Disclaimer: Again, no one here is mine. Well, actually, most of the characters are mine, Holtz isn't. And yes, I did a little bit of background research; with the possible exception of the snows, all of these are 18th century or previous, so Holtz would, indeed, know them. I checked. :)

It seemed that everyone had arrived over the course of the next hour. Holtz was introduced to a passel of varied folk including the Earl of Selkirk, a French noblewoman, a Moorish Marquis, and a trio of what he would have sworn to be gypsies, except that once the Lady Rose had brought them into the parlor they had ceased the raucuous and boisterous behavior he'd heard in the hall and behaved like perfectly civilized young men and women. Two young men, specifically, and one young woman, all with similar features. Brothers and a sister, he concluded.

The parlor was becoming slightly crowded, but fortunately not too much so, and while he stood slightly apart from the main group they seemed to be content to leave him alone for the most part. Every once in a while Morgan wandered by and said a few brief words, or Rose would stop for long enough to make sure that he was all right where he was. Once, Sebastien stopped by him and they had a brief conversation about the morality of life and death that left Holtz feeling shaken, drained, peculiarly relieved and immensely disconcerted. He had a brief glass of the wine that was being passed around after that. He saw Rose stare at him after Sebastien had left, watching him as though she was trying to figure out what had happened, and then he saw her narrow her eyes and tug the man with the cane off into an alcove. He wasn't sure what happened beyond that. Slowly he was starting to get the idea that rank, here, in this place, had very little to do with social standing or wealth or anything normally measured by man.

The chiming of a bell interrupted this train of thought. He didn't see where it was being rung, but Geoffrey appeared in the doorway a few seconds afterwards. "Ladies, Gentlemen... if you will come this way, dinner is being served in the dining hall."

Just how big was this place, Holtz wondered. He hadn't really seen it from the outside, but it seemed to be a sizable home, perhaps even a manse somewhere. He followed the crowd into the dining hall, where the majordomo and two maids who appeared to be no more than fifteen seated them all at their places. Holtz found himself seated between Morgan's father and Ronan. Rose, as was to be expected, sat at the head of the table.

The blessing was simple, but profound. "Thank you for this food we are about to recieve, Lord, and for the company in which we recieve it. Thank you for the fortunes of this year past, and bless and keep safe the ones who were not as lucky. In nomine patri et filii et spiritus sancti, amen."

There was a chorus of murmured 'amen's from around the table and the first course was brought in. Soups of four savory kinds were accompanied by steamed vegetables of some sort in what he thought was an oriental style, as well as a giant roast. To Holtz's mild surprise Rose took on the role of the host, carving the roast and serving it up. Each dish was savory and delicious, some of the best food he had had in a long, long time. The dinner conversation proved to be much lighter, it seemed, than had occured earlier in the parlor, if only because there was less of it. When all dishes had been served wine was poured all around, and a toast was made.

"To our teachers, mentors, and friends of the past; may we always remember how dearly they paid for the lessons we learned." There was a chorus all around to similar tunes, and Holtz cautiously sipped at the wine as the dishes were cleared and the second course brought out.

The second course and the desserts proceeded much the same as the first. Rose served in the host's capacity, and toasts followed each course. The second toast was apparently "To friends, present and absent," and the third, "To the next generation." Holtz was wryly beginning to note a theme. And from the way a good half of the guests were reciting the toasts along with her, the theme was more of a tradition. Not a bad one at that, he thought, staring down at the wine in his glass.

"I thought you were supposed to do that with tea," Randall commented dryly. Around them the after-dinner conversations were slowly drawing to a close, everyone more interested in letting their food settle than talking about anything in particular.

Holtz chuckled, divining his meaning. "Just... thinking," he said. Randall nodded, seeming to understand, but Holtz for some reason was compelled to ask, "What does she mean by the toasts?"

The other man looked down the table where the Lady was making quiet conversation with the Moorish Marquis. "Well, she's told you something of what we all share in common, right?" He nodded slowly. "One of the reasons she calls us all here is because this time of year, when everyone normally celebrates with their family, is a very sad time for us. And she believes that no one should be lonely on Christmas. However, she also believes in remembering and honoring the memories of what we've done, our friends and family. So, the toasts."

Holtz nodded slowly. "I think I understand."

Randall kept staring down the length of the table. "Sometimes I wonder how many of these feasts she's had, and when she started this tradition," he mused more to himself than to Holtz.

Holtz followed his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"As long as I've known her, she's been having these dinners... and I've known her for a long time. They say she's over a thousand years old... which I don't believe, but she can't be much younger."

Holtz stared, slackjawed, from one to the other. "How old are you?" he asked, not thinking at the time enough to realize that it might have been rude to ask that. Fortunately the man didn't seen to take offense. He chuckled.

"A respectable age of fifty three. As for how I know how old she is..." he shrugged slightly. "Things she says. She doesn't speak of it often, but sometimes she thinks back to a court neither of us have seen... Richard's court, or Elizabeth's. It happens."

