In the flickering light of the forge, where the clang of hammers usually echoed, a different kind of struggle was unfolding. Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, with his usually stern brow furrowed in a most un-Maedhros-like expression of gentle frustration, knelt beside a small, determined, and increasingly irate toddler.

"Now, Celegorm, my little brother," Maedhros began, his deep voice softened to a melodic rumble, "see this sheet of parchment? It's not so fearsome, is it? We just need to… connect the lines." He gestured with a charcoal stick to a simple labyrinth drawn on the paper. "Think of it like finding your way through a forest. You start here," he tapped the entrance, "and you want to get… here!" He tapped the exit, then looked expectantly at the tiny, bright-eyed boy.

Celegorm, whose attention span was currently measured in nanoseconds, stared at the paper for a moment, then at Maedhros’s face, then back at the paper. He picked up his own charcoal stick, a miniature version of his uncle’s, and with a flourish that promised more artistic chaos than logical progression, drew a bold, squiggly line from the start that immediately veered off into the margins. Maedhros chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound.

"Ah, close, my swift one, but we must stay within the paths. See? Like this." He guided Celegorm's hand, drawing a short, straight segment. "We follow the path, step by step." Celegorm tried again, a tiny frown of concentration etched between his eyebrows. This time, he managed to stay on the path for a fraction longer, before his line abruptly curved into a wall. His brow furrowed deeper. He poked the offending wall with his charcoal. "Stuck!" he declared, his voice a surprisingly loud squeak for such a small being.

"Not stuck, just… a detour!" Maedhros assured him, trying to keep the encouragement in his voice. "We turn around. See? Like this. We find another way." He demonstrated, carefully tracing a new path with his finger. This went on for some time. Maedhros, ever patient, explained about "dead ends" and "right turns" and "left turns," his descriptions becoming increasingly elaborate. He even tried to compare it to chasing squirrels in the garden, which briefly sparked Celegorm's interest before he remembered the frustrating paper.

"No!" Celegorm suddenly shrieked, his small face scrunched up in an expression of pure, unadulterated toddler fury. He threw his charcoal stick across the room with surprising force, sending it clattering against a shield hanging on the wall. "No! Hard!" He crossed his arms tightly, a tiny, defiant king on his small throne of cushions. His lower lip began to tremble ominously.

Maedhros sighed, a soft, almost imperceptible exhalation. He knew this stage well. He picked up the discarded charcoal, then gently scooped the fuming toddler into his lap. "It is hard, little one," he admitted, rocking him gently. "Learning new things often is. Even for great warriors like your uncle." He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Why, once, when I was learning to ride, I fell into a mud puddle seven times in one morning!" Celegorm’s eyes, still wet with frustration, widened slightly. "Mud puddle?" he echoed, a hint of curiosity creeping through his anger.

"A very, very deep mud puddle," Maedhros embellished. "But did I give up? No! I got back on the horse, covered in mud, and I tried again. And eventually, I learned. Just like you will learn this." He picked up the paper again, smoothing it out. "We don't have to finish it all at once. Perhaps we can just try one more little bit? Or maybe… we can draw a very silly monster who lives at the end of the maze and eats all the walls?" Celegorm blinked, a small, tentative smile beginning to form. The rage-quit had passed, replaced by the universal toddler love for silly monsters. Maedhros knew then that the lesson, while perhaps not fully absorbed, had at least been salvaged. For now.