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“Why don’t you ever kiss?” Rýndil asked suddenly.
Carnistir froze. “What?”
“You and Mama. Why don’t you kiss?” They crossed their arms. “Uncle Nelyo and Uncle Finno kiss all the time. It’s gross. Uncle Pityo and Auntie Thennes kiss too, and so do Uncle Curvo and Auntie Quilla, and Uncle Káno and Auntie Zell, and even Uncle Tyelko and Auntie Rissi, I saw Rissi sticking her hand down—”
“Rýndil!”
“What? I saw it, I know what they were—”
“Just—ugh.” Carnistir pinched the bridge of his nose. It was truly remarkable how quickly he could go from neutral to blushing so red he was sure he’d turn into one of those tomato-things Haleth grew in her garden.
How to explain this to a child? How to explain this to his child, the one he never expected to have?
“You know that Haleth and I aren’t...married,” he began.
Rýndil rolled their eyes. “So? Neither are Uncle Tyelko and Aunt Rissi.”
“They’re—” Carnistir paused. “Well, actually, they’re a lot like your mother and I.”
“You and Mama are way less gross,” Rýndil said, wrinkling their nose.
“Thank you. We try.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Rýndil insisted. “Being married doesn’t mean no kissing. Haldan's not married and he kisses Aveth all the time.”
He desperately wished they had asked Haleth instead. Surely their mother would have a better explanation than—than whatever excuse he could come up with.
Unless he told them the truth? They already knew what what sex was, after all; it wasn’t as if he’d be ruining their innocence.
“We—we do kiss, actually,” he admitted, and Rýndil’s eyebrows shot up, two fuzzy dark caterpillars on their cute little face. Valar, he’d never expected to be a father, or to be so fond of the child! “Just—not around other people. And, um, not for...” He grimaced. “We only kiss when we’re, uh, about to—to have sex.”
Those bushy eyebrows furrowed right back down as Rýndil considered this. “Okay,” they said slowly.
“You don’t think it’s weird?” Carnistir asked.
He thought it was a little weird, if he was being honest to himself, but it worked for them, and it wasn’t as if he wanted a “real” marriage, anyway. Haleth’s people had their own customs for this kind of relationship, and his family had gone about flouting the customs of the Noldor so long that they barely even teased him for getting involved with a mortal. He knew the day would come when Haleth would die, and he would mourn her, but—he knew he’d recover, in the end. They had no fëa-bond; her loss would not destroy him the way he suspected such a blow would affect his brothers.
“Nah,” Rýndil said. “I mean, you had to, you know, do it to have me, so. Makes sense.”
His blush had been receding. It returned now in full force.
“That’s—not really what I meant,” he mumbled, and Rýndil giggled.
“You mean that you’re not, like, in love with each other?” they guessed.
He jerked his head in a nod.
“Okay, yeah, that is weird.” Rýndil reached over to a nearby bush and began to pick leaves off it. “But like, whatever. Uncle Finno and Uncle Nelyo are way weirder with how sappy they are about bein’ in love.”
“Finally someone else sees it,” Carnistir muttered.
“I mean, ’s’cute, but blech.” Rýndil threw a handful of leaves at him. Most of them fluttered to the ground before reaching him, but one hit him in the face.
“Rascal,” he chided, and bent to scoop his child in his arms.
They squirmed in his grip. “Put me down!” they complained. “I’m too big for this! Atya!”
Carnistir wasn’t the soppy-affectionate kind of father that Nelyo was, peppering his children with kisses and hugs and constant praise. But he did love his kid, and he loved to make them laugh, so instead of putting Rýndil down he hoisted them up into the air and dangled them upside down as they shrieked.
“Atyaaa!” they cried, but from the grin on their face he knew they were having a good time. “Atyayayaya—I’m too big—”
“Clearly not, if I can still carry you like this!” he exclaimed.
“What is this, attempted murder?” Haleth exclaimed, striding toward them with her hands on her hips. Her gloves were dirty and sweat stained her brow, her brown skin gleaming copper in the Sunlight; she’d been spending the afternoon in her garden.
“Mama!” Rýndil shouted. “Tell Atya to put me down!”
Haleth smirked. “Moryo, behave,” she scolded, but the moment Carnistir began to lower Rýndil to the ground, she darted forward and grabbed their child from him, hoisting them on her shoulders.
“Mamaaaa! I’m too big!” Rýndil complained, tugging on their mother’s braids.
“I’m still taller than you,” Carnistir chuckled, ruffling their hair.
“Barely,” Rýndil grumbled. “One day I’m gonna be taller than you!”
“What, as tall as that awful giant Maitimo?” Haleth gasped in mock-horror. “He makes even the trees feel bad about themselves!”
“I could be,” Rýndil huffed. “Atya’s not that tall compared to Nelyo!”
“Or you could be as short as Haleth,” Carnistir pointed out. “You’ve got her blood, too.”
Rýndil pouted. “Yeah, but that’s no fun. Why’d I want to be human-height when I could be elf-height?”
Carnistir’s heart squeezed. No one had any idea what being half-elven meant when it came to a child's fate; so far as he knew, Rýndil was the first of their kind, and though they were not alone thanks to Aikanáro and Andreth, the future of their spirit was a mystery. He knew he could weather Haleth’s passing, but to lose Rýndil too...
“Alright, rascal,” Haleth said, readjusting Rýndil’s position on her shoulders. “Want to take Tallagar out for a run? Uncle Haldar just got Haldan a new dog, I think Tal should meet her...”
Carnistir smiled fondly as he watched them go. This wasn’t anything like the life he’d anticipated for himself when his family had set out across the Sea. He’d never thought to be a father, or to have a partner, even one who was more a friend and a co-parent than a wife; he’d never even imagined what the Atani would be like. But like the rising of the Sun and Moon, these blessings came unexpectedly and filled his life with joy, despite the differences.
He’d survived his kid asking awkward questions about his love life, or the lack thereof. It was time to celebrate, he decided. Perhaps he’d make a meal for his odd little family upon their return—and in the meantime, there was a bottle of Amani wine he’d been saving, and if he and Haleth were suitably drunk by the time Rýndil went down to sleep, perhaps they could engage in a little bit of that kissing he’d admitted they did.
It wouldn’t be too bad if Rýndil ended up with a sibling, after all...