Hobby

Feanaro carefully balanced each pinecone on top of one another with painstaking effort, holding his breath as each one swayed slightly with each gentle breath of wind.

"What a stupid hobby!" a very tiny Nolofinwe exclaimed suddenly, smiling impishly as Feanaro jumped nearly a foot in the air, his barely balancing structure jumping along with him as his knees slammed onto the bottom of the table he was working at.

"Nolofinwe," he ground out shakily once he had gotten his wits about him and made sure his masterpiece was safe, "how many times must I tell you? When-"

"-Feanaro is working, he does not want to be disturbed." Nolofinwe interrupted, repeating the words he had heard so many times before in a sarcastic monotone.

"Yes, Nolo; I am quite busy with this 'hobby', as you call it, although I would prefer the term 'artistic refreshment'-"

"Whatever you call it," decided Nolofinwe, leaning forward with interest so that his nose was barely an inch away from the precariously balanced structure, "it sure is dumb-looking. Just imagine what all those stuck-up courtiers and lords would think of noble, impressive, skilled prince Feanaro if they saw this." he snickered, nose hovering more dangerously near with every word.

"Do be careful, Nolo! If you breathe too heavy, it might collapse, and then there'd be no more nice-elder-half-brother-Feanaro." he warned, hands clenching his work-apron in annoyance at Nolofinwe's words.

"You mean like this?" the little boy asked eagerly, blowing gently on the structure as if extinguishing a candle.

"Ai! Now you've done it, you little brat!" Feanaro cried furiously as his masterpiece collapsed into a pile of pinecones before his eyes, wringing his hands in disbelief.

"Help, Amme, Feanaro's getting really scary again!" he shrieked, half-excited and half-terrified, giggling madly as he sprinted out between his elder brother's legs, Feanaro skidding out behind him with pinecone missiles ready to throw.

Amme-mommy (in Quenya)

Feanaro-Feanor

Nolofinwe/Nolo-Fingolfin

lol, what is Feanor even gonna do with the balanced pinecone structures when he's done? How will he even transport them...lol I can just imagine them out pine-cone gathering...

Feanaro: "Now, observe closely, Nolo, gathering the raw materials is a delicate art-"

Nolofinwe: "You mean picking up pinecones?"

Feanaro: "No, I mean 'gathering the raw materials'."

*facepalm*

Just in case you were wondering, Feanor is a young adult by elvish standards and Nolofinwe a small child in this story.

Thanks for reading!(reviews are always welcome) And of course, have a perfectly lovely day.