Lord of the Rings A Yuletide Carol

**Author's Note: Hi everyone! Well here's my newest story, and for those of you reading _Sindarin__ Fox_, don't worry, you'll have your next chapter soon. I just got bit by a plot bunny (which I thank God for, since it's been a fun one to work with) and since this is a holiday story I felt I had to get it out before Christmas. Especially since, if you haven't guessed it already, this is my LOTR re-write of Charles Dicken's _A Christmas Carol_. YAY!**

**This story will have approximately four or five chapters. I know it sounds weird, since it's not a super-long story, but with my schedule it was the only way I could get it done on time without going insane. When it's fully completed I might repost it all as one really long chapter. So here's chapter one. Chapter two should be out tomorrow, and so on so that the last chapter should be here on Christmas Day, if not then the day after. **

**AAN: In this story I'm kind of following the movie interpretations of A Christmas Carol rather than the book, since it's been a while since I read the book and I don't have a copy of it currently on me right now. Hopefully that will change by tomorrow's post. Bear in mind also that I had to alter some things to make this legitimately an LOTR story. It is not Tolkien's characters speaking Dicken's dialogue, though I did throw a few of his more famous lines in here and there. So don't flame me for it not being a replace-Scrooge-for-an-LOTR-character's-name story. This story takes place in Gondor using events from Tolkien's works, and some that I had to make up out of necessity. If you're looking to see the Fellowship skipping around the streets of ****London****, then please discontinue that expectation. Thanks. **

**I will stop rambling so you may now be haunted by one of the most famous Christmas stories of all time. Enjoy!**

**A Yuletide Carol**

By: Espree

Rated: PG (though tell me someone if you think this rating is wrong!)

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all affiliated names, places, etc. do not belong to me, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. A Christmas Carol and all affiliated characters, events, etc. belong to Charles Dickens. I am merely borrowing them both for this story. All original OC's and events belong to me. If ever you wish to use them please e-mail me and ask for my permission first. Otherwise, please don't use them.

Summary: It's Aragorn and Arwen's first Yuletide in Minas Tirith and Faramir, Eowyn, Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli have all come to celebrate it with them. But not all is joyous. Faramir is suffering from some old hurts. Hurts that have caused him to shun his wife and dearest friends. Can an odd scheme of Gandalf's, and some aid from three very familiar ghosts, bring him back into the Yuletide Spirit?

**Chapter One: The Stage Is Set**

When a cold wind blows it chills you,  
Chills you to the bone.  
But there's nothing in nature that freezes your heart  
Like years of being alone.  
It pinks you with indifference,  
Like a lady pinks with rouge.  
"Ebenezer Scrooge", Muppets Christmas Carol

Denethor was dead, to begin with. So for that matter was every other member of his family, save one.

These thoughts preyed upon the mind of his youngest son and last living member of his house as he strove to keep up with his duties despite the festivities and joyous distraction brought on by the Yuletide season. This year looked to be even worse than usual. The War had only ended last spring, and though the rebuilding was well underway there were many projects that would not be completed until the summer at least.

Faramir tried to keep all information not relating to his current task out of the way as he sent instructions to builders, masons, blacksmiths, and other craftsman. Homes needed to be rebuilt, and families relocated either permanently or until their homes were inhabitable again. Much of the crops the local farmers had cultivated were destroyed, and there was some fear of mass food shortage. Worse still was the fact that this looked to be the worst winter Gondor had seen in recent years.

During the day the Steward could usually be seen running from meetings to supervising some of the building to council sessions he was required to attend and thento anywhere else he needed to be. Rarely did he ever have time for any type of relaxation or enjoyment. On top of it all the scowling image of his father, waiting for him to make even the slightest of mistakes, kept slipping almost like a physical entity in front of his mind's eye, and seemed determined to find something at fault with his work. Just like his father had been in life.

The most insignificant mistake and he would be hailed and ridiculed as worthless and fit for nothing except to fight on the borders, where he could not be seen by anyone it was not wise to humiliate his house in front of.

