Almárien bade the brothers wait outside the Hall. It was prudent that the separate affairs of their family reunion and the arrival of men in Gondolin be dealt with in stages. Yes, stages should work nicely. She huffed a breath and closed her eyes.
It was a boon that things had gone so smoothly for them at the gates that morning, and she knew the privilege was due to their kinship with the King. Húrin and Húor were noble men. They needed to see Turgon. Their connection with the Valar and something more…ineffable…about their short, human fates compelled Almárien to act swiftly.. She had to be decisive. Second-guessing her instincts now was merely a function of self-doubt, she knew. Time to move forward.
Lalwen squeezed her hand.
"Almárien - it is time."
She met her sister's steady blue gaze. The blonde elleth exuded a calm confidence - she always had. It was of little wonder that Fingolfin had promoted her so rapidly through the ranks of his councillors at Hithlum. She was an asset; level-headed, wise and rational. Had Lalwen not approved of Húrin and Húor, Almárien would not have trusted them as she did; had Lalwen not vouched for the men at the Warden Gates, none of them would have entered the city that morning.
Almárien marshalled her wits and briskly followed her sister through the gleaming throne room. The palace was thronged with elves, windows were thrown wide and pillars decked with white flowers.
All of Turgon's court seemed to have turned out to welcome the sisters to Gondolin.
She had never really known Turgon all that well - most probably due to his closeness to her father at a time when she herself was not in Voronwë's good graces. When had she ever been in his good graces, though? Much bad blood still festered between them. And whilst Almárien had been off 'throwing her lot in' with the volatile sons of Feanor, Lalwen had remained at Hithlum by the side their Grandmother Irimë - playing the part of the loyal and steadfast granddaughter who mourned the demise of their late mother stoically, bereft of the comfort of her much-loved twin.
Irimë, as Turgon's aunt, happened to be one of a blesséd few who had dispensation to journey at will to and from Gondolin. This was after Aredhel's departure, of course, which set a precedent for such comings and goings (let it never be said that Turgon the Wise was not a little flexible…at least when it came to placating his indomitable aunt). This priviege was then extended to Lalwen.
Thus did Lalwen come to be known and loved in Gondolin, whilst her twin had instead earned fame as well as infamy for her dealings with the Feanorians.
But the world was changing for the worse. Shadows stalked travellers in the night and wayward cohorts of orcs - more frequent, and more fell - terrorised the lands beyond the borders of civilised elvish sanctuaries. So when Voronwë suggested that Lalwen remove to Gondolin to serve Turgon after the death of Fingolfin, Irimë had flatly refused him: "One twin lost to the wilds of the world is enough, my son! Lalwen will stay with me."- and that was an end to the matter.
Or so Irimë had thought.
Lalwen remained at Hithlum a while, indeed, serving High King Fingon in all the capacities that a talented elf could in a time of familial sundering. Then, Voronwë suggested to his mother a plan that might bring Almárien back into the fold - and allow him to claim Lalwen as a much-needed advisor in Gondolin. Almárien could act as an escort to her sister on the perilous journey between Hithlum and Gondolin: she was a skilled warrior, was she not? And surely she wished to see her twin after so many years? Irimë could not pass up an opportunity to finally take back her granddaughter from Feanor's brood. She consented.
So, in the delicate aftermath of a soul-wrenching war, it seemed the time had come at last for Voronwë and Almárien to reconcile their differences.
When last Almárien had been sighted she was fighting back to back with Voronwë's half-cousins Celegorm and Curufin - engaged in a desperate battle to retain the Pass of Aglon. But when the enemy prevailed and the Pass was breached, they fled for Nargothrond and the protection of Finrod Felagund. The Feanorian cohort had been bled and scattered by their bitter trials at the Dagor Bragollach, and with little choice left them, they gladly accepted hospitality of their Beloved cousin…
Almárien shook herself from her memories and flashed a deceptively confident smile at her sister.
