Reminder:: Nothing recognizable is mine. Everything belongs to the Tolkien estate. n_n

Phew, been awhile, eh? I wanted to make sure that this chapter was exactly as I wanted it so it's been through a couple rewrites. I hope I got down on paper what I wanted to project… It may not seem like much, but because I wrote the next chapter at the same time as this one, you might understand. =3

So sorry again for my tardiness. These next few chapters should come a bit quicker together, but they're quite a laborious, pivotal vocation, so I want to make sure I'm completely satisfied with them before I post them up for you to see.

Chapter Twenty :: Merry Yuletide
The Third Day of Yuletide

Blinding white light. Could I see? Was I blind? Was I… dead?

No, I was not dead. I could hear muffled voices and quick footsteps. I heard the squeak of an old, plastic wheel. I was flying… No. I was being… rolled. I was on a bed… with wheels?

Shouts, directions, soothing words in my ear. I felt the muscles around my eyes strain, prying themselves further open. I could not see anything but white light. I must've been blind.

But, no… The light was taking shape. Rapidly passing squares of light in the sky… Or was it a ceiling?

I reached up with my left arm, trying to catch the lights as they passed. My arm jerked back down suddenly and my world spun. I was being restrained.

Opening my mouth to scream, I couldn't hear my own protests and pained cries. No one… no one is there…

Alive.

I awoke from my sleep much the same as the night before. Shivering with the chill of my nightmare, I sat up in bed and kicked the coverlets from my icy skin. At least it was morning today.

When Ioreth came in to see me, I was already washed clean and ready for my dress. It's amazing what one can do when people aren't poking and prodding you and doing the mundane tasks themselves.

"Oh! You're up. Good, good! Excited today, are we? Can't believe it's the third day already! Well, really, I can—been the longest week of my life…"

Ioreth and two other girls helped me with my monstrous day three dress. It was a deep red with one too many skirts in my opinion. It was embroidered with an excess of patterned flowers and vines and was rather heavy. My hair was tightly wrapped behind my head and adorned with flowers I obviously couldn't see. When all was said and done, I had kept Faramir waiting a good half hour.

"And to think I awoke early this morning…" I grumbled as the Warden of the Houses handed me off to him. "I'm terribly sorry to keep you waiting like this. You're obligated to do enough — let alone wait for a silly girl with flowers stuck in her hair."

Faramir shook his head and gently smiled. "It wasn't long. You look lovely."

I felt myself turn crimson like my dress, but Faramir caught himself before he made my compliment. "Father will approve."

Nodding in agreement, I briskly walked with him and a small party of guards to the same feasting hall from the days before.

Instead of immediately walking inside, it seemed we were in a sort of routine already. Faramir bid the guards their leave and we went to the portico to the left where the chilly balcony perfect for conversation was.

I felt strange today. I felt like I was missing something very important or I had some bad news to tell a higher authority. It didn't take me long to realize the strange feeling was the urge to confide in someone. Someone like Faramir.

As discreetly as I could, I stole a glace sideways and looked the man up and down. He didn't seem the type to squeal a secret to his father or some other higher authority (if there was one above himself and Lord Denethor) if it was important enough, but he also didn't seem the type to laugh at me if I was being silly. In the little time that I had 'known' Faramir, I had deduced that he was wise, subtle, and caring. Yes. Faramir was an excellent choice for a confidant.

Before I could open my mouth, Faramir smiled. He had been reading me like an open book as I evaluated him and knew near exactly what I was about to say. "Something to say, Finwen? Secrets are often unwelcomed guests."

Eyes bugging a bit that I was that painfully predictable, I cleared my throat a bit and feigned disinterest. I shrugged and leaned against the rail. Making a point to be interested in a pair of rowdy children shouting and playing in the street, I began my elaborate tale. "Perhaps… It's really nothing of interest, but if you're interested in my memory, I'd like to confide in you what I know."

Raising his eyebrows a bit, Faramir made himself as comfortable as he could on a balcony in the middle of winter. "I'm listening."

