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Nuala shuddered. They should not be here; this place - the long-sealed chamber, holding the heart of the Golden Army - should not be disturbed.
‟You do not have to do this, brother, please.” Nuala knew before she spoke-
Nuada turned towards her, his face resolute and his head high, but his eyes - darker than they had once been; darker than hers, now, with grief and regret and resolve - soft; the only apology she would receive, and the only person for whom he would give one.
‟I am afraid it is far too late, dear sister.” Nuada said, voice soft and implacable as the rush of a river deep underground, cutting through all in its path.
Nuala drew a deep breath, closing her eyes. So be it. The path is set.
So it has been for millennia, my dear sweet sister, Nuada returned, his fingers brushing her hands, clasping gently.
Nuala returned the clasp, squeezing harder, and Nuada smiled slightly. Smaller than it had once been, and thin, but it was real. As the heart of him was, yet, real and living and. . .
Nuada inclined his head, no words even in their bond, only a surge of pure feeling.
At his heart, Nuada was yet as he had always been - devoted and passionate, and hers, the other half of her soul.
Nuala wrapped her arms around him, leaning in close - close and closer, pressing into him, his arms tightening around her in turn, until their forms were so nearly one as their shared soul.
And perhaps at her heart, Nuala was not so different from her brother. Her cool passion had been reined in other directions, expression tempered differently, but they were both stubborn and sure, implacable once they had chosen a course, and no one else had ever understood - not them, nor the bond between them.
Nuala tipped her head up and Nuada kissed her, his hand sliding up her back, fingers splayed, a warm counterpoint to the steel blade, just as warm, tucked and waiting within her bodice.
The confrontation approached - Nuala could hear the sounds of stone and echoing life coming closer through the great halls; Abraham and his team coming to stop Nuada, she thought, and felt the edge of confidence in Nuada, humming with battle-readiness.
They would not win, Nuala thought. For so many reasons and in so many ways, they could not stop Nuada.
Nuala slid her fingers through his hair, cupping his jaw, and deepened the kiss, pulling herself against him and wishing faintly for more time. A darkly wry thought, after millennia that had passed so very slowly, one much like the next.
Nuala pulled away with reluctance, and Nuada yearned towards her hand for a moment longer as she traced his brow, his cheek, his jaw. And then he turned away, moving to be ready for the confrontation, bold and sure as he always was.
Nuala stepped back. Battle had never been her place.
She felt the blade snug against her skin. Waiting.