A soft gurgle escaped the toddler now nestled securely in your arms, his small hands clutching the front of your tunic. His fiery hair, a vibrant echo of his past life, was a delightful mess, falling into eyes that, despite their youthful innocence, held a flicker of something ancient and knowing.

As you walked through the elven gathering, a few friendly elves offered warm smiles and soft coos in the child's direction. But Maedhros, in his reborn form, was having none of it. He squirmed slightly, pushing his face deeper into your shoulder, then peeked out with a scowl that would have been more at home on a seasoned warrior than a babe in arms.

"Big lady is my wife," he declared, his voice a surprisingly clear, if slightly wobbly, pronouncement that cut through the gentle murmur of conversations. His tiny arm shot out, a possessive gesture aimed directly at one of the admiring elves.

"Don't look at her." He then turned his head to bury it against your neck, muttering, "Mine. Only mine." The possessiveness was startling, yet undeniably endearing. He was a handful, even as a toddler, and it was clear that some things, like his fierce loyalty and possessive streak, were deeply ingrained, no matter the rebirth.