The Handy Blocks
by Mooselk
Maitimo did not even bother to look up when a yell of surprise and pain ruptured the tentative quiet of the room.
"Macalaurë, how many times have I told you to be careful?" he drawled lazily, turning the page of his book.
"It wasn't me that time!" Macalaurë crowed from the other side of the room, sounding far too gleeful. He was sitting on the couch, cradling his harp, with his feet tucked under him, as if scared to touch the floor.
A stream of muffled curses came from the floor where Tyelkormo had fallen. "Language, Tyelko," Maitimo said, receiving a murderous glare in return.
With a pained groan, Tyelkormo got to his feet and looked around warily. "Why did Atar have to make them so damn sharp?"
Maitimo just shrugged. A couple weeks before, Fëanáro had been seized by a restless mood and started whittling one of the wooden blocks that little Atarinkë had been trying to stack into a tower. Before the next Mingling, he had created a completely new kind of block. They had little holes and protrusions and linked together to form solid structures that would not fall apart from a careless movement. Carnistir, who never liked blocks, had fallen in love with these immediately, and seeing an opportunity to teach his son to craft, Fëanáro made a large set of the new blocks, painted in bright colors of green, yellow, blue, red, and white.
But, as the older sons of Fëanáro soon discovered, these blocks had one downside. They were impossibly painful to step on. And with Carnistir spreading them all over the house, walking had become hazardous. But the blocks made Carnistir so happy (and quiet), no one had the heart to tell him to stop.
Many different projects-finished and unfinished-were stacked in the corner. An attempt to recreate a specific tower in Finwë's palace lay abandoned on the floor. Tyelkormo, muttering, carefully sidestepped it and left the room. Maitimo threw a glance at Carnistir, who was frowning faintly at some new structure that was taking shape in his hands. All seemed calm and so, with a contented sigh, Maitimo returned to his book.
A few chapters later, a small hand tugged on his hair. With a wince, Maitimo looked up to see Carnistir standing next to him. He was chewing the end of his thick braid and Maitimo reflexively brushed it away from his mouth.
"Your hair isn't for eating, Moryo. Did you want something?" Carnistir nodded. He grabbed Maitimo's hand and placed his most recent creation in it.
"For you."
Maitimo examined the object in surprise. Carnistir did not often give gifts, especially not those of his own making. The block structure was an odd shape, thin and flat, but coming to a cylinder at one end. It divided into four segments on top and one more branched out from the side.
"Moryo, what is this?" Maitimo asked, turning it this way and that.
"You're holding it upside down!" Carnisitir whined, turning the object to face a different way. "It's for you."
Maitimo looked at it again and realized, with a sudden chill, that the object now had a very recognizable shape. The five segments, or rather fingers…The object was a hand.
"That's…very nice, Moryo. Is there a reason that you gave this to me?" The hand was quite well made, now that he knew what it was. There was a hollow in the wrist, as if to fit over something.
Carnistir smiled one of his rare smiles and said, "You'll need it."
Then he turned and went back to his tower.
A/N: Yes, Caranthir is playing with Legos. And yes, of course Fëanor invented Legos. ~Mooselk
Name Guide:
Fëanáro: Fëanor
Maitimo: Maedhros
Macalaurë: Maglor
Tyelkormo/Tyelko: Celegorm
Carnistir/ Moryo (as shortened Morifinwë): Caranthir
Atarinkë: Curufin
Translations:
Atar: Father