I own nothing.

"Elenwë, Itarillë keeps kicking her shoes off."

Turukáno isn't often involved in the process of dressing his infant daughter—between them, Elenwë and Anairë have so much passion for that particular endeavor that there's no room for Turukáno at all.

He's not often called upon to dress Itarillë, so he was not before now aware of his daughter's particular animosity for shoes; of course, Turukáno was aware that whenever he saw his daughter, she was barefoot, but he always assumed that Elenwë had chosen not to put shoes on her. Now, however, he sees the truth. Turukáno has been trying for the past ten minutes to get one of the pairs of tiny slippers Elenwë's parents gave them when Itarillë was born onto his daughter's feet, and every time he slips one slipper over a small foot, she kicks it off with a disgruntled look on her face.

"Then don't put her shoes on," Elenwë calls back to him from the hallway.

That doesn't seem entirely proper. But Turukáno looks at Itarillë's face. He had no idea that an infant could ever have such an unambiguously displeased look on her face, but judging from Itarillë's flushed cheeks, furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, he does look very displeased indeed.

Turukáno sighs, and puts the slippers back up in their drawer. When he turns his attention back to Itarillë, she is perfectly content again, beaming up at him.

Bare feet it is, then.

Itarillë—Idril
Turukáno—Turgon