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"Laure... Laure... We are so glad to have you back." Whispers Galdor brushing a stray lock of golden hair that has fallen on Glorfindel's face. Glorfindel mewls softly and moves, tucking his legs underneath him to make more room on already cramped bed. He tugs Egalmoth closer, desperately searching for his touch.
"I have missed you so, so terribly." He whispers, eyes brimming with tears. He leanes back into Rog's embrance and reaches his left hand to Ecthelion. "Please..." he whimpers, "Please, I need you"
In a heartbeat they all lean closer to him, embracing him with their presence, their soft hair falling everywhere, their fingers brushing his skin and clothes, touching his hair. Their fëar mingling with his own, happy, oh, so happy, but yearning painfully for more. He trembles, as he reaches out with his mind to gently touch them. He hasn't feel them in so many years... He lets himself be engulfed by the soft sound of their steady breaths.
He is so warm and safe, and whole.
He trembles again as another wave of tears escapes his clenched eyelids. He doesn't want to cry. But at the same time he is so tired of being strong. He feels old and worn by war, and wishes for peace. He lets out a quiet sniffle.
The mattress dips a bit and Glorfindel feels someone shuffling closer to him. Soft lips press to his cheek, kissing him tenderly and wiping the tears away.
'Egalmoth' he thinks
Then there is a hand on his knee, squeezing him gently. Hand relatively small, but steady and firm. He once knew every scar and callous on this hand.
'Galdor'
Behind him Glorfindel hears quiet sight as much as he feels it in the rising and falling of strong chest pressed flush against his back. The elf buries his nose in Glorfindel's hair and inhales deeply, his muscled arms tightening around his waist.
'Rog'
And then there are fingers drawing little circles on the back of his hand. Long, elegant, delicate fingers, moving always so lovingly and tenderly. A hand cups his cheek. He can feel callouses from hours of plucking the harp strings.
'Ecthelion'
He gasps at the inensity of it all, feelings long buried beneath white marble and ash, resurfacing again after centuries. The ones he had tried so hard to lock away, and the ones that were his anchor, ones he held onto desperately during many lonely years of his life.
With closed eyes it all feels like a dream and he dreads the moment he would open them again, fearing he would wake alone in a cold bed in his chambers back in Imladris. So he keeps them closed for the time being, savouring the moment.
It feels like a dream, the kind he treasures the most, the dreams of grand bedroom and soft touches, of little kisses and long, quiet conversations, stretching well into morning hours. Of festives when they drank and laughed until their heads ached, sang until their voices were hoarse, and danced until their legs could not support them any more.
He sobs loudly.
'Egalmoth, Galdor, Rog, Ecthelion'
Their names became his prayer long ago. He would whisper them until he fell asleep on nights where his memories haunted him the most. He repeats them once more. It is as if centuries of repeating them have carved these words into his very being, the names embedded deeply into his fëa. He holds them dear and carries with him wherever he goes.
But they are here now. Not mere words or thoughts, but his lovers. Alive and well, with blood pumping through their veins and Song flowing thorugh their very being. So beautiful, so alive. So right.
Glorfindel hears their voices now, concerned and hushed, but he does not understand them, too lost in the feeling of them. He can only shake his head and slowly breaths in the first breath in over six thousands years that finally sates his lungs. He no longer feels as though he might suffocate under the weight of his pain so great it threatens to leave him choking on tears and gasping for air over foul taste of ash and death and regret.
He is whole. It is not merely a dream.
The air tastes wonderfully sweet.
He hears Galdor's worried voice asking if he needs anything.
Laughter bubbles suddenly behind his lips and he laughs, the sound so untamed and brilliant, it surprises even him; and he feels free.
He laughs and laughs, with his head thrown back on Rog's shoulder. His lovers still, enchanted by the sound, greedily soaking in the pearly laughter, they all hold so dear.
Glorfindel has a wide grin on his face when he calms at last. He opens his eyes. He is greeted by four pairs of eyes looking at him in wonder, although laced with visible concern.
"Dear Galdor," he whisperes, smiling lovingly at them "I have everything I wished for for six thousand years right here. I do not need anything else."