GloriaComandini/QueEnFan_Corpus · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 1.8k
CHAPTER 3 FINAL NOTES
Mai omenina [Exillic Quenya] - Well met


CHAPTER 4 TITLE
The Library of Tirion


CHAPTER 4 INITIAL NOTES
This has been in drafts and I've been chipping away at it bit by bit over the past month. Initially, I didn't know where this was going, but I guess the characters certainly did!

Fair warning: elf dicks ahead :)

References:
(Shakespeare) Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II / Sonnet 18 / Sonnet 116
7 inches = approx 18cm


CHAPTER 4
Elrohir exhaled to steady his nerves and tugged on the hem of his tunic to ensure his attire remained neat. Usually, the elder twin wasn't especially concerned with his appearance, knowing that regardless of what he wore, he looked good. But recently he had begun to doubt himself, and the new clothing he sported wasn't the Sindar style he was accustomed to. Instead, he now wore clothing that was more common amongst the Lords of the Noldor in Aman. Silks, satins and linens of silvers and golds following the lines and curves of the body, complimenting his tall and slender frame.

Checking his appearance again in the reflective surface of a large window, Elrohir shook his head. This was stupid. Why was he getting so nervous? It wasn't like Lord Artelwë was the only person in Aman who would be interested in him. If he tried, he could probably find any romantic partner he wanted. Running his fingers through his hair, careful not to pull his braids loose, he straightened his posture once more and -

"Ah, Ro! There you are."

"Telyo!" Elrohir said, a pink flush creeping onto his cheeks as he spun around and offered a polite, yet awkward smile.

"My, my. Aren't you fetching today?" Artelwë purred as he circled Elrohir, admiring his choice of outfit.

"Err, well I felt a bit out of place in my other clothes. The Sindar style isn't really the fashion here." Elrohir rambled, feeling like a deer caught in a hunter's sights.

"Well -" Artelwë hummed, stopping before Elrohir, his nose only a few inches away. "- It certainly suits you."

Elrohir slowly exhaled the breath he had unknowingly held, and his lips parted in anticipation. If he just leant forward a touch, Artelwë's cunning lips would be his to taste.

"So, the library was it?" Artelwë asked as he turned away and began walking down the halls of the citadel.

Elrohir closed his eyes briefly to admonish himself. Artelwë was playing little games and Elrohir was letting him. If he wanted to gain the upper hand in the situation, he would have to stop allowing Artelwë to have such an effect on him.

"I believe I told you that I expect only the highest quality library. Not some cupboard with a few meagre shelves of dusty literature, or half a bookcase with only dull reading material, squirreled away in some uninteresting part of the citadel." Elrohir said haughtily, striding after the blond.

"You did, and I haven't forgotten," Artelwë said, smirking at the prideful visage the man now beside him had adopted.

Elrohir appeared, in Artelwë's estimation, to want to be perceived as noble, proud, and lofty. A person far beyond the debased desires that boorish individuals held. Yet for all his heritage, Elrohir was still new to court politics, and though Artelwë deplored the nuances of nobility and their games of courtly chess, he was well-versed and could clearly see through the act played before him. A careful smile played on his lips. It would be so easy for him to break the younger man.

"Have you been able to read much since arriving from the East?" Artelwë asked curiously.

"In truth, no. There seems to have been an endless amount of meetings, feasts, parties and everything in between. I've barely had time to myself, so this is a welcome respite."

"Then I'm glad you find my company an enjoyable escape."

Elrohir blushed. Artelwë was almost too good at getting under his skin. There was a little voice in the back of his mind that wondered how many others he had spoken to with such a velvet tongue, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

"Have you spent much time in the libraries yourself?" Elrohir asked.

"Not especially. I've only explored the shelves to find copies of sheet music, though I find it much more enjoyable writing my own compositions."

"Then next time you'll have to play me some of your music, I'd be eager to hear it."

"You're already planning our next encounter it seems?"

"Perhaps." Elrohir smiled coyly, glancing at his companion from the corner of his eye. "Though if today falls short of my expectations, I may have a change of heart."

Artelwë returned the sly smile as they turned a corner. Elrohir was certainly performing today it seemed, but he knew exactly how to get Elrohir into the perfect situation. The build-up before it was mere foreplay to the blond, but the anticipation was delicious nonetheless.

"The Library of Tirion, my Lord Elrohir," Artelwë whispered with an exquisite growl.

Elrohir arched an eyebrow, pausing momentarily before the doors before he stepped forward and pushed them open.

"Sweet Manwë..." Elrohir gasped as the echoing space opened up before him.

