Three Strands in a Braid by between_thepages

Three Strands in a Braid

Read Three Strands in a Braid

There are three strands in a braid, Ecthelion knows, but somehow he has ended up with at least twice that amount in his hands, the golden tresses slowly becoming a tangled mess in his fingers.

“What are you doing, Thel?“ Glorfindel, sitting on the rug in front of him, asks, trying to turn and look, but the pull on the strands of hair makes him stop halfway through, instead coming up with his hands to feel.

“I think I did something wrong,“ Ecthelion admits, no use in lying when Glorfindel can so clearly feel what he is doing, “I did not expect your braids to be so complicated.“

“I never thought them to be,“ Glorfindel says, sounding a little sad, “but then I learned them this way when I was little.”

Ecthelion reaches for the brush, hoping to at least be able to undo the worst of the tangles he produced.

“I can try again,” he murmurs, though by now he is rather unsure of his skill. He does not expect Glorfindel to reach up and take Ecthelion’s hand, stopping him.

“Give me your braids instead, the ones you sometimes wear for special occasions. I think they would fit well.”

Ecthelion looks down at his lover, eyes wide.

“I thought you wanted to wear a proper Vanyarin braid for Idril’s begetting day,” he says, surprised at Glorfindel’s idea. After all, Idril is all the connection he still has to his older sister, a woman Ecthelion sadly never had the chance to meet.

“Most of all I want you to do my hair,” Glorfindel replies, turning enough to look at Ecthelion. The look in those beautiful blue eyes makes Ecthelion’s heart swell, and he presses a kiss to the top of Glorfindel’s head before he starts to brush his hair again.

“Maybe you could braid my hair as well?” Ecthelion asks once he has started to braid again, this time in the familiar style of northern Beleriand, where he is sure not to make the same mistakes again.

“You would want me to?“ Glorfindel asks, sounding a little surprised, and really, he has every right to, considering Ecthelion usually complains when he has to put his hair into battle braids (though the reason he complains about them is that he dislikes the feeling of the braid falling in front of his ear).

“Of course,” Ecthelion says quietly, glad Glorfindel cannot see his face right now. Hair may not hold the same significance for his people as for Glorfindel’s, but braiding someone's hair is still a sign of love and trust.

“Just leave at least some of it free, I like the way it falls down my back.“

Glorfindel nods, brushing his fingers along the back of Ecthelion’s hand, the soft touch almost making him drop the strand of hair he is holding.

“I will leave some of it loose, I promise,” Glorfindel says, apparently already planning out what he is going to do, “There is a formal variant where you have to braid the top and bottom separately. Maybe I could just do the top half for you.“

“Please,“ Ecthelion says without thinking, as the thought of Glorfindel‘s long fingers in his hair has just entered his mind, and it is doing things to him.

Glorfindel laughs at the response, almost making Ecthelion lose the braid in the process, but he can just about save it, now laughing too. Ultimately it does not matter if the braids turn out perfect or not, all that counts is the time they spend together.