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For as often as they end up piled together in his rooms like kittens, one would think Celegorm might have invested in a bigger bed by now.
It is none of them in particular at fault for the crowding of Celegorm’s bed, unless he blames Huan for herding them off to sleep whenever the dog decides it’s too late for Elves to be awake. Aredhel shares his bed already, not wanting to spend the dark hours alone, and little Maeglin still joins them more often than he doesn’t. But then Curvo and Tyelpë both suffer from a particular combination of overactive minds and restless hands that mean Celegorm can’t trust them to actually sleep unless he forces them to be still, so they tend to join him too. Or at least, that’s the excuse most often used. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that Curufin sleeps poorly — if at all — when alone; he never has, though he often goes through phases where he tries to insist that isn’t the case.
Maeglin makes a small noise in his sleep and shifts, bony little elbow poking into Celegorm’s stomach. Celegorm tries to give himself a little more room and instead finds the edge of the mattress.
His bed is not that small. When it’s just him and Aredhel, they have plenty of space. But add in a son, a brother, and a broad-shouldered nephew who is incapable of not spreading out in his sleep like a starfish, and all of that space swiftly disappears. Perhaps he’ll simply let himself fall off the bed and sleep on the rug with Huan; it would hardly be the worst conditions he’s slept in.
Maeglin shifts again, knee tucking up and hitting exactly the wrong spot. Celegorm muffles his grunt as best he can, kisses the boy carefully on the head, and slips out of bed. Once he’s located a spare blanket and something that can at least passably function as a pillow, he drops to the floor until his back rests against Huan, who lifts his head only briefly before dropping it back to the rug. Up on the bed, Maeglin has immediately stretched out into the warm spot Celegorm left behind, like a particularly overgrown and pointy cat. Aredhel, much like Huan, lifts her head only long enough to locate them in their new positions before laying back down and using the extra space to roll onto her stomach. Everything settles back into the silence of deep sleep.
Huan curls himself around until his nose — and the great whuffing breaths out of it — are right in Celegorm’s ear.
“Unbearable mutt,” Celegorm mutters fondly, and turns on his side to drift back into dreams.