Fëanorions: part one

Amrod – the blood and the sand

Author : Casualis

Pairing : None

Rating : PG-13

Summary: The story of the seven sons of Fëanor.

Disclaimer: In my dreams, they are mine and mine alone. But dreams are dreams, no more.

Thanks : To DA, the greatest beta I have ever known.

It had been a beautiful day. From that long ago fateful moment which had changed the world, that was what the youngest son of Fëanor would remember the most precisely. Each detail was engraved in his mind. How could he forget? The scene unfolded again and again behind his closed eyelids. No matter how strongly he tightened his fists, he was not able to stop the flow of images that flooded his mind. The words rolled anew off his tongue. He knew the sounds and smells by heart. He could see the people - his people - standing in a circle in Tirion and hear their murmurs anew.

He felt dizzy. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him as it had when the ships had battled against the tempest.

Amrod recalled everything that had occurred then, even the most absurd details. The light of Aman had been extinguished, smothered by the Shadow of the demon that had slain his father's father. They had all seen Finwë's body on the floor of his house, his immortal soul destroyed by the darkness that had taken the name Melkor. Grief and anger had battled in their hearts, bringing shining tears to their eyes. They had not realized that their lives had been coming apart then.

Yes, it had been a beautiful day nonetheless, filled with shades the red-haired youth had never seen before. The lights of Telperion and Laurelin still lingered like fading ghosts among the Quendi, while in the sky the stars that they had not beheld in Ages had reappeared. Sorrow had darkened his sight but he could not have overlooked the strange sadness that had transformed everything. It had been a feeling that he had never experienced before…like a torn veil that revealed a well hidden secret. Amidst death, life had been unveiled. The colours had never been truer nor the air fresher.

Amrod straightened himself as much as he could in the small space where he had sought shelter and watched the fishing nets upon which he had laid himself unseeingly, uncaring of the lack of comfort. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again.

The death of his grandfather…the unfolding of malice upon Aman…his father's anger…his mother's tears…all of those events had contributed to the change in the way he saw the world. They had shown him that the life he had believed in until then had been no more than a dream…a dream with its bright colours and endless celebration, its joys and insignificant tears. But like every dream, it had not outlasted the night. What they had witnessed on that hill, what they had shared together at that moment had been life…life with true deep feelings that could burn and scorch: the sound, not the echo…the fire, not the smoke.

In spite of everything, the youth had felt that he was on the verge of great deeds. It had been energizing. His blood had battled against his temples like a drummer turned mad.

It had been reality.

He could remember the gleam in his father's eyes. It had been no more than a dangerous flicker of something. But it had awakened a sudden feeling of anticipation in him while its intensity had brought fear into his heart….a fear so old he was not sure on what it had meant. Then suddenly, anguish had seized him.

Amrod had always listened to the ways of his mind and that time had not been different. He had taken the warning for what it was. But he had not been alone and, in the end, he had had to take the choice. Had his brother not been there, the future would not have been the same. He would have walked away from the gathering, from his father, from the madness that was the Oath.

But Amras had been there…and he had followed the path of his heart, ignoring the roads of reason. For Amras, he had refused to heed his ill-fated sense of foreboding. His twin had felt his anxiety and had seized his hand in love and support. Amrod had then realized that, as usual, his brother had made the choice for both.

Amras…his brother…his twin…his only light and joy in life. When Amrod looked at him, he could forget the Silmarils and the world around. Love had a name and it was his brother's. He would rather die than be sundered from him.

The day had been beautiful but its magnificence paled when compared to him. Mirrored images people said but Amrod never thought of themselves as such. Amras was the elder, the most beautiful, the quickest in wit and speech and the best at the hunt. Amras possessed an assurance than Amrod would never have and never did he begrudge his twin his superiority. He accepted it as a gift and his brother as a guide. It was so easy to love his twin. He did not know what he would have done without him. He could not envision life without him.

