The flames danced at the Havens of Sirion, throwing light into an otherwise darkened sky. The smoke from the fires all around them blocked out the usual starlight that often comforted the refugees at Sirion. The red glow brought terror, not comfort.
Amrod swung his sword to block an incoming attack from one of the elves there. He pushed it back forcefully, grunting with the effort. He was far more comfortable with a bow and arrow, but his proficiency with a sword couldn’t be laughed at. While his older brothers tried to reach Elwing, he and his twin remained tasked with the destruction of the ships there at the Havens. As he turned from the boat he’d set alight, he noticed a figure nearby.
He approached the woman of the Haladin. She cowered from the elf-lord, attempting to hide away between wreckage of a house. Amrod steeled his nerves and strode forward, swinging his sword forward to tighten his grip.
“Where is the silmaril?” he grabbed her by the arm and placed the sword across her throat. “Do not lie, woman.”
“I- I do not know!” She sobbed openly, cowering away from the son of Fёanor . “Lady Elwing bears it with pride.”
Amrod sneered in fury. Of course that maiden would dare to wear the jewel that belonged rightfully to but one family, his family. “Where is the lady?”
“She fled!” The woman fell to her knees in exhaustion, her eyes seemingly crying tears of blood so petrified was she. “Mercy, lord! Please!”
“Your lord and lady condemned you the moment they refused us the silmaril,” Amrod shook his head. Yet for a moment he faltered, glancing about at the burning ships. He considered releasing the Haladin woman, but when she drew a dagger from her belt out of desperation, he sliced her throat.
Turning back to the conflagration around the haven, he caught sight of a woman trying to run. Upon her breast was the Nauglamir. He adjusted his grip on the great sword he bore, setting his sights on Elwing. Their eyes met, fear in hers and hatred in his.
“Amras!” He shouted above the fray, beckoning his brother to follow.
The other called Ambarussa turned to look in his direction. But immediately Amrod regretted his action, screaming a warning at his twin. At that moment a dagger flew into Amras’ back, shocking the elf lord. Amrod gazed at his twin in amazement. Their eyes met. For a split second, but a moment, Amrod considered pursuing the daughter of Dior. But the fear and agony on his twin’s face conquered that urge immediately.
Amrod sprinted over to where Amras swung his sword wildly at two attackers that closed in. One was an elf, the other a man. The injured twin’s sword caught the man in the stomach and for an instant Amrod felt pride rush into his face. Even injured, his brother fought with skill. But the elf, bearing the crest of the House of the Golden Flower, caught Amras across the back of his left knee, forcing him to the ground.
Amrod threw a dagger straight into the elf of Gondolin’s back, hitting him in his exposed neck. The elf fell to the ground, dead. But the Haladin warrior, still with some fight left, turned to face Amrod. Just as Amrod brought his sword up to deliver a crippling bow, Amras gave a cry, and intense pain flooded Amrod’s body. An arrow protruded from the elf lord’s abdomen. The Haladin seized his chance and swung.
But Amras still had some energy left. He raised his sword to catch the man’s own. With a second to recover, Amrod finished him off. Yet another arrow found its mark immediately after, hitting him again, this time in the left shoulder.
“Amrod,” Amras cried out, tears already staining his face from the pain of his own wounds.
Gritting his teeth, Amrod grabbed ahold of his brother and dragged him behind a crumbling stone wall on the edge of the sea. Burning ships became their view.
“You will be fine, Ambarussa,” Amras assured his brother as he tried to sit up. “And do not worry for my sake.”
“We’re not getting out of this alive,” Amrod contradicted his twin. “But it seems somewhat fitting that our end comes here, at the edge of the sea, before burning ships.”
Amras felt tears stinging his own cheeks. He slumped against his brother and against the stone wall behind them, watching as a great white ship crumbled in the sea, flames consuming it. “What started with burning ships must end with them.”
“So it was fated for us.” Amrod grabbed his twin’s hand, feeling his life draining. Their sweaty palms nearly slipped away. “Yet I am glad you are here with me, at the end.”
Amras struggled to keep his eyes open. And yet even as his lids closed, the sight of the flaming ship seemed burned into his mind, and his memory. “As it should be.”
With the sounds of screaming women, crying children, and a great conflagration, the youngest sons of Fёanor bid farewell to Beleriand, leaving it as they had come: watching the burning ships.