#faelion

*Beautiful Dreamer*

It was difficult to say whether Erestor had joined Fingon on the chaise, or if it had been the other way around, but the two were draped over each other - with the exception of Erestor’s lower left leg - when Glorfindel opened the door to the cottage.  Faelion sauntered over after he locked the door, and was the first to speak.  “What went on here?”

“You were late,” Fingon pointed out.  His voice was a whisper, and it clued the arrivals to the fact that Erestor was asleep.  “We had dinner,” he added when Glorfindel lifted the edge of a plate that still contained a picked-at pile of noodles.  

“Looks like only one of you ate,” whispered Faelion as he removed his cloak and hung it on a peg near the door.

“We shared.  Neither of us eat much.  Less dishes to clean.”  Fingon watched Glorfindel pick up a dish that still held more than half of a slice of cake.  “You can finish it if you want,” he offered.

“We had pie,” explained Faelion as Glorfindel retrieved a spoon with his free hand.  “You had two pieces,” he hissed when Glorfindel scooped up some of the cake.  

Glorfindel shrugged.  Erestor stirred, but instead of waking, he turned and burrowed against Fingon.  “That is adorable,” he said, pushing the cake away from the icing.  “Does he look like that when he snuggles against me?” he wondered out loud.

“He always looks cute when he sleeps, on account of him closing his eyes,” Faelion stuck his finger into the frosting on the plate Glorfindel had taken possession of.  “Fingon, do you ever sleep?” he suddenly asked.

“Not often.”  Fingon stretched the arm that was not wrapped protectively around Erestor to retrieve a bottle beside the chaise.  “We chilled this out in the snow, but never opened it.  The glasses are on the counter, and neither of us really wanted to go get them when we realized we forgot them.”

“Are you trying to get rid of us?” Faelion sucked the frosting from his finger as he arched his brows.

Fingon held the bottle higher.  “You tell me.”

Glorfindel finished off the cake, set down the empty dish, and plucked the bottle from Fingon.  “Good vintage,” he noted before he handed it off to Faelion.  “Do you mind taking this up whilst I go and retrieve the glasses?”

Faelion leaned down to nuzzle Fingon’s cheek and kiss Erestor gently on the head.  “Why bother with glasses - just bring the corkscrew,” he directed before he bounded up the steps to the bedroom.

The corkscrew was on the table, and Glorfindel picked it up and pocketed it.  Then he reached down and stroked Erestor’s hair.  “He never has nightmares when he sleeps next to you,” he commented.

“Sometimes he does,” Fingon corrected.  “Those are the times I fall asleep as fast as I can and go in there to tell his demons to fuck off.”

“As much as I hate it when he is restless, I really want to see you as a dream guardian.”  Glorfindel mimicked Faelion’s movements earlier, kissing and nuzzling the pair on the lounge.  “I take it you plan to spend the night here?”

“You have Faelion and a bottle of wine up there,” joked Fingon lightly.  “Not sure there is enough room in the bed for anyone else tonight…”

Glorfindel bit his lip guiltily, and then attempted a rebuttal, but nothing came out.

“You have no need to defend your actions,” Fingon said.  “I did offer you the wine.  Go on - Fae is waiting on you.”

“Probably in a compromising position.”  The mumbled words came from Erestor, eyes still closed.  “Maybe you can come up with another use for the cork when you open the bottle.”

“How long have you been awake?” questioned Glorfindel, sounding mortified.

“Something about telling a salmon to go fuck himself,” he muttered, eyes still shut.

“Close enough.  Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”  Glorfindel kissed Erestor’s forehead.  

“Alright, but staying here with Kano.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Have fun with Fae,” he added before he dozed off again.

Fingon pulled the blanket from the back of the lounge.  With some help from Glorfindel, he managed to spread it out over himself and Erestor.  “You heard your husband,” he prodded.  “Go have fun with your lover.”

Glorfindel gave a half salute and continued on up the stairs.  Fingon licked his fingers, stretched out his arm and put out the flames of the candles nearby.  He waited until he heard the door close to the bedroom before he nuzzled Erestor’s cheek and whispered into his ear, “Someday, I am going to find a way to marry you.”

 It was far later than Fingon had promised to go to bed, but Glorfindel was also still up, so it seemed far less of an issue when he had a partner in crime.  Glorfindel, of course, had nowhere in particular to be in the morning, while Fingon would be expected to stroll into the library promptly when it opened to the public in the morning.

 Then again, it would not be long before Faelion or even Erestor realized he had not turned in and come to retrieve him.  As he sat up and set his book aside, Fingon caught movement nearby and watched Glorfindel look up from the painting he was working on.  “I think I might get a tattoo.”  

