On the Edges by Elrond's Library  

On the Edges

The overlooked son, Carnistir was, with such strong personalities among his kin. Above, Tyelkormo, beloved of Oromë the Great Hunter; Makalaurë, beloved of the performance circuit; Maitimo, beloved of Finwë’s court. And below Curufinwë, beloved of Fëanáro; Minyarussa, beloved of Vána; Atyarussa, beloved of Nerdanel.

Never mind Fëanáro himself, the darling Prince of Tirion, beloved of Finwë Ñoldóran and Aulë and Manwë Súlimo himself.

Where did that leave quiet, mild, ever-watchful Carnistir? Beloved by none but himself, the dark middle child that faded into the shadows.

Keen, he was, to create for himself space for recognition. His grandmother’s craft he learned and mastered – roving turned to thread, thread to yarn, yarn to sock and sweater and shawl. The looms grew bigger, more intricate, the patterns mechanized with reams of cards that ran the length of their home twice over. Yet in the shadows he stayed, unremarked upon, a tender of quiet spaces in a tumultuous home. A gentle teacher, a listening ear, a faint smile. A sounding board for ideas that need no response. Forever giving, but never receiving that which he most craved.

But when roused to anger, he roared. When provoked, his wrath was the thunder of a thousand storms. Fierce he was, in defense of his kin. Voice mingling with the chorus to swear to holy purpose, swords flashing on the bloody beach. Ships burned under the light of his torches, same as all the rest.

He claimed the mountains, when Maitimo and Ñolofinwë carved up Beleriand among their number. This would be his chance to escape, to create for himself his own household, his own force. To earn the praise of his brothers through alliance and trade and craft and brash diplomacy.

But he was still on the edges of the map. 

Overlooked to the end.