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1. Fëanor
It was early. Even for a homestead with nine people keeping slightly different schedules and a barn full of animals that preferred to be taken care of before the sun was up, it was unusually early when Fëanor looked up from the burdock and magpie feather charms he was making by lamp light to see bleary-eyed Curufin yawning his way into the living room with a very awake Celebrimbor on his hip.
Curufin was too tired to be startled to find his father already awake (still awake?). He yawned again and set the toddler down.
“Go back to bed,” Fëanor said. “I’ll watch him.”
The answering thanks was half-hidden in a yawn as his son stumbled back to the bedroom.
Celebrimbor didn’t mind his father’s departure, instantly fascinated by whatever it was his grandpa was making. He picked up one of the feathered creations and held it aloft, waving it through the air as though it were some kind of bird.
“That’s not a toy, Celebrimbor,” Fëanor admonished, gently taking the charm away and putting it back with the three others that he made so far.
The toddler hummed and picked up another charm. “Papa?”
“Yes?” He considered taking the charm away again but told himself there was no reason to do so. Everything was safe inside the house. He didn’t need to worry.
“Toy?”
“No.” Fëanor put aside the one he was currently making to pay more attention. “These are charms to keep us safer in the forest,” He explained. “I’m making one for everyone.”
“Mine?” Celebirmbor asks hopefully.
“Yes, I’m making one for you too.”
The child appeared very happy with the revelation and plopped himself down on the rug to admire this new thing. Fëanor went back to what he was doing, giving the content child only the smallest fraction of his attention. He should have known better. Celebrimbor was at that age where he was learning to entertain himself. Unfortunately, like Fëanor’s own sons, the things he thought were fun did not mesh well with delicate items.
After only a short time, he grew bored of looking at the feathery delight sitting in his hands or resting on the floor. There was, of course, only one thing to do now.
With an excited cry, he threw the charm as hard as he could.
Fëanor’s reflexes were too slow and the feathery projectile flew past his reaching fingers, sailing to the cold hearth to crash into the bricks. Several shiny feathers bent and crumpled under the impact.
“Yeay!” Celebrimbor cheered, clapping his hands.
2. Celegorm
The first rays of morning light peaked over the trees, the sun already lightening the sky beyond the mountain. Celebrimbor pointed at the chickens pecking eagerly at the handfuls of grains Celegorm tossed out to keep them fed as spring slowly reawakened the plants and insects they usually dined on. The toddler opened his mouth and said, “Gck, gck, gck!”
A big hen with buff feathers looked at him with a beady, critical eye. She blinked, clearly unimpressed by anything too big to eat.
Celegorm threw one last handful of grain across the yard and then dusted off his palms, clucking back at both his nephew and the birds. One of the hens came close to the pair, likely following the dropped kernels that Celebrimbor did not manage to throw much further than his own feet. While it was corn she sought, she would probably sample any unprotected toes too, so Celegorm picked her up and tossed her back toward the main group. She flapped her wings indignantly but made a respectable landing.
With the chickens fed and happy to spend the rest of the day wandering around for bugs, Celegorm and Celebrimbor continued on to the barn. As soon as the door creaked open, the goats and sheep began bleating, the two nanny goats pushing to the front of the herd in the stall so they could be milked. The horses raised their heads, ears swiveling to track the newcomers as they climbed the ladder up to the hay loft (Celebrimbor hanging onto his uncle’s overalls like a particularly large spider). The animals quieted down as hay dropped down into their feed bunks, excluding the nanny goats.
The pair came back down, Celebrimbor sporting almost more hay than hair on his head. On the ground, Celegorm plucked a long shaft of hay from the child’s hair and stuck it between his teeth before going to get one of the goats. Celebrimbor dragged the milking bucket over to the wooden milking stand.
He turned around as his uncle approached with one of the goats, keeping a firm grip on her horns so she couldn’t run over to the stand and knock the toddler over in her excitement (it had happened several times before. Celebimrbor was still too young to reliably get out of her way). Raising his hand, he pointed at the black doe and said, “Ah! Baah!”
“Right,” Celegorm said, locking her head in place with a sliding wooden slat. She lowered her head and began licking up the grain in the tray in front of her. He took the tin bucket from little hands struggling to lift it high enough to put it on the stand and sat down on the stool so he was at a good height to reach her udder. “Baaah.”
The second imitation was noticeably more accurate than the first.
Celebrimbor shuffled over to lay his head on his uncle’s knee, watching the rhythmic white streams shoot into the bucket. After a moment, he looked up. “Papa?”
