Child of the Woods by Aprilertuile

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Chapter 4: after the birth

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Despite Fëanáro’s fretting, the birth had gone well. Despite his checking on his new baby’s health every few moments, the child was well, sleeping, and eating, and crying and pooping, like all babies did.

However, a secluded spot close to the encampment wasn’t actually secluded enough or far enough for sound to not have reached the two sleeping younger elves.

Maitimo and Makalaurë had both been awakened by the sounds of the birth, and both had tiptoed closer, just far enough to stay out of the way and so out of notice from their parents, but close enough to have a good idea of what was happening, and both decided on the spot that they never wanted to have children.

In the morning they had been formally introduced to their baby brother.

It had been... A sight.

Now Nerdanel was resting in her husband’s arms, and the baby was, Makalaurë supposed, with Maitimo.

Makalaurë himself had gone a bit farther away from his family’s camp, in a suspiciously convenient spot, an area of soft grass under his feet, surrounded by heavy bushes and little trees of interesting shapes, studying intensively for his music lesson.

It was perhaps just a bit of distraction from his recent discoveries on childbirth.

Who knew the process could be this...

Gross?

And babies so... Ugly?

He couldn’t tell his parents that, for they seemed enamoured with the new baby, and his opinion didn’t seem to be shared either by the maiar around, for it seemed they all came to see his baby brother with the startlingly clear hair.

But a newborn baby was Ugly! There was no other word for it. Like those pickled prunes their father had once tried to make (and failed, but detail).

In any case: music.

He loved it. The harp was a fantastic instrument, and it was pretty hard to make mistakes that would hurt someone’s ears. So at least with this instrument, he could play without ‘disturbing the baby, Makalaurë!’ as his mother said when he tried to play, staying near his family.

He was trying to write a composition.

He wasn’t yet very good at that. But he would get better at it. He would.

However that day wasn’t this day, for his brother joined him in the clearing, walking on a dead branch that snapped under his feet, with a noise that Makalaurë found not loud and dramatic enough for all it heralded the end of his peaceful and quiet study time.

Maitimo, his beloved brother that he didn’t at all want to strangle for that, came to him and deposited in his arms their little brother Turkafinwë, who was crying his little heart out: an infant that was sounding purely heartbroken.

“Nelyo!” Makalaurë squeaked in alarm.

“Mom and dad are busy and I need to go back to Tirion now or I’ll be late for the start of the season at court, and I can’t take care of the baby. Deal with it!” Maitimo said before leaving him in a hurry.

Makalaurë looked at the closing door with a vague face of betrayal.

He wasn’t busy himself perhaps?

Ugh. Brothers.

He eyed his crying littlest brother:

“Hey, Turko, what’s the tragedy, hm? Why cry?”

The sound of his voice only induced a short hiccup of vague calm-curiosity in his brother before the tears and baby cries started again.

Makalaurë pushed his harp to the side slightly, and stood on his feet.

He knew from having seen mothers in Tirion do it that babies could calm down when they were in the arms of someone walking.

So he walked in a circle around the clearing.

And walked.

And walked.

And still the baby filled his ears with his cries.

And on the edge of the clearing stood suspiciously curious animals watching them.

Because that was entirely natural animal behaviour and not eerie at all.

Ugh, maiar. All curious and not one to take his baby brother from him to help.

Now Makalaurë too wanted to cry. His brother wasn’t calming down, he was getting late in his lesson plan, and no one was coming in to save him from the inconsolable baby.

Makalaurë stopped in the middle of his pacing, and started humming mindlessly, trying to think, and Eru knew it was hard to think with his brother’s voice in his ears.

Only....

The baby was crying softly now, no more screams of discontent, as the baby had his eyes focused on him suddenly.

“Music hm?” Makalaurë mused.

Well that at least he could do.

Somewhat.

Only... However much he tried he couldn’t think of a single lullaby.

And he had just started on his instruments. The flute with only one hand he could freed without dropping his brother was not going to be possible, and the harp...

Hm...

Makalaurë started humming a soft, simplistic melody that would probably have his father look at him in derision in a sort of: ‘What do we pay teachers for if that’s all you can do still?’

However... Whatever worked in this case.

The young elf sat at his harp, his baby brother positioned carefully so he could hold him in only one arm, and he started to play.

At first the melody wasn’t quite what he had in mind...

But he insisted until he finally managed.

He started to sing alongside the melody, mindless lyrics that came to his mind:

Sleep brother mine,

Oh sleep, brother mine,

It is night time,

At last, close your eyes,

Oh stop crying,

I beg, I love you,

With you I’ll stay,

Now and forever

Oh he knew he’d never prove his mastery of music with that but against his chest, baby Tyelkormo had grabbed a strand of his hair in his little fingers and was yawning tiredly, eyes fixed on him, whining silenced, eyes finally dried and closing slowly.

Makalaurë breathed a sigh of relief at his baby brother finally sleeping, and not crying.

However he had no idea what he was supposed to do now.

Surely he couldn’t leave the baby here, take his harp back and come back for the baby, but then again, leaving his harp here alone unsupervised with strange maiar around didn’t inspire him confidence either, and he needed his harp.

Why children couldn’t just pop up into existence already at an age of being able to walk and speak?