Warning for violent imagery.
I decided to go with the version where Amras is the elder twin and Amrod the younger, because Amrod did get all the fateful names. I am much more used to Amras being the youngest, but oh well.
Enjoy!
I dream of Ammë.
We stand together beneath the forests of Oromë, the wind rustling the leaves, caressing our bodies, and blowing our hair – both a fire-burnished copper. The air is cool, cold, the way I like it. Ammë holds my hand, and she speaks, but I cannot hear what she says.
Cold.
I think of the Ice, our cousins, our kin, abandoned on the far shore. I know Atar does not mean to go back for them, but I must remind him again when I wake.
The air warms a little. I do not mind too much. A horse neighs, and my own, my Telparië, my silver mare, canters through the trees up to me. She thrusts her muzzle into my hand, and I stroke the stretched velvet of her delicate face. Ammë says something else, a smile on her lips, but still, I cannot hear her.
Cold.
A freezing wind ripped through my hair as I stared down at the maiden I had just thrust my sword into. Her silver hair flowed into her blood pooling around her. I trembled, the sword shaking in my hand, clattering to the wooden planks of the dock. My knees shuddered, and I collapsed beside the maiden.
I start sweating. I feel rather like I am standing in Atar's forge, though I am outside. I mount Telparië and extend my hand to Ammë. She grasps my hand and I pull her up behind me. Looking down at her, I see she laughs, but I cannot hear the sound of it. I feel a vague sense of distress at this, but I decide to ignore it, and urge Telparië into a gallop.
Cold.
Ambarussa's hand on my shoulder was icy, and I jumped at his touch. Stiffly, I looked up into his face. Between the stray strands of copper hair flying and the blood from the thin scratch on his cheek, I see tears falling.
We are galloping as fast as Telparië can go, and yet, I feel no wind, no cooling rush of air. Only stagnant heat, ever increasing. I bring Telparië to a halt and pull off my tunic in an attempt to cool myself. The fabric is soaked, dripping with sweat. I feel lightheaded and dizzy. Slowly, I look back at Ammë to see how she is coping. To my surprise, she is no longer astride Telparië, but far behind on a hill I don't remember. For all the distance, I can see her face clearly; tears fall from her eyes, and she holds up a hand, as if in farewell. Her mouth moves, but I hear no sound.
Cold.
We boarded the ships silently, while the others slept. I was the last one on the ship of my father, but I slipped on some ice which had formed on the gangplank, and I plummeted into the icy water. Everything went black, until Atar and Makalaurë heaved me out and Ambarussa gave me some wine. The ice forming in my hair and on my clothes did not match the ice forming in my heart.
The heat burns now, searing and ravenous. It tears at my skin, leaving it bleeding and raw, but then it consumes that as well. I scream in pain, see Ammë's face, dripping with tears, one last time, and wrench myself awake, relieved it was only a nightmare.
Except it wasn't.
Telparië will be making some later appearances.
Please tell me what you think!
Much love,
Unicadia
