[ Curufin's problem is a little different. After Nargothrond, the two of them never met again. Curufin never got to see his son as a leader of Elves, as a friend to the Dwarves of Moria, as a founding member of a kingdom, as a fully matured artist and smith, and as a husband and father. He had missed all the nuances of Celebrimbor's expressions as he grew into these facets of his life and destiny. And he had never known him as the defender of Eregion. That, too, was lost to him. But he eagerly searched that beloved face, today and every day that they interacted, collecting the details of those facial features and all the myriad expressions of which that tender, mobile face was capable. It was compensation for what he had lost. ]

My brothers all forgave me at the time! -- even if they were angry. We did have that: the love. [ He laughs a little, to remember how they were, in those days. That little Curufin, a fifth son who wouldn't be left out, who wouldn't be content with a lesser level of adventure and achievement, just because he was younger than everyone but the twins. And how tolerant Maedhros and Maglor were, considering what an irritation their younger brother must have been at times. ]

I'll be most pleased to see you demonstrate how to make bronze strings. [ He's looking forward to their being in the forge together again. ]

Oh, the battlestaff? [ He's going to encourage his son to design it himself. ] Hmm, I guess the first thing to do is what you've always done. Think about what requirements it must meet, and make some drawings, and look at some materials.