All characters and creativity belong to Tolkien.
Please review, but bear in mind I'm not a native speaker.
Not such a Warm Welcome
He could remember precious little of the first few months after his re-embodiment but for the half-elf's sake he'd try to remember.
Celebrimbor dipped the pen in the ink, and started writing on the parchment. But his pen slipped with the very first word, and an inkblot spread over the parchment. He sighed, studied the pen's carving for a moment, and tried again, annoyed with both his clumsiness and his weariness. This time he did manage to finish one word before the pen slipped again, leaving a smaller inkblot this time. With a sigh Celebrimbor observed the stained parchment, the fresh inkblot still spreading, like his own blood had on the doorstep of the guild house. Perhaps he'd have to start writing on a slate, like a small child learning to write. He snorted, he a master smith was struggling to write. Vexedly he dipped his pen in the ink again, this time an inkblot escaped and hit the parchment before his pen had. He jumped up, the chair falling down behind him with great noise, he kicked it across the room and violently flung the pen into the same direction. He was about to rush out of the room, when he nearly bumped into his grandmother, startled and pale, Nerdanel stood in the door gazing at him with wide eyes and open mouth. It stung him that she would look at him that way, his own kin, whilst he had never raised a weapon or even his fist at another elf, not even to that tree-loving usurper. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his rising temper. Gently he lifted his hand meaning to stroke her, to reassure her, but she backed away. "I'm sorry", he whispered despite his hurt. For a moment she looked at him queryingly, he felt the same tingling in the back of his head as he had felt around Artanis sometimes, but she turned around and rushed off. He decided against following her, worried he might again give her the wrong impression. He swallowed hard tears sprung to his eyes. Why was he continuously judged as if he were Fëanáro or Curufinwe or one of his uncles? He was Tyelpinquar, he had made many mistakes, but he was no kinslayer nor a wife-beater. Mahtan was standing in the hallway, he must have observed all. He put a reassuring hand on Celebrimbor's shoulder, before hurrying after his daughter.
He needed to get out, and went into the garden. Mahtan's garden would have pleased even the most conservative of Silvans. The grass grew high and unchecked, and the trees were uncultivated and bore no fruit worth mentioning. Celebrimbor found a grassless piece of dirt underneath a great oak tree and dropped down. He started draw the cirth in the dirt with a stick. He was nearly amused with how strenuous and awkward it was to draw the simple design of the runes in the soft relenting dirt. Artanis' daughter and her husband had come to visit him. Or perhaps more accurately Elrond had come to visit him, and brought his wife along, who was still infuriated with him for the betrayal of her parents, once she had considered him his uncle, how could he have been so gullible so easily beguiled by Sauron. He sighed, Elrond observing him with an healer's eye, had asked him to write about the experience of re-embodiment to aid him with his work as a healer. He had agreed to do so, choosing not to disclose to the half-elf his current inability to write, or even eat with cutlery. He didn't think this request was truly why Elrond had come to visit. He didn't mind, the half-elf's interest and respect, had kindled his grandmother interest, who had only taken him in because Aulë had requested it, and the task gave him something to work towards, a purpose, which he had missed.