Two halves
After Losgar nothing was the same. There was no way back, only the new, foreign lands spread before them, and somewhere there the enemy was waiting. Their father was gone, at least the one they knew; they were left with a revengeful madman who led the crowd.
His elder brothers thought Ambarussa too had lost his mind after his twin's death. They feared for him, they watched him and cared for him after he woke from faint. They didn't want to see the obvious, they thought this was the way their brother escaped from the cruel reality. They couldn't grasp the plain truth that there were still two Ambarussa.
The flames had taken the ships and Umbarto's body, but they hadn't swallowed the whole son of Fёanaro. The death of the hröa was too sudden, the call of Mandos too scary. So when his brother's fёa scram for help, paralyzing, not allowing to move, Ambarussa didn't hesitate even for a moment. He let him in. After all they were two halves, now only closed in one shared body.
This rescue was a heresy against everything they knew, but really, what did it matter to those cursed by Mandos, to those bound by the Oath? Nothing. Ambarussa wouldn't hesitate to do anything to spare his brother facing Namo alone. Everything was better than loneliness.
There was a price to pay. Only one fёa could be awake at a time, the other could only listen and observe; that was all doubly burdened hröa could manage. So while the other brothers still had both redhead twins, one or another, Ambarussa couldn't comfort themselves with direct contact.
They missed each other. Even the touch of two fёa was too much for hröa to risk it; the first try almost cost them life. They kept taking turns; fёa left too long without a hröa was unpredictable and needed more time to adjust to being back in a body. But if that was the price for being alive, Ambarussa were willing to pay it.
In time, the other brothers learned to recognize which Ambarussa they dealt with. Their father names were forgotten; truly their mother had named them with only one. In details of clothing, changes in behaviour and the way they talked the sons of Feanor knew which twin was present, though those differences mingled in time, and Ambarussa occasionally played tricks to confuse the elder brothers.
A notebook, kept close to heart, was something Ambarussa were never seen without. They wrote always and everywhere, notebook after notebook. They wrote, missing each other, and as soon as the last page was covered in small letters, the paper went into fire. That was their only secure, private way of communication; there were things they simply couldn't pass via one of their brothers, and the elves kept staring when Ambarussa talked to himself, aware that the other fёa was listening, though unable to answer.
Not everybody knew. Most thought that the youngest son of Fёanaro went mad after the death of his twin, though he glowed brighter and tired more quickly, his eyes always shining with longing. Ambarussa didn't care. They were separated, but close, as close as they could, though Nelyafinwe claimed they were partly dead, like himself.
And so they carried on for more than four hundred years. Ambarussa learned to make decisions, even if sometimes one twin started the matter, the other finished it. There was no space for quarreling between the two of them; hröa wouldn't stand that. But then the attack on Doriath took Curufinwe and Tyelkormo, Moryo died as well. Mandos suddenly wasn't so empty anymore, if more of their brothers were there than left with them in Middle-Earth. Overly burdened hröa started to fade, weariness beginning to be stronger that the sinister Oath.
So when Ambarussa died in the third Kinslaying, two fёa weren't so scared anymore. The calling of Mandos was not so terrifying if they were going to face him together.
And so they listened to the call, leaving their two eldest brothers leaning over the ash that their body changed into.
