This story is a slightly depressing Christmas story. I do not own Lord of the Rings or Amid the Falling Snow by Enya, or Golden Slumbers.
A woman stood at the doorway of an inn; The Prancing Pony of Bree. She wore only white robes and a blue cloak that looked to be woven of crystal silk.
As she entered she heard a ranger telling some young Hobbits elven stories. They looked with wide eyes and were eager to hear more and more. He told them of the Silmarils and the tale of Lúthien and Beren.
Soon she found herself listening to the stories as well. The woman could only have been pulled away by the entrancing melody of an elven prince playing the reed-pipes.
The woman gave two gold coins, though the elven prince was rich as he was a noble leader. Though history wore him down like a million weights on his shoulders.
Eventually both the story-teller and elf joined as they sang the Song of Nimrodel.
An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.
A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.
Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.
Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool.
Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.
The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea.
A wind by night in Northern lands
Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands
Across the streaming tide.
When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray.
Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel.
Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlórien.
From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into water deep,
As mew upon the wing.
The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.
But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk have heard
Of Amroth evermore.
All the men of Bree and Hobbits of Staddle and elves of the Grey Heavens stopped just to hear the weather-beaten warriors as their sorrows lift. The elf prince came to look younger and fair as the ranger became of a kingly appearance.
Not a smile faltered as they left the stage, and played quietly in the corner collecting money in one of the Hobbits' sauce pan.
In the crowed only one didn't smile, he never had smiled during the performance. He had never smiled from the day he ran from his past.
The son of the late steward, Denethor, sat grim on his wooden seat, eating away an apple until there was naught left but a core.
The woman had long since left the inn, she danced barefoot over the frosty land of winter. She didn't shiver and her teeth didn't chatter, the snow seemed a hearth to her. She danced across the snow and sang;
When winter first begins to bite
and stones crack in the frosty night,
when pools are black and trees are bare,
'tis evil in the Wild to fare.
The woman entered a child's store owned by another woman in a silk gown, a widow who faced no fear but never hid herself. The Lady of Snow (the original woman, as we shall call her) looked to a mobile. It hung silver and clear and icy blue flakes of snow that spun from silk threads as if they were real. The Lady of Snow picked it up and hardly watched where she was going as she made for the owner.
She was in such happiness that the Lady did not realise she had bumped into a man, a son of a steward in fact. She gasped at contact and the mobile slipped from her hand, falling to the floor and shattering like a glass rose.
"It would be wise to watch where you're going," The son grunted, moving past her.
The Lady said the utmost unexpected thing, it was not a retort or question or insult, it was a statement. "You have a brother." The son seemed to tense, "Do you not?"
"I have no brother," The son hissed, "I have no family."
But alas his words were lies, as the Lady knew. He indeed did have a brother, a fragile boy named Faramir. He did have a family as well, once. His mother died giving birth to Faramir, who was cut from oxygen far too long and was said to never walk, nor talk, or read or write.
And so his father, Denethor, sent Faramir to the company of mediwomen just a while away from where the son still stood frozen. Denethor had driven himself to insanity and his death. Leaving Boromir, son of Denethor, the once steward, alone in the world.
Boromir could hear the words slipping from his mother's tongue as she sang to her children.
I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.
I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood and every spring
there is a different green.
I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
The Lady pulled her snow-white horse up to the lonely son and said once more, "You have a brother."
"I do indeed." The son sighed, the weight of the world that once hunched an elven prince resting on his shoulders, "I have neglected to care of him and in doing so isolated myself in greed."
"He is alive," The Lady told him, gently having the man look into her eyes as blue met grey. "Faramir walks as a man, and he can write like no other. Though he does not talk, to others anyway; I hear him call in his sleep, "Boromir! Brother!" Though he has never spoken aloud, I do believe he awaits you."
"Where is my brother?" The man we know to be Boromir asked the Lady.