That sentence was enough for me to work off of for the next hour. I rattled out my travels in a slightly disorganized manner and made a lengthy review from the point I woke up in the grass to how I had found his men while wandering through Ithilien like it was my business to make things clear. I spent too much time describing my fond memories of Linius and Beleg and too little time describing the men of the East and the types of orcs that raided both the camp and Beleg's horse ranch. I was a girl though, and quite frankly – new to this entire world still – so I was quite unaware of my misnomers and ambiguity.

All the while, Faramir kept a polite interest in my digressions. In fact, I felt it was much more than polite. He was actually listening and throwing out questions and making slight corrections and explanations when it came to time tables. "No, I remember my lieutenant picked you up in summer. It was still midsummer when you arrived in Minas Tirith." "You can't be serious? That long?" "Quite so."

I didn't relay to him the entirety of my nightmarish dreams, but I told him some about the images I did not recognize. Obviously, he could not help me as he did not recognize them either, but he warned not to dwell too much on them if they were frightening me. It could very well be some trick of the East — into which he refused to explain.

When I was near out of breath, Faramir made some quick observations while my story was still fresh in his mind. "I believe the largest blunder you've made, Finwen, is trying to forget these things. With all admittance, your tale is not near pleasant enough to relay to saddened housewives, but you mustn't push it from your mind. How do you expect to remember if you are so focused on forgetting?"

The wisdom didn't quite catch me off guard, as I was prepared with Faramir offering me advice, but I still felt it was blatantly obvious. Why hadn't I thought about it before? Of course it would make things hard to remember if I kept sifting thoughts in my mind into categories of 'strive to remember' and 'strive to forget'. If I had everything fresh in my mind at once, perhaps things wouldn't be such a bother—

Come to… world… not seen,

Awaken, …from… dream.

…life that could have been,

For this… chance to live again.

"My God…" I mumbled, the broken words flooding back through my mind. "I had forgotten them until now…"

"What is it, Finwen?"

Looking up at Faramir in slight shock and awe, I answered: "I think I've died..."

Before he could ask about this ridiculous sounding claim, Benold of all people, merrily stepped out onto the balcony and greeted us.

"My lord, Faramir." He stopped mid-step and bowed. Obviously, he wasn't expecting my companion to be someone of such importance. It made me feel fuzzy inside and I felt like laughing. Quite a different feeling to my recent realizations – I hoped it wasn't too obvious a swing in character for Faramir to take note of, but how couldn't he after what I just claimed? Dear, how I make things sticky…

"Benold! A happy Yuletide to you and yours." I smiled.

"A guard of the Citadel, I see." Faramir nodded, watching him rise. "You know each other?"

Sensing the question was directed at me, I decided to elaborate for him. "Yes. I happened to make his and two other's acquaintance while staring out my window. I'm afraid I made their job quite a hassle."

"Only because of the immature faces you threw us. Sticking out your tongue like you were but a young lass!" Benold teased and laughed.

I blushed, covering my face with one hand in embarrassment, and laughed it off. "What brings you here, Benold? Haven't you anyone to escort?"

Looking downcast at his feet, I immediately felt bad about bringing it up. He obviously came alone and was looking to me for company in someone he recognized. After all, Mordred had 'higher' duties to attend to, and Tristed had sweet Taurwen to eat up his time. Benold was alone this holiday.

With the most opportune timing, a great chorus of music, something rare in the city, burst from the feasting hall. Faramir looked on in lifting melancholy at the sweet stringed and woodwind sounds coming from within.

I had never heard such an accompaniment of sounds. I had heard men sing together in drunken bursts and a lonely flute Beleg might tune away with when he was relaxing after a day of work, but this magnitude was soul-touching. Real music that was created by a group of people with one purpose: to celebrate the last day of the year.

Looking to Benold – my apology was long ago drowned out by the music – I curtsied to him. "Benold, won't you teach me to dance? I'd be most honored to have you as my first partner."