Faramir shook his head viciously. Enough, of this! His father was gone, and he was free to govern himself, something even he had to admit was far better for him than having to live with Denethor wishing very plainly that he had died rather than his brother, Boromir.

_"And if I had gone to the Elrond's Council perhaps it would have been me and not him who were sent to a final resting place on the Sea." _

"Sir, these need your signature also."

The voice at his side brought him out of the cave that housed his currently whirling and randomly changing inner thoughts, and he reached over and took the large sheaf of papers his assistant held out to him.

Fionn had been of invaluable help since Faramir had been thrust into his father's position. The aide was appointed his position by Denethor himselfafter the departed Steward claimed it from Faramir's grandfather. Fionn knew everything about his position inside and out. He had an amazing memory, and no document was ever misplaced or overlooked under his watchful eye. Like Faramir, Fionn had also been putting in increasing amounts of overtime in his work, and at this point the aging assistant seemed to be ruing the lost hours of sleep and heightened stress even more than his lord was.

"Thank you," Faramir managed to remember to say as his pen attacked the large stack that a moment ago had been quite a bit smaller and almost finished.

"There are three more like that one, my lord," Fionn ventured, unsure if the Steward would take such news well. It meant several more hours of work, and it was already well past dark. Yuletide's Eve was upon the world, and the aide wanted to be home with his family to celebrate.

"Very well, Fionn. We will simply have to keep at this for a while more."

Faramir's voice reeked of exhausted, and Fionn knew he had not eaten at all that day, nor gotten any sleep the night before. He should know, for he had been up working with Faramir the entire time. He himself was about ready to collapse, he could only imagine that his lord was near illness considering that Fionn and Faramir's other aids could only account for about ten hours that entire week that the son of Denethor had actually used for sleep.

He knew though that to leave this paperwork undone would only result in trouble, and a lot of it. The documents were backed up as it were already, and were at fault for almost the whole of the lost rest they and more than a few others were suffering from. Sleep could be made up. These documents needed to be signed, sent were they needed to be, and then in most cases filed somewhere. They never stopped coming, so the sooner he and Faramir caught up with all of them, the sooner they could get back on a more normal work schedule.

Not fifteen minutes later, however, and his opinion of that changed. Faramir may have been famed for his resilience and stubbornness (though not as much as his brother or father), but he still had his limits. Sleep-deprived and having no fuel to run on, his lord's body finally decided enough was enough.

Faramir's eyes simply slipped shut, and his cheekbone came down hard on the parchment, smearing wet black ink where once his neat signature had been. Almost immediately he came back to his senses, but the involuntary deed was done and the document ruined.

"No!" he cried, and dabbed a handkerchief into the glass of water he had been sipping at periodically. His efforts at correcting the mistake were futile, as Fionn already knew they would be, and he vent his frustration by crumpling the paper, leaping to his feet and throwing it at the wall.

"My lord, if I may be so bold to say, I believe it is time we called an end to this. We have both been working for two days straight without rest and while we may be loath to admit such our bodies cannot keep up with us. Let us end our work for the day and come back after a good rest with the energy to make a true impact on this pile."

At least his lord had not torn the paper up. As long as it was relatively intact he could recopy it later.

Though he was indeed loath to admit it Faramir knew the truth of Fionn's words. If he dozed off once he was likely to do it again, and having to recopy multiple documents was not something they needed to add to their agendas. It was the wisest thing they could both do at this point.

But the fact that he had dozed off in the first place grated severely on Faramir's nerves, and all at once the smirking image of his father flashed across his eyes. It was the image that said that he had been expected to fail and had done so accordingly. The prince felt himself narrowing his eyes angrily at it, wishing it were a physical object.

Those could be made to go away so much more easily.

"My lord?"

Faramir realized he was giving the wall across the room in front of him a rather dirty look, and forced himself to relax and acknowledge the assistant who was looking at him in a highly concerned manner.

