Tiphlos threw himself at Nerant, fighting the tears welling in his eyes.
The older elf barely caught him and they both stumbled backwards until Nerant’s knees hit the bed and they tumbled onto it. “Ti? What’s wrong?”
“He knows,” he sobbed, clinging to his lover. “My father…knows. And he’s…making me…marry.”
“Shhh. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ve talked about this, remember? We’ll be okay.” He smoothed Tiphlos’ blond hair, his heart pounding in his throat. Yes, they had talked about what they would do if the king forced Tiphlos to marry, but he had never really expected it to happen. Well, that was a lie. He had expected it to happen, just not this soon.
He shook his head against the cleric’s chest and sat up to meet the ice blue gaze. “He’s going to make me fight you, too. To…to prove that we’re not…not…”
Instead of making the younger elf say what they were supposedly not doing, he pressed Tiphlos’ head back into his chest, if only to keep the prince from seeing his own horrified expression. If the king expected them to duel, he also expected it to be to the death. He hardened his jaw and pressed the prince closer to him.
After a long while of silence broken only by Tiphlos’ sobs, the prince pulled back enough to meet Nerant’s gaze again. “I don’t want to fight you. I love you. Don’t make me.”
“I love you, too. But it’s not my choice, Ti,” he whispered, brushing a lock of blonde hair from the prince’s eyes. His eyes burned with his own tears but he did his best to blink them away.
“I’d rather die than marry her,” he snarled weakly, shaking his head.
He smiled grimly. “That can be arranged. Though I’d really rather not kill you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, too,” Tiphlos chuckled sadly. “But I can’t possibly kill you.”
He pulled the bard down to him again, kissing him fervently. “Well, let’s make the best of this time, shall we?”
He nodded and eagerly returned the kiss, tears still streaming down his cheeks.
Nerant rolled them over and kissed the tears away, his dark hair draping down over the prince’s face.
He held his lover close, trying to control his sobs. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he whispered back, not hesitating as he normally did. There wasn’t time for hesitation any more.

Tiphlos adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword, swallowing hard.
Nerant stood several feet away, his own blade held at the ready. His face was a mask of concentration, black hair swaying with the soft breeze.
He swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“This isn’t a practice fight,” Nerant called, spinning his sword dramatically. “This is the real thing, my lord.”
He nodded silently, knowing that his voice was crack and give him away if he spoke. His heart pounded in his throat and his hand shook ever so slightly on the pommel.  
“Are you both ready?” Cedric asked, glancing between the two. He had been chosen to referee the fight after Nerant had requested him for his honesty and closeness to the prince. He didn’t want to be here, watching his two friends fight, but he had made a promise.
Tiphlos nodded again and took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready. He would never be ready. But he was a ready was he would ever get.
Nerant mirrored the prince’s nod and hefted his sword.
Cedric’s jaw tightened and he stepped back. “Go on, then.”
The two elves hesitated a moment, blue eyes meeting sea-green.
And then the fight began.
Tiphlos blocked his lover’s thrusts with elegant parries and lunged half-heartedly. His sword bit empty air and he whirled just in time to catch Nerant’s blade with his own.
Sparks flew from the connecting steel and Nerant whispered, “I love you,” before pulling away for another attack.
Tears stung the prince’s eyes as his bade tasted flesh. It had nicked Nerant’s arm, drawing blood. He fought down elation at finally getting the first hit in. Now wasn’t the time to celebrate such trivial victories. Not when they were both going to lose tonight.
Nerant spun away from the prince’s sword again, letting the blade slice across his cheek. It wasn’t painful. Not compared to what would happen in just…a few… He batted his lover’s sword aside and lunged. This is pain, he told himself as he watched the prince stiffen in shock, the sword lodged firmly between two ribs.
The bard smiled weakly and mouthed, “I love you” as he fell to the ground.
The cleric tugged his weapon from his lover’s breast and threw it away, catching the prince just before he hit the ground. He gently lowered Tiphlos to the ground, meeting his lover’s sea green eyes for the last time. They had made this pact the night before, but it still hurt like hell to know that he was the one who had killed his lover. His sword.
Cedric began to rush forward but Nerant growled for him to stay away as he cradled Tiphlos’ limp body.
He covered the wound in his lover’s chest, not bothering to keep the tears at bay. Warm blood stained his fingers but he didn’t care.  
Tiphlos’s faint smile quickly turned into a grimace of pain and he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Now you don’t have to marry,” the cleric muttered, a sad attempt at humor.
He chuckled quietly but it quickly turned to a little grunt of pain. “Thanks…Nerant.”
“Anything for you, Ti,” he whispered back, sniffling in a decidedly unmanly way.
He giggled a little, then frowned again. “You should go…Father…won’t be pleased when he…hears about this.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pressing Tiphlos to him. His tears and blood ran into the prince’s blond hair, staining it a strange watery red. “I’m not leaving you.”
He took one last deep breath of Nerant’s scent and fell still.
He held the prince for a long time afterwards, well aware of Cedric’s gaze on his back. The paladin could go to hell for all he cared. He finally pressed a kiss to Tiphlos’s quickly cooling lips and gently laid the prince on the ground. For another few moments, he stared at his lover’s face, relaxed and composed the same way it had always been after they had made love. It made him feel a little better.
At least Tiphlos would be in a place where he could be somewhat happy.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from the prince’s face and stood, wiping tears from his face with the back of his hand. He grabbed his sword and sheathed it, Tiphlos’ blood still staining the steel.
Cedric stood perfectly still as the cleric approached, danger and grief in the bright blue eyes.
“Make sure he gets a proper burial,” Nerant hissed, ramming his shoulder against the paladin’s.
“Of course.”
He didn’t look back as he walked away. He would never leave if he did. And there was no way in hell he was going to dishonor his lover’s last wish.
And there was no way he was leaving Tiphlos. His heart would be buried with the prince. And no one else would know.