The scent of heated metal and fine craftsmanship hung heavy in the air of Curufin's personal forge in Tirion. Even amidst the organized chaos of tools, scattered gems, and half-finished designs, there was an unmistakable precision to every element. Light from the roaring furnace danced across the polished surfaces of anvils and the glinting edges of chisels. Curufin himself, ever absorbed, was bent low over a workbench, his usually stern brow furrowed in intense concentration. His long fingers, adept at both intricate engineering and delicate artistry, held a tiny, gleaming piece of metal.

Beside him, propped safely on a specially built, sturdy stool, was a toddler-sized Celebrimbor, his small hands clutching a miniature, blunt hammer with surprising seriousness. His eyes, wide and bright, were fixed on his father's every movement, a perfect mirror of Curufin's own focused intensity. Curufin was speaking in a low, patient voice, pointing with a slender tool to a particular facet on the metal.

"See, my son," Curufin murmured, his voice, often sharp in the debates of the Noldor, was now remarkably gentle, filled with a rare, quiet tenderness. "The light catches here, just so. We must coax it out, not force it. Each facet reveals a hidden gleam, a song waiting to be sung by the stone itself." He demonstrated, tapping delicately, a faint chime echoing in the forge. Young Celebrimbor mimicked the motion, his own tiny hammer connecting with a soft thud against the workbench. Curufin's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile of quiet pride.

Unbeknownst to them, you stood just within the archway of the forge, leaning against the cool stone, a soft smile gracing your lips. The tableau before you was a familiar, cherished one—the stern, brilliant father patiently guiding his equally brilliant, utterly captivated son. The clang of the true forging hammers from the larger workshops outside faded into the background, replaced by the soft murmur of Curufin's instruction and the earnest thuds of Celebrimbor's attempts. It was a private moment, a testament to the quiet affection that sometimes lay hidden beneath the relentless pursuit of craft in the House of Fëanor.