Chapter Text
The hour must have been very late; silvery moonlight streamed through the open casement, drawing the gentle ocean breeze along with it. Glorfindel lay awake on their makeshift bed that had been placed in the Great Room for his comfort and ease of access to the kitchen and sanitary facilities. Healing bones ached, but not enough to merit waking Fingon or Erestor. It was not as if he had anywhere to go tomorrow. Sighed silently, his gaze tracked to each side of his peripheral vision. Were he occupying either side of their bed he would unquestionably try to rise and make his way to another room – the better to brood in silence – but that was impossible. His partners, having learned swiftly, kept him in the middle so that he was required to have their assistance for any needs. He knew they cared for him out of love; a regard his poor self-esteem struggled to reconcile. Muttering to himself aloud, as had become his habit when living under Faelion’s roof, felt impermissible here. The sound of his own voice in that other place had staved off the sense of isolation and felt like a form of company. Speaking now would make noise, though, leaving little choice but to simply think.
Elrond had sent them home with many medicines to aid his healing. Some for pain, in anticipation of occasional difficulties from the severity of his injuries. Another was for his state of mind, they had been made to understand. Herbs and other elements, compounded to mitigate the anxious plaguing thoughts and his tendency to dwell over-long on difficult feelings that both lovers assured him were not matters with which he should feel concerned.
Easy for them to say. They do not bear the shame of being me. Being the one who walked out on his husband whilst cheering his presumed passing. Erestor says it is all right, that it does not matter to him...but Erestor has said a lot of things in the past. Not all of them were true. I do still love him deeply. But he lies. Sometimes to others, sometimes to himself. Am I to believe that in four years, all that has changed and gone away?
Then again what if all he says is true? I know that he loved me, in between all the things he did that hurt and pushed me aside. He is just...there is something wrong with Erestor, and maybe someday I will actually know what it is. The tension in his body caused his teeth to clench, and he willed himself to consciously relax those muscles, knowing that the moment he stopped concentrating on this, they would tense all over again. I wish I could doze off, he thought, willing himself to relax further and breathe deeply. This feels good. Maybe soon I will sleep…
An explosive cough from Fingon broke the silence of the room. Immediately Glorfindel’s eyes flew wide open. All bodily muscles stiffened tightly – and painfully. A deep feeling of exasperation washed over him; it was at least the sixth time this had transpired. He would come so near to dropping off only to be thoroughly jarred awake by percussive sound from whatever illness Fingon battled. Altitude sickness was something Idril had warned them all about before their flight from the mainland to the island, and it seemed to be plaguing Fingon. Not that it was his fault; Káno did not seem to even be aware.
This feels so hopeless; I should have asked for something to make me sleep. Even though I do not want all these medicines. Medicines that do not seem to be actually helping in any way. His mood the last few days had been worse than usual. A cheerful face was shown to his housemates as best he could, because why should everyone else be dragged down along with him? His inner landscape lay beyond their reach yet this admittedly seemed very bad. Unnerving, to feel so disconnected from everything and everyone, as if life were being viewed through one side of a glass pane that divided him from all others.
You have been depressed before, Glorfindel, he reasoned with himself. Life can seem dim sometimes, but you know perfectly well that there is better than this. You will feel better. Later. At some point.
Yes, but when? How much later? What do I do with this? Send word to Elrond that I feel awful and that it is frightening to not know anything about when this will stop? Or if? And why is this happening in the first place? Those nearby love me now. Care about me. All day long it is reassurance and affection and seeing to my every need.
But how long will that last? Glorfindel fretted in self-response. Will they become sick of me? Tired of having to tell me over and over that everything is going to be fine? Honestly, how in fuck do they know? They do not know. It is just something everyone says because that is what you say to people who feel cheerless. I do not want to bother Elrond with this. I do not want to bother anyone. What if I send word, and two days from now I feel completely different? Then I will hate myself for having mentioned it, and feel like an idiot. What is even wrong, Glorfindel? Can you answer that? Here you are, no one is trying to have sex with you until you cry from the pain of it. No one is locking you out of bedrooms or expecting you to cook like a servant. You are even able to wear clothes that are not dresses. Maybe you have just forgotten what you are supposed to feel like?
I have no answers for that. Perhaps that is the worst part. I cannot say, ‘Faelion is hurting me’ or ‘Ress is out of his head on drugs again today.’ There is none of that right now. I am fed and warm and for some unfathomable reason, wanted. At least, until they tire of this. Tire of...me. All the more reason to say nothing. Nobody enjoys someone with a black cloud following them around. They just...do not. But then sooner or later I will slip up and they will find out and be upset with me for not telling them.
Well, maybe. Father Eru, why does this have to seem so difficult? Right now life seems to stretch out in front of me like a long path to be traversed...for what? Because it is expected of me? Because Ress and Káno want me to? Because that is what people do? I think about life here, and I think about my time in the Halls of Mandos. And neither one particularly appeals to me. Does that mean something? I suppose that is bad. I mean, I am not going anywhere. I promised them my loyalty, and that has removed choices that probably should not have been choices. In fact, now look at what I have done. How did I manage to become so entwined with the House of Fingolfin? I served Turgon for most all of my first life, and now I have sworn myself to the other brother. What is it, with that? Do I need someone else, directing my steps? Maybe I do; maybe that is my father's legacy to me. Be what those around you require of you, Glorfindel. Perhaps that is what you are good for, what you were molded to become. An immense sigh escaped his body, borne on the wings of self-pity.
It would be nice, though, if I could feel something about it. About life, I mean. Don’t normal people enjoy themselves? I remember enjoying myself, here and there. If only I could care. Maybe I will care later. There was a time I cared so very much, but right now I feel nothing at all. Except for when I feel as though I am standing at the edge of a precipice. I tell myself that the void in front of me is not real. I know it is not real. No balrog is going to reach out and pull me down with it.Yet it feels real, that horrid sense of impending finality, and that is what I am stuck with at the moment.
You are just depressed because you have been hurt and cannot do for yourself, he argued. This is not uncommon. It happens. There is no need to make some kind of crisis of existence out of a few days of being in a black mood.
Yes but before this it was because Faelion treated me like shit. And before that it was because Ress seemed like he was unreachably troubled and distant. Or because I believed what Faelion told me, is more like it, but either way it hurt. And before that it was moving here and moving there, doing whatever Erestor wanted to do. What have you done that you wanted to do, Glorfindel?
I bonded with Erestor. Wanting him, craving his love, companionship and attention--that has defined all but the first few years of my lives on Arda. Was that my purpose, what I was meant for? Do I even have a purpose? Why am I even thinking about this shit? Irmo, please...I just wish I could sleep. Hear my prayer, and let me sleep…
Deep, rhythmic breathing followed soon, as at last Glorfindel slipped into reverie. Next to him, Erestor carefully shifted so as to press his back against the warmth of Glorfindel’s body, and curled into a fetal position. A single tear rolled down his cheek, unseen in the dark.