Coming from nowhere, a voice whispered in his ear, "You would not be here".

At those words, anger swept over Amrod like the pouring rain of a storm. But he refused to be overwhelmed. He brought his hands to his brow, hiding his face in his hands, copper strands hiding him from the world. Fury would bring him nowhere. If he had not followed, what life would have been his? Disowned and ashamed for having denied his father and brothers? Perhaps one of their blades would have brought him down. What choice did a son of Fëanor have? With a father such as his, what else could he have done?

"Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth!"

No…He was the only one to blame. He had uttered the words of his doom. It had been he who had stood on that hill and had spoken, not someone else…not his father…not his brother. He was no warrior. He knew how to handle a sword and was quite skilled with his bow but he had never taken any kind of pleasure in their wielding. He was not like his father, who was consumed by his own flame and would have destroyed the mountains standing between him and his goal.

It had been Amras' hand on his own that had lent him the strength to defy the gods and leave all those he cherished behind because he did not want to leave the one he loved the most. It had been his brother's hand on his and the perspective of maddening reality and belonging to something that was so much bigger than he.

Events had unfolded too quickly for him to follow. He had entered a world that made no sense to him. He had only one certainty and he clung to it as though he was drowning…perhaps he was. His name was Amrod, son of Fëanor and Nerdanel, twin brother to Amras. He was a Kinslayer. On his hands was the blood of his kin, the Teleri.

At this vivid image, a whimper escaped the Elf's lips, making him sound like a pup taken from its mother but he refused to let it be acknowledged. This was his punishment for his faults. He deserved this and much more. Dreams had plagued his waking nights and visions had slowed his days. Blood…The blood of the innocents on the hands of their murderer. The blood was on the sand where everything had happened. The blood made it so that things would never be the same again.

Amrod had not known that one day many would sing about what had happened when his people had reached the Haven of the Swans, where dwelt the Teleri, who were cherished by Ulmo. Bards would wrap pretty words around thoughtful notes as many would listen to them and shiver, tears in their eyes. It would be a tale like what Nerdanel would sing to her twin sons when sleep had eluded their minds…filled of epic battles and tragedy. But this time, the demon had a face: it was his people…his brothers…him.

Until that day, Amrod had not known what death really meant. He had known what it was to hunt even though he had had little love for such hobbies. Each time before releasing an arrow or letting his spear fly, he had prayed for the creature whose life would nourish his own. The day had been beautiful but it had been the day when his innocence had been lost to him forever. There was no turning back. He would never forget. He did not want to forget the blood that still soiled the shore. Nothing would ever go clean again: not his hands or the sand.

The sound of angry footsteps broke into Amrod's introspection and he raised his eyes to the wooden ceiling of his shelter where people were walking upon the deck of the ship. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He wanted to be left alone with his guilt and his memories.

He had climbed aboard a graceful ship amidst the cries of his people and the Teleri. The wind had felt good upon his face, like a sensual promise of better heavens. Strands of copper had escaped their prison of braids as the wind had grown more forceful and his sight had been hindered. He had not seen who had struck first. Had it been the sailors with their long, elegant bows? Had it been his people with their lethal swords? In the space of a single minute, the world had come to change irreparably.

Of those fateful minutes – or were they hours? – there remained only the feeling of helplessness and drowning…of losing grip on what he had mastered until then. He had been deprived of his ability to move and had only been able to watch as his brothers fought over the ships, whose sails had been white and bright in the fading light.

People seemed to enjoy glorifying death in songs and poems but there was no glory in either dying or in killing. Death was cold and emotionless. It was so much and so little at the same time: the end of a life by a shifting of the wrist, the widening of a pupil, a breath that did not come.

Amrod knew what he spoke of for he had killed once. He was not aware of how it had come to pass. One moment, he had been standing near the pond, the next his blade had been embedded in an Elf's side. In an eye's blink, the youth's life had changed irrevocably. He had committed the unthinkable: he had killed one of his own kindred. It would never matter to others that he had killed one that had been threatening his brother, the most important person in his life…it did not matter to him actually. What was important was that he could not call himself an Elf anymore.

