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The heavy hammering of the Forge is music to my ears, but I have found myself missing actual song. Is there anyone amongst us who can sing? What of performing on an instrument? I have crafted harps before and I could perhaps manage a flute if that would be useful.

(He comes from a family that has more than a touch of talent in music - particularly where his uncle is concerned - but Celebrimbor has never been overly fond of his voice. He can sing and hold a tune, yet once you hear someone like his bardic uncle, you cannot accept mediocre.)

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[ Curufin, too, feels at these moments as though time has turned backwards. This is a magic he never expected to experience, and yet here it is. It is as though those long-ago events are somehow still here, not simply memory. As though he can hear Cel's childish laughter as he ran down the great hall at Himring, his small, swift feet pattering on the flagstones, his uncles guffawing and running after him, accepting the child's challenge to a game of tag. And those later years, the ones he had missed because he was dead when Cel lived on into the Second Age -- those, too, in a way, he has access to, though less directly. He can see them in Cel's eyes as his son speaks of them or thinks of them. ]

[ But back to this practical matter. ] I am not certain about the Hadriel gods, either. But perhaps it could not hurt to ask them. I will make no bargain with them if what they ask does not sound right to me.

[ And he waits with interest to see what his son comes up with as a design for the staff. ]

Edited 2017-02-04 09:56 (UTC)

(He is happy to share all of the memories that do not include Curufin with him. There is nothing off-limits - except for the obvious, of course - and Celebrimbor wants his father to know his life; to know his accomplishments and what he learned of Middle Earth.)

Please do not. Your well-being and contentment are more precious to me than all the Mithril that has ever existed.

(He glances at Curufin fixedly - protectively - before going back to his drawing. Once he finishes the outline, he holds it up. On the page, a wooden staff is drawn with the head of a horse. It isn't any horse - Curufin may notice it as the first horse Celebrimbor had ever ridden (under his father's careful eye). There is a marking on the carving's forehead that gives it away.)

[ He nods. He may still talk to the gods, but he won't do anything stupid. His decisions have made his son suffer far too much, and he will not add to that. ]

I could say the same of you, my son!

[ When he sees the drawing, he laughs aloud in pleasure. ] I remember! You were just a little lad, and you took to riding as though it were second nature.

I will not make any dangerous trades. (Nothing is worth any complications; any risks. He finishes his sketch and glances up at Curufin curiously.)

I loved that mare. (The recreation of her face is complete with a mane that has a slight curl. Celebrimbor recalls such tiny details with joy.) She was so patient with me and you gave her to me.

[ Curufin nods, and then he smiles a little. In his gentle way, Celebrimbor is laying down the law. A bit of role-reversal in the family can't hurt, and sometimes it's a very good idea! ]

[ He looks more closely at the drawing, and he sees the curl in the mare's mane, and other details that recall that gentle animal. ] And she loved you, as what animal would not? I thought about it for a while before I decided on her as your gift. And what a pleasure it was to see how you took to each other!

[ Happy memories. This one is given freely. Curufin doesn't intrude on his son's thoughts, respecting the boundaries between their minds unless the thoughts are offered, though he can see Cel's emotions in his eyes. It is the emotions rather than the thoughts that he reads, but in this instance, it is the swift graceful lines of a sketch that tell him his son's thought clearly and delightfully. ]

Edited 2017-02-05 14:56 (UTC)

(Certain laws must be laid down lest they repeat the past! Celebrimbor has had enough of rash action! Though he will not speak sharply with his father; Curufin does not deserve that.)

You are biased. (Those words are spoken affectionately and with a healthy amount of shyness.) I brushed her mane every day. I used a stool to reach her and she would lean down to help. I remember when she went into foal too. I was nervous that entire night!

But her foal was beautiful. Just like her. (He blinks and smiles faintly.) It is too easy to reminisce.

[ Oh, what a good dad Cel must have been! XD ]

Of course I'm biased. I'm your father. [ Laughing. ]

You cared for her wonderfully. I remember watching you climbing up on that stool, and drawing the brush through her mane, with that serious look on your face. But then your face would break into such a tender smile when the mare nudged you gently or moved her shoulders to help you reach.

When that foal was born, you never left the stable. I brought blankets and pillows for you to lie down on if you got tired, but I don't think you used them much. I think you were there with us, the head groom and I, the whole time while we helped that foal come into the world.

[ He smiles too. ] I like it when you remember. It seems to make you happy. And to carve your staff with a remembrance of your mare and of those times? -- what a wonderful idea.

Edited 2017-02-06 16:03 (UTC)

(He tried. :( )

Fathers cannot help being biased, I suppose. (He grins at the laughter, happy to be the cause of it.)

She had a kind soul and I think she mothered me more than she befriended me. (The mare had brightened when she saw him - or so it seemed to him. She would blow her breath into his dark hair and if the weather looked ominous, she would carry him swiftly back to the stables.) That would make her foal practically my sibling, wouldn't it?

(Celebrimbor smiles, remembering how anxious he had been to see the baby come into the world. Sleeping had been the furthest thing from his mind!)

There is nothing like witnessing a birth. I liked to visit the stables each time a mare was ready to foal, though duties often kept me from doing so.

(The mare is a symbol for him of happier, simpler times; times he shared with Curufin and Maedhros without shadows darkening the day.)

I wanted to ride at your side since I learned to walk. She helped me fulfill that wish and you gave her to me. I thought all dreams could come true then. With you, I feel that way again, though the prospect is frightening.

Edited 2017-02-07 03:33 (UTC)

[ Moved left. ]

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