Work Text:
"Manwe, dearest, what is this?" Varda's voice rings clearly through the airy archways that connected almost every room in Taniquetil.
Turning away from the verdant hills and glittering seas that his lofty balcony gave him view of, Manwe peered inside his home. A soft smile bloomed on his face when he observed the collection of papers his wife was holding towards him. "Whilst you were out planting endless seas of shining lights for our creator's children to delight in, they have made quite a few innovations themselves. Not only do they have the spoken word, like a shortened version of our song, they have also created a way of noting those words down on these thin leaves with paints that dry and remain for many years."
Varda peered at the curious collection in her hands, shifting through the dried leaves with small, repetitive black symbols painted over them. "What is the purpose?"
"To preserve work, I think." Manwe stepped closer, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with his eternal companion. "Each symbol," a dainty finger traced a letter upon the leaf, "represents a sound, a part of a word, or a full word in and of itself. The other elves know what the symbols mean, and messages can be preserved."
Varda gave a hum, eyeing the leaf expectantly as if it would speak and reveal its secrets to her.
Manwe rested an arm about Varda's waist, gently leaning into her space. "I admit, I do not fully see the necessity of it, when words can simply be spoken, and there is time enough for them to be repeated, but it is an impressive creation nonetheless."
"You do not fully see the necessity?" Varda hummed, and amused tilt to her lips. "That implies you have found some value in it, husband, and I do not sense another's touch, save perhaps Yavanna's, on these leaves."
Manwe paused. "King Ingwe introduced me to the practice, and I couldn't resist trying it."
"What, exactly, has made you so obsessed with it?"
"Obsessed?"
"There is a new room, attached to your office, with thousands of these papers. I hardly doubt this is your chosen way of disrobing Yavanna's trees so thoroughly."
Manwe froze, arms still wrapped around his wife. "You... found that?"
"Yes."
"I... well, the eldar have also developed a form of writing and speaking, from song, called poetry. The mix of spoken and lyrical quite similar to many of the smaller birds of my domain, and upon Ingwe's recitation of several of his favorite poems, I couldn't resist trying my hand at it."
Varda gave him an indulgent smile, encouraging Manwe to continue.
"I have enjoyed how it can be designed and orchestrated as a song, while simultaneously reading like the spoken word. It is a wonderful marriage of fresh innovation and classical methods of relating to each other, the world, and our creator."
"What is the content of these poems?" Varda inquired.
"Well..." Manwe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It depends on who is writing it. Sometimes they write about history, either recording it exactly or providing insights on past events. Sometimes they write about feelings close to their hearts, new and confusing and delighting all at once, or weary and well-loved. Whatever inspires them to create."
"And what do you write about in your poems, my dear Eagle?"
"Well, many observations of the world. The pattering of rain, the shifting of continents, but... mostly of my love for my wife."
Varda turned to peck him on the lips, delighting in the waves of innocent delight that he seemed to radiate with at the admission. Her husband was the sweetest, most devoted love-bird of them all, seeking to create for her even in this new form of art the elves had discovered. "Will you read me one, dear? About me, if you please."
Varda was additionally treated to watching every single regal feather in Manwe's mantel fluff up, his impressive wings shifting against each other as his golden eyes looked down to his nervously shifting feet, and the tips of his pointed ears flush cherry red. Helpless against his wife's wishes, he found himself caught between pride in his work and bashfulness for his evident devotion. He bowed his head slightly before intoning "As my queen commands."