroma of the flowers that Cherche decorates the kitchen with. He never had imagined himself here - with a wife, a son (oh, and a wyvern). He never imagined himself with a family. He can vaguely hear Cherche humming little Gerome to sleep, and smiles. Lon'qu never thought he would love after Ke'ri's death, but here he is.
And he can't say he minds.