~*~*A/N: I apologize for not getting this chapter out sooner, like I'd promised. It's very long, and, as you will see, complex. It took me a lot of time to think of the right phrases for the crucial events that take place. I hope I did it justice…let me know if you needed a Kleenex. I cried while writing it. Without any more procrastination of any sorts, here it is.*~*~
--CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: Forever Frozen
The sun hung low in the sky, but any signs of a beautiful sunset were lost amidst the dark stormy clouds that were ever present in Isengard. Enelya gazed out the window for a few moments, almost wishing that the sky was coated with the familiar pinkish color she knew from back home. Rohan, though, seemed worlds away from Orthanc, although it was not very far at all. But it seemed like ages since she'd left.
Sighing, she tore her eyes from the window, and bent, picking up her sword, still in its scabbard, from the floor. Without thinking too much about her actions, she strapped it to her waist, hearing Saruman's request echo in her mind, over and over. She knew what she must do. She would go to Náwien's chamber and kill her the way the wizard had instructed her to. The death would be only the start of the bloodshed that night…her blade would only begin to warm up. For after Náwien lay lifeless and broken at her feet, Enelya would find Wormtongue, and savagely remove all breath from his body. The very thought made her tingle with anticipation and excitement.
Slowly, Enelya slipped from her room and padded down the hallway, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword comfortingly. She paused outside the door to Náwien's chamber, closing her eyes briefly, imagining the sharp blade driving deep into her sister's creamy skin, tearing at her heart. Her lips played in a smile, and she swung open the door, ready to confront her task.
To Enelya's surprise, and slight dismay, the room was empty. She glanced around, her brow furrowed in confusion. If Náwien wasn't in her chamber, where could she have gone?
Enelya raced to the window on the opposite side of the room, looking down at the grounds below. Her eyes widened as she saw a lone figure dart from the tower and head for the shadows. Náwien was trying to escape!
In a flash, Enelya was sprinting down the corridor, sliding towards the stairs, descending them two...three…four at a time. She dashed for the large doors, smashing through them with a loud swinging sound. And all the while, she never removed her hand from the hilt of her sword. The thick handle gave her comfort, and holding it allowed her heart to beat steadily.
~*~
Náwien approached the rear of the band of Uruk-hais warily. Up close, they appeared more terrifying than she remembered from her only battle at the borders of Rohan. She quickly shrugged on the black cloak that Saruman had given her, raising the hood up over her head. In the dim hazy sunlight, Náwien knew that she would resemble Enelya, whom the Uruk-hais had surely seen standing upon the balcony beside their true master. She could only hope that they would recall the image of her sister looming above them, and would treat her with the same obedience that they would give to the wizard. If the foul creatures mistook Náwien for Enelya throughout the entire journey to Helm's Deep, luck would certainly be with her.
Náwien took a deep breath before falling into step beside the last row of Uruk-hais. She quickly assumed Enelya's poised stance, pretending not to care as one of the creatures looked over at her, snarling. She met its yellow eyes calmly, trying not to appear terrified.
"Our master instructed me to accompany you," she said, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt. "We will go to war together!" Náwien raised her voice, drawing attention to her. "To Helm's Deep!" she shouted enthusiastically, throwing her hands in the air.
The Uruk-hais echoed her cheer, banging their spears against the ground again. The sound was like the pounding of rain upon the mountainside; their cries like thunder. Náwien breathed a sigh of relief as they ran forward, driven by her words. She lagged behind, catching her breath, for she was trembling slightly from being so close to the entire army. Her plan had worked so far; the Uruk-hais did not question her presence. They truly believed that she was, in fact, Enelya. None of the Uruks had seen her sister close-up, being as the balcony was so far from the ground below. They did not know the minor differences in the two girls' appearance - did not know that Náwien's lips were slightly fuller, that Enelya's nose was a fraction longer, or that their eyes were two different colors completely. And the Uruks wouldn't dare harm her as long as they continued to assume that she was Enelya, for fear of Saruman's wrath.
