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“Stop wiggling and hush. Right. So on the next page we have an illumination of the gardens of Yavanna – well, if the gardens of Yavanna had garish cabbages, what on earth the artist was thinking I’ll never know – opposite a short treatise on ancient high elevation agriculture. I’ll read it to you, shall I?”
“If you read me that, I will be forced to break my other leg in desperation.”
“Honestly, your penchant for melodrama is worse than your penchant for riding horses into trees.”
“I did not – Will you stop saying – It was a poorly shod horse, and an ill-placed tree – It could have happened to even the best equestrian, you libelous bore – ”
“But it didn’t. It happened to you. Stop wriggling.”
Glorfindel let out a groan and dropped back against the pillows. In the chair beside the bed, Ecthelion clicked his tongue impatiently and uncrossed his legs, leaning forward to straighten the cushion under Glorfindel’s leg, setting down his book on the ground.
“This is my nightmare,” said Glorfindel, to the ceiling. “Immobilized by an idiot accident, confined to bed rest, and trapped with someone who insists on alternately boring and scolding me.”
“You make me sound like a nagging parent.”
“You sound like a nagging parent.” Glorfindel tossed a pillow at Ecthelion, who dodged it. “Mother.”
“Now that is an epithet that will keep me eager to be at your side,” said Ecthelion, retrieving his book. “Look, I know the bed rest is frustrating, especially for one as…constantly mobile as you, but if you view it as a time to catch up on some reading and improve your mind, I think you’ll find the time will fly by.” He smiled bracingly, though his tone sounded like even he wasn’t convinced.
“It does not count as catching up on my reading if it is something that I would never read.”
“It is…mind-broadening, then.”
“No one’s mind is broadened by vegetables.”
“Yes, well I am tired of reading the High King’s history of the Dagor Aglareb. He might be a fine archer, but he is an uninspired writer.”
“I like Fingon’s account of the Glorious Battle.”
“Of course you do,” said Ecthelion, putting his feet up on the edge of the bed and nudging Glorfindel’s good leg with one toe as he did. “He writes like you do – all action verbs, poor understanding of the judicious use of adjectives, run-on sentences, and an overuse of the interrobang.”
“Fine. Read to me about Yavanna’s hideous cabbage,” said Glorfindel in resignation, flinging one arm across the sheets and twirling a strand of his hair aimlessly. “With any luck, I will be dead soon.” His face brightened slightly. “I hear there has been increased activity from Angband. Perhaps Morgoth will essay to destroy us.” He sounded hopeful, and Ecthelion kicked his good leg lightly.
“Bite your tongue.” But he scooted his chair closer and let one hand rest on the coverlet as he started to read, and Glorfindel stretched out a hand in turn so their fingers could brush. “Now, our favorite scholar had this to say on the cultivation of parsnips. Whatsoever ye platheth in fertile soil – ”
“Hah.”
“Hush. Make well sure that each seed is sprinkled liberally each Mingling…”
Glorfindel grinned but held his tongue, and took Ecthelion’s fingers carefully against his own, humming as he closed his eyes and let Ecthelion’s clear voice wash over him.
It was late, and the light of Tilion spilled through the open window. Ecthelion got to his feet as quietly as he could. He laid the book carefully on the bedside table, sticking a dead leaf from the windowsill between the pages as a bookmark. Straightening up, he stretched his arms over his head, holding back a groan at the stiffness in his back. Then he bent over Glorfindel’s slumbering form and brushed a lock of long golden hair from his eyes, his thumb lingering on Glorfindel’s skin, just where Glorfindel’s heavy eyelashes brushed his cheek. Then he straightened the bedclothes in a businesslike way, double-checking to make sure the cushion under Glorfindel’s foot was secure and the bandages around his leg were still fresh and not in need of changing. He was just about to turn and make his way from the room when a hand caught him by the wrist.
“Ecthelion.” Glorfindel’s voice was soft and hoarse with sleep. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my own house.” Ecthelion pressed his fingers to the underside of Glorfindel’s wrist. “I hoped to let you rest.”
“I can sleep as well with you here.”
Ecthelion smiled in the darkness. “History has not borne out that assertion, if my memory serves.”
Glorfindel smiled back, a quick flash of white teeth and bright eyes in the moonlit room. “And does history say I have ever minded?”
“You need to rest and recover if you are to escape this room and my tedious reading.”
“I do not mind your reading.” Glorfindel pulled Ecthelion closer. “Well, your subject matter I mind. But your voice…you know how I feel about your voice.”
“I do.” Ecthelion relented to let himself be pulled down to the bed, and sat against Glorfindel’s side, their hands linked.
Glorfindel reached up to stroke his cheek. “Stay with me.” His voice dropped persuasively. “Sleep by me.” Ecthelion bent forward over him until his braid fell over his shoulder and brushed against Glorfindel’s shoulder. “I promise I shall heal just as well with you in my bed,” whispered Glorfindel, tugging his braid. “Better.” His fingers hovered over Ecthelion’s lips. “I promise I shall be a model patient.”
Ecthelion yielded to the urge to take Glorfindel’s hand and kiss the fingers. “You shall not heal if we do what your tone would suggest.”
Glorfindel shook his head. “I am serious, Ecthelion. I just want you beside me. Sleep with me – truly, sleep.” He tugged Ecthelion down until their lips were inches apart. “I can always lead you into carnal temptation later. But for now,” he stretched up and kissed Ecthelion softly, and Ecthelion made a noise into the night. “For now, all I ask is you at my side as I sleep.”
“ ’Tis an unusually reasonable request.”
“I am being unusually reasonable. Stay.”
Ecthelion stayed.
He pulled his tunic over his head and slid under the sheets without further objection, stretching out an arm for Glorfindel to settle into. As Glorfindel’s head came to rest against his breast, he felt the most grateful he’d ever been for a poorly shod horse and an ill-placed tree.
For this moment of stillness, in moon and shadow, and a golden head pressed to his heart.