Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this
The cold spans Minas Tirith like a dome; encrusting the city with crystal rime.
Faramir’s eyelashes are stiff with frost as he walks down the library towards Gandalf and the fireplace with cups of hot, strong drink...for greeting the winter solstice.
Nothing is said...but they know it is their last lesson.
The whispers of the library, as from a giant shell, brush by through the crackling of pine logs...merging with sounds of forests and rivers in Faramir’s mind.
Gandalf looks at him with affection...and a kind of wistful joy. Faramir ignores the burn behind his eyelids and raises his cup.