Just as Náwien began to pick up her pace again, she felt an icy hand grip her wrist, spinning her around. Her heart sunk in despair - she'd been so close to setting herself free. She raised her eyes to her sister, knowing that it was, of course, Enelya who had grabbed her. There was no one else she knew with hands so cold as her sister's.
"Trying to escape?" Enelya asked bitterly, her eyebrows raised.
"Please let me go," Náwien begged, trying to twist free from her grasp.
"And where will you flee to now?" she asked. "Edoras? Théoden will have lead his people away from Rohan by this eve."
"I know this," Náwien replied. She hesitated before adding, "I am going to Helm's Deep to fight."
Enelya burst out laughing.
"Please," she said, her voice twirling with amusement. "You know as well as I that you would be killed immediately. Are you still living in your foolish dreams of saving the day? Don't be silly, my sister, for you will only fail."
"And if I do," Náwien countered, her jaw clenched in anger, "then I will die while fighting for what I believe in." She paused, noting the way Enelya's free hand lay still on the hilt of her sword. Swallowing any fear that arose at this sight, Náwien continued, lifting her chin proudly. "I would rather die alongside the true heroes of this tale than live in this shadowed realm with you and your despicable companions." She spat out the final words, her eyes blazing.
"If they are so 'despicable', as you say, then tell me, Náwien, why you shared your bed with Gríma last night," Enelya demanded, her sharp fingernails digging into Náwien's wrist like razor-edged daggers. To her surprise, Náwien's eyes did not cloud over with guilt as Enelya expected. Rather, her expression turned slightly haughty, and she choked back a harsh laugh.
"What you saw took place not at my will," Náwien confessed, her dignity never diminishing. "Is it difficult for you to accept, Enelya? That you were wrong to blindly follow Wormtongue into his careful plan of deceit?" She paused before pressing on, her speech quite familiar to Enelya. "Remember, dear sister," Náwien said, her voice smooth, "as you once told me, 'do not give your trust to the wrong people'. Valuable advice, is it not? I know it is, for 'twas a lesson that I learned all too well."
Enelya stared at her younger sister openly, shocked at the ease with which Náwien threw her own words back at her. She realized the importance of what she'd stated so coolly - Náwien never intended to attract Wormtongue's attention, nor did she ever take interest in the way he obviously lusted after her. From the start, Náwien had been on the side of Rohan, and she'd only pretended to be intrigued by the power Wormtongue had offered in order to learn of Isengard's intentions. The truth settled over Enelya slowly, and she was silent for a few moments as she thought to herself. Perhaps Náwien had not betrayed her in the way she'd originally thought, but she had still been plotting against her. If Enelya set her free, Náwien would only run to Éomer to tell him all that she'd discovered while in Isengard. They would do everything in their power to bring Saruman down, at the expense of her death as well. Enelya felt her face grow hot with anger at the thought. It was crystal clear - from any angle or view - Náwien was the enemy.
Enelya's fingers flexed around her sword, and she nodded to herself. Saruman had not sent her on an errand to chat with her sister - he'd instructed her to kill her. And she would obey his mighty request.
Slowly, she drew her sword from its sheath, the metallic sound drawn out, echoing in the foggy air. Náwien swallowed thickly upon seeing Enelya's released weapon. The dusky sunlight danced upon the shiny silver blade, playing tricks on her eyes. With a force that surprised both sisters, Enelya threw Náwien to the ground harshly, taking a step towards her. She raised her sword up above her head, its tip white with the glare, threatening to strike at any moment. Náwien looked up at her sister, taking in the sight of the woman who'd been her only friend for years…who'd practically raised her. And now this…this is what it had come to. This is how it would end.
Slowly, Náwien's gaze traveled upwards, climbing towards Enelya's face, where she stopped, locking their stares. Once upon a time, Enelya's deep blue eyes had sparkled warmly, but now there was nothing remaining in those orbs but a dull coldness. If ever asked, Náwien probably wouldn't have been able to state when the transformation had actually occurred; whether Enelya's demise was a painfully slow descent into shadow or a quick plunge was unknown to her. But she could not remember the last time Enelya's eyes glimmered with friendliness or joy. Their past was now only reduced to a faint whisper…a breeze in the twilight air.
