faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

She sighs minutely, and a little tension relaxes from her shoulders. "Thank you."

He bows to her.

"You ask for sense to prevail. I am glad to give it."

Haleth nods her head in silent reply, though her smile turns a little ironic. She is not acting sensibly, and she well knows it, as does he. Logic dictates not only that she should avoid getting entangled with Caranthir except as is unavoidable, and take her people to other lands. There are many reasons why that is the best choice, even without taking his Doom into account.

And yet.

Perhaps fortunately, the point is moot for now. Haleth and her people are in no shape to go anywhere far, and their conversation turns back to more practical, easier matters.

The caravan arrives at Amon Ereb in another few days, and Haleth is glad to see it: a broad hill, excellent for defense and offering clear sight of all the land around. There are no forests nearby in easy reach, which is a pity, for her people are most used to living in forests. But they will be safer here in the open for now, the more so as Caranthir and his scouts pay close attention to this area, which overlooks the eastern passage and offers a route to the south.

It would not be a good place for settlement, unless serious fortifications were also built. But it will be a good place for an encampment of a few seasons, to heal and breed livestock, to hunt and trade and recover.

He sees them established, or at least, the beginnings of such, and then returns to his own duties, leaving with only a brief farewell, for neither are the sort to dwell in sentimentalities.

He keeps his word, as well, to stay away - his men are seen, of course, for they patrol this way frequently to keep the Road clear. But Caranthir sends no message, and if he goes past from time to time, he does not bother her.

But when winter sets in, and the snow blocks the roads and the cold keeps all but the most desperate in... the a rider comes into the camp, wrapped in warm furs and asks to be shown to the Chieftain.

As she wished, the subject is not raised again; as she said she would, Haleth from that point concentrates solely on her people. If Caranthir blushes again in her presence, she does not enquire why. If something he does impresses her, she does not comment on it except as a comrade or fellow leader might. They treat each other with respect and part without ceremony, and she does not look after him when he rides away, for she has work to do.

The months are hard. The easy, warm months of summer pass too swiftly, and the fruitful time of autumn is near-feverish with their attempts to prepare for the cold months ahead. Haleth proves herself a capable leader, with shrewd ideas of what will work and what will not, how to make the most of the meagre resources they have. The Haladin heal, and plan.

If a few of them talk among themselves about the strange friendship that had seemed to grow and then cool between their Chieftain and the elf lord, the words do not come to her ears, and the talk dies when there is no sign from or even word of him. Haleth herself is the same as always: calm, practical, trustworthy, resourceful, determined. Her people ask what their future will be, and she tells them only that she is thinking on it, and they must wait and see what strength they have when the long winter ends.

After the healing work of summer and the preperatory work of autumn, winter is a stranger time. They hunt where they can, trap, make small forays away from Amon Ereb to the southern forests or the eastern hills, to return with furs or other things. But mostly they wait, for the days are cold and dark, and the snow deep.

By now Haleth has a tent of her own, though at first she had shared with her sister by marriage and her nephew (for warmth and to conserve resources as much as any other reason). But her people prefer her to live alone, so that any may approach the Chieftain in private if they need, and Haleth herself prefers the solitude. She is used to it, and it gives her space to plan and consider all her options.

On the day a visitor arrives she is sitting in her tent and fletching arrows, her concentration bent to the task. She glances up when the the tent flap opens--it is usually kept untied, that any may approach who have need of her--and raises an eyebrow at the scout who bows to her and then immediately leaves after gesturing for another to enter. The visitor is a bundle of rich furs, far better quality than anything they have managed to trap and keep themselves, but it is the color of the candlelight on that midnight-black hair that she recognizes first, before he lifts his head. She stands and nods her head.

"Lord Caranthir." Her expression and voice are as cool and calm as they were the day they parted.

"My Lady Haleth."

He says gravely, unpinning the cloak and setting down his burden.

"As promised, for a season my folk have patrolled the Road and left your people in peace, and I have not hurried nor harried you and yours, allowing you the time to grieve, and to build for the future. My scouts have brought word that the Haladin prosper, and I am glad."

He pauses and then almost-shyly nudges the parcel towards her.

"I understand that amongst the Beornings, the dark of the year is celebrated with a festival they call Yule. I do not know if your folk celebrate the same, but it came to me to offer a gift all the same, as acknowledgement of your successes."

The oilskin parcel unfolds to fabric, rich and heavy, died in colors to suit Haleth and her people, embroidered in metallic thread in the patterns of the Haladin. A dress, thick and warm for the winter, sleeves neat and close rather than impractically flowing, skirt wide enough to ride or to fight in, not so long as to drag. And a cloak to go with it, the clasp worked in bronze, polished to a high sheen.

He had said he would return during the winter, and she suspected he would keep his word. But she would not have thought less of him for waiting until the roads were more clear, and it astonishes her that he has ventured forth during the darkest time of the year, when the snow is deepest. That astonishment does not show her face, except perhaps in her eyes.

