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One chilly winter's morning, the young Crown Prince of Gondor woke up rather suddenly. It was so cold that he burrowed into his heavy quilt, trying to conserve some heat and mentally prepare himself for getting up.

He realised after a while that the day would have to be faced sooner rather than later, and so, gritting his teeth, he swung himself out of bed, rubbing his arms which were suddenly covered in gooseflesh. Yawning, trying to wake himself up, he poked a finger through the thin sheet of ice that covered the surface of the large jug at his washstand, and splashed some of the icy water onto his face. This made him shiver even more, so he dressed as quickly as he could.

Then he went to his window, and pulled open the curtains, thrusting the window open for a breath of fresh air. The sight that met his eyes made him gasp in delight.

The entire city of Minas Tirith - of which he had a satisfying view from his first floor bedroom in the King's House - was covered in a thin sheet of snow, barely an inch thick but nonetheless absolutely transforming the magnificent city. In the city, snow was a very rare occurence- Eldarion knew the last time it had snowed properly was a good five years ago, before Almárëa was even born. It would be melted by midday, but there was still time to enjoy it before then. And what luck that his best friends, Elfwine and Elboron, had arrived with their families the other day for the Yuletide Council!

He smiled at the thought of the fun they would have together. It was still early though, and the two were probably not even -

Eldarion was suddenly shocked out of his pleasant reverie by a huge ball of snow, aimed right at his face, hitting its target straight on. Spluttering in shock, he glared over the windowsill at the conspiratorial cousins, who were roaring with laughter and holding onto one another for support. Elfwine, it seemed, despite his young age, had an excellent throwing arm.

"You beasts! Just wait 'til I get you!" Eldarion yelled, spitting snow out of his mouth and shaking his head to get rid of the stuff in his hair. The two took no notice of his fury and laughed even harder, and this was the last straw. He dashed downstairs- thankful that he had already got changed into warmer garments than his thin night clothes- to avenge his wounded pride. An all-out snowball fight ensued. They were joined after a while by little Túrien, who warmed up quickly after her initial fit of shivering and could throw with almost as much accuracy as Elfwine himself, and Éowyn, who came to scold but ended up enjoying herself almost as much as the children.

Their antics came to an abrupt halt when Faramir, coming to see what was taking his wife so long, took matters into his own hands and sent the children inside to warm up. Éowyn took Túrien away to have a bath, and the three boys were left to their own devices.

"Of course Uncle had to come and spoil our fun," Elfwine complained, towelling his hair vigorously. "I was in the middle of beating you all singlehandedly when he showed up."

"If we stayed out any longer I think my fingers might just have fallen off," Elboron shivered, holding said fingers towards the bright roaring fire with an expression of utmost relief. Eldarion quickly joined him, glad of the warmth. "Do you know what I really could do with now?" He asked suddenly, stretching out on the comfortable easy-chair he was perched on.

"Some nice big mince pies."

Elboron's eyes lit up. "Oh I love those. Your cook makes the absolute best. A sprinkling of powder sugar and cinnamon on top.... makes all the difference really. And we haven't had breakfast yet!" Eldarion nodded in agreement, eyes half closed as he basked in the heat of the fire. He could feel the tips of his fingers tingling as they slowly warmed up.

Elfwine was still disgruntled. "The one time it snows in the so-called white city and all you two want is breakfast."

"Oh, but my dear cousin, if you haven't had one of these particular mince pies, then you haven't lived. The rare times we come to Minas Tirith in the winter I always make a point of eating as many as I can because our cook at home only makes small ones that are barely filled. Yuletide spirit, you know? Come on."

"I'm afraid I must agree with Elboron. Let's go find some mince pies, and if you're still up for it, we can have a rematch after breakfast. One cannot avenge one's snowballed pride on an empty stomach," Eldarion reasoned. Elfwine agreed with this - after all he was hungry - and so the three youths went in search of some of cook's mince pies.