He waited for a response.
“Papa?” He repeated.
Celegorm shook his head as though pulling himself out of some deep thought and looked down at the black-haired child waiting expectantly. “Yeah, Brimby?”
Celebrimbor turned and put his face by the bucket, opening his mouth wide and closing his eyes.
Celgorm grinned. He lifted a teat and expertly squeezed two quick streams into the child’s mouth.
Celebrimbor grinned and licked stray streaks off of his nose and chin. “Mmm,” He said.
“Mmm,” The blond elf responded, turning back to the chore.
A tug on his pant leg.
“More, more!”
He obliged, using both teats this time.
The goat looked back at them and bleated in confusion, flicking her short tail.
3. Amrod
Celebrimbor held tightly to Amrod’s fingers as they walked along the stream bank, following the water back toward the spring from which it came. The barefoot toddler stepped cautiously, hesitating when he saw too many pebbles: he’d slipped a couple of times already, saved only by his uncle holding onto his hand and hoisting him up. Now, he was understandably suspicious of the ground.
“Oh! Look, Brimby,” Amrod said, pointing with his free hand at green, spear-like leaves poking out of the dirt under a nearby tree. “Ramps!”
Celebrimbor turned to see, excited by the tone more than the presence of the edible plants. Distracted, his foot slipped from under him and he toppled over.
Amrod pulled him back up by his hand, setting him on his feet after a brief trip through the air. “Oops. Careful, Brimby.”
The child raised his arms, spread his fingers wide, and asked, “Up?”
He lifted him without hesitation, seating him in the bend of his arm so he could still look out at the green things and all the buzzing and fluttering insects taking advantage of the flowers around the stream. Celebrimbor sighed and rested his head on his shoulder, tired from the long uphill walk they took while everyone else who came out to the stream was busy catching fish and crawdads lower down.
“You ready to go back?” Amrod asked.
“Yes.” Celebrimbor buried his face against the teen’s shoulder, sounding put out.
He turned around. Way down the hill, he could just see Maedhros’ straw hat peeking over a mass of blackberry vines. His brothers were probably almost done by now. If he didn’t get back soon to help carry anything, someone would accuse him of using looking after the child as an excuse to get out of work. He’d object to the accusation, of course, but bringing his nephew back in less than soaring spirits wouldn’t do him any favors, and would probably make Curufin question whether or not he even did a decent job at that.
Luckily, Amrod was a bit of an expert at making the toddler laugh. He took off running down the hill.
“Oh no!” He exclaimed in a voice that didn’t carry far. “We’re flying, Brimby. We’re flying!”
After only a few seconds, Celebrimbor was giggling and squealing with delight as they zig-zagged across the bank and ducked under low-hanging tree branches. He shrieked with excitement and threw his arm and legs out as Amrod lifted him above his head, letting him soar like a particularly featherless bird. The child clapped his hands when he came down, demanding to go up again immediately.
“More! Papa, more!”
So it was that Amrod and Celebrimbor came flying down the mountain to rejoin the group of victorious fishers, nearly tripping over the bucket of crawdads.
4. Maedhros
A warm afternoon breeze blew across the clearing, shaking the new leaves in the trees. Maedhros stood between the house and the barn, watching his youngest siblings chase the ewe that escaped the pin they’d confined the small flock in for shearing. The wayward sheep gave no sign she’d be cooperating with them any time soon, ignoring their indignant yells as she led them in circles around the sheds and zig-zagged through the chickens, scattering the flock in all directions. Amrod and Amras, still gangly teens, couldn’t keep up with her quick dodges when they managed to get close enough to try to catch her.
An unexpected tug on the leg of his overalls drew his attention downward.
Celebrimbor looked up at him.
“Hello, Brimby,” Maedhros said. “What are you doing out here?”
Last he’d seen, the toddler was inside, helping Nerdanel make bread (very exciting for any child nearing two years old). He glanced around and saw Curufin stepping into the weaving shed where Fëanor was working. Celebrimbor must have come out with his father. With so many of them in the yard right now, no one would be concerned about the child wandering off and getting hurt.
Celebrimbor raised his arms, making grabbing motions up at his uncle, clearly asking to be picked up. “Papa,” He said when Maedhros did not immediately scoop him up.
The tall elf laughed. Bending over, he took a fistful of the child’s shirt and hoisted him up one-handed, settling him on his shoulder. Celebrimbor cheered, kicking his feet with excitement at being so high up.
