Curufin shifts around so that he can take Celebrimbor's face in his hands, but with only the lightest of holds. He does not in any way want to resemble what Cel is fearing. His own heart constricts with anguish for his son's sake. Not only for the visions of this moment, but for the real experience, which still haunts Celebrimbor in memory and Curufin in imagination.

He speaks quietly. "I look like your Atar because I am he."

He touches those wet cheeks and wipes the tears with his fingers. He leans forward and kisses his son's forehead, and then he draws back a little in order to make eye contact. Perhaps if Cel's vision can pierce the nightmare visions just enough to perceive the loving spirit in his father's eyes, he will recognize him.