Erestor woke in an empty bed, to night-dark and the ocean’s murmur. Elbow-propped, he looked around. “Elrond?”

A shape by the window, poised and fey, turning in a drift of web-fine hair. “You’re awake? You – felt something too?”

“Felt what?” A dream, Erestor thought. “Come back to bed – it’s cold.” He sought normalcy through prosaic briskness. “What’s the time, any idea?”

“Early watch “ Elrond sat carefully on the edge of the bed, moving as though his skin hurt. “Almost light.”

“Bad dream?” Erestor loosely clasped his wrist, felt life’s throb beneath chilled skin.

“No.” He paused, sought words, discarded them, shook his head. “Not a dream.”

Erestor leaned against a tension-knotted shoulder, all midnight hair and sleep-warm skin, offering strength. “Tell me?”

“He’s gone.” Elrond sounded young, vulnerable, as he had on the night after his twin left. “Elros.”

“Ahh.” Four hundred years had passed. A vast lifetime for a Man, even one with a share of immortal blood.

Elrond moved into willing arms, eyes haunted.. “I could – always sense him. Tonight – it felt like… water draining from a skin. And now…” His words fell starkly, punctuating the shush of the tide. “Now there’s… none left.”

~*~*~*~*~