Maedhros turned to look back at the progress with the sheep. The twins had given up, apparently deciding to finish shearing before dealing with her. The slight movement must have made the toddler feel unsteady on his perch because he grabbed onto the nearest thing he could, which happened to be his uncle’s ear. Maedhros winced.
“Ouch, Brimby, that hurts,” He said.
Celebrimbor let go with one hand but kept the other firmly in place. He pointed out at the loose ewe who was now munching happily on the long grass growing around the chicken coop. “Go, Papa!” He exclaimed, kicking his heels like he was riding a horse. “Go!”
Maedhros obliged him, figuring he might as well help his little brothers while he was at it.
5. Nerdanel
“What do you want on your oatmeal?” Amras asked Celebrimbor, who avidly watched as he stirred the steaming pot on the stove. “Do you want milk?”
“Yes,” The toddler said.
“Do you want blackberries?”
“Yes.” Celebrimbor looked up, excited.
“Do you want honey?”
“Yes!”
Amras chuckled. “Do you want a fried egg?”
“YES!”
“Woohoo!”
They were both very excited, though only one of them knew what was actually going on. Amras scooped Celebrimbor up and set him on the floor. Celebrimbor looked shocked and a little disappointed.
Before he could object to losing his vantage point, his uncle pointed out to the living room where the family was gathering after early chores for breakfast. “Go ask your papa!”
Celebrimbor ran away, little arms pumping hard as he went as fast as he could (which was becoming quite quick these days). He navigated around the counter forming the division between the kitchen and dining room, and zig-zagged between the disorganized chairs. Taking the shortest route to the person he sought, he went under the table instead of around. Several adults laughed as he pushed between their legs. He came out on the other side, unscathed.
Reaching up, he tugged on a long pant leg to get attention that was already definitely on him. “Papa?” He asked.
Nerdanel looked down at him.
“Papa?” He repeated and then pointed at the kitchen where Amras was looking expectantly at them and completely ignoring Curufin sputtering on a mug of water at the way his son bypassed him entirely in favor of his grandma.
6. Maglor
“NO!” Celebrimbor screamed, little hands fisted with outrage. His hands were also coated in soot, as were his clothes, but that wasn’t what bothered him.
“You can’t have these.” His grandpa said, holding the cold coals that had, until recently, been sitting in the hearth. Fëanor came inside moments ago and found Celebrimbor entertaining himself and spreading ashes all over the room. “And look at yourself. You’re filthy. You’re getting soot everywhere! Who’s supposed to be watching you?”
The toddler continued to scream at him, stomping his dirty feet. His balance still wasn’t very good, so he soon fell on his bottom. “MINE!”
“Not yours.” Fëanor insisted, picking his way across the ashy rug to return the coals to where they belonged.
The kitchen door opened and Maglor came in carrying two baskets full of vegetables from the garden. He stopped short when he saw the mess.
“Papa!” Celebrimbor yelled at him, face red and streaked with tears. Standing, he pointed at his grandfather and shrieked his frustration at the injustice.
Maglor looked from his nephew to his father, startled.
“Put those down,” Fëanor said over the unhappy wailing, dusting his hands off, “and clean up Celebrimbor. He’s filthy. And–” he looked around the room, at the soot handprint on the armchair and the black smudges on the walls–“And, look after him so he doesn’t get into anything else.”
Maglor put the baskets on the kitchen counter. He scooped up Celebrimbor, whose tantrum was starting to wear down into a sulk. “Yes, Pa.”
Fëanor had completely forgotten why he came inside at this point, so after that was taken care of, he went back outside to find whichever of his sons was supposed to be on toddler watching duty and tell them to get the walls and floor cleaned before supper.
7. Amras
The whole family sat around the hearth, some in chairs, some on the rug. They were, supposedly, preparing herbs under Nerdanel’s direction so she could sell them as dyes and remedies in town to help the family afford things that they couldn’t grow or make themselves, but the chore quickly fell into an afternoon of storytelling. Magor currently regaled them with a ghost story as a pot of stew simmered over the crackling fire.
Amrod and Amras sat on either side of a canvas holding a pile of whole goldenrod plants that reached up almost to their shoulders. When they weren’t stripping the plants down to their various parts and putting those away in bags, they were slapping each other with the long stalks.
Little Celebrimbor toddled over. He was the only one to whom Nerdanel did not give a task, for obvious reasons. He wanted to get in on the action, though, so he grabbed the stalk Amras was waving around and tried to tug it out of his hands.
“What?” The read-head exclaimed. “But this is mine, Brimby. Get your own, they’re right here.” He pointed at the pile.
