Chapter Text
“Tell your insane friend to seal his letters better.”
The Mirkwood courier left before Ecthelion had time to respond – to apologise? to ask if she read his mail? – but not before dropping an envelope into his lap.
When Ecthelion lifted it, it felt thick. Art, then. Probably something macabre: Glorfindel was going through a wraith phase.
But when he unfolded the letter, oh, it was so, so much worse. For the – incredibly lifelike – painting on top portrayed Glorfindel himself, wearing nothing but a simpering smile Ecthelion had never seen him display in reality.
Except, perhaps, in front of a mirror.
***
“I am sorry that my art caused you embarrassment,” said Gorfindel. “I thought you would appreciate them since, just for the record, they were not self-portraits, but portrayals of Glorfindel of Gondolin. You can tell from the details, like the old-fashioned style of the desk I lounge on, or the species of the cucumbers, which–”
“I was too distracted to analyse the scenery.”
“By what? By the… main subject? So you liked the paintings, then! At least a little?”
“I admit that your body was accurately and skillfully rendered, but the facial expressions were… off-putting.”
“How, off-putting? They were meant to be seductive… or passionate.” Glorfindel hesitated a moment before asking, “Does that mean… Do you dislike the way I look in the heat of passion?”
“No, of course not. But you look very different from what you portrayed.”
“How do I look, then?”
“Better?”
“Can you be more specific?”
“Less… staged? I do not know how to describe it. I am not an artist.”
“But without a better description, I cannot– No, wait, I have it!” There was a worrying, manic gleam in Glorfindel’s eye. “We must install some mirrors. Around the bed, or maybe above it. Or… both?”
***
“You will be happy to know,” said Glorfindel, “that I have decided against buying additional mirrors.”
Ecthelion felt as if a large, shiny weight had been lifted from his shoulders; he suddenly remembered his old diamond-studded ceremonial armour. But all he said was, “Oh, good.”
“After all, I already own a large mirror, the one in my dressing room. We can move that to the bedroom.”
“Glorfindel, my objection to your plan was not… financial.” Ecthelion strove for tact. “It is more–”
“I know: a question of taste. And of virtue, since vanity is a vice. However, surely using a mirror to check one’s appearance before meeting others is only proper.”
“Of course, but does that mirror have to be in the bedroom?”
“I believe so. Where else would we put it, once we have converted my dressing-room into a music studio?”
“A music studio? What, for me?“
Glorfindel gave him a strange look. “Of course! It is only fair, since I have my office, while you walk to the public practice-rooms whenever you attempt a new, difficult piece. Though I wish you would not,” he added. “I like hearing you make the occasional mistake. Living with perfection is a bit… annoying.”
“Oh,” said Ecthelion. “Sorry. Not for being perfect, a claim I reject utterly, but for annoying you. Could I do anything to mitigate the problem? Apart from making audible mistakes.”
“You could acquire some annoying habits.”
“Um.” Ecthelion decided against pointing out the paradox. “Back in Gondolin, you were annoyed by my moral doubts regarding sex. I could try–”
“NO,” said Glorfindel. “But maybe you could stop treating taste as a moral issue? And stop judging mine, even silently?”
“Maybe…” It would be difficult, but Ecthelion did enjoy a challenge. “Very well. Glorfindel, your mirror idea sounds delightful.”