Sorry, I know this chapter took forever. School has been hectic. This chapter contains mild SLASH, just to forewarn you. I hope you like it!
Elrond felt ill, but smiled anyway when Erestor reached across the small table between them and refilled his goblet with miruvor. The dark haired advisor sat back down on the sofa and continued to idly stroke Glorfindel's gold hair. The Balrog Slayer's eyes, which had flashed with annoyance when Erestor had gotten up, drifted shut again in contentment.
The Lord of Imladris hoped that the elven liqueur was the right drink for his kind of shock. Glorfindel stretched and made a sound that made Elrond bite his lip to keep from laughing. Erestor noticed and gave him a look as if to say, What? You have obviously never heard an elf purr before. The lore master was not sure what to think of that.
There was a timid knock on the door before it opened. A young elf crept in, his embroidered tunic marking him as a messenger of Galadriel. The Lord of Imladris wondered what news she would be sending him. Elrond waited while the youth composed himself, and noted with amusement how large his eyes got upon seeing the renowned Noldorin Prince, Glorfindel, stretched out like a cat in Erestor's lap.
Elrond wondered how long they had been lovers, his two best friends. It seemed odd that he had not noticed it until lately. Then again, Erestor was completely inscrutable when it came to just about anything. Glorfindel, on the other hand, was pitifully easy to read, even if his nightly wanderings had not been quite enough of a clue.
"My lord?" The elf said, causing Elrond to look up. "Word has come that the dead have been gathered. That Lord Aragorn is possibly planning an assault against Mordor." Then he added, without thinking. "Will he have victory?"
Elrond had been thinking the same thing, and looked up at the youth with haunted eyes. "I know not."
Erestor smiled and waved him over. The young elf did not move. "Come here." he paused. "I do not bite." Glorfindel huffed loudly in disagreement. Erestor pinched his side and the Balrog Slayer yelped and shot into a sitting position.
"What is your name?"
"Beleg, my Lord." he took a timid step forward.
"Narthoniel, haruvalve ture! Ava ruce." (Fire-kindler, we will have victory. Do not fear.) The Lorien elf nodded and walked out of the room, his shoulders held a little higher than before.
Elrond smirked. "A bit theatrical, are we not?" Erestor shrugged.
Later, towards the end of the day, Elrond made his way out to the gardens. It was dark, but the stars illuminated the water that jumped happily down the rocks and into the river below. He sat down on a bench and sighed heavily. All of the lights had been extinguished, except for one. Elrond smiled weakly, at least Glorfindel and Erestor were enjoying themselves. He, on the other hand, felt terrible. The miruvor had dulled his senses, but not quite enough. He did not wish to confront his past, but he knew he had very little choice. So much was at stake. In the corner of his eye he saw the light go out in Erestor's bedchamber.
He sat there and let the hours wash over him. It was near to midnight when a voice snapped him back to reality.
"Elrond, are you unwell?" Erestor sat beside him. Elrond nodded.
"I feel awful."
"You will feel better in the morning."
"Where is Glorfindel?"
Elrond would have sworn he saw a bit of a blush creep into Erestor's cheeks. "Asleep."
"I would imagine so."
They both laughed. "Elrond, you know that I, as well, possess the gift of foresight." he swallowed. "Your son will not return to you."
The Lord of Imladris turned and looked at him, his expression was pained. "I have seen it also. A great battle, and he will be slain."
Erestor shook his head. "Not that one. Your younger son." He scratched the back of his neck. "The pain will be to great and he will fade. An elf will return to you, but he will only be a shadow. Nothing more."
Elrond buried his face in his hands, and wept. "All three of my children. The triangle of doom." Erestor pulled him into a tight hug.
"Peredhil, harken to me. Do not think like this, or you bring about your own fate."
The next day, Elrohir began to feel a bit remorseful about the previous night's revelries. They had been riding hard without stopping since dawn, and his saddle was beginning to get a bit uncomfortable. Elladan rode with a triumphant grin, and Legolas appeared to be riding to his execution. Gimli was blissfully ignorant of the entire ordeal.
The sun had set when they came at last to the Hill of Erech. For the first time during the entire day, they could rest. Even though it would only be for a few minutes, Elrohir had never been so grateful. He leapt of his horse. Bad idea.
Elladan skipped up to him. "Did you have a pleasant ride?"
Elrohir growled at his brother.
"I did as well!" his smile faded, but his eyes still danced with mischief. "Are you a bit sore?"
"Just a little." Elrohir winced as he stood up.
"Irime said the same thing!" He lowered his voice. "Must have been an interesting — oof!" Elladan glared at his younger twin from where he lay on his back on the ground. He hissed, Elrohir responded in kind.
Irime walked up and smiled. "Oh, Elladan, you are positively dashing! The mud is a wonderful addition, why did you not think of it before?" Elrohir snickered.
The older twin cursed inventively and with heartfelt intensity. He got up and flung dirt at his brother and his lover.
They all were silenced, though, when Aragorn spoke from beside the stone, addressing the dead army.