Celebrimbor did not want a different, potentially inferior, one. He tugged again. “Papa,” He said with a very determined expression. “Give!”
“Ok,” Amras laughed, releasing the plant.
With the resistance he was pulling against suddenly disappearing, Celebrimbor stumbled back, off balance and far too new at this whole walking thing to catch himself. His little arms pinwheeled. His little fist held victoriously to his prize. He stumbled back and teetered and finally fell.
Amrod dove forward and caught him before he hit the ground. He set the child upright again with a quick, “He’s fine, Curufin,” just in case his older brother’s parental instincts kicked in.
Celebrimbor, securely on his feet again, wasted no time in thwacking the uncle from whom he took his new weapon.
“Ow,” Amras complained, rubbing the side of his face and ear.
Amrod laughed at him. Several of the others joined him.
Celebrimbor, encouraged by the laughter, turned around and gave the other twin a similar treatment.
It wasn’t quite so funny to be on the receiving end, but Amras more than made up for his brother’s stunned silence with his own guffaws, pointing a teasing finger at him.
Curufin ended up wrestling the improvised flail from his son before he could hit anyone else. The toddler wasn’t very happy about it.
8. Caranthir
Caranthir sat before the crackling fire, reading from a small book. The cover was old and worn, any title or images worn away by years of use. Maryann, the former school teacher in town, gifted him the book several months ago, encouraging him to discuss whatever part he read with her when he comes into town. The story was about two children, an elf and a human, sailing down a river together on a raft. He enjoyed talking about the pages he read with her when he visited, Maryann had a breadth of knowledge that always astounded him and he would have missed much of what the story was saying without her insight. However, he read the book slowly, only taking it out when he was the last one up at night or well and truly alone outside.
As children, Celegorm teased him relentlessly when he caught him reading. He often said that if Caranthir liked reading and being like townsfolk perhaps he should just go live in town with them, maybe become a miner and spend the rest of his life digging around in the dark chasms of the mountains. Celegorm always said it like he’d be thrilled if he did. If they’d been arguing more than usual, his older brother sometimes took the book and made him beg to have it back. On one horrible occasion, he even tossed it to one of the half-wild dogs he brought home so Caranthir had to entice the animal to give it back to him in exchange for a piece of meat or risk the hungry animal destroying it.
Thankfully, their relationship mellowed over the years of their adulthood, and now Caranthir’s reading garnered only an occasional insult. Old habits die hard, though, and he still preferred to keep his books hidden. Thus the reason for why he sat here now, reading the story by firelight.
He turned another page, eager to find out what happened next.
“Papa?” Asked a little voice.
He closed the book quickly, reflexively slipping it inside his shirt to keep it hidden. He turned to look for the speaker.
Celebrimbor stood behind him, little arms wrapped around the tin of shortbread Amrod and Amras made yesterday. He held the tin up to his uncle and repeated, “Papa?”
“I’m not your Papa,” Caranthir said softly, not wanting his voice to carry through to any of his brothers in the adjoining rooms.
This did not deter the toddler. He looked up from the wild, sleep-tossed mess of his black hair with a pleading expression. “Up. Papa.”
Caranthir sighed and picked up the child under his arms, settling him on his lap. Celebrimbor snuggled up against him, still clutching the tin to his chest. He wrapped an arm around him, settling his hand on the tin’s lid.
“Do you want a cookie?”
“Yes!” The child shouted.
Caranthir quickly hushed him. “Okay, but it’s our secret.”
He took the tin and opened it. The shortbread within was wrapped in wax paper that he had to push aside to reach the treats. He selected a small one from the top. Celebrimbor grabbed for the buttery cookies and he quickly pulled the container away.
“No no,” he whispered. “We’re sharing this one.”
His nephew’s face scrunched up like he was going to start fussing. He quickly set down the tin and broke a piece off a corner of the cookie, offering it to Celebrimbor before he started making enough of a racket to raise half the house.
“There you go.”
They settled down after that, snuggled together on the wooden chair, enjoying the little treat together, just the two of them. Eventually, Caranthir retrieved his book and began to read it quietly, murmuring the words to the sleepy child.
While Celebrimbor was far too young to remember it later, Caranthir considers that night an important part of their early relationship (he still hasn’t told anyone about it).
+1. Curufin
The family knew something was wrong when Celebrimbor started screaming.
