A/N: This fic, a mix of family fluffiness and angst, is a sequel of sorts to my other fic Sparks fly out, in that this story features the same Netyarë as Curufin's wife.

I use Quenya names because this takes place in Valinor before the Darkening. Curufinwë=Curufin, Fëanáro=Fëanor, Telperinquar=Celebrimbor.

Curufinwë breathes a sigh of relief as he closes the door behind the last visitor. For hours they have had family members pouring in to see the baby and congratulate the new parents. The visitor who stayed the longest was his father, who was so excited about his first grandchild and so eager to hold him that Curufinwë practically had to steal the baby back and shove Fëanáro out. He chose to do it when he noticed how exhausted his wife was looking, sitting in their bed and leaning heavily against the headboard.

Now Curufinwë sits of the edge of the bed and cradles his son carefully and a little clumsily. He doesn't have a lot of experience of holding infants; when the Ambarussar were born he was more interested in creating things under his father's tutelage than in holding his little brothers, unlike Nelyafinwë who always liked tending to little ones.

'Little Curufinwion', he mutters and cannot resist touching the sleeping baby's fingers. So tiny and so perfect, more beautiful than anything else he has made. Certainly that is because this particular creation is his and Netyarë's collaboration.

His wife watches him and their son, tired but alert. 'I have a name for him, too.'

'Really? Already?' Most mothers give names to their children when they are older, names that arise from their insight into their children's character.

She nods. 'It's an amilessë apacenyë.' A mother-name of foresight.

This makes him look up from the baby and sharply search her face. 'You have had a premonition?'

'The first time they gave him to me to hold in my arms.' She fidgets a little, toys with the edge of the finely embroidered quilt in her lap. He looks at her tensely, and she tells him. 'I saw him making things with great skill like you and you father do.'

So far, this is a premonition that Curufinwë likes. He smiles down at his son.

'But I saw that the things he creates, though they are more beautiful and more powerful than anything that any other one of the Eldar will make in those days long in the future, are tied to darkness.'

Netyarë wipes away a tear. Curufinwë knows that she has great inner strength but feeling a shadow of fear over their child, newly born but already so dear to them, must have been tearing at her soul. And now it is tearing at his, too.

His wife continues in a shaken voice: 'Even as our son delights in the precious things he makes – especially the ones that are crafted of silver, I feel that silver will be where his passion lies – they will tie him, inextricably, to a dark fate.'

Now tears are running down her cheeks, and Curufinwë's heart aches for her and their son, so small and innocent it is impossible to think of him in the same sentence as dark things. Yet it is well known that mothers can have great insight also into their children's future. Still, he tries to console her, and himself.

'It may be that he and his creations are tied to darkness because he will drive away that darkness', he says and takes her fidgeting hand in his own, warming it.

'He will try', says his wife and looks at their son with tenderness and despair. 'But it is not given to me to see if he will succeed.'

Curufinwë gets on the bed next to her and she makes room for him, then leans against him as he carefully puts one arm around her shoulder while holding their son with the other. He kisses the top of her head and tells her it's all right, they're safe here and she must rest now and not worry about the future that is not certain.

'I should not like to call him Morimírë though it is the first name that came to my mind', says Netyarë quietly.

'No, dark jewel is not a good name for a child', says Curufinwë frowning.

Now Netyarë touches the baby's little fist. 'He will delight in making things out of silver with his hands', she says softly. 'So I shall give him the name Telperinquar, silver-fist.'

'That is a much better name. A very good name.' Curufinwë kisses her and then the baby, very carefully so as not to wake him. 'I should probably go now and leave you and little Curufinwion Telperinquar to sleep.' He starts to get up but she takes hold of his arm.

'Won't you stay and rest with us?'

He never can resist her when she looks at him with those beautiful eyes full of love. 'Of course I will if you want me to.'

As she lays down a little gingerly, he arranges himself and the baby and the covers on the bed so that all three of them will be comfortable.

In the hours that follow, lying there in their big bed with his wife, their son between them, watching over their sleep, Curufinwë is filled with so much happiness that there simply is no room for thoughts of dark prophecies.

A/N: Do leave a review if you have any comments to make!