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A Love of Poetry	By : crossstitcherire Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1123 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Love of Poetry
- 1
Universe:
The Lord of the Rings

Title: A
Love of Poetry
Author:
Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Pairing:
Orophin/Erestor
Rating:
NC17
Beta:
Nienna, who has been so kind and helpful in her remarks!
Disclaimer:
All characters belong to JRR Tolkien and his estate. I�m only borrowing them.
p clp class=MsoNormal>Warning:
Slash
Authors
notes: Events canon as to books, AU as it all happened in my head! This is my
first ever attempt at fiction, all comments gratefully received.

Summary:
Two silent elves learn to communicate in a love that will last forever.

If it had not been a certainty, none would have believed them to be
brothers. For they were as unlike as any brothers could be, in form and in
character; from eldest to youngest; from shortest to tallest.

The eldest was Haldir. He could not be counted amongst the tallest of
elves. Indeed, he presented as quite stocky in build, though much of his
stature could be accounted by the bulky design of the uniform of the Galadhrim.
In character and craft he stood out, a spectacular wielder of sword and bow;
bold, brave, with an air which many took to be arrogance. Those serving under
him would have called it outstanding self-confidence, a confidence that in tuinspinspired his wardens and brought out a desire to emulate which could only to be
for the good of the warriors of the Golden Wood. Haldir was the epitome of the
devoted commander, for which the Lord and Lady had rewarded him at a relatively
young age with the title of Marchwarden and all the duties and privileges
therein. Haldir�s talents served him well not only in duty but in pleasure. He
was like the honey-pot around which the enchanted bees swarmed, of either
gender, for he was attractive and attracted to the fairest of ellons and
elleths. In turn he was also like a bee, dipping from flower to flower,
partaking of the sweetness offered to him and spreading the pollen of his
loving without excessive favour to one particular elf.

In this manner his youngest brother R�mil followed him somewhat. R�mil,
tall and slender as the fairest of trees in the Golden Wood. R�mil, whose
blonde hair shone silver in the moonlight. R�mil, who was the finest of
archers, competing comfortably with and often besting the Prince of Mirkwood.
R�mil, who danced as lightly as the sunbeams upon the elanor which carpeted the woodland floor, who sang sweeter than the
nightingale. His devotees were almost as numerous as Haldir�s, though indeed he
favoured the beautiful elleths as his bedmates.

And then there was Orophin.

Ai, Orophin.

Orophin-in-the-middle.

He was fair, they supposed. He had the hair (white-gold, but set in the t set severe of warrior braids); the face (but angular, and oh, so solemn in
countenance!); and the slim but strong figure (oh, no-one *truly* suited the
greys of the Galadhrim, but he hid his form even when off duty, unlike his
brothers who indulged in brilliant blues and sparkling scarlet when frolicking
in the groves of Caras Galadhon).

And his voice? No one knew, for he was silent. As quiet as a grave. No,
he did not indulge in oratory for when one word could suffice, why waste breath
on more?

Oh, he had his admirers. Those who liked the strong-but-silent type.
Those who looked upon him as a challenge; a mountain of mystery to scale; an
intellectual who was to be shredded of his careful emotional distance, brought
to the cliff-top of desire and tumbled over into the ecstasy of sexual
fulfilment. No one suitor had as yet succeeded even to pass the first
disinterested glance.

None had expected Orophin to follow in Haldir�s footsteps. Whereas
Haldir had played pranks and R�mil had played truant from their studies as
elflings, Orophin had immersed himself in scholarship. Listening to the
discussions and debates, researching and divining, and most of all reading all
that was written, from the crudest of signs above the L�rien taverns to the
greatest of tomes in Lord Celeborn�s library. Lord Celeborn had high hopes that
Orophin would become a diplomat, or an advisor, or a scribe...but no, Orophin
had chosen the path of his father and brother and donned the garb of a
Galadhrim. Pleadings and persuasion had no effect and, as in everything he
undertook, Orophin mastered his craft to the highest level, bringing his skills
with weaponry beyond mere competence.

And so it was that the three brothers became legend amongst the patrols
of the Protectors of the Golden Wood,
sworn enemies to the enemies of the elf haven, knights of the Northern
Fences, respected and revered, and to them soon fell most of the valued commissions
dispensed by Galadriel and Celeborn. Amongst these duties was the part of
escort to the diplomatic missions that entered or left Lothl�rien, including
the newly arrived party of the daughter of L�rien, the Lady Celebr�an, and her husband Elrond Peredhel.