They advanced upon the throne, Lalwen grinning like a child at the Gates of Summer. She loved it here. Almárien, however, was apprehensive; what would these Gondolindrim think of her? Was she an outcast to their minds, thanks to an impetuous and impulsive youth spent traveling with her half-cousins? Heart in mouth, she scoured the depths of the jostling crowd for her father, but found him not.
Almárien knelt before King Turgon, head bowed, hand upon her heart. Now was the time to open proceedings by expressing sentiments of fealty. As the elder by several minutes, this duty fell to Almarien. She was expected to exhibit a certain degree of personal grace and articulacy. There was often much attention spared to the manner in which a young noble chose to intone their loyalty to the King - and expectations at Turgon's Court were seldom low.
The King stood with his bright daughter and his dark nephew upon the mighty dais, waiting for Almárien to initiate the ceremony. Both father and daughter were clad in white, and upon the head of Turgon there shone a coronet of glittering garnets, wreathed with mithril leaves.
Almárien drew a steadying breath from the still air of the chamber, and began her speech in Quenya:
"Turgon Turukano Fingolfinion. Long has it been since last we met; and long too the litany of feats our kin have wrought both in peace and terrible war. Our hearts are glad to once again be near to thine: perchance to serve and thrive and wax in wisdom. We greet thee now as kin ought ever to greet kin, as subjects ought ever to greet their Lord; In trust, loyalty, faith and love. The High King of the Noldor, thy brother, Lord Fingon, beseeched us reside a time with thee in thy white halls. And so, with a full heart we give ourselves freely into thy service, for as long as thou deem us fit to serve; for the benefit of all good folk of the fair City of Gondolin."
A moment of silence ensued after the echo of her words died away.
Applause broke out, rapturous and loud. Lalwen gave her sister an appreciative nod.
The King rose upon the completion of Almarien's speech and stepped forth to clasp her lightly by the shoulders as she rose. He kissed each cheek, her brow and then her lips in a traditional gesture of kinship.
"Well spoken and well met, Almarien Voronwion. You'll have the court discussing that introduction for quite some time, I daresay! 'Tis good to see you've grown as greatly in eloquence as you have in grace. Now, this is your second time in Gondolin is it not? I hope you still find it fair?"
"Aye, my Lord, exceedingly fair. The city touches the memory of Valimar in my heart…I am eager to know it and its inhabitants better."
Turgon smiled generously, his handsome face so like Fingolfin's in that moment that it made her heart clench.
"And so you shall, 'coz. Of your time here we can speak at greater length over dinner: There's to be a banquet, of course, to honour your return."
He then drew her aside, "My aide informs me that we have men-folk within our walls. I will receive them in my study shortly. They have been shown to accommodation and I will send for you before the feast commences so you can introduce them to me. They are a little overwhelmed, I suspect, but you did well to bring them hence- if they truly are whom they claim to be."
"Your Atar, I think, hopes to meet with you privately, too. You will likely not see him before tomorrow," He spoke now only to her, eyes soft with understanding, "Do not let the gulf between you burden your heart over-much, Almarien: your father is ripe for reconciliation. Of that I have no doubt. And I will do all in my power to smooth the way. Elbereth knows I have some knowledge of mending such rifts. Ah, dear Lalwen!"
He turned now to the younger twin and repeated the ritual embrace.
"How fare you? Glad indeed are we to have you back amongst us. We have missed your bright laughter and unparalleled diplomacy!"
"It's wonderful to return, my King."
"I trust your sister brought you from Hithlum by the safest roads? I remember her penchant for shortcuts from our days hunting rabbits near Mithlond…"
Lalwen laughed gaily at the King's reference to a fond childhood memory. Turgon gestured for his daughter and nephew to step forward.
"Here, Almárien, are your cousins Idril and Maeglin. I hope you will have time enough to become fast fiends now you are finished… journeying. I know all too well that Idril has awaited Lalwen's return eagerly."