For the life he had taken, he would pay endlessly. It was his only certainty in the chasm that had opened beneath his feet. How had he done such a thing to one so young? He had been no more than a child that had called for his mother when Amrod had gathered the Elf in his arms, shocked by his own action. The sailor's death had not been a merciful one and Amrod had watched over him until the end, begging for a forgiveness that had never been uttered. In the blue eyes that were fixed far away, the red-haired twin had seen incomprehension and surprise. Elves were not supposed to die and he had been one of those who had made real the limits of eternity.

The sand had turned to the colour of blood and the sight would never cease to haunt him. He would bear the burden of those unseeing eyes until Arda ended along with him. The blood and the sand…the sand and the blood…

And to say that the day had been beautiful...how ironic destiny could be. Beauty and death melting in the darkness of their lives.

He had not wanted this. He had had no wish for those deaths and those screams, this violence and this mayhem. He had wanted to go back to his mother so that she could take away the pain in his heart and make him forget.

Voices were raised on the deck. People were arguing. It seemed to Amrod that he recognized his father and his elder brother's voices. He shrank in his corner as though trying to disappear in the shadows that surrounded him. From where he was, he could not make out what they said but pieces of their conversation pierced the fog of his mind. "Why?" …"Destroy"…"Madness"…"Ships"…Suddenly, they stopped and Amrod was left again in his world of silence.

The following days had passed without his being aware of them. The red-haired youth knew that he had eaten, spoken, and performed his duties as he should have. But, inside it felt as though he was the one who had died at the Haven. He was living a nightmare. "Why?" screamed his heart. "Why did you do that?" Only his twin had noticed that something was amiss. But he could not speak of it, not even to his twin. Amrod felt his brother's distress at being held away but he was unable to bring himself to explain the void of his soul. No word would ever describe the absurdity of what they had lived.

Somewhere, Amrod felt betrayed, deprived of the feelings of greatness and bravery that his father had promised them. Reality had nothing to offer him. It had introduced him to the harshest lesson that one could learn: life was taken for granted but it was a fragile vase in the hands of a child. No…He refused reality. Anything was better than this. He had become an infant again. He longed for his mother's breast, for her hand on his brow that would chase the shadows away. He cared no more for honour and great deeds.

A crackling sound reached his ears but Amrod refused to acknowledge it.

The night they had reached Losgar, when his father had announced that they would be leaving the ships behind, the youth had hidden inside one of them in the dark of night. He wanted to go back to Aman, to the fickle and worriless youth he had been not so long ago. He lay there, knowing that he was rocking himself in illusion.

When the horn that announced the gathering would ring, he would rise with the others and go forth. Son of Fëanor he was after all…doomed by the Valar to exile, fated to follow an Oath whose consequences he had not imagined… For he and his brothers, there was no turning back, even though his heart was breaking a little more every day. His father would not stop there. He would go on and on and leave in his trail more deaths than he wanted to witness.

But the horn never sounded for Amrod.

Lost in his world of maddening musings, he had not heard the reason for his father and brother's argument, had not registered that the crackling came from the very core of the ship. His own father's hand had set aflame the great ships that had been the cause for the fall of his people.

Only the unbearable heat brought him back to reality. It took him a few seconds to acknowledge the situation and instinct made him recoil from the flames that surrounded him. At that moment, he could have escaped the threatening fire but something made him pause…The image of a child of the sea lying on the bloodied sand.

And finally Amrod knew. There would be no escape for him in this life. He did not want to go on but he could not go back. So, he made his choice: the flames over the sword. He closed his eyes a last time on that world and, without hesitations or a cry, he offered himself to the greed of the fire; the name of a child of the sea on his lips and his brother's name in his heart.

On the sand, so much blood…