If the library of Imladris had been impressive, it now paled in comparison to the vast sprawling shelves of Tirion. There must have been thousands of books, all arranged neatly upon rows and rows of shelves. Intricate metalwork growing from the floor like creeping vines made stairways to balconies where more books ran higher toward the soaring ceilings. All manner of coloured spines arranged around the room made Elrohir's greedy eyes drink in the sights, and long to spend every waking hour absorbing every piece of reading material possible. Surely the books contained in the library were written in more than just Quenya, as Elrohir struggled to comprehend just how many volumes there could be.

"There is at least one book on every subject imaginable," Artelwë hummed over his shoulder as Elrohir looked about.

"There's nobody else here?"

"I may have pulled a few strings," Artelwë said simply as he swept past, moving through the space toward a high bookcase set within the wall.

Elrohir shook his head. Just when he thought he might be glimpsing into how Artelwë's mind worked, he came by with another surprise.

Following the other man, Elrohir began to read the spines of books as he browsed the walls. He was correct in his approximation; while most volumes were written in Quenya, there were odd titles in Sindar, and rarer still were the books written in Westron. Many Elrohir had never seen before, but he was sure he would never grow bored of taking out books and reading his fill.

"Are there any other languages? Khuzdûl or the dialects of the Edain?" Elrohir pondered aloud.

"I wouldn't know about those. You would need to ask the scholars who spend much of their time here." Artelwë said, discreetly watching his companion as he read various labels.

Elrohir hummed as he pulled a book from a shelf and began to leaf through it. A poetry book, mannish in origin but translated into Quenya some years previously it seemed.

"...And he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun...." Elrohir read, his eyes skimming down a page as he slowly meandered to a windowsill where the bright rays of the sun shone through the stained glass and warmed the wooden ledge. "Here, read to me from this," Elrohir said, offering the book and taking a comfortable seat on the sill.

Artelwë took the book in hand and turned it over to read the spine, then flipped it back to quickly read down the page. Love poetry. Elrohir you sly devil, Artelwë thought. He took a steadying deep breath and then began reading slowly but evenly, allowing each word to gain weight on its own as he purred over the text, enveloping Elrohir in the words.

"...Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade..."

Artelwë kept his eyes on the page and steadily inched forward toward the window, moving to stand between Elrohir's knees.

CHAPTER 3 FINAL NOTES

Mai omenina [Exillic Quenya] - Well met

CHAPTER 4 TITLE

The Library of Tirion

CHAPTER 4 INITIAL NOTES

This has been in drafts and I've been chipping away at it bit by bit over the past month. Initially, I didn't know where this was going, but I guess the characters certainly did!

Fair warning: elf dicks ahead :)

References:

(Shakespeare) Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene II / Sonnet 18 / Sonnet 116

7 inches = approx 18cm

CHAPTER 4

Elrohir exhaled to steady his nerves and tugged on the hem of his tunic to ensure his attire remained neat. Usually, the elder twin wasn't especially concerned with his appearance, knowing that regardless of what he wore, he looked good. But recently he had begun to doubt himself, and the new clothing he sported wasn't the Sindar style he was accustomed to. Instead, he now wore clothing that was more common amongst the Lords of the Noldor in Aman. Silks, satins and linens of silvers and golds following the lines and curves of the body, complimenting his tall and slender frame.

Checking his appearance again in the reflective surface of a large window, Elrohir shook his head. This was stupid. Why was he getting so nervous? It wasn't like Lord Artelwë was the only person in Aman who would be interested in him. If he tried, he could probably find any romantic partner he wanted. Running his fingers through his hair, careful not to pull his braids loose, he straightened his posture once more and -

"Ah, Ro! There you are."

"Telyo!" Elrohir said, a pink flush creeping onto his cheeks as he spun around and offered a polite, yet awkward smile.

"My, my. Aren't you fetching today?" Artelwë purred as he circled Elrohir, admiring his choice of outfit.

"Err, well I felt a bit out of place in my other clothes. The Sindar style isn't really the fashion here." Elrohir rambled, feeling like a deer caught in a hunter's sights.

"Well -" Artelwë hummed, stopping before Elrohir, his nose only a few inches away. "- It certainly suits you."

Elrohir slowly exhaled the breath he had unknowingly held, and his lips parted in anticipation. If he just leant forward a touch, Artelwë's cunning lips would be his to taste.

"So, the library was it?" Artelwë asked as he turned away and began walking down the halls of the citadel.

Elrohir closed his eyes briefly to admonish himself. Artelwë was playing little games and Elrohir was letting him. If he wanted to gain the upper hand in the situation, he would have to stop allowing Artelwë to have such an effect on him.

