A/N: Written for the Itty Bitty Festivities December Prompts from /r/fanfiction!

"December 1: Traditions
Think of your favorite holiday tradition (for any holiday) and translate it into the world of your story or finagle it into working with your characters. (500)"

Minas Tirith was a magical place once the snow began to fall.

During the winter, as the days became shorter and the nights longer, people would place candles in their windows earlier and earlier. To make the city more festive, people began to put colorful pieces of glass in front of each candle, creating a rainbow of colors throughout the city. As more people did it, it became a much anticipated event, and it became more and more elaborate. Houses higher up in the city and houses with many windows began to organize their lights to create patterns, rows of windows creating simple images and shapes. The city would shine bright during the wintry nights, and the lights would illuminate the snow that rested on the window sills.

Faramir had always enjoyed walking around with his big brother, taking it all in and imagining that they were living somewhere magical. In his mind, Elven cities would have a similar aura. There was something cozy, something comforting, about the light that shone on their faces as they roamed the streets. To him, the lights began to represent the joy that was felt during the holidays, times when he and his brother were able to spend time together away from their duties.

Unfortunately, as his father's mind began to unravel and the city neglected, the tradition had come to a standstill. Once the king was crowned and Faramir moved to his new home in Ithilien, Aragorn wrote to him letting him know that he had heard of the tradition and was determined to encourage the people's interest in it. Now that he was a father, he felt it was his duty to pass the experience on to his son - he wanted Elboron to have felt the joy of the Lights of Minas Tirith, and of course wanted to share with him as many memories of his brother as possible.

With one arm around Eowyn's waist and the other holding their toddler son, the three roamed along the streets of Minas Tirith. He supposed it was because it had been so long since he had seen the lights, but they seemed more elaborate, more colorful, than ever before. Perhaps the people were so excited to have the lights back that they took the chance to really showcase their creativity. One home had hung the candles to create the White Tree, while another had created a colored pattern so intricate it appeared woven.

As they walked, he spoke to his son of all the times he had taken the same path with the boy's uncle, pointing out houses whose lights had always been so elaborate, trying to describe to him all the different ways that they had been adorned. Several times the stories devolved into a tale of other winter time activities that the brothers had participated in. Sliding down the hills of Emyn Arnen, snowball fights in the courtyard, warming their cold and ruddy faces by the fire while drinking something warm. Boromir had always made the best hot chocolate, and Faramir had been so excited when his brother had finally revealed to him his secret ingredient.

Eowyn placed a comforting hand on her husband's arm, sensing that the nostalgia was making him greatly emotional. "Perhaps we can make it for little Elboron tonight?" she offered.

Faramir nodded, and turned towards their son. The little boy's eyes were wide with wonder, vibrant colors reflected in them.