Temper, temper... by Aprilertuile

Temper, temper...

Read Temper, temper...

Tyelkormo was watching something from the living-room’s doorway, and was looking absolutely fascinated by whatever had caught his attention.

Knowing him, and fearing the worst, Maitimo walked fast to his side and took a look over his younger brother’s shoulder and...

A sort of smile appeared on his face despite himself:

“The explosion is imminent now.” Tyelkormo whispered for him.

“And it promises to be a beautiful one.” Maitimo agreed.

In the room, Makalaurë was sitting on the floor, his lap harp on his laps, and was scribbling something furiously on a piece of paper but in between writing like his life depended on it, he was playing over and over the same few notes and looking more and more frustrated; breathing harsh and fast, face red, eyes full of thunder, and...

Oh yes, there it was:

With a scream of rage, Makalaurë just pushed the harp away, threw the notebook against the floor, stepped on it with an air of vindicated outrage and stormed outside, slamming the large glass doors in his path.

Tyelkormo winced at the violence of the slammed glass door but no, they were of their father’s work and apparently reinforced for the doors held up, thanks the Valar and Eru and whoever was listening for that small miracle.

Maitimo smirked:

“Dad reinforced the doors after last time mom broke them by slamming them in her anger, and he was forced to make them anew.” Maitimo told him.

Tyelkormo snickered at that.

“What was that scream boys?” Fëanáro came hurriedly, looking concerned, a book in hand.

“Oh, Makalaurë’s composition was not going well. But the doors held well.” Maitimo answered him.

“Uhu. And you both were witness to it I suppose?” Fëanor said with a raised eyebrow and a deeply unimpressed face. 

“Hm... I think... I left something very urgent in the garden.” Tyelkormo said quickly, trying to leave, only for his father to catch him by the arm.

“Not so fast young man.”

“To be fair, dad, it’s rare enough that Makalaurë pulls a temper tantrum AND it was rightful payback for last time Tyelko threw his hammer in defeat in your forge. Makalaurë’s still singing about that one at times.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Fëanáro murmured.

The two younger elves nodded and their father sighed:

“Look, you should be nicer. When you see something is going badly and your siblings, whichever it is, is losing patience, interrupt them and stop the... Whatever that was from happening. For one, I’d be thankful for a lot less glass and crystals damaged. And I’ll speak to Makalaurë about his songs. Again.”

“Yes dad.”

Tyelkormo ran away as soon as his father let go of him and Fëanáro snorted:

“How much of that will he actually remember and apply?”

“... Approximately none of it?” Maitimo answered amused.

“Oh get gone, you nightmare child! And stop tormenting your brothers!”

Maitimo laughed and hugged his father before leaving.

Fëanáro sighed and went to right up the helpless harp and pick up the discarded book before he followed Makalaurë outside.

That child needed to learn some patience.

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Chapter End Notes

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