"No, Fionn. The festivities tomorrow will make getting work done that much more difficult. We will continue on for a few more hours, and then stop."

Theclerk wanted to sigh and grate his teeth in frustration, but didn't. Once his lord had made up his mind about something there was nothing he could do but obey. Anyone as tired as Faramir was now wouldn't put up with a debate, especially if the opposing side happened to behis underling.

"Very well then sir." What else could he say? Hopefully it would dawn on Faramir that he couldn't possibly hope in his current state to finish sorting through and signing all of those papers, but if it didn't, then it was looking to be a very long night.

As he went about doing everything he possibly could to keep Faramir as productive as he could be, Fionn found himself constantly glancing out the window, wondering what his family was doing. Thinking about them was better than listening to some of the scathing curses Gondor's Steward uttered as he wrecked more and more documents and yet still stubbornly refused to end his work for the night.

Had his wife finished cooking dinner yet? Where they getting worried that he wasn't home like he said he would be? Or were they simply making the best of it and enjoying themselves as best as they could? He hoped the last was true. They shouldn't be worrying about anything on Yuletide's Eve. They deserved to have as much fun as they could.

Another vicious curse erupted behind him, this time damning a document regarding the rebuilding of several streets on the first level of the city to rot with orcs in the pit of a dragon's stomach.

Wordlessly he pinched the parchment between his thumb and forefinger and eased it out from under Faramir's now increasingly bloodthirsty pen. Setting it down on the now considerably tall pile of documents needing to be rewritten, he decided to try to talk some sense into his lord once more. It had been over two hours, surely even someone as stubborn as Faramir could see that this was getting hopeless.

_"Though come to think of it, this was hopeless from the start," _he thought before saying, "Lord Faramir, I once again request that we call a halt to this and pick up again later. At this point all we are doing is creating more work for ourselves with the mistakes we've made that can be blamed only on sheer tiredness. Please, let us cease this."

At first Faramir seemed to ignore him, signing another document and not acknowledging Fionn at all. The next article, however, ended up with a botched signature, earning it a curse though the author of said curse was the one who was truly at fault. Finally, though, it seemed Faramir had had enough. Jabbing his pen back into it's holder and capping the inkwell, he rested his head in his hands for a moment and rubbed his eyes, hoping that it would clear his vision of the blurred halo that seemed to encompass everything.

The steward looked up at last to see Fionn gazing at him with what seemed to be hopefulness. Wasn't the aid just as eager to be through with this mess as he was? Still, it was late, and the man did have a family to get home to. That was probably the reason he looked ready to bolt from the room. _"I'm pretty done in as well. And Eowyn will have my_ _head if I don't at least spend some time with her this evening_," he though.

"Alright, Fionn, let's call it a night."

Fionn seemed delighted with to hear those words, despite how he tried to hide it. "Very well, my lord. I shall see you the day after tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Faramir was confused. Why should Fionn not want to put in a full day's work tomorrow? Most people would be celebrating, so there would not be a huge amount of paperwork coming in. They could catch up with the documents that needed catching up on, then be able to keep up with future forms as they came in.

"My lord, it's Yuletide Day tomorrow. Surely you don't intend to work when there is to be such festivities going on? Especially since it's the King's first Yuletide here." Fionn wondered if the exhaustion and stress had simply caused his lord to temporarily forget what day it was, or if he was actually serious.

"Not to mention he is expected by his friends to take leave of his work and actually say more to any of us than 'hello' and 'I don't have time for you right now'. Perhaps he could even hold an actual conversation with us. That is, if he remembers how to carry out a long, running dialogue with another person."

Faramir turned an unamused glare at Elessar as Fionn started and stammered, "M-My Lord! W-We didn't see you there."

Aragorn laughed and walked towards them. "It's alright, Fionn. And yes, you have my permission to take the day off tomorrow. I'm sure you're family wants to celebrate with you and Lord Faramir is expected to join in the festivities here."