But now…something flickered distantly in Enelya's gaze. It was as if she were trying to recall an old song, but could only remember a few of the lyrics, and not the tune. The deep watery glaze over her eyes clouded, and then cleared, like the sun battling against a threatening storm. Náwien crouched upon the ground, frozen with fear and confusion. She held onto the faraway fluttering of light in Enelya's eyes, praying that it was the ever-present possibility of a final hope.
~*~
The sword was growing heavy in Enelya's hands, yet she continued to wield it high in the air to frighten Náwien away from moving. Besides, she was too distracted to bring her weapon down to waist-level. She was transfixed on Náwien's face, for looking down at her sister's features was like viewing an old portrait of herself.
The light shone directly on Náwien, making her chiseled features shine with a youthful glow. By gazing at her straight, sharp nose, high cheekbones, full pale lips, and light eyelashes speckled with gold, Enelya felt as though she were staring at a younger version of herself, back when her own skin shimmered and eyes danced. Deep within every curve in Náwien's skin, behind every swell of her hair, Enelya could see her own face, peeking out at her, reminding her of what she used to be.
Swimming in Náwien's honey-colored eyes were countless childhood memories, the way life was before Gríma Wormtongue stepped in and uncovered her hidden desires. She gazed at her sister, feeling as though a spell had come over her, for she could clearly make out images in the deep waters of Náwien's irises. Enelya was sure that her mind was playing tricks on her. But the visions were as bright as a new day. She saw her mother faintly; the woman she never knew, for Frieda Carnesir died while giving birth to Náwien, sixteen years ago. Enelya briefly wondered if she blamed her sister for Frieda's death, if she resented Náwien for taking away her mother. Before she could entertain this thought, the fluttering picture in Náwien's eyes changed; a tragic slideshow of their past. She could see herself and Náwien, running together through the road, barefoot. They were obviously laughing, but the sound was unheard, and she could only see their mouths twisted open in silent happiness. The girls were playing a game, and the child-version of Náwien gave Enelya chase. The sight stabbed at Enelya's heart; Náwien no longer followed her, for she was wise enough to choose her own paths. Just when Enelya thought her heart might break, the picture flashed again, this time showing her a previously lived summer's day. She saw herself at the Golden Hall, talking with Theodred, their lips pulled upwards in identical grins. Life sparkled in the image of Theodred's face, and reflected in her own visage.
But Theodred was no longer alive, and neither was the former version of herself that she could see over and over again in Náwien's eyes. And what did she have left? Power? Who was she kidding - her power was in the hands of Saruman, and no matter how many plans she made, she would never be able to succeed the way she had been told she could. Power, in Isengard, was only an illusion. It was whatever Saruman wanted it to be.
Her life had ended the day that she met Gríma Wormtongue, and she'd destroyed all chances of regaining her free breath. She'd carelessly dropped a sizzling flame upon the bridge that connected her dark days to her light ones, and there was no way for her to return now.
Enelya Carnesir was dead. There was nothing left for her in Isengard, and nothing to go home to in Rohan besides the remains of scorched memories.
Enelya felt like collapsing to the ground in sorrow, letting sobs take her, but she was too far beyond crying now. Her eyes were as dry as her soul, and there was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach, which told her that she would never be whole again.
Náwien continued to stare at her sister, puzzled by her hesitation. She'd stood above her, holding the sword in the air, for quite some time now, and Náwien was beginning to wonder if she would ever make a move.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Enelya slowly brought the sword down, lowering it to Náwien's eye level. She looked down the long blade, her blood rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes, afraid to witness her own death, but prepared for the excruciating pain that she would encounter within the next moment. She only hoped that it would be quick, for she believed that she'd suffered long enough.
"Náwien," Enelya said, her voice barely above a whisper…so soft and quiet that she was sure she'd imagined it. "If there's one thing that you must remember, it's this."
Náwien opened her eyes, blinking up in surprise.
