Written for Feanorian Fun Bingo.
Prompt: running a race
Up and down the hill
"Hurry up, you lazy little princelings!" Called Tyelkormo from the top of the hill, glancing impatiently at his two younger brothers following him slowly. Curufinwe held firmly Fëanaro's hand and seemed happy to ignore jesting, but Carnistir was visibly offended by his brother's comment.
"How about a little race?" suggested Fëanaro, before Morifinwe let his temper show. "Certainly none of you is slow!"
"We're not!" Carnistir pouted. "Join me, Curvo?"
"Sure!" Atarinke let go of Fëanaro's hand and both boys stood obediently in a line, waiting for their father to give a signal.
Fëanaro gestured Tyelkormo to wait where he was, then stood seriously at the side.
"On my signal... One, two... three!"
The boys sprinted forward. Carnistir used the advantage of having longer legs and quickly took the lead, but Curufinwe was not going to give up.
Carnistir was already well ahead his younger brother, when he tripped suddenly and fell, rolling down the hill on the grass. He stopped finally and blinked in confusion. Curufinwe abandoned the racing, now that he had no one to chase, and bounced back, with Tyelkormo running down as well.
Having been following his sons, Fëanaro was the first one to reach Morifinwe, who sat up and looked as if he was surprised what happened. Curufinwe stopped, for once glancing down at his brother.
"You're not going to cry over a scraped knee now, are you?" he asked curiously, trying not to be anxious; Morifinwe was his older brother after all. He was not supposed to cry, unless something serious happened.
"N-no." Carnistir sniffled and smiled bravely, but his face fell when he noticed a long tear going down the sleeve of his shirt. "Oh no... It's ruined," he said miserably. "Amme gave it to me and it was so beautiful..."
"No, it's not ruined," said Fëanaro after taking a closer look. "We can still fix it," he promised and smiled reassuringly.
"How?" Carnistir lightened up and turned his big eyes to his father. "How, Atto?"
"We can stitch the tear and cover it with embroidery that will match the rest of the pattern," explained Fëanaro. He took a closer look of his son, searching for any other damage from the fall, but Carnistir seemed fine. Torn shirt was the biggest issue here and they were about to find a remedy for that.
"Can I do it myself?" The boy brightened at the prospect of doing something alone with his father, and even better, away from the forges.
"Of course you can." Fëanaro wiped the grass of his son's clothes and smiled warmly. "How about I show you how and we can work together on the pattern?"
"Yes, please, Atto!"
"Tyelko, be so kind as to take Curvo to the gardens and we shall see what can be done about that tear. If we're lucky, Amme will never know," Fëanaro whispered conspiratorially to Morifinwe, who nodded eagerly.
"Of course." Tyelkormo grinned and grabbed Curufinwe suddenly, pulling him high and seating him on his shoulders, making the youngest boy shriek in delight.
"Just try not to let him fall into the pond this time, if you would," added Fëanaro sternly, but failed to hide his own grin at the offended look Tyelkormo sent him.
"That was an accident!"
"Of course it was. No, off you go!"