Disclaimer: I own none of it. I never have and never will. The most I can do is merely borrow it for my own fun. And that is exactly what I am doing.

Author's Note: I've been playing with this idea for a long time. And seeing as how I did not slept a wink last night and instead slept all day, I am wide-awake right now. And this is what I am doing with this extra energy despite the fact I am stuck on my other fic Pranks of the Summer (go read it and review please). So anyhow, yeah. And before I forget, please review. Onwards.


It snowed lightly outside and the full moon reflected giving it an eerie feel to many people. But no to Faramir. No. This was one of the happiest days of his life. Faramir looked down at the little bundle in his arms. His newly born daughter, barely three hours old, shifted slightly with a small yawn. He smiled as he looked to his beloved wife, Èowyn, fast asleep after such a strenuous birth. But his thoughts lead him back to his new child...

::Faramir's POV::

I trace my daughter's sleeping face with my finger gently and smiled as she shifts gently and murmurs in complaint but settles quickly.

My beautiful baby girl. Ah. I never thought that your mother would give me a beautiful girl such as yourself. Èowyn and I thought she would give me a boy considering how much of fight you put up just a few hours ago. Never did we foresee a girl. But it is quite obvious you have Èowyn's fighting spirit.

I still cannot get over the fact that I am a father to this precious child. She is so beautiful... her hair is not like her mother's or mine. It is a mix: a beautiful dirty blonde-- more brown though then blonde. But you have my eyes, dark and soulful. But you have Èowyn's nose and my mouth. It is beautiful.

You are waking now. And you look upon me, your father, for the second time in your short life. A look of curiosity is spread among your features. I smile again and offer you my finger to which you grab tightly, unwilling to give up your newfound possession. "You are a gift from above," I whisper gently to you. Your small hand grips tighter on my finger.

But you still need a name. Èowyn and I had many names picked for a son but none of those would suit you. You are our daughter. Not our son. "What are you to be named, little one?" I ask looking out the window to the snow covered night and back to you. "You are born in the middle of winter, one of the coldest winters in a long time. But you come to give warmth during the cold season. A child such as yourself needs to have a special name."

I start to go over name within my head and coming across and elvish name in particular.

"Losswen," I whisper. Losswen is the perfect name. "It means snow maiden, my little Losswen because that is what you are. You bring warmth to me and your mother during the coldest winter in years."

I smile thinking of it. My little Losswen, my perfect, little daughter.

I will raise you better than my own father ever did. You already have my unconditional love, even before the moment you came into this world. I will never make the same mistakes that he did with me. No. I will be the perfect father to you.

"I can see it now, little Losswen," I say still in a whisper. "You will grow up into a beautiful woman like your mother and ride horses better than anyone. You'll be one of the finest swordsmen in all of Rohan and Gondor. And will turn heads with everyone you meet. Just like you mother did with me."

You look tired again. Perhaps I am bothering you too much with my incessant talking, Losswen.

I begin to hum a lullaby that my mother use to sing to Boromir and me. And quietly, Losswen closes her small eyelids and slips back sleep.

I would never let anyone take her from Èowyn and me, my beautiful little Losswen.


Èowyn opened her eyes slightly, expecting that it was day but much to her surprise it was still night. She could hear Faramir speaking in a whisper. "I can see it now, little Losswen. You will grow up into a beautiful woman like your mother and ride horses better than anyone. You'll be one of the finest swordsmen in all of Rohan and Gondor. And will turn heads with everyone you meet. Just like you mother did with me." But she soon hears Faramir begin to hum softly to their daughter until and allowed herself to listen until his song finally ceased.

"Faramir?" came her voice sleepily.

"Speak softly, Èowyn. Losswen has just finally fallen asleep again," he said in a hush whisper.

Èowyn sat up in bed, still drowsy from the whole birth. "Losswen? Is that what you have name our daughter, love?" He nodded walking quietly and placing Losswen in her mother's arms. Losswen did not wake to the stranger's presence instead recognizing this new presence as her mother despite being asleep.

Faramir sat next to Èowyn on the big bed and peered over her shoulder. "Yes. It is an elvish name that means 'snow maiden.' I think is an appropriate name since she was born during the winter and has brought warmth to our lives during one of the coldest winters in years," whispered Faramir softly.

Faramir drew Èowyn into an embrace as she contemplated Faramir's reasons. "You have contradicted yourself," she whispered. "A snow maiden is not one who brings warmth usually. Rather, she is has a beauty that is like this wintry evening."

"Just like her mother; always contradicting me," Faramir said softly kissing Èowyn. "And there are exceptions to everything, like my reasoning. Losswen has a snow maiden who has brought warmth into our lives and has the beauty of a wintry evening such as this. You always have to be right."

"And she'll be the same way."

"She is already much like you. She has you're fighting spirit, my dear and your beauty."

Èowyn smiled and looked down at her daughter. Faramir was right. Her daughter, the snow maiden, had brought warmth into the hearts of her parents. Especially Faramir. "You shall make an excellent father, Faramir," she whispered.

Faramir's heart swelled with pride and looked down upon Losswen. Yes, he would just do that. He would be the perfect father.