The Snow –King

The woodsman's path led them to black-watered river and snow-mantled forest; in the eddying whiteness of the world, a boy and his brother stood hand in hand. Snow fell, cold silvery kisses on his upturned face, settling on the long fair lashes and waving golden hair, and in his childish delight he broke away, laughing, "Oh Boromir, let's make a snowman!"

Small hands began their careful building, and with the grave dignity of his twelve years the elder boy, smiling his assent, added to the growing pile until it stood tall and mighty with its icy spear and proud gleaming helm.

"'Tis a king among snowmen," the little one proclaimed, his eyes luminous with joy.

Hunter and Hunted

In the tree-dimness, a ranger crouched still and silent. Fantastical frozen shapes like beasts from story and song reared all about him, white and palely glowing. Above, tall trunks soared into an iron-grey sky, laden boughs spreading, an intricate lacework of wood and ice.

Rough bark, cold under his gloved hand; sword-hilt of Harad ivory in the shifting grip of the other, finely-tempered steel misting with each lightly-taken breath. Keen-eared, he heard footsteps crunching in the snow, voices whispering in the accent of sunnier southern lands. Nearer they came, sinking ankle-deep, muttering.

With a cry he swung out of the shadows, a slight and fell figure, and felt the bright blade bite.

The White Lady

Breathing on frost-patterned window glass, she traced her name and her beloved's: a girlish game indulged in secret. Overnight, by some strange magic, icy tendrils grew into a skein of silver spiders creeping skywards; and when she woke warm and heavy-eyed with sleep, a glittering morn greeted her.

Fur-mantled, she slipped into the garden, catching the falling star-flakes in slender hands. Once, those hands had wielded sword and shield, though they had long since turned to gentler things. Then she heard him call her name - her husband, lover and friend - and she welcomed him with words of love.

"Eowyn."

Laughing, they danced like children, alone in a universe of whirling white.

Author's note

These are three not-quite-drabbles inspired by a snowy afternoon in Hyde Park (20 January 2013)! The idea suddenly came to me that Faramir should have three snow-themed snapshots of him at different stages of his life, alliterative and a little impressionistic. I've had good fun writing these, and I hope that you'll enjoy them!