The party was a large one, for upon their entrance to the inner city of
the Wood there was to be music and merrymaking in celebration of the coming of
age of the twin princes of Imladris. It was a large party, foso iso in
attendance was Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer, mighty of stature and magnificent
in radiance, beloved of Gondolin, re-Born warrior. His beauty shone around him,
dazzling and enticing all who beheld him. Laughter, love of life and the light
of Aman shone upon all those who rejoiced in his company. So too came Lindir, chief
minstrel of Imladris. His fame preceded him, for he was a singer of legends and
weaver of songs. His voice was that of the running stream, sweet, tenda joa joy
to drown in. He would be in great demand throughout his stay and the boughs of
the mallorn would ring with the applause showered upon him.

And then there was Erestor. Ai, now there was an elf to be feared. Dark
as night, of raven-black hair and piercing coal eyes, he watched, and observed,
and calculated, and manipulated. His voice was sharp, his comments cutting, his
cunning and his wit as sharp as a rapier. Words were weapons to be wielded for his Lord�s benefit, his
battles were played out on the negotiating tables, and the slaughter was
horrific. Wrapped in the blackest of velvets, he sat upon his horse as he would
at his desk, at home on horseback as he was on the ground. He was silent, and
none dared disturb his air of solitude.

The greetings were made by Haldir, eloquent and direct, and he and his
brothers walked alongside the horses, guiding the rulers of Imladris and their
retinue along the hidden paths to the City of Trees. Haldir, as befitting his
rank as Marchwarden, walked with Elrond and Celebr�an and fell into easy conversation with them.
R�mil took it upon himself to entertain the twins and Lindir and soon laughter
and mirth rang out from that youthful party. Orophin walked alongside
Glorfindel and Erestor, and Glorfindel *was* the conversation. Neither of his
two companions showed any inclination to open their mouths in speech and truth
be told Glorfindel in full flight could easily provide both entertainer and
audience. His present declamation was on the subject of poetry.
o:p>
� �Then Turgon came, his host ten
thousand strong,
Bright mail, long swords - a sun
upon them shone,
A forest of spears rattled, to
Morgoth�s dread
Ut�lie�n aur�! The day
has come!�

Ah, those immortal words! I truly think that
there is no finer poet of the First Age than Beriorgan!�

�Cylleruion.�

Glorfindel started at the rusty voice that
ascended from the otherwise silent elf who had so far ignored all attempts by
the golden lord at drawing him into conversation. The Galadhel had not raised
his head, turned, smiled or in anyway indicated that he had been listening to
the poetry Glorfindel had been reciting. Not that that would have stopped him.
Glorfindel�s dulcet tones were even pleasing to himself. Nevertheless, he could
not allow the remark to pass unanswered.

� Nay, it was Beriorgan who wrote of the
Nirnaeth Arnoediad! Why I
remember Mithrandir reciting it at one of the parties at Rivendell, eh
Erestor?� He deferred to his companion without really expecting an answer.

The white-gold head shook slightly, the eyes
not lifting to the Balrog-Slayer.

�Plagiarism. Cylleruion, first century, Second
Age; Beriorgan, ninth century, Second Age.�

There was no chance for Glorfindel to respond,
for at that moment the company arrived at the gates of the city. A flurry of
activity expanded around them as they were surrounded by the Guardians of Caras
Galadhon, in preparation for the further journey to the Great Mallorn. Thus no
one saw the speculation in Erestor�s eyes as they lit upon the silent Orophin,
who discharged his duties swiftly and efficiently before fading into the
background and out of the welcoming party. Only to Glorfindel did Erestor give
sign of his interest in the Galadhel, and only obliquely through three words.

�He is
right.�

It was much later that Erestor and Orophin were
sighted together, heads inclined towards each other. How Erestor had divined
Orophin�s whereabouts was unknown; how Erestor had persuaded Orophin to
converse with him was a mystery; and
what they spoke of was unsolved for
their lips moved seldom, their speech was not heard and their common interest
was unidentified. From then on, whenever duties did not prohibit, the unlikely
duo was seen meandering the paths of the enchanted forest, seated by the calm
pools or scrutinising the bounteous flowers of Galadriel�s garden. The warden�s
brothers noted that the light in his talan was extinguished early, or not lit
at all when dusk fell in the Golden Wood. Whether similar happenings occurred
in the guest talans was also unknown for the servants assigned to the area
either did not notice or forbore to relinquish such information. None dared ask
the distinguished visitors residing there if one of their company was � keeping
company.