There is no chance for her to comment on it or ask after his haste before he continues. An eyebrow lifts when he mentions Yule--for yes, her people do celebrate it, or have done in the past. There is little to celebrate this year save their survival, and few gifts such as have been given in past years. If he wished to be in time for the date it explains some of his determination to set forth despite hideous weather, and yet...

It still surprises Haleth, enough that she does not speak further as the takes and opens the parcel. She gasps audibly at the contents, her eyes wide with wonder and amazement. Even in the relatively dim light of the tent (even the Chief uses candles sparingly), the fabric shines.

Carefully she reaches out and with one fingertip traces part of a whorl, the contrast very great between the rich, textured cloth and the metallic threads and her own finger, calloused and worn and still dotted with bits of hide glue from her work. The cloth alone must have taken a long time to create, even without taking into account the time needed to embroider patterns with such meticulous care--and how had he learned such patterns? By sight alone?--to say nothing of the care needed to assemble it into clothing. The amount of thought put into this gift, as much as the effort, speaks volumes.

Haleth does not doubt it will fit, and fit perfectly, and she stares at it all for a long time.

"You do me great honor with this," she says quietly in her low voice. Her eyes she is still looking down at the cloth, and her finger trembles just a little. "I have never seen the like."

He smiles a little at that, a quick flash of pleasure at her wonder.

"I thought that the Chief of the Haladin should be adorned fit for her station." He offers.

"I did bring other, more practical cloth. But this is for you."

She glances up, and sees that his smile well suits him. She had forgotten just how much, and she stares at his face for a moment, surprised into fascination at the sight.

Haleth withdraws her hand long enough to reach for a cloth nearby, and methodically cleans her hands with it. Fletching arrows is messy work, and she has no desire to damage this gift, especially not before it has even been worn. "I give you my thanks. We do celebrate Yule, and while this year our ceremony will be minimal, you are welcome to join us for it if you wish. Along with any others of your people who are nearby."

Edited 2019-01-29 15:23 (UTC)

He is looking down, clearly a little flustered, and so he misses her stare, the red of his name printed across his cheeks. But he looks up at the invitation.

"I would enjoy that." He agrees. "I came with only a small company - and they too will enjoy the welcome of a warm fire."

He would have preferred to come alone, but obviously that sort of thing is unsafe, in these lands and times.

A faint smile flits across Haleth's face. "Then they will be disappointed, at least at first. Dress warmly."

Her hands clean, she reaches once more for the astonishing gift, now unwrapping it more fully and holding it up for examination. "You put much thought into this," she says quietly, now more serious. "Is this a Yule gift, or a courting gift?"

"Oh?" He asks, interested. "What traditions do your folk use to celebrate that has no fire?"

He flushes again.

"Both. If you will it, that is."

She is silent for a moment, looking down at the dress she still holding in front of herself. It occurs to her suddenly how intimate a gift it is in some ways--something she will wear against her bare skin, to keep her warm. And how much time did he need to spend thinking about her body, as he cut out patterns and guessed at the size of her?

Haleth's flush is sudden and as deep as any of his have ever been as she folds the dress with brisk, neat movements, returning it to its packaging. "We will discuss that," she says, her tone even despite her reddened face. As for ceremony, we deem it appropriate to acknowledge the dark of the longest night before we celebrate the sun's return, so at midnight we douse all light and all fire for a time. You will see."

Edited 2019-02-01 15:48 (UTC)

~~far too much time probably~~

"Not too dissimilar to those of Bor's folk, by the sounds of it." He observes, tucking away the memory of her blush to treasure.

"I will be honored to share this time with you and yours."

She nods, still blushing and more flustered than she is wont to be. "Need you aught?" she asks, a little hurriedly. "Water, or a seat, or--"

She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. "...I ask your pardon. We have little hospitality to offer, but what the camp has is yours if you have need."

There are additional seats at the table where she works, for there are often small meeting held in her tent, which is the largest they have.

"No, no!" He blinks, realising he's been standing, staring at her the whole time, flushing in embarassment again as he goes to sit down.

"I'm fine, Haleth. I can wait until the festivities begin."

The blush clears from her face and she looks a little grim. There will not be festivities as such, and for a moment her old assumptions rouse themselves. The Eldar, with their beauty and grace, their horses that move like music given form, with riches and skills and countless years...what can any of the Edain offer them that they do not already possess in abundance, aside from entertainment? And is that not demeaning, insulting, whether or not it is truth?

But the thought is unworthy of her, she now knows, and more unworthy of her guest. Who sits at the table quietly, again flushing like a boy instead of a being many thousands of years her elder. Who gave her a gift of great thought and effort, of worth far beyond the value of the collected threads it contains.

Haleth sighs and takes her seat once more, pushing her fletching tools aside. Yet again, her eyes stray towards the dress, the cloak and the clasp. The bronze reflects the candlelight. She nods towards it a little with her head. "Is this a usual sort of courting gift, among your people?"

"Haleth?" He blinks at the grim look. "Is there ought wrong?"

Distracted, he blinks and eyes the dress, shrugging a little awkwardly.