Holtz stared down the table at the young woman who seemed to be no more than twenty-five. It explained so much about her... and at the same time it explained absolutely nothing at all, and raised more questions than he was comfortable with. However, at that point they were all cheerfully herded into what appeared to be a giant ballroom, appointed at one end with couches to form a sort of miniature lounge, and he had no opportunity to question her further.

* * *

Half an hour later Holtz still hadn't gotten to talk to the woman, nor was he any closer to figuring out where he knew her from. If she really was a thousand years old as that man had claimed, it might explain why she looked familiar; he could have run into her at either point in his life. And yet, there was something...

For now, though, his surroundings and the company he found himself in were doing an excellent job at keeping him distracted. Randall had proved to be an interesting conversational companion. They had been joined briefly by the Moorish Marquis, who proceeded to say something acerbic and dryly witty about everyone in the room before moving on without them being any the wiser as to who he was or where he was the Marquis of. Shortly thereafter they were joined by Ronan and Morgan, the one seeming to court the other.

Time passed slowly now, or it seemed to, and as the night wore on he found himself becoming more and more relaxed around the three of them, even with their friends slipping in and out of the conversational circle. He wouldn't have burdened Ronan with it, but when the young man went off to fetch water for Morgan he found himself telling her and her father about Caroline, and about Angelus and Darla, and what had happened that day and that evening.

Morgan took it better than her father, which surprised him in a way. "I remember what that was like," she said softly after he had told her the story. "You never forget the smell of your children burning alive in a slow pyre." Her voice was almost more bitter than his had been.

"No," he said half to himself, "Not really."

"I was out riding that day, you know..." she said softly. "It was the first day in a long while that I had discharged all my duties in time to go riding while it was still light out. I'd just gone as far as two hills over, which on those horses was not far at all. I'd spent some time with a friend there and was heading back when we saw the smoke over the hill."

"And when you realized, you ran back as fast as the horse could carry you, knowing that you weren't going to arrive in time, wishing you could go faster. Wishing you had known, or seen what would have happened. Wishing you hadn't left them alone."

Morgan nodded slowly. "When I finally arrived, the entire house was ablaze. I couldn't see anyone, not even the few servants we had about the place. My horse, as horses will, took fright and ran, dumping me on the ground. I don't think I even noticed."

It was Holtz's turn to nod. "And even after years have gone by... there still must have been something you could have done."

"Something you failed to do. But there wasn't."

Morgan's eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. Holtz actually felt slightly bad about bringing it up... but it had been good to finally say it, to tell someone. And from the relieved expression on her face, it had done her some good as well. Ronan returned after an overly long run to the kitchens, and the vampire hunter had the distinct impression he'd done it deliberately, to give them time to talk.

"Everything all right, then?" the young red-headed man asked, smiling slightly as though he knew what had happened, which he probably did.

"Yes, Ronan," she smiled slightly at her friend. "Everything's all right."

Holtz nodded too, and actually found it in himself to smile reassuringly. Ronan nodded, smiling slightly back. Randall stood over them all, looking for all intents and purposes like a protective parent. Holtz was deciding whether to be irritated or amused (or even pleased) when the first notes of the piano chimed through the room.

* * *

"Oh the snow it melts the soonest

When the winds begin to sing

And the corn it ripens fastest

When the frost is setting in

And when a young man tells me that my face he'll soon forget

Before we part I'd bet a crown

He'd be fain to follow it yet."

A thousand years or no, the Lady Rose certainly had a beautiful voice. Sebastien, of all people, was accompanying her expertly on the piano as she sang softly, careful not to drown out the conversation. It wasn't precisely a Christmas tune, but it was a winter song, and beautiful to boot.

Morgan and Ronan and Damien and a few others, including the dark-haired trio, had joined her after the first two songs. They'd sang a few hymns together, drawing the attention of the entire crowd, and now Rose was back to singing solo again. Normally it was the sort of occupation that was reserved for the entertainment class, and the only folk of that sort Holtz saw were the dark-haired trio. Still...

"All hail to the days that merit more praise..."

He looked around again. She'd drawn more of a crowd this time to sing with her... and now he saw why. She was beckoning people to her, seeming to know who could hold a tune and who could not, and she was not taking no for an answer.

Blue eyes caught and held his as he realized abruptly that she was waiting for him. He shook his head vehemently. He did not sing. Not in front of others, anyway. She smiled slightly, eyes pleading gently for him to join them. Out of politeness' sake none of the other singers were helping her, but even so it was hard enough for him to resist. Still, he shook his head. She chuckled softly, shrugged, and went on.

"God rest ye merry Gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born on Christmas day..."

Holtz leaned back, grateful for the reprieve and for the good singing. The lighting was starting to give the room a sort of warm, pleasent golden glow. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the exhaustion... or the fact that, finally, he was able to relax.

He hadn't realized until he had stepped through the doors of the manse, and not even really then, how alien the world he had been thrown into was. He hadn't realized what he was getting into until he found himself back in familiar surroundings, albeit richer than he was used to. The world two centuries into the future that the demon had thrust him into was brighter, faster, louder, ruder.. more violent and vicious and unforgiving than even he was used to. The guns, the weapons of such destructive power that even he was taken aback by it (though still disappointed that Angelus and Darla had escaped their just ends).