// Gentle hands explored the silken chest touching lightly upon the
sensitive nipples, eliciting a gasp from that gentle mouth. Red lips leant down
to taste one, pursed, warm wet, a lithe tongue lapping at the sweet nub. The
warden arched enthusiastically to meet the moist lips and a soft moan escaped
his own. The tongue continued its exploration, teeth nipping at the tightening
nipple, fingers teasing and pinching the other, then the mouth travelled
further down the chest to the firm abdomen, leaving a trail of moisture. Gently
breathing cool air across the trails, Erestor smiled as his love writhed in
pleasure. The moist pink muscle delved eagerly into the dip of the navel and
the advisor ignored the hands pressing on his shoulders, trying to force him
lower. //

�Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving
breast.�

After some weeks the visitation
drew to a close and the brothers of L�rien escorted the Imladrians to the
borders of the haven, dividing their attentions in the same manner as before.
Orophin silently took his place with the seneschal and the adviser, but it was
noted by only his eldest brother that the warden walked with his hand upon the
neck of the black horse, and that the hand of the raven-haired elf dropped
occasionally from the reins to the slender fingers. Not to squeeze, not to
stroke, merely to touch. The parting at the borders was tinged with sadness as
princes, seneschal and galadhrim bid their farewells. Lord Elrond and his wife
spoke quiet words of thanks and the princes cried out their goodbyes.

Orophin was silent.

Erestor kept his peace.

The party left, and the Galadhrim returned to the trees.

Yet Haldir watched. And Haldir saw the lingering glance that his younger
brother cast back into the distance, and at the last glimpse of
indistinguishable figures that passed over the horizon.

Life returned to normal in the Golden Wood. Patrols were sent out, and
the Northern Fences received their protectors with all the usual nonchalance
that the trees were used to giving. Orcs were sighted, orcs were hunted and
orcs were killed. Days and nights of watching were rewarded with rest periods
either on the talans or, at the end of a term, within the sweet embrace of the
City of Trees. Elves made merry, partook of golden wines and fresh foods, and
danced with their beloveds. Orophin walked alone in the gardens which had so
pleased him when he had a companion, and was seen to take solace in scribing in
a notebook which he was now seen to carry everywhere, a slim volume bound in
soft green leather. The notebook followed him back to the borders, to be withdrawn
from a pouch within the breast of his uniform whenever time dragged upon the
watch, or the moon shone down upon his comrades who slept. In no way did the
warden neglect his sworn duties, but now he had a purpose of his own.

When asked what he did he simply replied, �Write poetry.�
*******************************************************************************

Years passed, and the brothers of L�rien were called to escort duty
again. Thus they waited once more at the edge of the forest as the party, a
small one this time, made their appearance over the rise. The delegation was
bound on business, of treaties and trusts, and so it was but the princes and
their mentor with some of the scribes of Imladris. None gainsaid the warden as
he stepped forward to take his place at the side of the black horse, carrying
the black-haired advisor, clad in black robes.
There were no exclamations, no declarations, no excesses of fluid to
trail down smiling cheeks.

Just a hand on a horse�s neck, and fingers that touched.

Not stroked or squeezed.

The brothers were due to return to the Northern Fences, yet a word from
a smiling Lady stayed their departure. Duties were laid upon them that required
them to remain within Caras Galadhon. Thus was the garden of Galadriel once
again frequented by two silent figures. A grey-sleeved arm was extended in
offering, the gift a green-bound notebook. Taken it was by a hand extending
from black velvet, and a similar notebook bound in blue proffered in return.
Heads leaned together over the carefully filled tomes and raven strands of
silken hair mingled with silver-gold tresses.

// Conceding at last, when Orophin thought he could take no more,
Erestor turned his eyes to observe the swollen shaft, purple in its distension
and weeping its longing from the sweet slit. With no more delay he swallowed
the length to its hilt, and the body beneath him bucked in shock and deligA
sA
strong hand was laid across the warden�s stomach, holding him down as the mouth
slid up and down in a steady rhythm. The gasps became small cries as the heat
swept Orophin�s groin, passing as a flush through his veins, spiralling beyond
all hope of restraint. //

�He clapp�d his plump cheeks, with his tresses
play�d,
And smiling wantonly, his love bewray�d.
He watch�d his arms, and as they open�d wide,
At every stroke, betwixt them would he slide,
And steal a kiss, and then run out and dance,
And as
he turn�d, cast many a lustful glance.�

When two months had passed, and the party had gone, Orophin sat in his
studies, writing in the green book, reading from the blue.