Neranel looked up from the poultice she was mixing at the dining table, setting down the pestle. Fëanor quenched the buckle for one of the horses’ plowing collars in a barrel of water, forgetting to take off his leather apron and gloves as he hurried away from the forge. Amrod and Amras sprinted out of the vegetable garden, their hands dirty from pulling weeds. Caranthir’s hand jumped, letting the yarn he was spinning ply against itself with the sudden slack. Celegorm slammed the ax into a scarred chopping block, abandoning the half-cord of logs he still had to chop into usable pieces. Maglor shoved the new lamb back at its mother and ran out of the barn, hitting his shoulder on the heavy wooden door as he hurried out. They found Maedhros just outside the kitchen door, kicking away one of the more mangy dogs that hang around the homestead and cradling the screaming child in his arm.
(Curufin did not respond to his son’s terror: he was in town.)
Maedhros shouted at the dog, swinging his right arm toward its head in an attempt to scare it away. The dog, spine visible through the thinning golden fur on its back, growled and snapped at the stump of his arm.
Celebrimbor screamed louder, clutching at his uncle’s shirt and hiding his face from the frightening animal.
“Hey!” Celegorm shouted at the stray dog he’d added to his pack late last year. “Get!”
The dog ignored him. It was a rare thing when any of the curs listened to him. The few who did were rewarded with extra nibbles of food he saved off his plate while the others were left to fend for themselves.
As the family drew near, Maedhros kicked at the dog, his heavy boot connecting hard with its ribs. It fell, rolling over twice as it tumbled away with a pained yip. It may have stayed down but Fëanor came storming toward it. In a first and last demonstration of intelligence, the dog got up and shambled away, tail between its legs and whimpering.
“Did it bite him?” Nerdanel asked quickly, reaching out to pull the still-crying child from her son. Caranthir stood beside her, ready to assist if needed.
“No.” Then, “I don’t think so.”
She inspected him, eyes searching for blood and fingers feeling for tender spots where the dog might have bitten without breaking the skin. She found none but Celebrimbor continued to sob between great gasps of air.
“He’s ok,” She said, relieved.
“Good.” Fëanor walked inside, returning a moment later with the gun he kept by the door. Without another word, he went after the culprit. Celegorm followed him.
Caranthir took Celebrimbor from his mother’s arms, rocking and trying to calm him. “You’re alright, Brimby,” He said in a soothing voice over the crying. “That dog’s gone. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”
The crying continued, Celebrimbor's face turning an alarming shade of red.
“Hey, hey. Shhh.” Caranthir tried, rubbing his hand in circles over the child's back.
Amrod and Amras, unsure of what they could do in this situation, went inside to grab their nephew's favorite toys, hoping those would cheer him up.
“Let me take him,” Maglor said.
Caranthir handed over the child but it only made him scream again and clutch at first Caranthir and then Maglor's shirts when it felt like they might put him down. He settled a little once his uncle held him securely, but tears continued to stream down his round face.
Nerdanel shook her head. Sometimes children refuse to be comforted. “He may just need to wear himself out.”
The twins came back then, each holding a soft toy, one a stuffed rabbit with long silly legs and real fur from a snow-white hare Celegorm snared and the other a vaguely elf-shaped doll with button eyes and a little hand-made shirt. They stood on either side of Maglor, sneaking the toys around his shoulders and wiggling them around like they were playing a game. Celebrimbor snatched the doll when it came close to him, and Amras cheered, thinking he'd succeeded in distracting the toddler.
With an angry shout, Celebrimbor threw the toy away, unimpressed by the distraction. His little hand whacked Maglor's chin as he struck at the other toy.
“You're not really helping,” Maglor told the teens before they could try again. He turned his face away to avoid the frustrated fists.
A shot reverberated between the home and the barn. The sudden sound caused everyone to flinch in surprise and Celebrimbor began to cry again in earnest.
Maedhros retrieved the discarded doll and gave it to Amrod. “Put those away,” He said, “Then you and Amras go finish weeding. When you’re done, take the crawfish traps to the stream and get them set up. We've got a lot to do today.”
“Yes, Mae.” Amras went back to the garden while his twin went back inside briefly.
“Caranthir,” Maedhros began, but the middle brother was already heading back to the abandoned spinning wheel. Seeing that everyone had a clear task now, he spared one last glance at his nephew before turning on his heel and going out to the woodworking shed to get the tools he needed to start pulling out the rotting planks found in the barn.
“Take him inside, Maglor,” The matriarch directed her remaining son. “Standing out here isn't helping anything.”
