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.