"Aragorn…," Faramir hissed. In response the king leveled a look at him that plainly said 'be quiet and we will discuss this later'. Faramir scowled but did not say anything more.

"Thank you, my lord. If Lord Faramir has any need of me though he has but to summon me and I'll come. The family will understand." Fionn did not want it to seem to the steward that he was desperate to get off work the next day, though in truth he wanted it badly.

Faramir opened his mouth to get a word in, but was once again cut off.

"That is highly appreciated, but fortunately unnecessary. We shouldn't be doing anything that would normally require your aid, but if we do we can manage on our own for a day," Aragorn smiled. "Now go on and get home. I expect your family will be beginning to get impatient by now."

"Oh no sire, they're always patient when I have to work late, but thank you all the same. A Happy Yuletide to you my king, and you, Lord Faramir. I'll be sure to be here all the earlier the next morning," Fionn said.

"Don't bother. Just come in at your regular time," Aragorn waved him towards the door.

Fionn wouldn't dare go against his king, but the incensed look on Faramir's face at being talked around instead of being talked at worried him that perhaps it might cause some trouble between him and the Prince of Ithilien later on.

Aragorn saw the troubled look on the clerk's face for what it was, and once again waved him out. "You'll be in no trouble for it, Master Clerk. Now get home to your loved ones, whilst I heard this renegade sheep back to his own flock."

Fionn couldn't keep himself from smiling at the more than accurate analogy, but one look at the steward curbed any laughter he might have uttered. Faramir looked ready to launch something sharp and unpleasant at the king, and knowing the steward for the master archer he was Fionn didn't want to stick around and see what would happen when the son of Denethor finally decided he wouldn't hold his tongue anymore.

"Thank you, my liege. In that case I will go now. Happy Yuletide, sirs!" he called back as he bowed and retreated from the room, taking up his cloak and scarf on the way out.

As soon as he was gone Aragorn turned to Faramir, regarding him with an intrigued stare. The look on Faramir's face was one that a person would swear could set something on fire. In fact, the steward himself gave off the impression of an overcooked bird that was ready to explode. "And just what has you so riled?"

It might not have been the smartest thing to ask, for the answer was kind of obvious, but nevertheless Faramir had never struck him as the type who would deny his aid the simple pleasure of being with one's family on the holidays. Perhaps it was more than just stress and overwork that had the steward acting so reclusive and agitated.

"What has me so _riled_?" Faramir's voice was incredulous. "Are you blind? Do you not see how much work I have to catch up on? Tomorrow was the one day when things would slow down enough that I could get caught up, and you deprive me of my help! Why do you think I'm so upset!?"

Faramir didn't even wait for Aragorn to reply, he simply stormed out of the room. Behind him he could hear Aragorn demanding that he stop and talk about what was really bothering him but he didn't. All he wanted was to be left alone. He hated this time of year. He'd hated it ever since he was a little kid, and now his one legitimate escape was taken from him.

He didn't even know were he was going; he let his feet decide that for him. It gave him one less distraction from the rage he was trying so hard to keep from escaping any more than it already had.

"Elf, I swear, when you fall from there and break that scrawny, underfed neck of yours I shall be the first to point at you, laugh, and say I told you so."

"I highly doubt that, Master Dwarf, but I suppose I shouldn't deprive you of your wishful thinking."

"The only thing wishful around here is my hopes for a nice, peaceful Yuletide. Now I have to say Legolas that I would appreciate you getting down from there when you are finished."

"Of course, my lady."

To this Faramir could only hear someone respond in the form of a snort, yet he didn't have to enter the room to identify its occupants. It was what he saw when he entered the room that for a moment made him forget his rage.

A twelve foot tall pine stood propped up in a metal stand. Around it were stacked several boxes. Most of them were opened, and filled with nothing but crinkled paper. Four however, still had their contents intact. Eowyn stooped, picking up an object wrapped in paper similar to the paper in the other boxes. Unwrapping it she turned and placed the object, an exquisite glass horse, in a basket filled with other such pieces.

