His annoyance does not escape her. Signs of his legendary temper are rare in her experience, for all that she has been warned of them, so thus far she is more bemused than anything else when they show. She has no fear of his anger.
She nods at his words. "There is one tradition we have, if you wish to take part. It is commonly done to find a thing to symbolize a thing you wish for, and burn it on the bonfire during the night. It may be anything, a particular flower or herb, or a fishbone, a ribbon, even the word itself written on paper if imagination fails. These are not wishes for physical things, but for..." She frowns, trying to find how to explain. "For luck, or health, or strength. Any item that suggests a trait you wish to bring and bind to yourself for the coming year." She shrugs. "Likely it does nothing, but at least it is harmless."
There is a call from outside, and she grimaces, not wishing to leave. But she bows her head to him once more and does, pulling her fur cloak around her as she goes.
It is several hours yet until midnight, but it is long before then that the Haladin begin to gather. There are no fires or lights anywhere in the encampment by that point, no warmth save in furs or common company, and many huddle close together for that reason. Many people hold things in their hands or clutch at pockets, and the man who interrupted Haleth earlier may be seen giving anyone who asks a small stub of candle.
He makes a point of offering them to Caranthir and his company when they arrive, though he does not have the Sindarin to say more than "Here--take, hold--", and to direct them to join in a large, somewhat clumped circle around the unlit fire.
Haleth too is there, long before anyone else. She stands wearing her new dress and leggings and cloak, which are both warmer and finer than any other clothing she has. Her young nephew stands next to her, his face serious and intense in much the same way hers is, and he is clearly studying for a hopefully far-off day when he will lead. Now and then he asks Haleth a quiet question, and she answers, as she speaks to any who approach her.
At some unspoken signal all talk fades into silence, and they all stand together in the dark. Haldan's mother stands with her hands on his shoulders, and he leans back against her while also wrapping one of his hands in Haleth's skirt. That is the way of it in this moment, with the Haladin--everyone is touching someone else, whether with held hands or merely a leg leaning against a leg, or a head bent against a shoulder, and they all look up.
It is a cold night, but clear, the air quiet and untroubled by wind. The stars are bright and numerous above their heads, and the moon low in the sky, rising gibbous. All good signs, to the Haladin. The silence lasts and lasts, and none speak, not even the few children who are there, save for the soft whimpers of one small babe born but a few weeks previous.
A soft but strong voice begins to sing, a song of the Void that once was, until Eru Ilúvatar began to sing the world into being, and how then there was light in the dark, and the light was a music that became all things. It is Haleth who sings, her singing voice deep and rich, her pitch true for every note. She kneels and holds out her hands, and next to her Haldan uses a flint to strike sparks, lighting the candle that Haleth holds. His hands shake a little from the cold, but he looks pleased when he manages a flame quickly.
Haleth, still singing, turns and lights the candle of a person next to her, then turns and lights another, and all those who have fire share it with those nearby until everyone old enough to do so is holding a small source of light, and each person who has a lit candle also joins her into the singing. As the story of how life came to Middle-earth continues the light grows, and so too swell the melody and harmony, weaving together under the stars.
No surprise there. ;) The more so since Haleth might use them as a reason to turn him down?
She nods at his words. "There is one tradition we have, if you wish to take part. It is commonly done to find a thing to symbolize a thing you wish for, and burn it on the bonfire during the night. It may be anything, a particular flower or herb, or a fishbone, a ribbon, even the word itself written on paper if imagination fails. These are not wishes for physical things, but for..." She frowns, trying to find how to explain. "For luck, or health, or strength. Any item that suggests a trait you wish to bring and bind to yourself for the coming year." She shrugs. "Likely it does nothing, but at least it is harmless."
There is a call from outside, and she grimaces, not wishing to leave. But she bows her head to him once more and does, pulling her fur cloak around her as she goes.
It is several hours yet until midnight, but it is long before then that the Haladin begin to gather. There are no fires or lights anywhere in the encampment by that point, no warmth save in furs or common company, and many huddle close together for that reason. Many people hold things in their hands or clutch at pockets, and the man who interrupted Haleth earlier may be seen giving anyone who asks a small stub of candle.
He makes a point of offering them to Caranthir and his company when they arrive, though he does not have the Sindarin to say more than "Here--take, hold--", and to direct them to join in a large, somewhat clumped circle around the unlit fire.
Haleth too is there, long before anyone else. She stands wearing her new dress and leggings and cloak, which are both warmer and finer than any other clothing she has. Her young nephew stands next to her, his face serious and intense in much the same way hers is, and he is clearly studying for a hopefully far-off day when he will lead. Now and then he asks Haleth a quiet question, and she answers, as she speaks to any who approach her.
At some unspoken signal all talk fades into silence, and they all stand together in the dark. Haldan's mother stands with her hands on his shoulders, and he leans back against her while also wrapping one of his hands in Haleth's skirt. That is the way of it in this moment, with the Haladin--everyone is touching someone else, whether with held hands or merely a leg leaning against a leg, or a head bent against a shoulder, and they all look up.
It is a cold night, but clear, the air quiet and untroubled by wind. The stars are bright and numerous above their heads, and the moon low in the sky, rising gibbous. All good signs, to the Haladin. The silence lasts and lasts, and none speak, not even the few children who are there, save for the soft whimpers of one small babe born but a few weeks previous.
A soft but strong voice begins to sing, a song of the Void that once was, until Eru Ilúvatar began to sing the world into being, and how then there was light in the dark, and the light was a music that became all things. It is Haleth who sings, her singing voice deep and rich, her pitch true for every note. She kneels and holds out her hands, and next to her Haldan uses a flint to strike sparks, lighting the candle that Haleth holds. His hands shake a little from the cold, but he looks pleased when he manages a flame quickly.
Haleth, still singing, turns and lights the candle of a person next to her, then turns and lights another, and all those who have fire share it with those nearby until everyone old enough to do so is holding a small source of light, and each person who has a lit candle also joins her into the singing. As the story of how life came to Middle-earth continues the light grows, and so too swell the melody and harmony, weaving together under the stars.