When he commented about Tyelperinquar, Idril barely missed a beat. There was more suffering than his words suggested, something dark and broken within the memory, but she would not push, “Ah, yes, Tyelpe. I tend to be of the opinion our generation has more sense than the rest of the family; like I he only shows up to court if he needs something, and otherwise seems quite happy with his work. He is good at it, too; mayhaps you will find the sugar dish familiar?”
Indeed, the dainty, silver sugar dish, placed on the table alongside the teapot and sturdy mugs, was one of the more elaborate pieces in the house. It, too, had been an exceptionally late, and the most recent, wedding gift - one from the named smith, when he was reborn and still testing just what he could still achieve after death, and rebirth, and with new caution in his art. The maker’s mark, hidden under all the sugar, was still the same as he had ever used.
“The older I get, the more I wonder if it is part of the ainur as well. All of our lives are dictated by the Song; it is upon us to make the best dance we can when the music is written and the themes dictated. They may have written that music, but I grow ever more convinced they did not know what they were doing as they did,” she sighed again, shaking her head as she poured the tea. “Forgive me; thoughts wander as they will when one was not expecting a guest.”
At the odd words, Idril narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, before her expression softened and she offered him a smile. Gently, she took his hand back into her own, “do not worry yourself, little one; I dream of the future and watch everything I love burn every night, my husband is an immortal mortal who makes friends with the sea, my son - your father - rides the skies as a star, and your mother - his wife - turns into a seagull at will. Not to mention her grandmother, who charmed lenience from Namo himself. A little oddity is nothing we are not used to, even if we must learn how yours manifests. Now sit yourself down, drink your tea, and do not fret about ridiculous idiosyncrasies you cannot help.”
As if to prove her point, she took her hand away, picked up his cup of the tea up from the table, and forced it into his hands.
“Marginally more sense, he still kept his relationship with that ba—Annatar even when I informed him of his corrupt fae,” Carnya informed his grandmother. “He has good sense outside of his love life, it appears.” He wasn’t sure whether he resented Tyelprinquar for not listening to him during that time for if he had maybe he would have lived to see past the second age and they could have been reunited with Elrond.
They could have been happy together.
“Oh they definitely didn’t know what they were doing, why else would they have not gone after Morgoth when he killed those under their ‘protection’? Complete fu—fools, the lot of them,” the small elf huffed, not the slightest put off by his grandmother’s dislike of the valar. Unable to understand social cues and honest to a fault, it wouldn’t be the first time he had done something similar.
Relieved that he hadn’t frightened Idril off, Carnya beamed at her and happily accepted the cup of tea she made for him. “One of amme’s advisors in Sirion theorised that I’m like this due to the lack of fae bonding I had in the year and a half before atya found me.”
He sipped at the tea, delighted by the taste of it. “I was in an orphanage with a limited amount of carers so I didn’t get as much fae feeding as I needed and stunted my development somewhat.” Rather like his struggle to understand social cues, being appropriate and to be careful of what he said and how he said it, oh, and his inability to use buttons.
No matter what, Elwing and Earendil will always be who he saw as his amme and atya. They were the ones who willingly took him in, fed him, clothed him, kissed him good night and loved him freely. The Feanorians on the other hand, had been reluctant to take him in and had only done so because he and the twins would 'starve to death’ if they had been left behind.
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