The crying sounded louder inside. Every attempt to comfort the child only made him cry or scream more. Nerdanel sighed and set about warming the last of the morning’s goat milk on the stove. Maglor stood by the fireplace, unable to calm the toddler but unwilling to put him down to fuss alone.
The milk just started to steam on the stove when Fëanor returned. He didn't say anything about the dog but they all knew Celegorm was taking care of the remains, butchering it for the rest of the pack or burying it far away if they suspected it was rabid—though this one hadn’t acted mad enough for that. Quietly, he put the carbine away, watching the child quietly crying on Maglor’s shoulder.
Maglor smiled wanly at his father. “Ma’s warming some milk for him,” He said as Fëanor came over. “Then he might be ready to sleep.”
Celebrimbor looked up at the sound of voices. His eyes were puffy and red, and he looked like he was still awake through sheer determination alone. When he noticed his grandpa, he leaned away from his uncle, reaching short arms out toward Fëanor.
“Woah,” Maglor murmured, quickly adjusting his grip before Celebrimbor could topple over his arms and fall.
Fëanor met the reaching, easily taking him from his son’s hold. Celebrimbor’s little hands fisted in the faded blue shirt and he pressed his face into the new shoulder as sure arms cradled him securely.
Maglor knew his father would look after the slowly calming child until he was ready for a nap. With a soft farewell to his mother, he went back to his chores.
A minute later, Nerdanel came over, a heavy ceramic mug filled a quarter of the way full with warm milk in hand. “Let’s see if he’ll drink this.”
With some cautious and gentle maneuvering, the child was convinced to face away from his grandpa’s chest and wrap his hands on either side of the heavy mug. Nerdanel stood close to her husband, keeping her hand on the base of the mug to support most of the weight and in case it was dropped or thrown.
With a tired sigh, Celebrimbor lifted it to his lips and drank. When he finished, he sighed even louder and pushed the mug toward his grandmother, letting her take it. He slumped sideways so his head could rest on his grandfather’s chest.
A smile fluttered around Nerdanel’s lips like a butterfly. “He looks so much like Curufin when he does that.”
“He does,” Fëanor murmured as Nerdanel wiped away the milk mustache. “Nap time.”
Celebrimbor didn’t protest as he was carried to the crib in the room shared by his father and some of his uncles. When Fëanor tried to put him down though, he clutched his shirt and began to cry again. Fëanor leaned over the crib, trying to convince him to let go, but the toddler clung to him with desperate determination.
“No! No!”
Fëanor looked down at the wailing child and couldn’t find it within himself to put him to bed if it upset him this much. Celebrimbor calmed as soon as he realized he would not be put down, laying his head back where it had been and blinking tiredly. They went back out into the common room where Nerdanel was finishing cleaning up the kitchen. She’d heard the fussing and wasn’t surprised to see her husband still had the toddler with him.
For the next several hours, Celebrimbor rode around with his grandpa. He spent the first half-hour in his arms before being convinced to sit in a sling when Fëanor’s shoulders began to protest. He repeated his litany of ‘No! No!’ whenever anyone tried to take him and clung to his shirt whenever he thought he might get put down but otherwise stayed quiet—unusually so when he would normally be chattering and bubbly about everything—half-watching what went on from exhausted eyes, too stubborn to go to sleep.
Just after lunch, where he again refused to let anyone part him from the black-haired patriarch, Celebrimbor finally seemed like he might fall asleep, his little head nodding up and down further and further as he was carried around. Then, a horse and rider came out of the trees near the front of the house.
Curufin was back from town.
He rode over to the kitchen door, Nerdanel coming out to meet him and take the full canvas bags burdening the horse. He greeted his mother and passed along well wishes from the wife of one of the mine workers whose now three-month-old baby owned his life, and likely the life of his mother, to Nerdanel’s steady hands at the bloody birth. The buckles on the saddle and reins jingled as he dismounted.
Celebrimbor looked up at the sound, peeking over the edge of the sling as Fëanor bent to comment on Caranthir’s work at the spinning wheel. With an excited shout, he screamed, “Papa!”
Curufin looked over at the call and saw his father barely containing the child so he didn’t fall as they hurried over. “Celebrimbor!” He answered, happily surprised by his son’s excitement at seeing him. With so many adults constantly around, he sometimes doubted the toddler knew who was actually his father.
Fëanor handed the squirming child over, his shoulders and back glad to be rid of the burden.
“My little boy,” Curufin said, tapping the child’s nose before lifting him to sit on his shoulder.
Celebrimbor turned and hugged his father’s head, resting his cheek on his papa’s black hair and yawning.