Elboron insisted they ask the cook first, just to be polite, but the usually kindly palace cook had fallen ill and a different woman had taken charge of the kitchens while she recovered. She sent the boys away with bad grace, telling them to wait for their proper breakfast, and the kitchens had so much to do in preparation for the Yuletide banquet that they could hardly spare the time to make mince pies. After politely apologising, the three boys ducked behind a corner to plot their plans.

"You could demand for them to make some," Elfwine suggested halfheartedly, but this idea was instantly shot down. "Of course I won't, what's the fun in that? Now listen here- one of us will distract that awful woman while the others sneak through the window and get the pies. The kitchens always have at least one window open while working- I'm told the heat in there can get unbearable even in midwinter." Eldarion's plan was hardly the most original, but they boys knew from experience that it worked.

"The usual positions and signals, then. Let's go!"

Elboron went to wait at the kitchen door while the other two found a way to climb through an open window. He was hardly waiting two minutes when two of Elfwine's piercing whistles were heard. That was his cue, and he knocked.

"My lord?" The stand-in head cook had not answered the door this time, rather a timid servant girl. Elboron put on his most winning smile, and began to tell a long, well rehearsed story about how Queen Arwen had sent him to say that baby Almárëa was feeling under the weather- she had a slight cough, and did not want to wake- and would she be so kind as to make some nice clear broth to bring her back to her usual high spirits? It wouldn't do at all to have the youngest princess of Gondor sick before Yule, and-

Running footsteps were heard, but they were too light to be those of the two princes. He hadn't heard the signal, and the two were taking longer than usual. But the mystery was solved when princess Eruthiawen rounded the corner, a rather worried expression on her face. Her cheeks were pink from the cold air, and Elboron bit back an admiring smile. She hardly gave him a second glance, though, and began to speak to the servant girl, who was looking increasingly more confused.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to disturb in your banquet preparations but could you please possible spare a moment to make a light meat broth for my sister? Poor little Almárëa is feeling slightly ill, and Father does not want anything serious to befall her so close to Yuletide." Elboron was wondering how Eruthia knew his usual distraction speech and whether to warn her he had already said it- also wondering why the princess was suddenly in on their quest for mince pies- when it dawned upon him that this must mean Almárëa was actually ill. He felt rather guilty, but was spared from awkward evasions by three piercing whistles.

"Er... yes, what the princess said! Thank you, ladies!" Elboron dashed away hurriedly to the usual rendezvous point, two pairs of curious eyes staring after him.

"Well, Elboron, how went the distracting? Elfwine and I ran into some.... problems, but look here." Eldarion gestured to the six steaming hot mince pies that were nestled on a plate in Elfwine's arms, just waiting to be eaten. Elboron's mouth watered, but he wanted to know how their side of the adventure went first.

"Well, Elfwine insisted on going first, and he almost gave the entire game away by falling rather heavily over a cage of live chickens, which made an almighty racket. We hid behind a dresser, and by some miracle we escaped unseen, thought how we managed it with this clumsy oaf here the Valar only know." Eldarion grinned, dodging the Prince of Rohan's threatening fist.

"Pah! Who do you think swiped the pies in the first place?" Elfwine looked down at them longingly. "They do smell nice, I'll grant. Hurry up with your tale, cousin, I'm starving."

"Well, everything was going well- the poor girl was was looking concerned and everything- when who rounded the corner but Eruthiawen, all urgent, and tells the maid the exact same story. By Eru, I was so confused, but it turns out poor Almárëa is actually sick -" seeing Eldarion's worried expression, he was quick to reassure- "Not seriously, Eruthia said she was only slightly ill. But then I heard the signal, and I took to my heels."

Laughing and chattering, the three boys shared out the mince pies, and Elfwine pronounced them delicious, which they were. Then, after a quick glance at Almárëa, to check there was nothing seriously wrong, they went outside again and flung snow around until there was nothing left to throw, thoroughly enjoying  themselves.

Eldarion loved being in the company of his best friends, his brothers in all but blood.

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