"Take Persephone," The Lady handed the man the reigns of her snowy horse; "She knows the path."
And so the man saddled himself to the horse who took off East. The Lady smiled and melted into the snow, a shadowy figure racing faster than a thousand horsemen to the East.
The man came to an old brick building with the sign that read in large bold letters;
Mrs. O'Leary's Hospital for Premature Newborns
He walked inside where an ancient woman with white hair and wrinkled skin sat rocking in a wooden rocking chair. She stitched a patchwork quilt and payed no mind to her surroundings.
"Floor seven," The old woman finally said, still not looking up. Boromir gave a nod and silently thanked her as he began his walk up seven flights of stairs.
The door opened with a ring of silver bells, the Lady stood with a smile and greeted the other woman. "Good day to you Leona."
"My dear, good day." Leona greeted back, "Faramir would enjoy help on the seventh floor." Leona handed the now-finished quilt to the Lady for her to deliver.
The Lady walked up slowly and entered the room where Faramir sat on another rocking chair, holding a trembling infant of an ill mother. He smiled sadly at the child, the blessing of life.
The Lady laid the quilt along the infant's rag-covered body and rocked until the trembling stopped and the steady breaths of an infant stayed.
The bitter man that once was opened the door and looked disbelievingly at his brother. The brother was tall and thin with little muscle, his wisp of a beard had hardly made much an entrance but his eyes were like his brother's when he was little. They were full of hope and joy, like nothing could scare that out.
"Faramir." The eldest brother held his hand to the younger one's face as if to see whether he were truly there.
"My brother," Was the first thing Faramir said in his entire life. They exchange hugs held tight like they would never let go.
Faramir began to sing to the once more trembling child.
Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby.
Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep, pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
The infant never trembled again. Restored was harmony. And the Lady of Snow in her white robes and her blue cloak disappeared into a million snowflakes.
For she was Aidre, and in Winter did people hate. And so Aidre kept the love for all. Because the land known as Middle Earth may know it only as the 25th of December, but Aidre knew that nobody should be alone on Christmas.
How I remember sleepless nights
When we would read by candlelight,
And on the windowpane outside
A new world made of snow;
A million feathers falling down,
A million stars that touch the ground,
So many secrets to be found
Amid the falling snow.
Maybe I am falling down.
Tell me should I touch the ground?
Maybe I won't make a sound
In the darkness all around.
The silence of a winter's night
Brings memories I hold inside;
Remembering a blue moonlight
Upon the fallen snow.
Maybe I am falling down.
Tell me should I touch the ground?
Maybe I won't make sound
In the darkness all around.
I close my window to the night.
I leave the sky her tears of white.
And all is lit by candlelight
Amid the falling snow.
I told you slightly depressing if you're still on this. Anyway, for those of my readers of my Harry Potter stories, I will not be updating Christmas. I have a major Harry Potter writers block due to my need to finish Percy Jackson and Heroes of Olympus (who's Frank, confound it all) The only inspiration for this was the Trans Siberian Orchestra I went to see in TD Garden. I thought this would make up but it's really depressing when I went to re-read it. Oh well, you can't have everything. Maybe I'll whip up something for New Year's instead (though I won't post on New Year's).
Character roles-
Hobbits- Shire hobbits (Frodo, Sam, Merry, etc)
Ranger- Aragorn
Weighted elven prince- Legolas
"Son", second weighted man- Boromir
Brother- Faramir
Father- Denethor
Lady of Snow- Aidre
Shopkeeper- ?
Mrs. O'Leary- ?
Thanks to Tintcalad for overlooking this and always being by my side, whether in writing or friendship.
Moral of the story: Hate is everywhere in Winter, from getting stuck in traffic to parents fighting over cookies. But nobody should be alone on Christmas, if you see even a stray dog, please give it love for Christmas and then help them.
Merry Christmas to all.
~Arknox443275 Written 12/23/13 12:01 AM, Posted 12/25/13 10:56 PM