Work Text:
Fëanor looked up as the youngling climbed over the side of his cradle. He placed a finger to his lips as his sister Faniel appeared about to rise to assist in returning the child. Faniel remained where she sat, but her elegant fingers clutched the saucer and tiny teacup. “Oh, bother!” she fretted. “You are not worried for him? What if he should fall?”
“He will be fine,” Fëanor assured her. “He is my boy, after all. A son strong as he is charmingly beautiful.” They were sitting in the sunroom off of the master bedroom, watching through the doorway as Maedhros waddled about the room to look under the bed and examine a pair of his mother’s shoes. No one expected he and Nerdanel would have children immediately, so when Maedhros was born on the anniversary of their wedding they were ill-prepared to house another person in the home they were still in the process of building.
Faniel, the only sibling he could never find fault with, the only one he never dared remind was only his half-sister, came to assist with the household, for barely two months after Maedhros’ birth, Nerdanel was once more with child. She now placed her tea onto the table and gave Maedhros a little wave. He babbled some nonsense and disappeared past the door. “Oh-oh. Shall I get him?”
Fëanor was standing up now and shaking his head. “Watch this. He loves this,” said Fëanor as he grabbed a long cloak from another table. He shook it out and fastened the clasp at his throat, despite the warm weather. “Watch. Give him a moment. Watch, Fanny.”
Faniel nodded and kept her gaze locked on the doorway behind her eldest brother. “Should I--” She closed her mouth when she heard the rustle of little feet on the rug in the bedroom. A moment later, the enchanting little lad with the shock of red hair that caused every lady who saw him to coo more than he did grasped the door to steady himself. He peeked around and squealed, for Fëanor had crouched down at the doorway, back to the babe. Maedhros giggled and teetered around the door.
“That is so adorable,” whispered Faniel as Maedhros pattered his way to the curtain of burgundy velvet was and had to put his chubby arms out in front of him to slow his arrival, lest he smack his face against Fëanor's backside. Fëanor grinned upon impact, and Faniel placed a delicate hand to her lips, dimples emerging. Maedhros splayed out his fingers and took a fistful of cloak in his hand. “Ahhdjahh,” he announced as a dollop of drool hit the floor.
“Where is my little Rusco?” Feanor turned his head, and Maedhros bent his head down as if he was trying to hide. “Where did he go?”
“Ahhh. Djhahhh.” Maedhros tried to find the edge of the fabric, to no avail. Fëanor reached slowly around and wiggled his fingers at his son, who gurgled and squirmed away. The youngster scrambled about and came around, lifting back a corner of Fëanor's cloak to sneak beneath the mantle to hide. Fëanor laughed and reached his hand around again, but Maedhros squeaked and awkwardly tottered away. As Fëanor rose, he heard the pitter patter of little feet, their consonance a constant reminder the he now held another title: not smith, nor prince, but father.