Summary: Years after his captivity in Angband, Erestor begins the healing process.
These are random pieces from my 'private reserves': fics written for me by me. Sure, the majority of what I write is very much for my own amusement, but stories marked Bunniverse: Private Reserves go past a point chronologically in the Bunniverse where it just becomes complete self-indulgence and little regard for canon.
And by self-indulgent, I mean, Faelion is back, and also, living with Glorfindel and Erestor. And there's only one bed. You do the math.
Categories: Stories of Arda > Bunniverse (PPB-AU) > Fifth Age Characters: Erestor, Glorfindel
Genre: Dramatic, Romantic
Special Collection: Bunniverse: Private Reserve
Chapters: 2 Completed: No
Word count: 1268 Read: 5561
Published: May 19 2014 Updated: May 19 2014
1. Smile by Zhie
2. Lost by Zhie
Erestor poked his spoon in the bowl he was given. It was a brown lumpy mass, and he wondered how many times Glorfindel was in the position he was in, peering at food, or something masquerading as food. It was multi-toned, but it smelled like pudding.
“Chocolate,” spoke up Faelion, in case there was a question on what the flavor was supposed to be.
Erestor nodded and rested his head back. His jaw was swollen, and even the mushy carrots Glorfindel had cooked for him earlier had been difficult to eat. Any amount of chewing, talking, or even swallowing was painful, but pudding seemed like a good idea.
The first spoonful contained a large lump of something that Erestor felt should have at least tasted overly sweet, but instead, it was bitter on his tongue and grainy in the center. He deposited most of it back into the bowl.
Faelion looked quite apologetic. “Sorry, it was my first time. I followed the recipe, but I guess I still messed something up.”
“I never trust recipes.” Erestor pushed the mass about to navigate around he lumps. “This is still better than if I had tried to make it. I would have burned it or something.” He tried another mouthful. If he ate around the lumps, it was fairly flavorless, but it eased the emptiness in his stomach. “Good thing Glorfindel likes to cook.”
“He said that he was going to start some soup as soon as he returned.” Faelion originally offered to get the vegetables that Glorfindel would need, but Glorfindel explained that he needed to choose them himself. It made sense that if Glorfindel was going out, he should tend to the animals in the barn, which left Faelion to tend to Erestor that afternoon.
Erestor snoozed for a good portion of the day. When he woke, it was not because he was rested, but because the pain jolted him back into wakefulness.
“At least you can now say it is over halfway done,” said Faelion soothingly as he knelt down beside Erestor on the sofa. He stroked Erestor’s hair a few times. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Erestor shook his head and handed back the bowl. Two-thirds of the contents were gone, and what remained was a terribly lumpy mess. “Thank you.”
Faelion took the bowl and retreated to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a glass of salt water and a bucket. Slowly, Erestor sat up and took the glass. When it was finally discovered that he was in pain daily from the weak, crooked teeth that had regrown following his captivity in Angband, Erestor was eventually persuaded that tending to the issue despite the obvious increased pain it would cause would alleviate issues in the long run.
One or two were pulled each year, and once regrown, the next would be removed. It was a slow process, but at least now Erestor would smile a little without lips pressed together. The top teeth were all in place, but the first back bottom molar had just been extracted that morning.
Faelion held out a cloth for Erestor to use to wipe his mouth after he swirled the salt water in his mouth and spit it out into the bucket. “Are you sure there is nothing else you want?”
Again, Erestor shook his head. Faelion cleaned up, and then returned to Erestor’s side. “Glorfindel should be back soon,” he assured him. “Do you want to try for sleep again while we wait?” Erestor closed his eyes and gave a little nod before he rested his head on Faelion’s shoulder and dozed off.
Glorfindel’s ears perked up and he looked to his right with sudden alertness. It was still early in the evening, but Erestor wanted to turn in early, and Glorfindel had seen no reason why he could not sit in bed and write while lover rested. Nothing more came from Erestor for a time, and Glorfindel settled back. Downstairs, he could faintly hear Faelion practicing harp, stubbornly intent upon mastery of the instrument with as little instruction from his uncle as possible.
Glorfindel smiled at the thought and dipped his quill into thick, sepia ink. It was not that Faelion thought that his uncle could not teach him, or that he was too prideful to learn from someone. His reasoning was that he wanted to develop his own style, and not simply be known as ‘Salgant’s nephew’.
“Lost… Gondolin… Lost…”
Shoving the quill into the bottle of ink and tossing the journal onto the table next to the bed, Glorfindel pushed his thoughts aside as well and slid down under the covers to gather up Erestor’s trembling body in his arms. This was the sixth nightmare this summer, and he was determined to keep there from being a seventh.
“Erestor, awaken! Please, Erestor, ‘tis a memory,” continued Glorfindel holding Erestor close and kissing his face. “Erestor, you’re not in Gondolin, there is no Gondolin. You’re in Valinor with me and Fae and nothing is lost.” He persisted with soft words until Erestor blinked and regained thought in the realm of the waking.
The dark elf’s eyes were already wet with tears as he threw his arms around Glorfindel’s neck and embraced him tightly. “You died,” he choked as he cried against his lover. Faelion was in the doorway now and slowly crept up to the bedside, a hand resting upon Erestor’s shoulder. “You both died,” he sobbed. “I was all alone again.”
“In another life, but not in this one,” Glorfindel corrected. “We are safe now. Safe here with you.” He looked up at Faelion, who nodded and joined them on the bed.
The youngest knelt behind Erestor and wrapped his arms around the other two as far as he could reach. Faelion’s cheek was pressed against Erestor’s bare back, and he turned his head to kiss trembling skin. “And neither of us is going anywhere. Which means you are stuck now.”
Erestor hiccupped something, and Glorfindel and Faelion had to move and give him air to hear the words clearly. “Sorry.”
“For what?” Glorfindel sighed, but it was not frustrated or angry or filled with annoyance. It was compassionate, and followed by fingers stroking Erestor’s cheek to wipe away tears. Erestor shrugged. “Better?” Another shrug.
“I know what will help,” answered Faelion matter-of-factly. “Brownies.”
“Not if you make them,” answered Erestor after he wiped his nose.
“Me? No. I was assuming Fin would do it.”
Glorfindel rubbed his hands up and down Erestor’s shoulders. “Would brownies help?”
“Brownies and fruit salad?”
“That would be nice,” said Erestor softly. He leaned in to kiss Glorfindel before he turned his head and kissed Faelion. “I am going to use the loo. Maybe we can listen to you practice while the brownies are baking,” he said to Faelion.
“Of course!” Faelion bit his bottom lip as Erestor detangled himself and left the bedroom. In a low voice, Faelion spoke as he draped his arms around Glorfindel in a loose embrace. “Every time this happens, all I can think is if I were in his place, suicide would not have been an option. It would have been *the* option.”
Glofindel squeezed Faelion’s hand but looked at the wall. “I still worry that in his mind, it still is an option.”
Faelion sucked air in sharply through his nose. “Two pans of brownies,” he suggested before Erestor returned.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.