Work Text:
Something was wrong. The hold of the swan ship where Amrod lay sleeping was oddly warm. An acrid smell touched him. He mumbled in his sleep and rolled over. A loud crack as a plank above him broke from the heat finally jarred him to wakefulness.
Red tongues of fire licked at the pearly white wood around him, casting the hold in an eerie glow. He scrambled up, looking wildly for the hatch to the upper deck.
It was across the ship from him.
An inferno blocked his path.
His mind swam with confusion in the haze of half-awake fear. Smoke surrounded him and he coughed violently.
Why was there fire? Who would have done this?
Suddenly he heard a sound as if from a great distance. Laughter, mad and cruel, but in a familiar voice.
Father? Why??
He frantically looked for an escape.
There was none. He would have to go through the flames.
He took a deep breath and wrapped his blanket around himself, then charged in.
The blanket caught fire too fast. He dropped it but his clothes caught light. The ends of his hair were burning. The flames ate through the soles of his shoes, through his tunic.
The pain was like nothing he had even imagined. He screamed, lungs aching from the smoke, as he ran with all his might.
The latch of the hatch was red hot. He had no choice. Adrenaline fueling him, he forced the hot metal open, crying out in pain the whole time. His tears sizzled on his face.
Finally he reached the deck.
It too was burning. Blindly, he stumbled towards the edge, eyes squeezed shut against the heat and the choking smoke. His raw hands found the edge and he pulled himself over, leaping for the water.
Hitting the water felt like diving into a bath of acid. Cold and salt scoured his blistering wounds and he screamed. Water flooded into his mouth. He couldn’t swim. His lungs burned and grew tight.
Suddenly, there was a great splash. Strong hands seized him and dragged him ashore. Laughter and cheering died out as the crowd saw the blackened and blistered body of Feanor’s youngest son dragged from the sea by the eldest. Maedhros’s face was twisted with rage as he looked at their father, and Feanor’s glee faltered for that moment. Then the tall ellon turned and ordered those around him to bring a pallet and bandages and salves. Amrod would live, but the crimes they had all done and the Oath itself would be written in twisted scars covering his body for the rest of his days.