"For every place, person, and thing that makes you feel free," she said, hardly audible, "they will suffocate you later on."
Náwien's brow furrowed, thoroughly confused at her sister's words.
"I am sorry," Enelya said, glancing up at the sky, as if she expected it to appear any differently. "I only would we were young again. How dark it is now." She paused, staring at her straight in the eye for a few seconds. That one moment seemed to last a lifetime, and an unspoken message of grief passed between them. "I am sorry," she murmured, again letting her eyes flutter closed, for it hurt too much to look at her younger sister any longer.
Then, to Náwien's utter horror, Enelya thrust the blade into her own chest, staggering forward from the initial pain and shock. Her dark blue eyes were large with agony, and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. Blood poured from the wound, surrounding the silver metal, dripping down her black robes, staining the ground beneath her. Náwien dropped beside her, crying out in disgust and panic.
"Enelya," she said, reaching out to her.
"Don't," Enelya coughed, choking on her own blood. "Go…run. Before they see you."
Náwien raised her eyes to Enelya's in a mixture of awe and resignation. Her lips trembled in a shaky smile, and she nodded, standing.
"Fare thee well, my dear sister and friend," Náwien whispered, staring down at her sadly for a few moments. She knew that she would never be rid of the terrible image of Enelya kneeling in the brown grass, life slowly slipping from her body, as she neared the deep sleep of death.
But, Náwien knew, she had already been halfway there for some time.
Once she could not bear the sight of her dying sister any longer, Náwien turned, and ran south, pulling her hood up over her head once more, letting herself be mistaken for Enelya again. She would fill her sister's place, until it was time for her to add to her own tale. Náwien could only hope that it would be a happy ending, though, she knew that fate had a cruel way of assisting her in times of need. When she was some yards from Orthanc, she turned, and gazed back towards where she came from, squinting to see the distance. In the darkening light, she could make out a lone figure, bent at the waist, salvaging what was left of her breath. The gasps of air grew few and far between, and soon, there was silence, as Enelya slumped forward, her eyes forever frozen on the dirty ash of Isengard.
~*~*A/N: *Sniffle* *~*~
--CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT: Forever Frozen
The sun hung low in the sky, but any signs of a beautiful sunset were lost amidst the dark stormy clouds that were ever present in Isengard. Enelya gazed out the window for a few moments, almost wishing that the sky was coated with the familiar pinkish color she knew from back home. Rohan, though, seemed worlds away from Orthanc, although it was not very far at all. But it seemed like ages since she'd left.
Sighing, she tore her eyes from the window, and bent, picking up her sword, still in its scabbard, from the floor. Without thinking too much about her actions, she strapped it to her waist, hearing Saruman's request echo in her mind, over and over. She knew what she must do. She would go to Náwien's chamber and kill her the way the wizard had instructed her to. The death would be only the start of the bloodshed that night…her blade would only begin to warm up. For after Náwien lay lifeless and broken at her feet, Enelya would find Wormtongue, and savagely remove all breath from his body. The very thought made her tingle with anticipation and excitement.
Slowly, Enelya slipped from her room and padded down the hallway, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword comfortingly. She paused outside the door to Náwien's chamber, closing her eyes briefly, imagining the sharp blade driving deep into her sister's creamy skin, tearing at her heart. Her lips played in a smile, and she swung open the door, ready to confront her task.
To Enelya's surprise, and slight dismay, the room was empty. She glanced around, her brow furrowed in confusion. If Náwien wasn't in her chamber, where could she have gone?
Enelya raced to the window on the opposite side of the room, looking down at the grounds below. Her eyes widened as she saw a lone figure dart from the tower and head for the shadows. Náwien was trying to escape!
In a flash, Enelya was sprinting down the corridor, sliding towards the stairs, descending them two...three…four at a time. She dashed for the large doors, smashing through them with a loud swinging sound. And all the while, she never removed her hand from the hilt of her sword. The thick handle gave her comfort, and holding it allowed her heart to beat steadily.
