It's early on a cold winter's morning, and Finrod toddles down the corridor, chewing at the corner of the blanket he's dragging along with him. His chair is messy and tangled, his clothes are too thin and rumpled, and he's got drool smeared across his face. It's obvious that he's just woken up. He's managed to escape from his parents again, and he's currently just wandering on his own through halls of their communal home. He manages to find his way to the forge, where Fëanor is. Finrod giggles, and smiles widely.

Finrod: "Uncle Náro!"

Fëanor turns around at Finrod's shout, and smiles as he sees the tiny boy. He picks the little elf up, and smiles gently at him.

Fëanor: "Hello, my little Fino. You look very messy, little one. Have you escaped from your Adar again? Do you want to see what I'm currently working on?"