@himrings-main asked 2 + glorestor? 👀 “I don’t wanna die …”
(Send me numbers and (a) character(s), bonus points for OTP. )
“I don’t wanna die …” Erestor croaks, slurred and choked from increasing pain on the in- and outside.
You will not, Glorfindel wants to say.
Don’t be ridiculous, Glorfindel wants to say.
They’re already be looking for us, Glorfindel wants to say. The Lord won’t let you go. How is he supposed to do without you?
He says none of it. They’re trapped, no one knows where they are, and he can’t get the inner bleedings from that damn orc dagger under control. He’s not a great healer, and whenever he sings one damage closed, another one opens up. There’s just too much destroyed.
He hasn’t ever lied to Erestor, he won’t start now.
“You get used to it after a while.”
Erestor looks like he wants to return his dry chuckle, but that hurts too much. His eyes are feverish. It would be easier for him to give in to unconsciousness, but they both know, he wouldn’t be waking up anymore. Neither of them is ready for that.
Glorfindel pretends not to see the thin rivulet of red, the next cough brings up; he just props Erestor’s head on his thigh higher so he can help him drink the copper taste away.
His fingertips graze his lover’s cheek and he shudders at how cold his skin is. It’s not going to take as long as thought.
In a moment like this, the last he wants to burden Erestor with is self-reproaches or premature grief. There’ll be enough time for that later.
In moments like this, smiles hurt less.
“Let’s be real here. Mandos won’t be putting up with your annoying ass for longer than a few weeks anyway. You’re getting basically a full health check and early retirement. You’ll be fine.”
Something pale drips on Erestor’s deathly pale forehead, mixing with the sheen of sickness there. Maybe Glorfindel doesn’t have his shit together as well as he thinks.
His lover is nice enough not to mention it which makes it easier to ignore the tears streaming down his own cheeks. They’ve fooled themselves long enough that they’re not good for each other. With a new war on the horizon, they both felt, they deserved some happiness. Apparently the Valar don’t think so.
“I guess, it’s my turn to search for a place then. How about a house on the lake? You could never shut up about that.”
“You hate swimming.” Glorfindel snorts, but somehow it turns into a sob.
“I’ll manage.” With as much strength as he can still muster up, Erestor pulls him down to kiss the salt from his lips. “And don’t you dare to stay here. I’m not waiting around forever. I don’t want to have to argue my way back here. And I really hate swimming.”
“Don’t worry. There’s nothing here for me left.”
Glorfindel no longer feels like joking. He gets out of his tunic because Erestor is trembling worse by the second.
When he’s finished spreading it over his blood-covered form, Erestor has stopped breathing.
Until the others come to break down the walls of their prison, Glorfindel has stopped crying. There’s no time to cry. There’s orcs to hunt, and soon enough, a war to win, so he can get away from this world that keeps on taking everything from him.
Maybe it’s also time to start building a boat.
