These Tales of Symphonia characters do not belong to me in any way, but I manage to manipulate them into cute, fluffy moments without stirring any sort of legal trouble. Sneaky, huh?
(Writing as little Lloyd brings about a unique sense of pleasure, I must say…Oh, and none of this cold, distant Daddy Kratos business. There's plenty of time for that later, after those familial tragedies occur.)
-o-o-o-o-
The soft patter of feet was not unknown to Kratos – but even after three years, the little noises that signaled an incoming Lloyd had not yet become familiar. Rather, they aroused his attention unlike anything else. The quill stilled from its path across the page as the young father turned his tired glance to the doorway. The familiar sound of Anna washing the supper dishes yet echoed from down the hall; Lloyd stood, half-consumed by the shadows of the dimly-lit corridor.
Kratos turned his attention back to his research as the patter resumed and his little one drew closer. Lloyd thrust into the air two things: a piece of paper and a stubby pencil. His eyes were alive with childish excitement.
"And what's that you have, Lloyd?" Kratos asked with an extra dose of curiosity, as all parents do when their child comes with something to present to them.
"Mama taught me somethin'," the little boy replied, pleased at having his father's attention.
"Oh?" the older man replied, his focus straying just a bit to the pajama-clad child beside his desk. "And what's that?"
Lloyd looked up and beamed brightly. "Tic-Trac-Toe. Mama showed me how."
Kratos tried to restrain a chuckle; Lloyd disliked any sort of correction or doubt of his abilities, and both parents had learned that straight off. So the young father put on his most engrossed and serious face. "My – learning such an advanced game at so young an age? What a son I have. And will you demonstrate it here? I'll have to have proof that you've truly mastered it."
Lloyd, face betraying a smug expression, offered his consent. He extended his arms upward, waiting to be settled into his father's warm lap. But Kratos fell victim to a sudden wave of guilt. Earlier, Anna had gently chided him about carrying Lloyd too much – how it was spoiling him, slowly but surely. Of course Kratos didn't want that. But now, of all times to actually remember her warning –
Lloyd made a sort of whimper at Kratos's delay, offering a short and pitiful, "Daddy?" to perhaps speed up the lap-settling process.
Boy, this one knows exactly what buttons to push.
"Very well, Lloyd," Kratos relented, but in a tone of importance. "But we can't tell your mother about this, you know. It is, after all, very late." Not that late…Kratos amended mentally. "If you show me your skill, it's straight up to bed, understand?"
The little boy nodded solemnly and quickly broke into happy giggles as his father landed a finger against his nose, pressing gently. When at last Lloyd was snug in Kratos's lap, reclined slightly against his chest, the two tiny hands placed the paper and pencil atop the desk.
"You make lines, Daddy," Lloyd requested in a sleepy voice.
Kratos did so.
"Can I go first?" he asked after a moment's pause.
Lloyd nodded. Kratos landed his 'X' in the center square. Lloyd immediately made a sound of dismay.
"Mama said I should put mine there…"
Kratos bent his head so that his lips were closer to Lloyd's ear.
"Did you know – that your mother taught me how to play this game? And I was much older, actually, whereas you are so young."
Lloyd turned his head to study Kratos's face for any trace of falsehood, eyes wide. "I don't 'member that, Daddy."
Kratos shook his head lightly. "You weren't here yet, Lloyd. It was a while before that – before your mother and I were wed."
"Oh," the child replied, much intrigued. Then he returned to his former position of comfort.
Kratos handed him the pencil. "You go now."
The game progressed in a slow series of alternated turns. It just so happened that Lloyd won that first game – of course, Kratos would always let him assume the victory was his absolutely, with no lack of effort from the opposite party – but the little one was harder to fool than Kratos had assumed. As Kratos was about to put the child down and order him off to bed, Lloyd turned and pointed an accusing finger.
"But you let me win Daddy! I saw you!" His brow creased into an impressive sort of frown.
Kratos feigned surprise, replying, "Why, Lloyd, however could you say such a thing? After all, I am clearly no match for you."
The damage I'm doing right now would drive Anna up the wall…
"That's not true!"
"Is so," Kratos replied.
"No – no it's not!"
"Fine," the older man said. "One more game. And you get to fend for yourself."
One more game turned into two. Then three – one more, and that was supposed to be it, but Lloyd caught Kratos feigning defeat once more. So fine, just one more game – or maybe two?
"Lloyd – Lloyd it's your turn to go," Kratos said, on the sixth game of the night.
There was no response; just even breathing from the child heavily slumped against his father's chest. Kratos nudged his arm gently against his son – nothing. The father stood up, Lloyd carefully cradled in his arms, and began the trek upstairs for a much-needed bedtime. The little child didn't stir at all – but most likely, both parents were in for a cranky little boy at breakfast.
Ugh…Anna's gonna kill me come tomorrow morning. And what's my excuse? Tic-tac-toe. Like that'll spare you any pain…