The basket was then hoisted up by Legolas, who had his legs tangled in a second rope he had tied off to a rafter. Once he had the basket where he could reach its contents, he began taking the ornaments out one by one and placed them on the branches the others couldn't reach. Faramir could see garlands of holly and cranberries draped throughout the room, probably the elf's doing as well.

Faramir stood there a moment, watching them as they bantered and laughed. Just like his family used to.

It brought tears to his eyes. Legolas and Gimli were teasing each other the same way he and his brother used to, and Eowyn was patiently supervising it all as his mother had, making sure everything went perfectly.

When he saw his wife lift a pretty gold and silver swan and admire it for a moment before lovingly placing it on a branch, he thought for a moment it was his golden-haired mother standing there, alive and carefree again like she always was at the holidays. But then the Lady of Ithilien turned and the image faded, leaving him with the feeling that his heart was going to shatter.

Legolas, still chuckling at Gimli's latest quip, looked towards the door as if he had heard something. He spotted Faramir standing there immediately.

"So the workhorse has finally decided to rejoin the rest of the world. Come, Faramir, and aid us in making this place look presentable for tomorrow!"

Eowyn left off her unpacking and smiled at her husband. "Yes, please help us, lest these two renegades drive me mad with their antics."

"I'm hurt, milady," Legolas tried to look affronted, but could not keep the mirth from his eyes.

"It should be 'renegade', my lady. I'm not hanging from the ceiling like a drugged squirrel," Gimli stated matter-of-factly.

"No, you're just standing around doing nothing," Legolas retorted.

Whatever Gimli's answer was, Faramir did not hear it. Eowyn's words crashed and resonated through his head, only it wasn't her voice he heard. It was another. A voice he missed more than anything else. _'…Lest these two renegades drive me mad with their antics….'_

Legolas' keen sighted eyes were the first to catch the tiny pools welling up in the steward's eyes. "Faramir? What ails you my friend?" he asked, laughter in an instant replaced by somber concern.

'Ail' was the wrong word to use, though the fair-haired woodland elf could not have known it.

"My lord?" Eowyn called, her voice colored with its own distress at seeing her husband thus.

Gimli looked on with a worried frown, but said nothing, leaving Eowyn to draw out the source of her husband's disquiet.

Faramir seemed as if he was about to say something, when Aragorn's voice echoed down the hall, signaling his approach, "Come on, Faramir. Can't we at least talk about this?"

Faramir turned to see Aragorn striding down the hall towards him. Behind the king Arwen and Gandalf, drawn by the commotion, stepped out of the dining hall where they were helping to set up for Yuletide's Eve dinner.

At the sight of the former ranger, all of Faramir's earlier rage came back, this time augmented by the fact that he had let his emotions show, and worse that everyone who really mattered to him had seen them.

"No, I will not talk about this," he hissed venomously. "I had my Yuletide's Day agenda set up to my liking, which you have quite effectively ruined, your _majesty_, and now you look at me as though I am at fault, when you simply will not let me keep the Yuletide in my own way, as I let you keep it in yours. All I want is to be left alone, and if that is too much to ask, then perhaps a holiday in the woods of Ithilien is in order."

He turned and stalked towards the staircase that led to his and Eowyn's room. Pausing at its base, fingernails seeking to carve grooves in the woodwork, he turned and diplomatically addressed the shocked and dismayed group one last time.

"I bid you all a Merry Yuletide, and may yours be far better than mine I have no doubt. Good night."

With that he marched up the stairs with all the grace and regal bearing he possessed. Standing behind him in the hall, his sorrowed and hurt friends tried to make sense of what just happened. Eowyn looked absolutely destroyed, Gimli stood there slack-jawed and stunned, Legolas was frozen with a look on his face like he'd just been shot, Gandalf and Arwen seemed not to know what to make of any of what just happened, and Aragorn…

Aragorn looked like he just lost his best friend.

