Work Text:
Ecthelion is known for his poise, his elegant stillness. For his careful, antique courtesy, which veils the agile workings of his mind. He is an observer, a listener, drawing in confidences with the potent lure of silent attention. When he speaks in council, he says only and exactly what he must. Peerless in performance and in the training yard, he carries himself with the detached tranquility of a sheathed blade: keen-edged but restrained. His public smiles are small but vivid – they are something worth earning, and rare. He is purposeful. Quietly powerful. Remote.
Asleep, however, he is all liquid movement and soft, inarticulate sound. He tumbles against and away from Glorfindel, clings, then protests touch. He swims through the caverns of his dreaming mind, limbs and hands tangling in the sheets. He whispers nonsense, murmurs snippets of song, gasps into his pillow, mutters complaints and lectures invisible courtiers. He trembles and cries out and laughs, sinking into the river of his dreams and surrendering utterly to whatever current of bliss or terror or tumult claims him.
It should be provoking, Glorfindel thinks, to contend with Ecthelion’s nightly dance. Certainly, he sleeps better when he sleeps alone. But whenever the opportunity presents itself, he gladly trades his gentler rest for this turbulent closeness. Ecthelion is beautiful, sleeping – open and utterly vulnerable, as he rarely is, awake. His sharp face is expressively mobile as he dreams. Infinite variations of emotion wash across it, revealing the many secret selves he holds so close. The true, deep tenderness of his body is apparent: he softens and warms. The dark water of his unbound hair pours across the bed. Glorfindel is drenched in it, lapped by its sleek caress.
And patience has its reward. Always, the night’s storm of dreams ends with Ecthelion flowing into Glorfindel’s arms: cheek, shoulder, hip all fitting against him as though carved to match his own form. Ecthelion settles, sighing, and murmurs a quiet endearment. Glorfindel kisses his pale shoulder, the crown of his head. They breathe together softly, tender in the dark.