I ask no permission before I descend. I hide sharp edges and blur where things end. I have sheltered kings from winter's bite, And spared their allies from judgment's light. I may silence a mountain beneath silent white, Or smother dissent with a single decree. Whatever lies beneath me, Soon becomes harder to see. What am I?

What do you call a group of killer whales playing instruments?

I glide on a mirror without any wheels, A coat of pure snow from my head to my heels. With a neck like an 'S' and a royal, calm grace, I rule over ripples in my watery place.

Glorious trees, sometimes with a weeping sounding name, that stand tall and proud, providing lots of shade.

I wear a suit of armored scales, With jaws that snap and a tail that flails, A swampy king, where danger prevails.