Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Amras. I own his return to across Belegaer to Middle-earth.
Pairings: none
Characters: Amras (vague mention of others)
Warning: extreme AU, surprisingly nothing else really explicit or morally subjective
Song: This is Our Land
Words: 717
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run (verb): to go faster than a walk; specifically: to go steadily by springing steps so that both feet leave the ground for an instant in each step; to flee, retreat, escape
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/run
When he finally saw the land, Amras felt a lump forming in the back of his throat. It choked out any words he might have spoken had another been at his side, but it did not halt the deep breath that filled his lungs to bursting, filled him to the brim with everything he had been missing so terribly for so long.
Home. This was home.
Stretching out before him forever and ever, rolling green plains dotted with boulders and sparse trees as far as his eyes could see. The smell of the earth and the grass filled his senses, overflowing and mixing with the heat of Arien's rays upon his flesh and the sweet, pure wind whipping against his face and tangling his hair.
Amras, dressed in naught but simple clothing and a cloak, with only a bow and a satchel to his name, had never been happier.
Breathless, his green eyes soaked in the unfamiliar landscape ravenously. It wasn't Beleriand, but it felt right where the evergreen plains of Valinor had felt so wrong.
Long years in winding halls blanketed in writhing tapestries left him feeling closed in, trapped and locked into the past, into the tragedy that haunted his family's footsteps, a ghost of their selfish greed and arrogance. Escaping the Halls of the Waiting had not changed that.
Everything about Valinor felt wrong. Too cold, detached, too perfect. Sharp glances followed him wherever he went, scornful and judging. The city was too large, to busy. The buildings were too white and the mountains too tall, their peaks never changing, caging in the time-frozen Undying Lands from the real world. The grass never yellowed and winter never came. The golden fields never withered and were never reborn as the spring came and thawed away the ice and snow. It was too tame, and the memories too bitter. And no one could forget, for the people of Valinor lived in the past. They had no future.
There, Amras could never be content.
But this was different.
The Fëanorion threw away all the bitterness that twisted his heart and soured his tongue, threw away the resentment and the fear, the broken hopes and dreams. If he was running away from his problems, from the past, from his family or from all of them at once, who was there to know--to care--but he himself?
With a whoop of delight, he threw out his arms and let the wind embrace his body, nearly lifting him off his feet. And then he ran.
Ran across the empty space, his feet stumbling over unfamiliar rocks as he laughed, carrying him on eagle's wings through the air at the height of their leap so he felt as though he might never touch solid earth again. Faster and faster, until everything about him seemed but a blur, a mixture of pure sensation and ecstasy, empty of all thought and regret, but filled with so much promise that it nearly burst inside him.
Heart pounding in his ears. Feet barely touching the earth as he fled across the land, silent in movement and breath, but screaming out in spirit.
If he never stopped moving, Amras thought he would be content. If his feet carried him wherever he might go for the rest of his endless, long years, then he would find no bitterness in the traversing. If he never looked upon another face, never heard another word, never laid eyes upon another droplet of civilization, he thought he could pretend that the past was but a shadowy haze of a dream.
Darting past the trees, leaves caught and tangled in his crimson curls. Dirt and dust settled into his clothing and boots. Had anyone seen him as he twisted and turned, pirouetting through the sky like a wild creature, they would have thought him quite insane. Maybe he was. Maybe he was completely out of his right mind. Maybe he wanted to be that way. Maybe that was the key to his freedom.
Connected to the land, his feet carried him forth, completely leaving the earth again.
And he forgot.
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Short but oh, so sweet.
Amras has a special place in my heart, most especially because he's my character in our dA family. Technically you could say I am him in a weird sort of way. And I've never felt that he would linger in the past. Besides, these are the kind of feelings I get when I listen to the song I chose for today: This is Our Land by Epic Score. Gorgeous piece. It makes me feel like I'm flying, and the tender end made me cry once (or twice...).
Oh, and I have art of Amras (besides my icon, LOL). Young archer by ~Righon on dA. His (or her?) gallery has pictures like this of many members of the family, and they're all beautiful. Nonetheless, this is sort of how I imagine Amras, which is why it clicked with me.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed. I tried not to get too philosophical. I had meditation class with a Sri Lankan monk today (it was awesome and very educational mind you) so I'm kind of loopy at the moment.
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