For the next few moments no one spoke. They just stared at the spot where Faramir had stood before going off to seclude himself somewhere for the most joyous time of the year, the time of year when families should be together, not torn apart. Then Gandalf seemed to shake his head and come back to himself.

"Come," he said. "I should have seen this earlier. Let us go where we can all sit, for we have much to discuss and, I fear, to do."

That seemed to bring the others out of their stupor, and one by one they all followed Gandalf into the room Eowyn, Legolas, and Gimli had just vacated. Each took a seat on one of the numerous chairs and couches that had been dragged in so the room could accommodate all of them later that night and the next day. Arwen sat next to Eowyn and offered herself as a source of comfort to the hurting Ithilien Lady.

Gandalf stood in front of the tree. He gazed at it for a moment before letting his gaze travel from one troubled face to another.

"I feel as though I should have seen this coming," he sighed, "rest assured that none of you has done anything wrong. Faramir never had a loving relationship with his father, you all know that. He was close with Boromir and his mother, but the strain between him and Denethor still made the holidays a very awkward time for him. This year not only is his mother gone, but the rest of his family as well. He's hurting, and he doesn't know how to deal with it other than to isolate himself as he did for all those years after his mother died."

"And that's why he blew up at us like that?" Aragorn asked softly.

"Yes," the White Wizard answered.

"But how do we help him?" Eowyn stifled a sob, nodding her gratitude to Arwen when the queen offered her a handkerchief.

"There are several ways, but in truth I believe Faramir has to come to terms with his past, learn to appreciate the family the Valar have blessed him with now, and look to the future with hope and joy like he did once, before his father cast him from Minas Tirith and into the wilds of Ithilien." Gandalf replied.

"And I suppose there's no way to do that before tomorrow," Gimli said gruffly.

"Tis a pity," Aragorn remarked. "I was so looking forward to having everyone together to celebrate mine and Arwen's first Yuletide here as rulers."

"It's been so long since Gondor had a king and queen to celebrate it with," Arwen cast an apologetic look at her husband.

"There may be a way," Gandalf mused, running a hand through his long, white beard.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn asked.

The wizard had his head bowed, closed off in his own little world, oblivious to everyone and everything else. The others waited patiently for him to say something. Finally he looked up, a resolute expression on his face.

"There is a way," he began, "but I will need aid from each of you."

"You shall have it," Aragorn said.

"I'll do anything to help my husband," Eowyn declared.

"I'll not let the lad ruin the holiday for himself," Gimli stated.

"Or dampen the spirits of others," Legolas murmered. "You have my aid as well."

"And mine," Arwen added.

"Good, good," Gandalf nodded, pleased with the response. "Now then, I think we should adjourn to the dining room and have dinner. I'll explain everything there. This is not a task that should be undertaken on an empty stomach."

They all followed him into the dining room. Gandalf ordered a plate of food brought up to Faramir should he want it, and then proceeded to discuss with them the basis of his plan. When dinner was over he ordered Arwen to retrieve glasses and a pitcher of lemon juice, along with several other items. She looked confused at this, but followed his directions to the letter, as he said they all must do.

Then Gandalf took each of the rest into the tiny alcove the servants kept the food in before serving it. There he explained to each of them what there task was going to be.

Legolas was the last he spoke to, and the one he spent the longest conversing with. The others wondered at this, but said nothing. Though Aragorn had to admit when Gandalf and Legolas emerged from their conference the elf looked just a tad bit daunted and nervous, though he hid it well. Aragorn could not blame him, for he felt the same.

While the Three Hunters went off and prepared themselves for their roles in the wizard's plot, Eowyn and Gandalf went up to Faramir's room. Gandalf said nothing, but looked at Eowyn as if to ask her if she was ready. She nodded an affirmative, and the Maia stepped away and began muttering something in an ancient tongue.

Inside the room she heard the servants' bell ringing madly, and her husband exclaiming in fear and alarm. Then the door flung open and she knew it was time. Sweeping regally into the room, she forced herself to keep her face expressionless asthe Lord of Northern Ithiliengawked at her in terror.

