Work Text:
Ori was enjoying his off day from work by visiting Fíli at the royal wing. They weren't really interacting actually, Fíli sat in one of the big chairs carving some wooden figurines. Meanwhile, Ori had grown bored from his knitting and was now pacing around the room, searching for anything that may catch his attention.
"Can I read this, kidhuzurâl?"
"Umh?" Fíli finishes cutting the chip that entertains him before focusing on his lover. Seeing Ori holding a book in his hands. "Ah, of course, I don't remember the plot though, so i can't tell you if it's any good. Have fun, kurdel." There seemed to be a hidden tone in his lover's voice, but Ori didn't catch it.
A coy smile spreads through his face "Thank you." He made himself a comfortable place on the floor and sat there.
The book looked worn, the leather had thin in some places and the adhesive on the corners was peeling from use, by the looks of it, Ori couldn't believe what Fíli said, this book looked as if it had been read hundreds of times. Opening it revealed rich black ink, by the smell and touch of it, crafted from soot and resin.
Ori couldn't help but cares the well loved item. How much love had been poured into this book was fascinating, mended a thousand times to maintain a singular story. Usually, this level of mending is what he would see in the library. In this book, he was witnessing the equivalent of the care of a crafter archivist. All that care in a singular book, in a singular room, from a singular person that is not an archivist, it was a true sing of love.
Then, he turned the page and saw the content of the book. It had notes and doodles and scribbles and annotations. Ori couldn't stop himself, the story didn't mean much to him right now, what may the annotator have had to say? Those were always the best part of any document in the archives.
Ori spent the best part of an hour trying to distinguish where the original story finished and the annotations began. Those notes had compiled over years of reading the same book, at the beginning they were scribbles on the sides and the tiniest of drawings in between the paragraphs. His heart was melting just by the sight of the doodles and mental image of a tiny Fíli drawing them.
Between the lines of ink, pencil words caught his eyes, there rested Fíli's reactions to the story and they were dramatic just like him. Over at the margins he was able to distinguish were Fíli later had read again and responded to the story itself, dissecting and criticizing it. Ori couldn't help but giggle at some of the quips his One had written.
Ori barely heard Fíli steps as he approached him, "Are you having fun, uzfakuh?", he sat by his side.
Seeing his sun under the mountain, Ori couldn't help himself but steal a kiss from the prince, which earned him a blush from the heir.
"I am!"
"You can't content yourself with having my heart, you must also have my mind?" Fíli pointed at the book.
"What's the fun of having you if i don't have all of you, sanûrzud?"
Fíli chuckled, "So, amrâlimê, do you like it?"
"Oh, Fíli, it's amazing, it has so many notes and even little drawings. I assume you must have made them when you were but a pebble. AND, the pages are so well preserved, there is hardly any oil in them, and-" Fíli was smiling ear to ear, he couldn't help it really, his plan had worked wonderfully, his Ori was ranting about how to keep books pristine and the importance of diaries in the research of the past and how the book he had allowed him to read would be an archive piece one day. Little did his Ori know this book was just one in many Fíli had annotated to hell and back.