Here in Rose's home, things were quiet again. There wasn't the constant shrilling and humming of background noise; in fact, the only background noise was the quiet buzz of conversation and the soft singing, which he was quite prepared to deal with. It was an immense relief, one he didn't notice until he was in the middle of it. He knew he should reject it, in case it made him soft. For the moment, however, he didn't care.

"Lully lulla

Thou little tiny child

By by lully lulla..."

Holtz smiled slightly. He did remember that song; it was one he had sung himself, to his daughter, at Christmas time. Rose and Morgan and two other women he vaguely recognized were singing it now. He allowed himself the luxury of letting the music wash over him, letting himself drift in the familiar settings and the slight drowsiness of too much wine and good, rich food. He found himself singing along.

"The Holly and the Ivy

When they are both full grown

Of all the trees that are in the wood

The holly bears the crown."

The round, as the name might have suggested, went around the room. Holtz found himself pleased by how many of the folk gathered could sing. It echoed pleasently throughout the room, varying just enough in pitch to be pleasing and resonating in a beautiful manner even after the last person had dropped.

* * *

The singing continued for another hour or so, at which point several of the young women conspired to pull the young men into a dance. This, it actuallly appeared, was more Caitlin and a young woman named Viola's idea than any of the young men's. Morgan's recruitment of her father brought the next generation into it, and before Holtz knew what was happening to him he found himself doing a variant on a Moresca with Rose, who was smiling ruefully.

"I am not responsible for this," she said softly, chuckling.

"I think it was actually an excuse on Caitlin's part, to ensnare Ronan and Morgan," Holtz glanced over at the couple, and Rose followed his gaze. Then she chuckled again.

"Yes... you noticed that too." She smiled. "It will be good for both of them, I think, even if it never goes beyond the stage of courtship. Ronan has not, you may have noticed, been the most social over the past few years, due to.. well. Due to his past."

Holtz nodded slowly. He didn't know the specific causes, but he could empathize. "He seemed to be under the impression that he would be summarily tossed out on his ear," he said dryly. Rose noddd slowly.

"That's not entirely inaccurate, actually. There was a time when he would have; he ... made some bad choices in friends." Her tone suggested she was putting it extremely mildly and delicately, reserving Ronan the right to tell his story. Holtz nodded, respecting the privacy of the young man.

"That... sounds all too familiar," Holtz commented slightly bitterly as they broke from the dance and moved off to one side. Rose seemed to be at least grateful for the break from the activity.

"I think it sounds all too familiar to most of us," she said wryly. "We all have made bad decisions in our lives." She looked around the room.

"You know all their stories?" he asked quietly. She nodded, still looking out over the dancing cluster.

"And then some. Most of those here have known me for some time, and those that haven't I have been... watching, at the request of someone close to them. Or, sometimes, close to me." She didn't explain her enigmatic statement, and Holtz wasn't sure he wanted her to. He had the suspicion he came under that last category. And he was starting to figure out where he knew her from.

There really was no way to approach this delicately. "Are you truly a thousand years old?"

She shrugged slightly, still watching the dancers, and poured herself a small glass of water. "More or less."

He wasn't entirely sure how to take her matter-of-fact affirmation, so he kept going. "And you are a sorceress..."

She nodded. "More out of self-defense. My longevity is actually unexplained; I began studying the sorcerous arts some twenty years after I realized I had ceased to age simply out of the idea that, if I was going to be run out of towns on a regular basis for witchcraft or sorcery, I might as well be one."

Holtz nodded slowly again, not entirely understanding. "But you do not practice the black arts..."

She chuckled softly, and actually looked at him for the first time. "Daniel, if you are asking if I sacrifice children or small animals or such, or dance naked under the full moon, the answer is no. If you are asking if I have powers above and beyond those of most men or women, the answer is yes. I studied, and I learned. But I do try and use them for just and righteous causes. Most times, I think, I succeed."

Holtz nodded. It was slightly more familiar to him after the years of pursuing Angelus and Darla, how a person could be both a good person and still engage in magical arts. Still, it never quite allowed him to be at ease with them... until her. Rose, for some reason, seemed to have the ability to put everyone around her at ease, and he didn't think it was any product of her magics. Perhaps it was simply a result of being as long- lived as she was. Or perhaps...

He shook his head. Whatever had been on the edge of his mind had fled. But he was nearer, now, to figuring this whole evening out than he had been before, he was sure of it. Soon. Within the hour, perhaps, even. Rose looked at him curiously, her blue eyes narrowed and gone slightly pale as though she was watching his thoughts. He excused himself politely and moved out of her scrutiny to think. It didn't exactly seem as if he was in danger here, but there was something awry with the entire evening... if only he could figure out what. If only he could stop feeling so damned comfortable, and think like a hunted man again. If only he could cease to be so... at peace.