"Mother?" he whispered.

"Faramir," she replied, not correcting his mistake. According to Gandalf she would appear as Faramir's long departed mother--Findulias, the sister of Imrahil and daughter of Adrahil of Dol Amroth.

"It looks like you, but I don't believe it," he said. His eyes were narrowed and he was now scrutinizing her closely. Fortunately, his eyes could not see through the guise Gandalf had conjured, and so a flicker of fear and uncertainty remained lodged in his eyes.

Eowyn felt sorry for scaring him, but it was for his own good, so she continued on with her masquerade. "Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because knowing Gandalf and Aragorn they've probably slipped something in my food or drink and this is a side-effect of it. Most likely you're just something I'm imagining," he retorted.

"Then perhaps this shall convince you I'm real," Eowyn stepped forward and placed her hand on his cheek. He started and shivered, breath coming out in icy plumes, another of Gandalf's tricks, though she herself didn't feel cold at all.

"Why have you come to me?" he queried, still nervous though thoroughly convinced that she wasn't a hallucination.

"To give you warning. Your ill deeds towards those you love tonight will do you far more damage than you could possibly imagine. You think you wish to be alone now, imagine being lost and alone with no warmth or love but instead just a cold void of longing for all eternity."

Eowyn stopped keeping her face expressionless and looked at him with determined sternness. "To show you the error in your ways and to help you reconcile your deeds and the consequences they may have, you will be haunted tonight."

"Haunted?" Faramir's voice trembled slightly. "I've already had enough of that."

"Without these visits you cannot hope to avoid the terrible fate you may face if you continue to tread the current path you are on, a fate you will be made aware of tonight. You will be haunted by three spirits. The first shall come when the bell tolls the first hour of morning," she declared as she began to walk backwards to the door, smoke swirling around her feet, obscuring them from view since ghosts that walk are less believable.

"Can they come all at once so I may hear what they have to say and get it over with?" Faramir ventured hopefully.

"The first will come when the bell tolls one," she repeated, then stepped out of the door, which promptly closed.

Eowyn breathed a sigh as she felt the enchantment fade, but was not given any more time as she felt Gandalf grab her from behind and drag her into a vacant room a little ways down the hall. Placing a hand over her mouth, he motioned her to be quiet. They both remained motionless, barely daring to breathe as they listened to the young steward yank his door open and run down the hall both ways, looking for even a glimpse of his mother's spectre.

Finally he seemed to give up, and ran back into his quarters, slamming the door shut behind him.

Gandalf listened for a moment longer, then released her.

"Come," he said, "now that the stage is set we must prepare for act one."

Pushing Eowyn out of the room in front of him, he ushered her down the staircase and towards Legolas' quarters, where the others were waiting for them. As she jogged alongside the old Istari, the Lady of Ithilien couldn't help but wonder just what 'act one' and the acts that followed would entail. Or how Arwen, Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli were to be involved in it all.

TBC…

**Well there's the end of chapter one, and I hope you enjoyed it. The next post will be here tomorrow, as you already know, but in the meantime—anyone want to guess who's going to be who in this story? Actually let's make it simple and ask who's going to be the Ghost of Yuletide Past, since that's who the next chapter is dedicated to. **

**Reviews are greatly encouraged and appreciated, and they get me to write faster. Anyone who's an author on this site knows it takes up to twenty four hours for a new chapter to come up, so the sooner I get it posted, the sooner you get to read it. Just don't send flames, constructive criticism is far better for gettinga point across in my case. Thanks.**

**So…. Review, please? With a candy cane on top? Or hot chocolate, whichever you like best. (For me, both is good ;)**

**I also have to thank my parents, friends, siblings (well, one of them) and my beta Skylark555 for their help and interest in this story. You guys are the best!**

**Okay guys, I'll 'see' you all tomorrow!!!!!**


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Lord of the Rings, Drama, Supernatural