~*~
Náwien approached the rear of the band of Uruk-hais warily. Up close, they appeared more terrifying than she remembered from her only battle at the borders of Rohan. She quickly shrugged on the black cloak that Saruman had given her, raising the hood up over her head. In the dim hazy sunlight, Náwien knew that she would resemble Enelya, whom the Uruk-hais had surely seen standing upon the balcony beside their true master. She could only hope that they would recall the image of her sister looming above them, and would treat her with the same obedience that they would give to the wizard. If the foul creatures mistook Náwien for Enelya throughout the entire journey to Helm's Deep, luck would certainly be with her.
Náwien took a deep breath before falling into step beside the last row of Uruk-hais. She quickly assumed Enelya's poised stance, pretending not to care as one of the creatures looked over at her, snarling. She met its yellow eyes calmly, trying not to appear terrified.
"Our master instructed me to accompany you," she said, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt. "We will go to war together!" Náwien raised her voice, drawing attention to her. "To Helm's Deep!" she shouted enthusiastically, throwing her hands in the air.
The Uruk-hais echoed her cheer, banging their spears against the ground again. The sound was like the pounding of rain upon the mountainside; their cries like thunder. Náwien breathed a sigh of relief as they ran forward, driven by her words. She lagged behind, catching her breath, for she was trembling slightly from being so close to the entire army. Her plan had worked so far; the Uruk-hais did not question her presence. They truly believed that she was, in fact, Enelya. None of the Uruks had seen her sister close-up, being as the balcony was so far from the ground below. They did not know the minor differences in the two girls' appearance - did not know that Náwien's lips were slightly fuller, that Enelya's nose was a fraction longer, or that their eyes were two different colors completely. And the Uruks wouldn't dare harm her as long as they continued to assume that she was Enelya, for fear of Saruman's wrath.
Just as Náwien began to pick up her pace again, she felt an icy hand grip her wrist, spinning her around. Her heart sunk in despair - she'd been so close to setting herself free. She raised her eyes to her sister, knowing that it was, of course, Enelya who had grabbed her. There was no one else she knew with hands so cold as her sister's.
"Trying to escape?" Enelya asked bitterly, her eyebrows raised.
"Please let me go," Náwien begged, trying to twist free from her grasp.
"And where will you flee to now?" she asked. "Edoras? Théoden will have lead his people away from Rohan by this eve."
"I know this," Náwien replied. She hesitated before adding, "I am going to Helm's Deep to fight."
Enelya burst out laughing.
"Please," she said, her voice twirling with amusement. "You know as well as I that you would be killed immediately. Are you still living in your foolish dreams of saving the day? Don't be silly, my sister, for you will only fail."
"And if I do," Náwien countered, her jaw clenched in anger, "then I will die while fighting for what I believe in." She paused, noting the way Enelya's free hand lay still on the hilt of her sword. Swallowing any fear that arose at this sight, Náwien continued, lifting her chin proudly. "I would rather die alongside the true heroes of this tale than live in this shadowed realm with you and your despicable companions." She spat out the final words, her eyes blazing.
"If they are so 'despicable', as you say, then tell me, Náwien, why you shared your bed with Gríma last night," Enelya demanded, her sharp fingernails digging into Náwien's wrist like razor-edged daggers. To her surprise, Náwien's eyes did not cloud over with guilt as Enelya expected. Rather, her expression turned slightly haughty, and she choked back a harsh laugh.
"What you saw took place not at my will," Náwien confessed, her dignity never diminishing. "Is it difficult for you to accept, Enelya? That you were wrong to blindly follow Wormtongue into his careful plan of deceit?" She paused before pressing on, her speech quite familiar to Enelya. "Remember, dear sister," Náwien said, her voice smooth, "as you once told me, 'do not give your trust to the wrong people'. Valuable advice, is it not? I know it is, for 'twas a lesson that I learned all too well."