Turning red, the plump man laughed, made half a dozen excuses not to, and finally took me by the hands and led me a few steps away. He tried his best to explain to me how to move my feet back and forth with him in time, but I found I had bitten off more than I could chew. I stepped on his feet, tripped over my own, and nearly fell on my rump. Faramir watched with probably the jolliest countenance I'd ever seen upon his face, and called out teasing instructions for my betterment.

"I think you may find it helpful if you didn't stand so still, Finwen. You didn't volunteer Benold to court along a statue!"

Trying to concentrate, I stared down at my feet and tried to memorize the movements. Benold was merciful and made things easier by teaching me a simple folk dance that didn't involve such twisted meanderings. Instead, we faced each from about a person's height in distance and wound back and forth in a figure eight. We'd add a different step each time – a spin or a quick turn or an extra hop – and we'd begin again. More dancers, who were more experienced in the art, perfected the figure eight routine and had the entire show down to a science. People spilled out of the feasting hall in pairs to line up alongside those who had gathered near Benold and me to partake in the traditional dance.

Dear Taurwen caught up with me and brought along her trusty Tristed soon enough. After our quick greeting in which we took a small break, Taurwen helped me learn a few new 'moves', per say, to add to the folk dance like the other people were doing. Dancing with Tristed as practice, I performed the figure eight again, winding back and forth with Tristed and a stranger who I would pass on the outskirts. I soon wasn't tripping over my giant skirts as terribly. Better yet, I found it much easier to dance if I wasn't staring at the floor. That might've been one of my early crutches…

The music trilled on and Taurwen soon took my place with Tristed. Benold had enough dancing, but he had found himself a new interest: wine. There was plenty and as Benold went off to refill his mug, I sought out Faramir at the rail.

My search wasn't necessary, as Faramir sought me out first. Handing me a glass of ale, I smiled and thanked him, taking a quick swig of the sweet brew. My heart pounding from the recent activity and it being too loud now to think with the merriment around us, I apologized a little lamely. "Sorry, my lord Faramir. I had never the intention of leaving you—"

"Never you mind." Faramir shook his head, sipping his own cup. "You must promise to explain on the day of the New Year."

Knowing what he meant, I nodded. We would have to continue our talk tomorrow, but as the musicians had ruined the quiet atmosphere, the rest of today would be for dancing and joy and things that were light in times of such bitter darkness.

"Would it be bold of me to ask you to a dance, my lord Faramir?" I timidly asked, trying to be brave.

Considering the request, Faramir eyed me over his glass. "That would be very bold of you… but it is an offer I cannot refuse."

For once feeling that something he couldn't refuse wasn't by his father's hand, I gained new confidence as he took the empty glass from me and set it aside. Faramir formally held out his hand to me and I took it after a curtsey, allowing him to lead me out onto the floor.

As a new dance was preparing to start, we lined up with the dozens of others who made it their business to dance as well. It was going to be the folk dance again – I was grateful because it was the only thing I knew and it seemed to be the only real dance the people here knew as well. Things of such bliss like dancing seemed lost to a people who had spent far too many generations fighting on the forefront of an endless war.

The dancers around us began to move, so I took the cue and moved in the figure eight. Meet Faramir in the middle, twirl, and retreat. Meet Faramir in the middle, twirl, hop, and retreat. Repeat with added spins and bows in between and we had ourselves a folk dance.

It was hard for Faramir not to look so serious, but I understood. There were too many things for him to worry about. Still, he kept a pleasant mask while he danced with me: a silly girl who laughed much too much and made one too many mistakes to be counted as someone proper and of good standing. For someone who shot orcs from near and far in the damp forests of Ithilien and the stone outcroppings of Osgiliath, Faramir pleasantly surprised me as an excellent dancer. It almost made me wonder what on Middle-Earth this man couldn't do. I would soon discover that one thing to be disobeying his father. Such a shame I would find out in such a way…

But the darkness crept in as the sun faded behind the clouds for the last time of the year. A new sun would rise tomorrow morning, really the same old sun, but it would be re-named under the New Year. The New Year is 3019 of the Third Age.