Flickers by Meril

Fëar

Fëar

She had given them matching lumps of clay. Each of you take a corner, shape something of your own, and do not look at your brother. For two hours they worked while she quietly painted by the window.

Ambarussa lived a life of singularity. Was it not said that onóni were one fëa in two hröar? It was difficult to relate to the rest of the world when someone could read your every thought and know your every inspiration. Their own brothers could not quite comprehend their bond, and all of Tirion confused them. But Ammë always knew: they knew exactly which onóna she wanted simply by the tone of her voice.

Eventually, she asked to see their progress. When Ambarussa realized they had both chosen to sculpt her, they hung their heads. Carnaster had been right: they were no different at all.

But then Ammë began to speak. Little one, look what you have done! See how you have captured the movements? I can almost see this sculpture coming alive. Then this piece, my child: perfect stillness, a moment of peace, with every detail captured so beautifully.

Not one, they realized. Strongly bound, closer than most: yes.

But two.