Almárien greeted her cousins, but did not miss the King's succinct avoidance of her tumultuous past. Idril and Lalwen embraced, chattering already about myriad things both urgent and inconsequential. It was clear that the two shared a strong bond of friendship, and it gladdened Almárien to see her sister so happy. She deserved to be happy.
Maeglin was nudged by the King and introduced himself a little hesitantly. Whether his reluctance was borne of timidity or haughtiness, though, Almárien could not quite discern.
"We have never met before," he said as a matter-of-fact, "I was not here when last you came to Gondolin, cousin Almárien. I know your sister, though. You look nothing alike…for which I am glad: Three yellow-haired female cousins would be a little too homogenous for my liking."
Almárien waited for an accompanying smile from Maeglin - something that would indicate that the comment was a jest - but none came. She smiled at the oddness of it and shook her head.
"Well, cousin Maeglin, it would hardly make things that 'homogenous', would it? Otherwise how in the world would the Vanyar tell each other apart? Or even the Noldor for that matter, seeing as so many of us are dark of hair?"
"Indeed. But you cannot deny that Idril and Lalwen are strikingly similar in both height and beauty. If you were identical to Lalwen then I stand by the claim that I'd have some genuine difficulty telling you all apart - at least from a distance."
Maeglin, she realised, was either outstanding at deadpan comedy or else lacked some vital skill in navigating a normal social interaction. She smiled.
"Well then I am glad my differences benefit someone, cousin. I daresay most elves here are a little circumspect of my past. Let us simply hope no one mistakes you for me, then, shall we?"
"Oh that would not happen. My eyes are deep violet, as you can see. I am quite unique."
"Indeed-"
"And I know what it is to own a different past to the one most would have you possess. It makes you unique, also, cousin."
Maeglin then paused, cocked his head and seemed to muse aloud:
"You are different to you sister in more ways than one. There is a depth to your loss that marks you. My mother very much loved her Feanorian cousins, you know…and she was a remarkable woman."
Almárien caught the quick spark of a deep Finwean intelligence in Maeglin's phrasing - an intelligence that was as much an emotional instinct as it was a deductive strength. He observed everything. She would not underestimate this awkward Lord, however odd he seemed.
As they were talking the King had ushered forth several Lords from the rows of elves that flanked the throne. Tall and proud they seemed, but thankfully also good-natured and good-humoured for the most part. Almárien had already heard much of the twelve great Houses of Gondolin - their martial prowess was renowned, and their valour on the field at Dagor Bragollach an inspiration.
"Cousin, let me introduce Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower; Ecthelion of the Fountain, and Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch. I leave it to them to introduce the rest…wherever they are. There are so many of them."
Almárien bowed.
"Well met, my Lords. I had not the pleasure in my last, fleeting visit to your fair realm."
It was Ecthelion who spoke first, bowing low:
"You are gracious, my Lady. It is a joy to finally greet you here in the Halls of your cousin the King."
"Please, Lord Ecthelion - my name is Almárien. I would have you and all others call me by it. I blush to see such great warriors as yourselves defer to me. We are at the very least all equals here, are we not?"
Glorfindel bowed in turn and replied.
"If it please you, Almárien. Though we hear much of your own deeds in the world. You have the poise of a seasoned warrior…you are quite different to your twin, I see. She does not care overmuch for sparring. If you will, we would be delighted to have you train with us..?"
Almarien smiled.
"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. I have a great desire to learn from the fine warriors of Gondolin. I saw you, I think, fighting on the field that sad day at Dagor Bragollach…"
She hesitated, a shadow passing over her face. "My apologies, Lords. This is not a suitable subject for a joyous occasion."
Ecthelion smiled sadly and placed a reassuring hand upon her arm.
"It was a battle of great evil and loss. Yet there was much of value we learned from it also - that the spirit of our people is strong: stronger, I believe, for all our suffering, and that we may continue to prevail against terrible odds. And though we mourn still the losses incurred by all dark deeds that stain our lives in this age of strife, we have also much to celebrate in our victory."
