(no subject)
I wrote this months ago, and when I reread it I was very pleasantly surprised with it. Silmarillion fic, centered on the Ambarussa at Losgar, Maglor POV.
Rating: PG-13?
To this day I still couldn’t tell you which one it was. Mother-names are so often prophetic, and everyone was always so concerned by the name Umbarto that they never noticed how true their original names were. Ambarussa. One name, two Elves. One soul, two bodies. We never knew how true it was until it was too late. Only small differences in their behavior told the difference between them, and even that often failed; mischief makers that they were they delighted in keeping even their own family guessing which was which. From their early childhood we started to see them as two sides of the same person, and I think that even they saw themselves that way. One more item to add to the list of our follies. We should have encouraged them to become separate people, taught them to live without their mirror image beside them. Perhaps if we had . . .
I didn’t know that Father planned to burn the ships after our landing at Losgar until they were already ash, but Ambarussa knew. While Russandol argued with Father, while Father and Tyelko and Curu lit the torches, Ambarussa tossed and turned in his sleep, his eyes tightly closed in what I would later learn was the manner of mortal men. I had dozed off, awaiting his twin’s return, and he woke me with his flailing. I had already risen when they put the torches to the white swan ships.
That’s when the screaming started.
His eyes flew wide open, bulging, staring up at the roof of our tent but seeing nothing. His flailing increased in violence, his shrieks deafened me, and through the sounds of pain I could make out the words, “it burns, it burns. . .” I shook him, gathered him close to me to still his thrashing, called to him, but he would not wake. I do not know how long this went on, an hour or an eternity, but finally he awakened with a jerk and clung to me, weeping. I tried to get him to tell me what he had dreamt, but he would only shake his head and cling to me more tightly. Finally, when he had cried himself back to sleep, the wind shifted, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning wood and something else. Something that was perhaps only in my mind. It was the smell of death. I didn’t dare leave the tent, I had no wish to see what new evil my father’s madness had wrought and I couldn’t leave my brother in that condition. The next morning we gathered on the sand, now stained black with ash as the beaches of the Teleri had been stained read with blood. The ships were gone, every last one of them, nothing left but half sunken, blackened husks. Father, with pride and madness in his eyes, looked over his six sons. Six. Anger furrowed his brow as he turned to Ambarussa, demanding, “Where is your brother?” He only looked towards the burnt shell of the first ship, then up at the sky, and smiled. He needed to say no more, for we all understood. I have never seen true horror on my father’s face except for that moment, when all blood seemed drained from him and he whispered in a quiet, shocked voice, “That ship I burned first.”
Ever after, we never knew exactly which twin perished in the fires at Losgar. Perhaps it was Umbarto, fated to die. Perhaps also it was Umbarto who was fated to live, alone and bereft. He never told us, and the little differences which we used to tell the twins apart were now useless. They had become so adept at imitating each other that no one could tell when he was himself, and when he was imitating the lost one. Day by day his mind drifted from us, we all feared that we would lose the surviving twin to Mandos within days of his brother. He lived in the end, the Oath and the Curse drove him as it drove all of us, but it was only bodily life. One had only to take a long look at his eyes, the growing madness of a shattered soul, to see it. History tells that Ambarussa died at Sirion, in the attempt to retake the Silmaril. That’s not true. Ambarussa died in the night at Losgar when the fires of the ships stole half of his soul, at Sirion his body went the way of his spirit. I only wish that it had happened sooner.
Rating: PG-13?
To this day I still couldn’t tell you which one it was. Mother-names are so often prophetic, and everyone was always so concerned by the name Umbarto that they never noticed how true their original names were. Ambarussa. One name, two Elves. One soul, two bodies. We never knew how true it was until it was too late. Only small differences in their behavior told the difference between them, and even that often failed; mischief makers that they were they delighted in keeping even their own family guessing which was which. From their early childhood we started to see them as two sides of the same person, and I think that even they saw themselves that way. One more item to add to the list of our follies. We should have encouraged them to become separate people, taught them to live without their mirror image beside them. Perhaps if we had . . .
I didn’t know that Father planned to burn the ships after our landing at Losgar until they were already ash, but Ambarussa knew. While Russandol argued with Father, while Father and Tyelko and Curu lit the torches, Ambarussa tossed and turned in his sleep, his eyes tightly closed in what I would later learn was the manner of mortal men. I had dozed off, awaiting his twin’s return, and he woke me with his flailing. I had already risen when they put the torches to the white swan ships.
That’s when the screaming started.
His eyes flew wide open, bulging, staring up at the roof of our tent but seeing nothing. His flailing increased in violence, his shrieks deafened me, and through the sounds of pain I could make out the words, “it burns, it burns. . .” I shook him, gathered him close to me to still his thrashing, called to him, but he would not wake. I do not know how long this went on, an hour or an eternity, but finally he awakened with a jerk and clung to me, weeping. I tried to get him to tell me what he had dreamt, but he would only shake his head and cling to me more tightly. Finally, when he had cried himself back to sleep, the wind shifted, carrying with it the acrid scent of burning wood and something else. Something that was perhaps only in my mind. It was the smell of death. I didn’t dare leave the tent, I had no wish to see what new evil my father’s madness had wrought and I couldn’t leave my brother in that condition. The next morning we gathered on the sand, now stained black with ash as the beaches of the Teleri had been stained read with blood. The ships were gone, every last one of them, nothing left but half sunken, blackened husks. Father, with pride and madness in his eyes, looked over his six sons. Six. Anger furrowed his brow as he turned to Ambarussa, demanding, “Where is your brother?” He only looked towards the burnt shell of the first ship, then up at the sky, and smiled. He needed to say no more, for we all understood. I have never seen true horror on my father’s face except for that moment, when all blood seemed drained from him and he whispered in a quiet, shocked voice, “That ship I burned first.”
Ever after, we never knew exactly which twin perished in the fires at Losgar. Perhaps it was Umbarto, fated to die. Perhaps also it was Umbarto who was fated to live, alone and bereft. He never told us, and the little differences which we used to tell the twins apart were now useless. They had become so adept at imitating each other that no one could tell when he was himself, and when he was imitating the lost one. Day by day his mind drifted from us, we all feared that we would lose the surviving twin to Mandos within days of his brother. He lived in the end, the Oath and the Curse drove him as it drove all of us, but it was only bodily life. One had only to take a long look at his eyes, the growing madness of a shattered soul, to see it. History tells that Ambarussa died at Sirion, in the attempt to retake the Silmaril. That’s not true. Ambarussa died in the night at Losgar when the fires of the ships stole half of his soul, at Sirion his body went the way of his spirit. I only wish that it had happened sooner.