A Story of Seven by NelyafinweFeanorion

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Chapter 7

Fëanorian Week day 7: Amras

I chose to give each twin a day of their own rather than put them together so no Fëanor/Nerdanel story. I might tackle those two another day.

this was by far the most challenging combination for me. 

I am thinking of gluttony more as a voracious appetite for something, an addiction of sorts.

Temperance: Moderation or self-restraint. Voluntarily refraining from doing something

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Amras

Gluttony

He had first tasted it so very long ago at the Mereth Aderthad. The Laiquendi had let him try a sip, late in the night by the bonfires, as the music had pounded around them; not the measured tones of his brother or that bard of Doriath. This was a pulsating wild music, the drumming matching his heartbeat initially but then spiraling faster and faster.

It had only been a sip that time but it was enough; the world had swirled into color around him—colors as bright as Tirion at the height of Laurelin’s brilliance. He had yearned to taste it again. Not for the flavor—it was too bitter and acrid—but for another glimpse of that brilliant light.

He roamed the lands often, too restless when he was at Himring with Maedhros, ill-at-ease in the comfortable halls of Caranthir, in Thargelion. It was better when he was ranging—he had enough to occupy his thoughts when he was in the wild. He did not dare let his mind drift as he did when the walls enclosed him and his thoughts turned as dark as the moonless nights.

It was on one of those rangings, many long years after the Mereth Aderthad, that he encountered a small patrol of Laiquendi in the woods. He had met one of their number at his uncle’s celebration so long ago. He took them up on the offer of hospitality and ventured to their settlement with them.

Later in the night, around the comfortable bonfire with his new acquaintances around him, the familiar scent of that elixir came to him.

“May I?” he asked, as the bottle passed among them.

“It is potent,” his companion warned. “We are well used to it; for some it brings dreams and visions, for others a sleepless slumber for the night. There are few of your people who tolerate it well.”

“I tolerated it just fine last time,” Amras said, reaching for the bottle.

He took more than a few sips this time and spent the rest of the evening sprawled on his back, watching the stars change colors and burst into cascades of light raining from the sky. There was a faint melody he caught in the air around him, one of Kano’s long forgotten lullabies written for him and his twin.

It was only a matter of trade, he decided. The Laiquendi were more than willing to take the dagger Curufin had made for him in exchange for a shipment of the elixir. They would deliver it when their next delegation visited Thargelion in a few weeks time.
He stayed close to the compound as the day the delegation was to arrive approached. He chafed at the confinement and inactivity but it wouldn’t do to have his items mixed in with those of Caranthir's.

The delegation arrived and he was gratified to recognize one of their number from his nights spent in their company in the forest. It was little work to bring the crate to his room unnoticed. He unsealed it and counted the six bottles there.

More than enough. He would be sparing with it. If nothing else, it helped him sleep. It had been centuries since Losgar but sleep had never come easily to him since then.
It began with a sip at night. But the moments of brilliance passed far too quickly. A few sips more would not hurt, he thought, as the tapestries in his room began to undulate and move, the figures on them coming to life before his eyes.

Half a cup was certainly not an indulgence, he told himself, eyeing the four remaining bottles in the crate. He had more than enough to indulge a little.

He couldn’t remember when he began to drink it from the bottle, not even bothering to pour it in a glass anymore. The nights passed so quickly this way—it left him no time to think, to remember. It dulled the emptiness, that hollow ache that had never left him.

How could this be the last bottle, he asked himself, scrabbling unsuccessfully through the straw that had cushioned the glass bottles, not able to find another hiding there.
When was the delegation due again? He would have to ask Caranthir. How long had he been here in Thargelion? He could not remember the last time he had gone on a ranging or manned a patrol. Was it a few days? Maybe a week, he decided.

A knock on his door interrupted his musings. He hastily placed the bottle back in the crate and was just closing it when his brother swung the door open and walked in on him, the box still held in his hands.

“You can’t just walk in here,” Amras protested, as Caranthir strode across the stone floor to him, grabbing the crate out of his shaking hands. “That’s mine! What do you think you’re doing?” Amras lunged at his older brother, who deftly sidestepped him and handed the crate to Curufin. What was Curufin doing in his room?

Amras whirled towards the door, confusion on his face as Celegorm walked in, his faithful companion Huan at his side. “What is this?” Amras questioned, looking from face to face. “Why didn’t you tell me we were having a family reunion?” He glared at Caranthir. “When should I expect Maedhros and Maglor?"