When asked what he did he simply replied, �Read poetry.�

EN-IE'>And so it went over the centuries. Trips to Lothl�rien were alternated
with journeys over the Misty Mountains to the elfhame of Imladris, on escort or
as emissaries.

For the majority of the Lady Arwen, wherein joy and dancing was found.

EN-IE'>To take part in Yule revelries � green boughs, candles, snow and
delights.

On swift and sad escort of parents to their daughter�s bedside, final
moments as a family before they were split asunder by her solitary voyage to
Aman.

Joy, concern, bright nights, sorrowful days. Orophin and Erestor
maintained their external composure. Some speculated but none knew of swift
touches and sweet embraces; of heart-wrenchiobs,obs, of comfort of advisors in
strong Galadhrim arms.

// Erestor pulled back, hand firmly gripped around the base of his
lover�s member. �Hush, melethron. Not yet.� His other hand reached out for the
oil to ease his passage, a generous amount dripped onto the fingers which made
their way between the galadhel�s thighs, into his cleft, probing the puckered
opening to heaven�s embrace. Gentle pressure opened the tight muscle and the
digit entered spreading the oil within the velvet passage. A second finger
joined, then another and the channel opened as the warden groaned deeply, then
twisted in agonised ecstasy as they brushed the sensitive gland hidden
within.//

�Tis true, �tis true; thus was Adonis slain;
He ran upon the oar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there,
And, nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine

Sheathed unaware the tusk in his soft groin.�

And always an exchange of notebooks, green for blue. A trunk appeared in
the talan of the warden, a bookcase in the chambers of the advisor, filling
slowly, but none discarded, none returned.

The third age passed on and duties on the Northern Fences were often
extended to the borders of Mirkwood. For Dol Guldur was inhabited once more,
and alliances were strengthened by joint patrols.

Journeys became less frequent, for all were required on the borders to
repel the increasing incursions. Yet the exchange of notebooks continued by the
graces of the orc-hunting princes of Imladris. Their sister now resided in
Lothl�rien and, between their ventures with the rangers of the north, they
attended upon her and their grandparents. Maturity had been laid upon them and
now without jocularity they carried the missives as symbols of steadfast love
between the silent elves.

The elves were often exhausted, too tired to do ought but chew lembas
and talk softly. Orophin lay silent on the wood slats of the talan.

�For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see;
Save that my soul�s imaginary sight
Presents they shadow to my sightless view.�

When asked what he did he simply replied, �Think poetry.�

***************************************************************

Travellers entered the Golden Wood, a mixed group of eight weary,
bedraggled strangers of many shapes and sizes. Their entry was obvious for only
two tread lightly, and the Naug was loudest of all. Haldir greeted them and
brought them across the Celebrant then, using blindfolds for part of the
journey, into the City and the presence of the Lord and Lady.

Bad news travels quickly, and this
was the worst. Soon the melancholic strains of eulogy and sorrow wound through
the trees as voices were raised in sweet sad remembrance of Mithrandir, the
beloved. Speculation was rife and all knew that the time of war was come again.
The fellowship remained but a short while by the counting of the Eldar and they
resumed their journey bearing gifts of the lady to help them in their task.
Before their departure their leader approached Orophin, speaking in soft low
tones. No notebooks were exchanged; the pressure of a sympathetic hand on arm
was all he gave to the warden, yet Orophin�s heart was lightened.

For months the warriors of the Wood prepared for battle, a host combined
with the archers of the Greenwood to descend upon the orcs and spiders that
infested the forests about the dark fortress of Dol Guldur. The fighting was
fierce and many elves were lost but in the end the citadel was destroyed, the
victory chiming with the valiant completion of the task laid upon tiny
shoulders as the One Ring, along with the Dark Lord, was destroyed in the fires
of Orodruin.

The brothers of L�rien survived the dark forest, and the day came when
they escorted the Lord and Lady to the wedding of Celebr�an�s daughter
to the Elfstone, and the last union of Men and Elves. In that city of white
marble, the peoples of Middle Earth rejoiced in cheering multitudes, throats
wracked with the force of their acclamations.

And in a tent amongst the small
town of tents set upon the cleared lands of Pelennor fields a smaller union
took place.

