A Snowy Day

It was snowing in the Shire, as it often did in the middle of January. Faramir Took was rushing around the smial, finding all of his warm winter clothes. Some were in the wash, some were strewn on his bedroom floor and others he found in the most odd of places, such as the back of a chair in the dining room, and even hanging half-frozen out of the window.

Now he was ready to go outside, it was a particularly deep snowfall and Faramir really wanted to get outside and make snowhobbits. But he was by himself and that wasn't much fun, you couldn't even have a snowball fight. He racked his brains for anyone nearby that he wouldn't have to waste half the day walking, or riding, to. He found the perfect person, his father.

The sixteen-year-old went to the study where he knew he would find his father, working most likely, or at least pretending to work. His mother had told him how his father wasn't very fond of snow, it was something to do with his adventure, but he didn't know quite what because his mother wouldn't allow him to read the Red book of Westmarch yet. He could only get bits and pieces out of his father. He'd been promised that he could read it all next year, and he was looking forward to it.

"Dad," said Faramir in a typical child-calling-parent manner.

"Yes," said Peregrin in a typical parent-answering-child manner.

"Will you come out and play in the snow with me?"

"No, sorry I'm working." answered Pippin, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

"Dad, you're drawing trees."

"For my book, yes."

"You're drawing trees with stickhobbits having picnics underneath. You can't persuade me that you're going to put that in your book." Pippin looked up and met his son's eyes. His son stared defiantly back but no emotion showed on Pippin's face. A smile finally broke on to his lips.

"You're right, I'm not working. But you know full well that I've had enough snow to last me three lifetimes, I need no more." He lay his quill down and sat back in his chair, his arms crossed across his chest, studying Faramir.

"You may not like snow," said Faramir, "But you like playing with me don't you?"

"Of course I do! But surely you can think-" Pippin stopped in his tracks as a though dawned on him, "Your mother didn't put you up to this did she?"

"O Dad, you've been in this study for far too long, when was the last time I did something Mum told me to?"

"Your eleventh birthday when you were told to bring the cake out as far as I can remember."

"Yes, and that was five years ago. Now come on! You know I'll get you outside, even if I have to drag you by the ankle." Pippin recognised that threat, he had used it many times over the years.

"You think you can drag me by the ankle do you?" Pippin raised his eyebrow. Faramir stood tall and held his head high.

"I will if I have to," Pippin stood up, a grin playing about his lips and walked slowly towards his son. Faramir's demeanour broke and he stepped back from his father, looking slightly worriedly up at him. Pippin flashed a little wicked grin and in no time at all had managed to flip Faramir off his feet, onto his back and was dragging the screaming teen out of the study by his ankle.

Out in the hall, Pippin let Faramir up and he dusted himself down and looked angrily at his father.

"Does this mean you're coming out with me?" Pippin laughed and helped Faramir dust himself down.

"Perhaps," he said simply.

"Perhaps? What do you mean 'perhaps'?" replied Faramir rather indignantly.

"I mean that if you can find all of my warm clothes, then I shall most certainly come out with you," Faramir scrutinised his father.

"It's going to be like that is it?"

"Certainly is," agreed Pippin. Faramir nodded and walked very quickly towards his parents' bedroom. "And if your mother complains about the mess then you get the blame!" Pippin called after him.

Faramir returned surprisingly quickly with a pile of clothes. "What state is the bedroom in?" said Pippin, sounding slightly worried. Faramir dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"We'll have time after we get back," Pippin deemed Faramir's reckoning rather dubious but decided not to mention it. Instead he inspected the clothes Faramir had brought out. Faramir had collected most of what he needed, mixed in with some other things which wouldn't be so appropriate.

"Would this suit me?" asked Pippin, holding an old brown frock up to himself. Faramir giggled,

"Perhaps I wasn't quite so thorough as I should have been," Pippin laughed with his but got changed, throwing any things he wouldn't be wearing back to Faramir. Faramir clucked his tongue.

"Getting changed in your own front hall, what would your mother say?"

"Most likely nothing so bad as when your mother sees the state of our bedrooms. I've seen your bedroom too lad! It's in a terrible state!"

"You're starting to sound like Mum," Said Faramir quite down-heartedly.

"Ah, but she makes the mistake of trying to make you do something about it. I, however, believe it is up to you if you want to live in a pig sty,"

"Thank you," said Faramir in mock solemnity as he turned, with the spare clothes and put them back in the master bedroom, no doubt just dumping them on the bed.

Pippin took his cloak from the peg, it was his elven cloak as it had resisted all signs of age, almost like the elves themselves, no matter how many times five-year-old Faramir had taken it upon himself to climb up onto his father's head by way of the cloak. He fixed it at the neck, using the brooch he was given in Lorien, it always amazed his acquaintances, with whom he did business, that the brooch had not broken in all those years. Faramir re-emerged into the hall and went to join his father. He took his hand.

"Right, I'm going to show you how to have fun in the snow," said Faramir matter-of-factly.

"My dear boy, I need no one to show me how to have fun, in the snow or otherwise,"

"Very well then, I shall re-acquaint you the pleasures of snow,"

"That's more like it,"

"Ready then Dad?"

"We're hardly scaling a cliff Faramir, of course I'm ready!" Faramir smiled at his father, threw the door open and ran out. Snow swirled in and landed on the mat where it melted. Pippin could feel the familiar sensation of cold air blowing on his face, but he was determined to enjoy himself. He took a deep breath and found himself with a freezing ball of snow in his face and a laughing Faramir standing a few yards off. Pippin's eyes narrowed.

"Right my lad! That's the last you'll see of your kind father! You've got a war on you hands now!" and Pippin ran out into the white world, shutting the door behind him.