The cold bit Findekáno's skin. Piercing his face and hands with it's sharp, needle like teeth. Crawling under his heavy cloak and creeping inside his bones, until he felt it was an essential part of his being. Sneaking into his mind, until he thought, he had never known and would never know any kind of warmth.

It was fun to think about how warm it had been in Middle Earth, when the telerin ships had provided enough wood to create an inferno. He wondered, whether Maitimo had been comforted by it's warmth. Had he felt any kind of regret, when he had abandoned his soulmate. No, Findekáno forced himself to think, not his soulmate. His cousin.

He was still trying to convince his heart of what his mind already held to be true: That Maitimo had chosen his family over their friendship, strategy over love. Nevertheless, he still still kept the quill his cousin had given him as a present so long ago. Now, he took it out of his pocket and scribbled on the dusty layer of snow that covered the icy surface of the lake they were crossing. Winding trees, delicate ornaments, symbols of any kind and finally words:

Dear Nelyo,

He wrote, as if it was on white parchment. As if it still meant something. What should he even write?

It is your fault. That would be accurate.

I miss you. That would be true.

"What have you got there, brother?"

Findekáno looked up in surprise, only to see Turukáno and Arkáno looking over his shoulder gloomily. The older one had hardly smiled the past days and it hurt Findekáno more than anything else, to see sharp lines of anger carving into his face.

"Nothing, it's just a gift from- from no one."

The Turukáno rolled his eyes mockingly: "I see... from your friend..."

"Turukáno, l don't think, this is the right time," Arkáno tried to interrupt, but was cut of by the older brother: "Your friend who burned the ships and left you here to that wretched death."

"He would never do that," the words were out before Findekáno had time to think about them. It was just so natural to believe in them, yet Turkáno's and even Arkáno's face told him, that he shouldn't have said that.

"Well," Turkáno's voice dripped with disdain, "he already has,"

He didn't finish his sentence, but flinched as if struck by an arrow. Findekáno frowned, only to feel the side of his face being hit by something cold and wet. In horror he raised his hand to his collar and found "Snow?"

"Hey boys," a cheerful voice caught their attention, when their sister Irissё appeared from behind a snowdrift, "stop being so gloomy."

She bent down, picked up some snow and formed a ball.

"Especially not, when I found out we could do this!"

The missile cut the air, this time to hit Arkáno's shoulder. The elve shrieked, jumped to his feet and ran towards Irissё. "Come on", he shouted over his shoulder, while dodging a snowball that nearly hit his head, "this is fun!"

His excitement was contagious and soon Findekáno and Turukáno found themselves engaged in a real snow battle between the siblings. It was a cold, wet, ugly mess, yet none of them could stop laughing. Snowballs cut the air, hitting their target just as often as they hit it. Soon, water dripped down Findekáno's neck. He was sweating and panting, when he tackled down Irissё. It wasn't long until all four of them lay in the snow, exhausted, with red cheeks, but smiling happily at the stars above. Only Arkáno walked around, rolling snowballs thrice the size of his brothers' heads. Findekáno really, really hoped, this one wouldn't land on his face. Irissё, lying next to him, raised her arms, then opened and closed her legs to push snow away. Then she stood up to examine her work and immediately burst into laughter: "That looks like Eonwe," she giggled, "see, there are his wings."

Arkáno looked at it doubtfully. "It's rather two-dimensional," he judged, "look at mine."

To everyone's astonishment he had piled three gigantic snowballs and carved a face into the highest one.

"But this one has no wings," Irissё defended her own snow-Maia, "it looks more like Ossё. At least his head."

"Who said it was Eonwe anyway?"

Findekáno smiled, when their argument turned into friendly teasing. He looked at Turukáno and realized, that this was probably the first time in weeks he saw a smile on his brother's face. Maybe he had lost a friend, but that didn't mean he was alone. He might be sad but his life wasn't without joy because of it. Despite the cold that surrounded them, he suddenly felt comfortably warm.

Here we go... Third and (probably) last Christmas-oneshot for this year and it isn't even really christmassy (somehow that doesn't seem like an existing word...). Those names really freaked me out, because calling them Fingon, Turgon, etc. is so much easier. It just doesn't make any sence! Yet, Quenya-names suck, that's a fact!

Irissё is Aredhel; Findekáno (I hope) is Fingon; Turukáno is Turgon and Arkáno is Argon. He doesn't appear in the Silmarillion and I didn't know him until a few months ago. Yet, because so few people know him, he deserves more support. Let's make Argon popular!

Also, some of you may have noticed, that I refered to one of the former christmas-oneshots here (one abot Fingon and Maedhros having a snowfight). The quill and one of the sentences come from there.

Anyway, have a wonderful, wonderful Christmas, all of you! Take time to recover from this year; spend the day with someone you love and who loves you; text someone you haven't had contact with but who deserves and needs a "Merry Christmas". Be kind and thankful and loving and never forget: Half of the darkness is over.