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Time stretched out in discrete increments as Orëmir watched his brother draw the blade that was twin to his own. He searched Endamir’s face for any sign that his brother knew him. There was none. All hope fled as Endamir advanced upon him. Wrath contorted his features and a madness shone in his eyes.
‘Brother!’ he called as Endamir made a thrusting feint. Orëmir pushed it to the side with a quick side sweep of his blade. ‘Brother! Do you not know me?’ Endamir’s blade was up once more, clashing against his own.
The fetters grew more tight about Orëmir’s ankles. His brother, unencumbered by the silvered chains, moved with a certain grace as he drew closer to his Master’s perceived foe. Orëmir blocked the rain of blows as best he could, trying desperately to keep his blade from off his brother’s body. Endamir for his part fought fiercely to get inside his foe’s defenses.
In the end, Endamir made a wild thrust at him. And had he been the enemy, Orëmir would have slain him then. But he could not bring himself to this defense. Nor could he, now as the fetters hobbled his movement, simply step out of harm’s way.
It was no surprise, then, as the last blow met the center of his chest. The sharp iron point of the blade sliced through him, the weight of his brother placed well behind it. A look of great sadness came over Orëmir’s face as the metal rent his heart.
His spirit, even before his body had hit the stone floor, fled West.
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