If anyone would have asked Aredhel, Lómion was a quiet child. He fussed little and cried silently. No one in the house would remember one single moment in which he had ever shrieked or raised his small voice in annoyance.
If something bothered him, he would toss and turn in his covers, his little mouth would curl in a pout and occasionally he would chew whatever he could, from the sleeves of his tunic to his mother's fingers. When he grew up a bit and his first teeth began to show, his chewing became biting and his mother would scold him half-heartedly, for she could never get actually angry with him. She didn't need to, in any case.
They had only three servants in their house; more people Eöl couldn't tolerate. One of them was a Sinda, Glavroleth. She took care of the house itself, the kitchen and the cleaning. She had been ecstatic when it had become clear that Aredhel would stay as the mistress of the house. She had doted on the Noldo when she was expecting and she would have gladly raised the little child herself.
Aredhel could not stand her. She pitied her and despised her. The affected reverence and her intrusiveness she had to endure, but no one else but herself, his mother, would raise her child.
"Why is the child so quiet? Why doesn't it cry more?"
Aredhel would never understand if Eöl had been happy to have a son. At times he would show interest and even worry for the child, but his manners betrayed no fondness.
Aredhel rolled her eyes at him: "More? Why would he cry more, Eöl? He's fine"
"It should cry more. It's unnaturally quiet", he said with a frown. She bit her lips, suppressing a smile. When little Lómion was troubled by something, his frown matched his father's.
"It should not. He is perfectly fine, look at him", she bounced the baby on her hip and brushed his little nose. He gave her a toothless smile.
"Mmh. As you say."
His frown deepened when he noticed a glint in her eyes. She grinned at him: "Hold him?"
"What?"
"Oh, please! Hold him!"
"No!"
She hummed undeterred and closed the distance between them, all but dropping the baby in his lap: "Just for a little while. There, it's not difficult, isn't it? Now, now don't fuss, little one, be a good boy for you ada, mh?"
Eöl watched horrified as Aredhel turned away, her light feet carrying her quickly out of the room.
"Come, Himon", she called, "We had to check that lame horse, didn't we?"
The servant looked from the door to the face of his lord, unsure.
"Himon!" her voice called again.
Eöl jerked his chin in her voice's direction: "Go help the lady!"
"Yes, my lord"
"And Himon, make sure that she doesn't...come up with strange ideas, understood?"
"As always, my lord"
The servant bowed and disappeared behind Aredhel, leaving Eöl alone with the baby.
"Now, what to do with you?" he grumbled.
The child looked up at him with curiosity; his large dark eyes seemed to study his every expression. Then the child frowned.
"What now? Don't tell me that you'll start crying now?"
But the child kept silent. Eöl tilted his head, wondering if he should move or speak to it.
The child tilted his head and let out a small playful sound.
Eöl jerked as if slapped. He narrowed his eyes and slowly, very slowly he stuck his tongue out. The child's little pink tongue popped out.
Eöl quickly looked around, making sure that no one else could see them.
"Alright little bullfinch. Let's see what you can do"
"Young master! What are you doing with those crumbs? You will scatter them everywhere! No, don't run! Oh, and who will then clean this mess? Always me, poor Glavroleth…"
Her voice faded as Lómion ran out, his small bundle of crumbs held carefully in his hands. He reached the little pond in the garden behind the house.
He sat down on his rock near the water and opened the handkerchief. He had enough crumbles to feed all the fishes in the pond, he reasoned, and something else could be spared also for the little birds.
His tongue poked out in concentration as he began to toss the crumbles where the fishes were. Soon enough he saw them. Yellow and orange, their translucent scales sparkled in the water as their heads popped up. He watched fascinated how they sloshed about, their fins fluttering like leaves.
He felt something poking his hand and he had to tear his gaze from the fishes. A small chaffinch tilted his head, looking curiously at Lómion.
"Hello, little friend. Are you hungry?"
The bird poked his fingers again and Lómion opened the handkerchief.
"Look, I have some bread for you!"
One after another, several birds joined them, skipping around the Elf until all the crumbles disappeared.
When he returned inside, some hours later, it seemed that nobody was there. Glavorleth was probably still in the kitchen busy with her stew. Nardhon and Himon, the other two servants, were away since the morning, buying and trading for goods in the settlements outside Nan-Elmoth.
He tiptoed in front of his father's chamber, careful not to make a sound. Perhaps his mother was in her room, waiting for him to come to listen to one of her tales.
He gulped when he say the door slightly ajar, orange light illuminating the corridor. Muffled voices reached him and Lómion recognised his parents.
"He needs a name. He's grown already!"
He heard his father sigh heavily. "We have talked about this. Not yet. He's still a child, too small."
"You can't call him 'son' all of his life!"
"That is what he is. My son. My rules"
"He's my son too, Eöl, and I refuse to leave him nameless"
Silence. Then: "You have already named him, haven't you?"
Eöl's voice had a dangerous edge. Lómion could well imagine him, shoulders hunched, eyes narrowed as he regarded his mother with veiled contempt.
"So what if I did" – ah, now his mother would have her chin tilted up, her eyes glinting with pride while she stood in all her height.
"In your damned language, that is!" he spat.
She said nothing. Lómion heard heavy steps and his father's ragged breath: "You don't deny it?"
"No"
His father growled. Something fell on the carpeted floor with a thud.
"Oh please, you're ridiculous", his mother sounded exasperated.
Something else fell with another thud. Lómion was curious; silently, he drew nearer to the door and looked.
His parents were face to face and the little elf froze. His father was scary.
He had his hands around his mother's arms and was shaking her: "What did you call him? Are you teaching him that language? Answer me!"
Several objects were on the ground, books, candlesticks and papers.
"You are hurting me, Eöl. Release me!"
His mother didn't seem to be scared.
"Answer me!" he shouted.
Lómion gasped audibly. His mother struggled and managed to free herself. She turned, a worried look on her face. His father's eyes snapped up on him and widened: "Son…"
Lómion ran.
For the second prompt: childhood/ life in Nan-Elmoth
Enjoy and let me know what you think of it!