// Watching his face, Erestor knew that he could hold back no more and
positioned himself at the entrance, thrusting deep in one swift motion.
Orophin�s widespread legs lifted and gripped around Erestor�s waist, pulling
him forward, wanting that turgid length to spear him to the core. Erestor set a
keen pace, moaning soft words as he lay upon his love. The heat swelled between
them, completion rising fast. //

�With that he stripp�d him to the
ivory skin,
And crying, �Love, I come�, leapt lively in.

I could not stay behind you. My desire,
More sharp than fil�d steel, did spur me forth.�

Blue and green.

Farewells were inevitable and the
two lines of elves, of Rivendell and Lothl�rien, departed some time after the wedding. For some way the two
parties shared their path, their separation occurring as the denizens of
Lothl�rien turned east. Raven-head and silver-gold, eyes followed each other
until visible no more.

****************************************************************

This was the saddest escort the
brothers had provided, yet joyful in so many ways. As the final journey of the
Lady of the Wood set out from Caras Galadhon, a Silver Tree stood alone and
silent, all farewells had been uttered in private expressions of words and
deeds. Not for Celeborn this voyage for he Kept no Ring and though he would
have been welcome, he entrusted his lady to the brothers of L�rien as guardians
of thodusodus of the Golden Wood. The Lord would remain to succour and counsel
those who remained of the Eldar upon Middle Earth until the last, then lead his
wandering people home.

The retinue traversed the Dimrill Stairs to descend into Imladris where
they would join with the Lord of Rivendell and his household to make the final
journey to the Grey Havens, and thence to the Undying Lands. One however would
turn back. Though Haldir and R�mil would continue to guard their Lady, Orophin
was to remain at his Lord�s side until East L�rien was abandoned.

The library of Imladris was packed and loaded onto heavy drays to be
transported to the ship, and to these Orophin added travel bags containing many
notebooks bound with blue leather. He did not bid his brothers farewell.
Expressions of emotion at the separation were not to be demonstrated for public
consumption, and whether he had previously embraced his brothers in private was
never to be discovered outside of the trio. Nor was any word spoken with the
Chief Counsellor of the House of Elrond. Clandestine moments had been snatched
and well spent and both were satisfied if sorrowful. As Erestor mounted his
black horse he held in his hand a green notebook. >

// The advisor gripped Orophin�s rock-hard rod and stroked in time with
his increasing thrusts until the warden called out his name in the force of his
release. The hot cream over his fingers and the spasms of muscles around his
length drove Erestor over the edge and he surged one last time into the hot wet
passage, spilling his seed to fill his lover. //

EN-IE'>

The entourage departed and Orophin stood on the steps of the deserted
Homely House, flanked by the sons of Elrond, and looked forlornly at the volume
in his hand, the final blue-bound notebook inscribed in Erestor�s hand.

*************************************************************************

The ship had met fair weather
and the elves on deck craned their necks, jostling to catch their first glimpse
of the shores of Valinor. Orophin stood calmly by his Lord away from the rail,
his face not revealing his thoughts or desires. The ship pulled into the
crowded harbour and cries went up from both passengers and their loved ones on
the dock, joyous greetings exchanged without delay.
EN-IE'>The captain bowed to the Prince of Doriath, gesturing a path through the
impatient voyagers, who recognised the right of their lord and his guardian to
descend the gangplank first. Celeborn saw who lurked behind the sweet, smiling
golden-tressed elleth who was first amongst the grrs, rs, and his eyes widened
as he saw, for the first time ever, a gentle look of longing and deep love upon
the dark elf�s face. He turned to his faithful warden and saw that Orophin
reciprocated that desire, his hands clutching convulsively at the green
notebook within his grasp.

�Tell me, Orophin. What will you do here, in Aman?�

Orophin gulped then spoke in a quiet, husky voice. �Recite to him the
poetry of my love, my lord, for the rest of my life.�

Then he flew into the open arms of his black-haired advisor, never to be
parted again.

* * * * * * *

�Come live with mee, and be my love,
EN-IE'>

Author�s
note:

The names
of Cylleruion and Beriorgan are obtained from the name translator at www.councilofelrond.com, and are
respectively �Christopher� and �William�, for Kit Marlowe and Will Shakespeare,
whose poetry is quoted within the context of this story.
The
�Nirnaeth Arnoediad � poetry is my own horrid creation, stripped from a few
lines in the Silmarillion.

Elvish
words:

ellon �
male elf
elleth �
female elf
melethron �
male lover
- 1
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A Love of Poetry