tanaquiljall: (Drabble RDA)
I was asking [livejournal.com profile] sgafan some horsey questions that came up when I was writing some of the drabbles I'm doing for [livejournal.com profile] elena_tiriel's birthday, and she was telling me about how she used to snap horseflies with towels to stun them so she could step on them. And then she said I dare you to write a drabble with Eomer snapping rags to kill horseflies.

*g*

Snap!

Under a cloudless sky, the cousins watered their horses. Éomer, stripping off his sweat-drenched tunic, stooped and wet his neckerchief in the slow-flowing water.

Firefoot stamped and flicked an ear as a horsefly weaved drunkenly from amongst the reeds and settled on his neck. Quick as a flash, Éomer twisted the scarf and snapped it out. Stunned, the winged pest fell into the water, struggled and drowned.

A moment later, Éomer felt a gentle slap across his own shoulders. Turning in protest, he saw Théodred stepping on a fly he had flicked in like fashion from Éomer’s naked back.

tanaquiljall: (Drabble RDA)
Another quote from [livejournal.com profile] elena_tiriel:
Théodred and Éomer... were... devoted to the King,... and they did all that they could to thwart the influence over him that Gríma gained when the King's health began to fail.... Théoden was sixty-six; his malady may thus have been due to natural causes.... But it may well have been induced or increased by subtle poisons, administered by Gríma. In any case Théoden's sense of weakness and dependence on Gríma was largely due to the cunning and skill of this evil counsellor's suggestions. It was his policy to bring his chief opponents into discredit with Théoden, and if possible to get rid of them.

Unfinished Tales, Part 3, Ch 5, The Battles of the Fords of Isen

Day 113

Countermeasures

"What can we do?" Éomer balled his right fist and slammed it into the palm of his other hand.

Théodred looked around cautiously before replying, though they stood in the centre of the paddock. "Words will not serve us. That tongue of his twists them like a tangled rope, cunning as Scatha."

Éomer's hand strayed to his dagger. "There is a short answer to a tangled rope," he muttered.

Théodred put a restraining hand on Éomer's forearm. "And a quick route to a slipknot around your neck. Let us rather untangle the rope and make a noose for the Worm."

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