Enelya stared at her younger sister openly, shocked at the ease with which Náwien threw her own words back at her. She realized the importance of what she'd stated so coolly - Náwien never intended to attract Wormtongue's attention, nor did she ever take interest in the way he obviously lusted after her. From the start, Náwien had been on the side of Rohan, and she'd only pretended to be intrigued by the power Wormtongue had offered in order to learn of Isengard's intentions. The truth settled over Enelya slowly, and she was silent for a few moments as she thought to herself. Perhaps Náwien had not betrayed her in the way she'd originally thought, but she had still been plotting against her. If Enelya set her free, Náwien would only run to Éomer to tell him all that she'd discovered while in Isengard. They would do everything in their power to bring Saruman down, at the expense of her death as well. Enelya felt her face grow hot with anger at the thought. It was crystal clear - from any angle or view - Náwien was the enemy.
Enelya's fingers flexed around her sword, and she nodded to herself. Saruman had not sent her on an errand to chat with her sister - he'd instructed her to kill her. And she would obey his mighty request.
Slowly, she drew her sword from its sheath, the metallic sound drawn out, echoing in the foggy air. Náwien swallowed thickly upon seeing Enelya's released weapon. The dusky sunlight danced upon the shiny silver blade, playing tricks on her eyes. With a force that surprised both sisters, Enelya threw Náwien to the ground harshly, taking a step towards her. She raised her sword up above her head, its tip white with the glare, threatening to strike at any moment. Náwien looked up at her sister, taking in the sight of the woman who'd been her only friend for years…who'd practically raised her. And now this…this is what it had come to. This is how it would end.
Slowly, Náwien's gaze traveled upwards, climbing towards Enelya's face, where she stopped, locking their stares. Once upon a time, Enelya's deep blue eyes had sparkled warmly, but now there was nothing remaining in those orbs but a dull coldness. If ever asked, Náwien probably wouldn't have been able to state when the transformation had actually occurred; whether Enelya's demise was a painfully slow descent into shadow or a quick plunge was unknown to her. But she could not remember the last time Enelya's eyes glimmered with friendliness or joy. Their past was now only reduced to a faint whisper…a breeze in the twilight air.
But now…something flickered distantly in Enelya's gaze. It was as if she were trying to recall an old song, but could only remember a few of the lyrics, and not the tune. The deep watery glaze over her eyes clouded, and then cleared, like the sun battling against a threatening storm. Náwien crouched upon the ground, frozen with fear and confusion. She held onto the faraway fluttering of light in Enelya's eyes, praying that it was the ever-present possibility of a final hope.
~*~
The sword was growing heavy in Enelya's hands, yet she continued to wield it high in the air to frighten Náwien away from moving. Besides, she was too distracted to bring her weapon down to waist-level. She was transfixed on Náwien's face, for looking down at her sister's features was like viewing an old portrait of herself.
The light shone directly on Náwien, making her chiseled features shine with a youthful glow. By gazing at her straight, sharp nose, high cheekbones, full pale lips, and light eyelashes speckled with gold, Enelya felt as though she were staring at a younger version of herself, back when her own skin shimmered and eyes danced. Deep within every curve in Náwien's skin, behind every swell of her hair, Enelya could see her own face, peeking out at her, reminding her of what she used to be.
Swimming in Náwien's honey-colored eyes were countless childhood memories, the way life was before Gríma Wormtongue stepped in and uncovered her hidden desires. She gazed at her sister, feeling as though a spell had come over her, for she could clearly make out images in the deep waters of Náwien's irises. Enelya was sure that her mind was playing tricks on her. But the visions were as bright as a new day. She saw her mother faintly; the woman she never knew, for Frieda Carnesir died while giving birth to Náwien, sixteen years ago. Enelya briefly wondered if she blamed her sister for Frieda's death, if she resented Náwien for taking away her mother. Before she could entertain this thought, the fluttering picture in Náwien's eyes changed; a tragic slideshow of their past. She could see herself and Náwien, running together through the road, barefoot. They were obviously laughing, but the sound was unheard, and she could only see their mouths twisted open in silent happiness. The girls were playing a game, and the child-version of Náwien gave Enelya chase. The sight stabbed at Enelya's heart; Náwien no longer followed her, for she was wise enough to choose her own paths. Just when Enelya thought her heart might break, the picture flashed again, this time showing her a previously lived summer's day. She saw herself at the Golden Hall, talking with Theodred, their lips pulled upwards in identical grins. Life sparkled in the image of Theodred's face, and reflected in her own visage.
