"What is it with you Númenoreans and snow?" Círdan asked, smiling, as they watched the delight of the men in their camp.
"You would call this snow?" Elendil retorted, but he, too, was smiling.
In truth this wet slush was barely worth the name, Elendil thought, but he doubted Mordor would oblige by giving them a perfect fall of dense, not quite dry, flakes that were the best for making snowb… Curse it, now he was doing it.
In Imladris, before the armies marched, he had helped young Valandil make a snowman. He missed his adoptive home and its winter.
Originally written for Aruthir's Birthday, January 2013
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.