"Ah... actually it's probably considered a little um... plain. My folk tend to gift with gems, but I had rather thought you would appreciate something more practical."

"Gems," she murmurs, shaking her head a little as she leans back in her chair, looking at him thoughtfully.

"I do not understand you," she says after several long moments. "I do not understand what a daughter of the Secondborn can offer you, that you could not find amongst your own people. I know you too well to think this is idle fancy on your part, but still I do not understand."

"It was my father's people, the Noldor, who learnt how to make gems, and to capture light within them."

He explains.

"In time, we had a whole language around what color, what cut, and what setting meant. But... well. It isn't practical, out here. And... gemsmithing is my brother's skill, not mine."

He shrugs awkwardly. "I like you." He says simply. "You bring me a joy I have never known with any other. I don't think there is any way of explaining why. It just is."

Well. Put that way it is straightforward and unarguable, impossible to misunderstand or wonder about. The more so as she feels similarly about him, whenever she sets all other considerations aside.

But they are not free to set all other considerations aside. A thing she remembers always even if he chooses to try and forget.

"You thought correctly," Haleth says, after another moment's pause. "What would I do with gems, or a silent language whose meaning I do not understand? I prefer things that are useful as well as beautiful, and words spoken directly. And I accept your gift with thanks," she adds, in case that had been in doubt.

She would say more, or ask more questions--because of course she has them--but at that moment someone pulls open the entrance to her tent--weighted, to keep it from billowing in the wind. It is a tall man (except compared to Caranthir), who bows to them both and speaks to Haleth in rapid Taliska. Haleth answers, and the man bows again and leaves as she stands and once more looks at Caranthir.

"I am needed," she says simply. "If you would share our Yuletide, return before midnight. We will meet in the center of the camp, where there is a great unlit bonfire waiting.

~~Caranthir's opinion of Doom and the Valar is a raised middle finger, tbh~~

He ducks a little, shyly pleased.

"I am glad I thought correctly." He says, made gruff with shy embarrassment. He almost growls at the interruption, but Haleth is Chief, and a Chief or Lord is always busy, he knows.

"Go." He nods. "I will tell my men and meet you there."

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.

"Very well." He nods, and follows her out, turning to where his own men are waiting.

They are there, standing respectfully back from the rest of the crowd by the fire, their eyes a-glitter under the stars, breath fogging in the air, and under Caranthir's direction they accept the candle stubs with thanks, but stay silent. This is a time for the Haladin, and they are the intruders here. But Caranthir's eyes shine brightly as he watches Haleth, and more than one of his men are smiling in appreciation as the candles fill the night with man-made stars.

Haldan looks thoughtfully at all the faces around him, even as he sings in a high, boyish soprano, and his eyes rest most often on Caranthir's, whose gaze is almost riveted on Haldan's aunt. Haleth herself keeps her eyes focused calmly on the stars above them--but she is turned slightly towards Caranthir instead of centering herself on the bonfire as she usually would, and Haldan notices it.

When the Haladin are all turning to light each other's candles, he deliberately walks over and lights Caranthir's, waits until Caranthir lights his fellows' candles, and then gestures for them to join in the greater circle. He has the same look of resolution that Haleth often wears, the same quirk of eyebrow that says disagreement would be foolish, so do not argue. The Haladin move to make space for their guests, and smile their welcome. Not all present are comfortable with the Eldar during the day, but on this night none are turned away, for they are all of them Children of Ilúvatar.

Once the Firstborn have joined the circle proper Haldan takes his place again by his mother and aunt, and then Haleth does look down at him, smiling faintly and placing a hand on his head. She glances briefly at Caranthir, then turns her attention back towards the unlit bonfire.

The song has moved on now, telling of how the sun and moon came to be and of their journeys across the sky, how the seasons came to be divided, of how this is the longest and darkest night. And finally, of how the sun will return, and with it warmth and light. Several of the Haladin move at that point and place their stub-candles carefully in the bonfire, and as they step back others move to do the same and pull Caranthir's company to do the same, until all the candles are collected and the bonfire sparks with small flames. Haldan still has his flint and tinder if needed, but there is no need: the small licks of fire from the candles catch hold in the kindling, and from there spread to the larger wood, until there is a great blazing flame before them all, blessing them with warmth.

The song comes to an end in a great crescendo, and then there is laughter and cheering, and many embraces. These are offered to the Firstborn as well, as well as handclasps and welcoming words and smiles, any point of connection. All of it evidence that they are none of them alone in the cold and the dark. Haleth stands by the fire looking pleased by herself, and while she does not move she accepts any clasp of hands or brief embrace or kiss on the cheek that is offered, and her nephew she catches up in a fierce hug of obvious approval and pride.

Time skip soon?

Here is good?

Here is good! Have a wall of text. A brief leavetaking or shall we just get on with it?

eh let's get on with it XD

works for me!

\o/

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No surprise there. ;) The more so since Haleth might use them as a reason to turn him down?

well, that is part of it yes XD

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