But Theodred was no longer alive, and neither was the former version of herself that she could see over and over again in Náwien's eyes. And what did she have left? Power? Who was she kidding - her power was in the hands of Saruman, and no matter how many plans she made, she would never be able to succeed the way she had been told she could. Power, in Isengard, was only an illusion. It was whatever Saruman wanted it to be.
Her life had ended the day that she met Gríma Wormtongue, and she'd destroyed all chances of regaining her free breath. She'd carelessly dropped a sizzling flame upon the bridge that connected her dark days to her light ones, and there was no way for her to return now.
Enelya Carnesir was dead. There was nothing left for her in Isengard, and nothing to go home to in Rohan besides the remains of scorched memories.
Enelya felt like collapsing to the ground in sorrow, letting sobs take her, but she was too far beyond crying now. Her eyes were as dry as her soul, and there was an emptiness in the pit of her stomach, which told her that she would never be whole again.
Náwien continued to stare at her sister, puzzled by her hesitation. She'd stood above her, holding the sword in the air, for quite some time now, and Náwien was beginning to wonder if she would ever make a move.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Enelya slowly brought the sword down, lowering it to Náwien's eye level. She looked down the long blade, her blood rushing in her ears. She closed her eyes, afraid to witness her own death, but prepared for the excruciating pain that she would encounter within the next moment. She only hoped that it would be quick, for she believed that she'd suffered long enough.
"Náwien," Enelya said, her voice barely above a whisper…so soft and quiet that she was sure she'd imagined it. "If there's one thing that you must remember, it's this."
Náwien opened her eyes, blinking up in surprise.
"For every place, person, and thing that makes you feel free," she said, hardly audible, "they will suffocate you later on."
Náwien's brow furrowed, thoroughly confused at her sister's words.
"I am sorry," Enelya said, glancing up at the sky, as if she expected it to appear any differently. "I only would we were young again. How dark it is now." She paused, staring at her straight in the eye for a few seconds. That one moment seemed to last a lifetime, and an unspoken message of grief passed between them. "I am sorry," she murmured, again letting her eyes flutter closed, for it hurt too much to look at her younger sister any longer.
Then, to Náwien's utter horror, Enelya thrust the blade into her own chest, staggering forward from the initial pain and shock. Her dark blue eyes were large with agony, and she fell to her knees, gasping for air. Blood poured from the wound, surrounding the silver metal, dripping down her black robes, staining the ground beneath her. Náwien dropped beside her, crying out in disgust and panic.
"Enelya," she said, reaching out to her.
"Don't," Enelya coughed, choking on her own blood. "Go…run. Before they see you."
Náwien raised her eyes to Enelya's in a mixture of awe and resignation. Her lips trembled in a shaky smile, and she nodded, standing.
"Fare thee well, my dear sister and friend," Náwien whispered, staring down at her sadly for a few moments. She knew that she would never be rid of the terrible image of Enelya kneeling in the brown grass, life slowly slipping from her body, as she neared the deep sleep of death.
But, Náwien knew, she had already been halfway there for some time.
Once she could not bear the sight of her dying sister any longer, Náwien turned, and ran south, pulling her hood up over her head once more, letting herself be mistaken for Enelya again. She would fill her sister's place, until it was time for her to add to her own tale. Náwien could only hope that it would be a happy ending, though, she knew that fate had a cruel way of assisting her in times of need. When she was some yards from Orthanc, she turned, and gazed back towards where she came from, squinting to see the distance. In the darkening light, she could make out a lone figure, bent at the waist, salvaging what was left of her breath. The gasps of air grew few and far between, and soon, there was silence, as Enelya slumped forward, her eyes forever frozen on the dirty ash of Isengard.
~*~*A/N: *Sniffle* *~*~