"I believe I told you that I expect only the highest quality library. Not some cupboard with a few meagre shelves of dusty literature, or half a bookcase with only dull reading material, squirreled away in some uninteresting part of the citadel." Elrohir said haughtily, striding after the blond.

"You did, and I haven't forgotten," Artelwë said, smirking at the prideful visage the man now beside him had adopted.

Elrohir appeared, in Artelwë's estimation, to want to be perceived as noble, proud, and lofty. A person far beyond the debased desires that boorish individuals held. Yet for all his heritage, Elrohir was still new to court politics, and though Artelwë deplored the nuances of nobility and their games of courtly chess, he was well-versed and could clearly see through the act played before him. A careful smile played on his lips. It would be so easy for him to break the younger man.

"Have you been able to read much since arriving from the East?" Artelwë asked curiously.

"In truth, no. There seems to have been an endless amount of meetings, feasts, parties and everything in between. I've barely had time to myself, so this is a welcome respite."

"Then I'm glad you find my company an enjoyable escape."

Elrohir blushed. Artelwë was almost too good at getting under his skin. There was a little voice in the back of his mind that wondered how many others he had spoken to with such a velvet tongue, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

"Have you spent much time in the libraries yourself?" Elrohir asked.

"Not especially. I've only explored the shelves to find copies of sheet music, though I find it much more enjoyable writing my own compositions."

"Then next time you'll have to play me some of your music, I'd be eager to hear it."

"You're already planning our next encounter it seems?"

"Perhaps." Elrohir smiled coyly, glancing at his companion from the corner of his eye. "Though if today falls short of my expectations, I may have a change of heart."

Artelwë returned the sly smile as they turned a corner. Elrohir was certainly performing today it seemed, but he knew exactly how to get Elrohir into the perfect situation. The build-up before it was mere foreplay to the blond, but the anticipation was delicious nonetheless.

"The Library of Tirion, my Lord Elrohir," Artelwë whispered with an exquisite growl.

Elrohir arched an eyebrow, pausing momentarily before the doors before he stepped forward and pushed them open.

"Sweet Manwë..." Elrohir gasped as the echoing space opened up before him.

If the library of Imladris had been impressive, it now paled in comparison to the vast sprawling shelves of Tirion. There must have been thousands of books, all arranged neatly upon rows and rows of shelves. Intricate metalwork growing from the floor like creeping vines made stairways to balconies where more books ran higher toward the soaring ceilings. All manner of coloured spines arranged around the room made Elrohir's greedy eyes drink in the sights, and long to spend every waking hour absorbing every piece of reading material possible. Surely the books contained in the library were written in more than just Quenya, as Elrohir struggled to comprehend just how many volumes there could be.

"There is at least one book on every subject imaginable," Artelwë hummed over his shoulder as Elrohir looked about.

"There's nobody else here?"

"I may have pulled a few strings," Artelwë said simply as he swept past, moving through the space toward a high bookcase set within the wall.

Elrohir shook his head. Just when he thought he might be glimpsing into how Artelwë's mind worked, he came by with another surprise.

Following the other man, Elrohir began to read the spines of books as he browsed the walls. He was correct in his approximation; while most volumes were written in Quenya, there were odd titles in Sindar, and rarer still were the books written in Westron. Many Elrohir had never seen before, but he was sure he would never grow bored of taking out books and reading his fill.

"Are there any other languages? Khuzdûl or the dialects of the Edain?" Elrohir pondered aloud.

"I wouldn't know about those. You would need to ask the scholars who spend much of their time here." Artelwë said, discreetly watching his companion as he read various labels.

Elrohir hummed as he pulled a book from a shelf and began to leaf through it. A poetry book, mannish in origin but translated into Quenya some years previously it seemed.

"...And he will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night, and pay no worship to the garish sun...." Elrohir read, his eyes skimming down a page as he slowly meandered to a windowsill where the bright rays of the sun shone through the stained glass and warmed the wooden ledge. "Here, read to me from this," Elrohir said, offering the book and taking a comfortable seat on the sill.

Artelwë took the book in hand and turned it over to read the spine, then flipped it back to quickly read down the page. Love poetry. Elrohir you sly devil, Artelwë thought. He took a steadying deep breath and then began reading slowly but evenly, allowing each word to gain weight on its own as he purred over the text, enveloping Elrohir in the words.

"...Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade..."

Artelwë kept his eyes on the page and steadily inched forward toward the window, moving to stand between Elrohir's knees.