 The comment seemed to catch them both off-guard.  For Fingon, it was infrequent that he really shared his thoughts – of course, he communicated with the others, and did so honestly, but there was a distinct difference between agreeing to biscuits and jam for breakfast and blurting out something that he had mentally toyed with for months without disclosing to anyone. Glorfindel’s reaction was to lower his paintbrush and offer a curious, “Oh?”

 Fingon bowed his head and rubbed his face while making a froggish sort of groan.   “I guess no one does that anymore.  Here. Whatever,” he said as he searched for his bookmark, only to find he had already marked his page with it.  

 Glorfindel watched Fingon fuss with the items on the table beside him and nearly stand before he said, “Erestor has tattoos.”

 Slowly, Fingon lowered himself back down into the chair.  “Tell me more.”

 “Well, you know, they only last a few hundred years sometimes.  He does have one around his ankle that is more permanent.  Kind of a wreath of gold flowers,” Glorfindel answered fondly. “The others sort of vary by his mood. Lots of birds.  Did he ever tell you the bird thing?”

 “Not sure,” admitted Fingon.

 “Right, so… if he could, he would want to be able to fly.”

 Fingon tensed for a moment as the sudden recall of his in-flight adventure plagued his mind.  “Has he ever done it before?”

 “Just once, I think. Over Gondolin.“  Glorfindel swirled his brush in a bowl of water.  “On an eagle.”

 “Sure.  Eagles are…”  Fingon sighed.  “He ever just, you know, try it as a bird?”

 The expression on Glorfindel’s face clearly contained some amount of concern that Fingon was overly tired.  “Doubtful. On account of him not being a bird.”

 “Right, right, I know.” Fingon stretched his legs out and felt a yawn teasing him.  “I meant, you know, how we can turn into stuff sometimes.  He ever try that?”

 Glorfindel shook his head.  “Unless you know something I do not know, I do not foresee him taking the form of a bird any time soon.”

 “He could probably do it,” Fingon said decidedly.  “He should talk to Felagund.  He knew how to do some crazy shit.”

 Glorfindel chuckled. “I will let him know.”

 “No, but, really,” said Fingon as he rubbed his eyes.  He was far more tired than he had originally thought, but was determined to make his case. “This one time, we went hunting with Turgon and Aegnor, and we heard Celegorm and Curufin approaching us. None of us wanted to deal with them, so Felagund, like, did something, and we were all cats.”

 “Interesting.”

 “And this other time- so, we had this cave where we would go to hide from our parents- and a bear came and I think they wanted the cave, but Felagund got this idea and made us into a pack of mountain lions and the bear left.”

 “What I am taking away from this is that Finrod knows how to make people appear as cats.”

 “Not just cats,” argued Fingon.

 “Oh?  What else?” asked Glorfindel.

 “Stuff.”  The yawn  caught up to him, and Fingon stretched his arms and then shrugged.  “It was a long time ago.  I am certain there were things other than cats.  I just really remember the cats well because being a cat was fun.”

 Glorfindel started to clean up his paints for the evening.  “Is that why you like cats so much?”

 “Maybe,” drawled Fingon slightly narrowed eyes.

 “Can I call you Tevildo, then?”

 “Wha—no.”  Fingon frowned.  “Maybe just have Erestor talk to Felagund.  If he still wants to fly.  It could be fun.”  This time, Fingon committed himself to standing up so that he could turn in for the night.

 “You could get a cat,” suggested Glorfindel.

 “I think Erestor might turn me out at night if I bring another cat home,” said Fingon.  He passed by and set a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “Good night,” he said as he leaned down and gave Glorfindel a peck on the cheek.

 Glorfindel returned the affection with a little nuzzle.  “I meant your future tattoo, if you get one.  You could get a cat.”

 “Hmm.  Maybe.”  Fingon squeezed Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “You coming to bed soon?”

 “Right now.” Glorfindel set the brush on a scrap of cloth to dry before he took off his spectacles and stood up.  “I will neither confirm nor deny that a certain healer asked me to stay up and make sure you got some sleep, only after a certain librarian asked I do the same.  Although, honestly, I would have done it even if I had not been asked.”

 A small part of Fingon wanted to be rebellious and stay up in spite of all of them, but the thought of the cozy nest of blankets and cushions that was waiting up the stairs where someone was bound to offer a cuddle and where he would wake up safely nestled beside someone in the morning won over falling asleep in the chair only to develop a cramp in his neck.  “Am I that bad?”