Almárien smiled gratefully. Ecthelion's eyes were kind - and as deeply hued as a mountain pool of incandescent water.
"Well said, my Lord, and I thank you. The pain is something we all share, is it not? My sister, too, suffers, though she is no warrior. A pain of repeated detachment and loss," She lightened her tone, "My sister and I are quite different, indeed - as I hear with reassuring regularity! We are alike in neither temperament nor in appearance. A complementary pair as opposed to a similar pair, perhaps? Lalwen is the fairer and the sweeter, my Lords, and it is only right that I should support her as a protective sister ought."
Egalmoth smiled brilliantly, shook his head a little and stepped between Ecthelion and Glorfindel. His chestnut hair was intricately braided with emeralds, and his eyes shone like forest leaves in sunlight.
"Eloquent, my Lady, as I am sure you are aware. But I fear I cannot agree with all your sentiments: Lalwen is the fairer and the sweeter, say you? Fairness is seldom a universally agreed quality - and so I say that you both are exceedingly fair. One bright and one dark - just like our handsome Ecthelion and Glorfindel here! Who of these two is the fairer, do you think? Why, neither! Any with eyes to see can make the judgement easily: for they are equally beautiful, and in their contrasting counterpoint, fairer still! And sweetness?"
He paced slowly about the group, grandiose and expressive, and caught up Almárien's had in his own for emphasis:
"That is something I do not even know how to quantify. But if it is the ability to charm and warm the blood of those who know you, then, Lady, I declare you have as much sweetness as one elf should ever be allowed to bear. Any more and you'd end up like me: cloying and clumsy."
The self-abasement at the end of his speech was a stroke of genius. She wasn't sure how to respond and merely gaped a little at the superfluous nature of Egalmoth's compliment. She pulled her hand from its embrace a little warily.
Ecthelion groaned. Glorfindel blushed ferociously and rounded on Egalmoth, eyes flashing.
"Egalmoth! You insufferable cad! Pay him no heed, Almárien. Though what he says is undoubtedly true, he should know better than to say such things in such a way - and in such a place!"
Egalmoth rolled his green eyes and receded with a grin. Ecthelion bowed uncomfortably and followed, catching Egalmoth firmly by the arm and marching him out of the hall. Glorfindel then offered to escort her to her chambers to refresh herself, and she gladly accepted his offer after noting that the crowd was dispersing and her sister was nowhere to be seen.
—-
Ecthelion rounded the corner, guiding an uncooperative Egalmoth rather roughly by his arm.
"I knew you couldn't contain yourself, 'Amo. Was all that really necessary?!"
Egalmoth shook his arm free and turned to Ecthelion with a smirk.
"Oh, relax, will you? It's not about necessity - it's about fun. She's been running with the Feanorian pack for so long…I'm certain she's used to some playfulness by now. Ugh, look at you. You're so uppity. She'll find courtly life a dull affair, I fear, were it not for me."
"Must you always wade in so flamboyantly? And why do you always drag Fin and ME into your little performances?!"
"Because you both look so ravishing when you blush."
Egalmoth.
Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch.
Third Captain of the Gondolin Guard.
The most incorrigible flirt to ever walk the fair green fields of Arda.
Ecthelion's attitude took on an air of futility.
"You're an idiot," he said, "But please, for sanity's sake, can you reign it in a little? Just for tonight? We have a facade of respectability to maintain! Can't you just play by the rules for once?"
"I play by my own rules, Thel."
"Stop trying so hard. You sound like an idiot."
"…Too much?"
"Too much. Always too much."
"I don't believe you. See you at the feast!"
And he was off down the corridor with a parting wave, pausing only to call:"Wear the silver tunic, Thel. Your torso looks extraordinary in the silver tunic!"- loud enough, of course, so that several passing elves had to stifle their snorts in their sleeves.
Ecthelion watched Egalmoth's retreating form with a bemused expression on his face.
This was going to be a very long night.