Child of the Woods by Aprilertuile

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Chapter 8: Oromë’s Woods

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They arrived in Oromë’s Woods a couple of hours after they started moving again in the morning. Nerdanel went further into the woods on her horse, looking for Fëanáro-didn’t-know-what and Fëanáro stayed on the edge with the children.

These woods were... Strange. Disquieting if Fëanáro was honest.

Nerdanel has been out of his line of sight far sooner than she should have been. The sky itself seemed... Muffled somehow. The light was eerily reflected around. Far more eerily than in any other forest he had visited.

And, while forests as a rule didn’t hold his love, he had no issue with them and would happily go travelling through one with his children, showing them animals and plants, teaching them to recognize stones they’d find on the way...

The only forest Fëanáro was happy to make a detour to avoid entirely was this one. Oromë’s own home.

Despite the fact that elves were generally quite welcome among the Valar and in their homes, Fëanáro was well aware that anything could happen... And somehow those woods freed those feelings of unease. Of... Not danger, really... But of something wild. Something that had no place among civilised people. Something... That brought impermanence and uncertainty of life in the forefront of his mind.

He didn’t like it.

And LESS OF ALL when he had his children with him.

To keep his hands busy while his wife was away, Fëanáro was trying to see if there were fruits he could pick up in the bushes and trees around the carts, to give a taste of it to Turkafinwë.

It was definitely easier to manage to find a variety of foods for his son to taste when they were home.

And yes, he had heard the ladies in waiting among his father’s councillors who were claiming it was better to give the children safe and bland food until they were older.

It was ridiculous.

He wanted his children to actually develop their sense of taste and bring them some curiosity as to the world around them, not to allow them to live close off, centred around themselves and what is comfortable to them. There was never any evolution when people were happy to stagnate in their comfort. Raising a child this way could only affect their evolution, he felt.

Fëanáro had left Turkafinwë sleeping on the cart that was never farther than two steps away from him, Makalaurë was... Apparently taken with the idea of climbing a tree, and he, himself, took a regular look at his children to make sure there were no mishaps.

While Turkafinwë was napping, he preferred to let him sleep properly. He’d find himself running after his child soon enough.

Fëanáro always found himself surprised at how high in energy babies really were.

However he had the impression that little Turkafinwë was far more active than his brothers had been.

That might just have been an impression due to the fact that in the Pastures of Yavanna, Maiar have kept trying to kidnap him but...

Fëanáro turned around to take a look at his sleeping son and found himself ready to cry.

Turkafinwë... Was not in his cart-bed.

He knew the child had started to crawl, but why? How? And mostly When and Where was he now?

“Makalaurë?!” Fëanáro called.

“Yes dad?”

“Did you see your brother?”

“My brother? Turko?”

“Yes Turko! Do you have another brother who’s a baby and gone from his crib?”

“Uh no, I haven’t seen him. Wasn’t he sleeping?”

“He was... and he isn’t anymore, clearly, or I wouldn’t have asked!”

“But... Don’t babies cry when they wake up?”

“Makalaurë, we have a child to find before something happens, not a game of questions!”

Makalaurë sighed but got down the tree and started to help Fëanáro to look around their cart and then farther away.

“I don’t suppose we can ask a maia’s help? Just... You know? Just in case?” Makalaurë asked when it was clear that the baby was gone.

“It’s them again!” Fëanáro declared grumpy.

“Dad?”

“Turkafinwë is a baby. He can’t possibly have gone that far in the few moments I took my eyes off of him. Hence something took him and I’m pretty sure that something is a meddling Maia. Again.”

“Uh... I... Suppose?!”

Fëanáro undid the harness holding the horse to the cart and turned toward Makalaurë:

“Guard the cart, do NOT leave the area! I’ll go get your mother and look for a meddling Power and I’ll be back.”

Fëanáro mounted the horse and left, galloping.

Makalaurë found himself alone with the cart... When he heard a faint giggle under a thorny bush.

“He didn’t...” Makalaurë whispered, shocked, before going to look cautiously under the thorny thing... To find his baby brother giggling, with what looked like a beetle in his hand.

“Only a few months old and already causing trouble! Dad is going to lose it. How did you even get there?!”

Makalaurë grabbed his baby brother and pulled him carefully out from under the thorny bush, trying to make sure that no thorn was going to hurt the baby.

He wasn’t stupid, his father would murder him if anything happened to his baby brother. He was oddly protective over him.

“You are Trouble!” Makalaurë decided on the spot, even as he was eyeing the beetle in his brother’s hand.

Strangely, the insect seemed neither bothered nor pained to be in a baby’s hand.

And Tyelkormo hadn’t tried to put it in his mouth and hadn’t yet crushed it accidentally, or let it go accidentally either.

Makalaurë’s eyed the baby suspiciously:

“You do know how to be gentle, you little pest! You already know not to pull hair! You do it on purpose! You hate me!” Makalaurë realised, looking absolutely outraged that the baby would dare.

A happy little giggle answered him at that.

When Fëanáro and Nerdanel came back, what felt like hours later but was probably much shorter if nothing else than on account of Fëanáro’s fretting, they were accompanied by a being perched on a gigantic horse, all white in colour save for golden hooves.

Turkafinwë was looking sleepy in his brother’s arms, but the sound of all the horses and of his parents talking anxiously with Oromë woke him up firmly.

Oromë had a faint smile when he saw the baby in the young elf’s arms:

“What do you have here, little one?”

“Bee!” Turkafinwë exclaimed happily.

Nerdanel and Fëanáro exchanged a shocked look:

“Is that his first word?” Nerdanel squeaked, on the verge of laughing.

“Bee? At least Nelyo and Laurë’s words were mom and dad!” Fëanáro said looking somewhere between shocked, offended and amused.

Oromë was looking at the insect in the baby’s hand.

“Not quite a bee, no. I’m afraid. That, little elf, is a beetle.”

“Where was he, Makalaurë?”

“You know the one bush we said he couldn’t have hidden under because it was thorny and surely the baby wouldn’t want to risk getting injured in the process?”

“... Yes?”

“There.”

Fëanáro sighed, a hand coming up to his face tiredly, shaking.

“How?!” Fëanáro squeaked.

“I have no idea. He’s fine while I scratched my arms just getting him out!” Makalaurë said, indignant!

“The forest seems to like your child. The bush might have moved on its own for the sake of your brother.” Oromë mused quietly amused.

“Bee!” Little Turkafinwë said, raising the hand with the beetle toward Oromë.

Oromë tilted his head to the side, and raised a hand, putting it under that of the baby who let the insect fall in the hand of the bigger being, with a toothless smile...

And raised both his hands... Toward the Vala’s head.

Oromë was startled into laughter at that.

“No little elf, if you want my antlers, you’ll have to hunt me for them.”

Tyelkormo cooed at the Vala who looked amused, and poked at him gently:

“One day, little one, you will have your chance, but that day isn't yet come.”