“Not at all, if we get this sorted on our own,” Curufin said, setting the crate down on Amras’ desk and opening it, Celegorm peering over his shoulder as Caranthir blocked Amras with his body—arms crossed over his chest and matching his glare with one of his own.

“You were right,” Curufin told Caranthir as he sniffed at the bottle, open in his hand now. “It is that liquor the Laiquendi use.”

“I told you it was more than just a mood thing,” Caranthir growled, darting a look at Curufin over his shoulder. r32;r32;“I told you it sounded like the forest drink,” Celegorm added, leveling a glare of his own at Amras. “How much was in here?”

“I don’t see how that concerns you,” Amras said, lifting his chin defiantly.

“It affects us all when you are wandering about in a daze all day and drugging yourself to sleep at night,” Caranthir said. “Did you think I would not notice?”

“You exaggerate. I am not in a daze.”

“When was the last time you went on a patrol? Ranged in the woods?” Curufin asked, his sharp eyes pinned on Amras.

“I don’t know exactly when,” Amras answered, frantically thinking back for specifics. “But no more than a week, I’m sure.”

“Wrong,” Celegorm thundered, causing Huan to press himself closer to his companion’s leg. “It’s been over two months.”

“Two months? Do you really expect me to believe that? I would be climbing the walls of this fortress if had been more than two weeks! You know that.”

“I knew that. I don’t know anything now except that you have not left my keep in all this time but somehow you are always the first to meet the Laiquendi delegation when they arrive,” Caranthir said. “You’ve never graced me with your presence this long. Did you think I would not notice that?” There was more than irritation in his face, Amras realized. It was something he had not seen in his brother’s face in years. It was concern and . . . fear?

Amras glanced at Celegorm and Curufin. It was mirrored in their eyes as well.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. It couldn’t be two months, could it? What delegations? He had only met the one.

“The Laiquendi asked for you today. The delegation came and for once you were not there to meet them,” Caranthir said.

“What?”

“It seems you missed your delivery today. Their captain sought me out, to let me know they had something for you,” Caranthir continued.

Amras shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. He had only received the one crate.
Caranthir crossed the room to open the closet door and Amras stepped back in shock. There couldn’t be that many bottles. It had only been the six. He counted two crates and a number of bottles strewn across the closet floor.

His head began to throb and he grabbed it with both hands. “I don’t understand.”
Warm arms came around him and a furry face brushed against his leg as he found himself in Celegorm’s arms.

“It will be alright, little one. We will get you through this,” his brother stroked his hair gently. “It will be alright.”

 

Temperance:

“Don’t you hear what they are saying?” Pityo asked him.

“I’m not listening to them. They don’t matter,” Telvo answered.

“But they are saying things about Father. How can you just walk by?”

Telvo turned to face his brother. “They don’t know Father. We do. It doesn’t matter what they say about him.” He resumed walking towards their home.

“Of course it matters! Other people hear them talking that way and then they start saying it too and then it’s all over Tirion.” Pityo stomped along next to him, the outrage plain on his face.

“I don’t care what people like that say about Father. Do you really think if I stood up to them and told them what they are saying isn’t true that they would believe me? A son of Feanaro?” Telvo shook his head. “Of course they wouldn’t. So then what would be the point?”

“The point would be that you would be standing up for Father.”

“I am standing up for Father. I don’t need to get into a street fight with some loud mouth idiots to prove it,” Telvo said. “Listen. Do you really think it helps Father at all if we brawl in the streets with everyone who disagrees with him? It won’t.” He picked up his pace as they neared their home. “It will just make them more likely to believe what people say, if we behave like that. It will all reflect on him, anything we do.”

“Just like anything he does reflects on us,” Pityo said quietly.

“You don’t mean that. Father would never do anything to harm us.”

“I know that. But do you think he knows what they say to us, what they say loud enough for us to hear when we walk by?” Pityo asked.

“He wouldn’t care. The only opinions that matter to him are Grandfather and Mother,” Telvo answered. “I will not give any credit to this by acknowledging it and neither should you.”

“But doesn’t it make you angry? It makes me want to shout at them.” Pityo said, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Of course it makes me angry. But just because it makes me angry doesn’t mean I have to do something about it. Especially if doing something will actually make it worse. Just keep walking, Pityo. We can’t make it stop and we can only make it worse if we try to intervene.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s not about doing anything. It’s just about restraining myself from doing anything. That’s the difference.”