The Eight-Pointed Star by Tyelca

Day 6 - The Ambarussa

Day 6 of the Fëanorian Week is all about the Ambarussa! With the wonderful prompts Childhood, Lordship, Regret, Twin, Hunting, and Nandor.

Summary: As revenge for Celegorm, Amrod and Amras assassinate Dior’s twin sons.

Characters: Amrod, Amras, Eluréd, Elúrin

Warning: Murder of children, canon character death, slightly AU insofar canonically it is unknown what happened to Eluréd and Elurín

Like bloody shadows they flit between the trees, searching and hiding. They do not know if they are being followed, and if their eventual pursuers are friend of foe. They wish to avoid both, so they stealthily climb the branches, jump down again and keep looking. They carry no torches; Doriath is dark at this hour and they do not know how much distance they have covered. But they are close, they can feel it; instincts honed in battle serve them well.

The forest is dense and dampens most sounds, but a soft gasping up ahead reveals the presence of two young Elflings. Black hair, from what they can see, with the same hue of starry night as their dead father in the halls of Menegroth. They stop a while ahead, look around and, assuming themselves safe, let themselves fall to the ground to rest.

Ambarussa looks at his twin as they hide, silent as death, up in the trees. Ambarto grins back, and in his eyes burns the unholy fire of revenge. They are the same, a subjects and its reflection, standing on either side of the mirror. Their hunt is almost over as they close in, coming from opposite directions, to the unsuspecting pair of boys on the forest ground. As if sensing the imminent danger, they grow suddenly very still. Their eyes are wide and exhausted and it is easy to see they are frightened. Ambarto cracks a branch on purpose and is rewarded with a soft scream of one of the twins on the ground before the other one puts a hand over his mouth.

A moment of eye contact with Ambarussa and they swiftly drop down from the trees, landing without a sound. It is a skill they learned from the Nandor in years previous, when they traveled the great expanses of Beleriand, in a time when a repeat of Alqualondë was unthinkable. It still is, but in Beleriand many impossible things become reality. Creeping closer, the darkness that occluded their sight withdraws and they can see the children huddled together on the ground clearly. The make no move to hide anymore as they approach from two sides. There is no escape.

The taller of the two boys on the ground tries to stand and has a small dagger clutched in his hand. Ambarussa notices and laughs, for they have encountered far worse than a child holding a dagger without an ounce of confidence or technique. The boy shrinks back to his twin brother, and though they look alike there are ample differences to tell them apart. Not like Ambarussa and Ambarto, for they are one and the same; a single fëa accidentally divided over two bodies.

They rise and turn, preparing to run, but Ambarto appears like a shadow to block their path. The taller boy slashes with his dagger but Ambarto skillfully avoids it, and he only cuts thin air. With the boys attention occupied by his other half, Ambarussa moves in. Unsheathing his blade as he does so, he lays the sharp edge against the soft throat of the shorter boy, who stills at once. As his twin notices the peril his brother is in, Ambarto simply takes the dagger out of his limp hands and seizes the child’s arms.

Ambarussa chuckles and the sound is dark and slightly maniacal. Ambarto approves. “Well,” he says in Sindarin so the boys can understand. “You gave us quite the scare when you slipped away. We had to come all this way to retrieve you. But we shall not blame you for the trouble you forced us to go through; it has been a long time since a hunt was as exhilarating as this one.” He breathes out, long and slow, and the air comes out white in the cold.

“What are your names, children of thieves?” Ambarussa asks, and his voice is almost kind.

“Eluréd,” the boy who held the dagger says defiantly, and as young as he is, there is a pride in his eyes that Ambarto doesn’t like, a pride that says, We are better than you, and in return he twists Eluréd’s arms into an uncomfortable angle. Eluréd doesn’t scream, but he bites down hard on his lip. Ambarussa nods, then looks at the other twin. “And you?” he prompts after a few seconds.

“E-Elurín,” the boy whispers.

“Eluréd and Elurín, the Heirs of Elu Thingol,” Ambarto says, then laughs softly. “What a sublime imagination your parents must have had!” Ambarussa cocks an eyebrow, for their own parents were not that much more creative, but laughs along with his twin brother nonetheless. Their minds are one, and Ambarussa easily finds Ambarto’s thoughts. Are we truly doing this? he asks and Ambarto’s response is a confident, Yes, we are. It’s enough for Ambarussa. Together they suddenly press down and their blades cut deep into the soft flesh. Now Eluréd does scream while Elurín merely stares at his twin, uncomprehending.

Blood splashes onto the forest ground and the twin boys grow pale and eventually sag down. Ambarto experimentally loosens his grip on Eluréd’s arms and he falls on his stomach; he is dead. He looks up and sees Elurin’s mouth wide open but no sound comes out. The hate in his eyes is fierce until in him too the light fades.

Ambarussa stares at the dead boys, then looks to his own twin. Ambarto oozes satisfaction, and Ambarussa takes comfort in it. “We are warriors, not babysitters,” he says. Once upon a time it might have been different, but there was no denying the truth of that statement now. “Besides,” Ambarto continues, “this is revenge. They pay for their father’s crimes.” He puts an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Pityo, remember what Dior did to Turco; we do this for him, since he cannot do it himself anymore.” Ambarussa feels the emotion behind the words and nods.

Ambarto leads him away, back to Menegroth where they have made camp for the time being. They do not look back as they leave the two corpses to rot. They do not speak during their journey, but they do not need words to communicate.

The rage that drove them on soon fades and makes place for a crushing despair. Turco is gone and though they have avenged him, it doesn’t change the reality that their dear brother is now in Mandos. They remember all the times when he played with them when they all were but children, when he took them for their first hunt, how he showed them to ride a horse and his futile attempts to teach them the speech of birds. Ambarto now regrets not paying more attention to his late brother’s chaotic lesson, while Ambarussa laments the eternity denied. They try to comfort each other, but they both know their attempts are futile. No amount of cursing or begging or reminiscing will bring Turcafinwë back and in the end, they just miss him.