#my first time writing during these events so this'll probably get totally retconned but there you go

[lordgrimwing]

Teasing #02

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: loyalty -- kind of, I tried]

The first snow fell in the late afternoon, blanketing everything in a thin layer of white that reflected the last rays of light. A glass prism hanging just inside one of the windows of the snow-dusted house gleamed in the light, spreading a burst of colors around the living room. 

Curufin sat on the heavy rug in the middle of the dancing light. “Oh!” He said in a delighted whisper. “Look at all the rainbows, Brimby.”

A black-haired baby rested in his arms. Swaddled in the same cloth his grandparents wrapped his uncles in, Celebrimbor was snug and warm and halfway asleep already. His little eyes opened slowly at the words, and he blinked blearily up at the red, green, and blue sparkles on the ceiling. 

The lights were interesting enough to pull the baby back from the edge of sleep. Blinking twice more, he opened his little pink mouth. His father grinned, constantly thrilled by any of his gurgles or burbles. This time, he blew a little spit bubble. It sat on his lips for several seconds before popping.

Curufin leaned down and nuzzled their noses together softly. Celebrimbor giggled. 

“I take it all back,” Celegorm said in a lazy tone, lounging by the popping fire in the hearth and scratching looping designs into a long bone (from a small deer or maybe a large goat) with the tip of his belt knife. “He couldn’t possibly be anyone else’s kid.” 

At the start of the year, the entire family had wordlessly agreed that the fifth son was more than a little crazy when he rode home with Mirioneth from town and announced proudly that she’d be the mother of his kid before long. The repeated reminder that she worked as a prostitute and might be having anyone’s baby fell on deaf ears. Curufin never wavered. 

In an uncharacteristic show of restraint, Celegorm kept his doubts to himself, or at least to between himself and the animals he spent most of his time with—he thought he ought to keep himself as a neutral shoulder for his favorite brother to cry on when the baby was born and revealed to not be his. He hadn’t thought for a moment that Curufin would be vindicated in the end. Yet, after the baby (a little boy with wispy black hair who screamed louder than his mother when he came out) was washed and fed and sleeping soundly, Fëanor took one look at him and said there was no denying that he was part of the family.

Curufin was so delighted with his son’s noises that he didn’t notice the sly jibe in his brother’s words. 

“Yes you are,” He said in a high-pitched voice usually reserved for particularly cute, hapless lambs or kids. “You’re my little boy. Aren’t you? My little Brimby.” The words dissolved into bubbly noises.

Celegorm rolled his eyes and bit down on a smile. He didn’t understand his brother’s obsession but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind warned him to not joke about it too much because once the baby was a little less delicate, he might love being an uncle just as much as his brother loved being a father. He recalled the way Maedhros and Maglor held and played with tiny Amras and Amrod when they were born (he’d been thirteen and more interested in the new responsibilities he was given than in looking after the babies). Vaguely, from the deepest recesses of his mind, he remembered Pa sitting him in his lap and helping him carefully hold new-born Curufin—he was so nervous and excited to have a little brother (Carathir didn’t count because they were only a handful of months apart).

“Curufin.”

Celegorm’s eyes jumped over to the sole armchair placed near the fire. Celebrimbor’s mother sat knitting a painfully slow scarf. Her expression was pinched and unhappy. 

“He’ll stay up crying if you rile like that,” She said.

“What do you know?” Celegorm shot back before anyone else could respond. He straightened up so that he could glare at her easter. The knife bounced in his hand as he pointed it at her. “You don’t care about him. You’re just here to feed him.”

“Don’t tell us what to do,” Caranthir snapped at her from the other side of the room where he was helping the twins warp table looms in the fading light. 

“Caranthir!”

The brothers flinched. Celegorm hastily put his knife away.

Nerdanel loomed out of the darkness in the hall to her and Fëanor’s room, hair half-undone from her braids for the evening. Her ire and flyaway hair seemed to fill half the room. 

“Sorry, Ma.” Caranthir ducked his head, already chastised for his rudeness. That didn’t stop his mother from laying on more, though she restrained her volume thanks to the nearby baby. The others kept their eyes averted, hoping to avoid drawing her attention to their own behavior. Curufin even hushed burbling Celebrimbor, rocking him gently until he quieted and yawned.

When she finished, Caranthir’s face was red with embarrassment. He turned to Mirioneth and, sounding sincere, apologized for what he said. She awkwardly forgave him, no doubt uncomfortable with how they were all looking at her.

Satisfied, Nerdanel turned to Amrod and Amras. “The light’s too poor to work on that anyway. Put those away and clear the table before going to sleep.” To Curufin and Mirioneth she said, “It’s high past time for Celebrimbor to be sleeping if you want any kind of a restful night. Take him to bed.” Her direction for everyone to be in bed before the end of the hour went unsaid but fully understood.

Caranthir helped the ten-year-olds tidy up their threads and move the looks. While their mother was assuredly still listening, Celegorm politely asked Mirioneth if she needed anything before she and Curufin retired; she was a guest after all. Caranthir shot him an annoyed look. She declined, shoved her knitting into a bag, and hurried to the unwed parents’ room, made private by evicting the twins and moving them to the open spot with Celegorm and Caranthir. 

(The rearranging of sleeping rooms was a sore spot for several months but they’d all gotten used to it. Caranthir insisted the twins were better roommates than everyone else in the house.)

Amrod and Amras excused themselves to run out to the barn with a lantern to say goodnight to the sheep. In short order, Caranthir and Celegorm found themselves alone in the quiet living room.

“So,” Caranthir said, face finally returning to a normal color. “Do you think she’ll try to run tonight?”

Celegorm considered the dark windows. “First snow, new moon, no clear road to follow. She’d be foolish to try.”

“So I should hide her shoes, just in case.”

The blond grinned like one of his dogs. “We’ll get Amrod to say he did it if anyone wonders.”

“Right.”

With that, Celegorm went back to work on his bone.