This is a sort of a spinoff and extension of a drabble I wrote for the prompt "Sight". I may post the 100-word drabble later, but at present I'm a lot more pleased with this. However! I inteded to write dialogue, but it eluded me; I know not why.
"Faramir!" Heaving a small sigh, Éowyn made her way into the garden, drying her hands on her apron as she walked. She had heard the cheerful voices of her husband and their daughter passing her by on their way out not too long ago; she hoped that Faramir had not forgotten the fact that midday and its invigorating meal was approaching. He had a tendency to forget that the child was young and needed nutrition at regular intervals, and his bouts of adventurousness always seemed to come at the least favourable of times.
Presently she perceived a trill of laughter from among the gathering of trees down in the corner; mixed with it there was the occasional groan in a very familiar voice. Steering her steps towards the source of the sound, Éowyn smothered a soft chuckle; she had been able to walk close enough to the two dear ones without their noticing her that she could now see them clearly, and the sight amused her greatly.
Her brave daughter was perched dangerously on the edge of her precious treehouse, a wooden sword held tightly in her small hand. Her golden locks were flying wildly about her head, in spite of the ribbon formerly tying them together, as she defended her tiny fort ferociously against the attacks on it made by her father.
Faramir, in turn, was suffering defeat after defeat. His attempts at storming the simple construction were vain; the thudding sound of wood against flesh could be heard as he used his arms to protect his head from her waving sword.
Éowyn giggled as she stepped forward; her husband did look as though he had had enough already. Elbowing his side lightly to make him move, she flashed him a smug grin, and the fraction of a second she looked away was enough: the little girl in the treehouse had not realised that the game had ended, but let her sword fall once again without much aim. The hit made Éowyn cry out in pain despite the lightness of both weapon and wielder.
While they walked back into the house to the waiting meal, it was Faramir's turn to be smug, although the arm he laid around Éowyn's waist was tender.
That night he bragged to his wife about his daughter's accomplishments both while he checked on her bruised head and while they undressed. He only paused briefly when Éowyn touched an especially sore spot while exploring his spreading map of bruises, and he did not stop until his beloved wife summed up his pride in four words, her voice muffled by pillow and sleepiness.
"Like mother, like daughter."