Chapter Forty-Two: Miril

Their retreat was hasty and exhausting.

Every elf had fought to their last, and their numbers were severely depleted. Several more died of their injuries on the road. When they finally returned to Gondolin, the relief was palpable.

And thanks to the sacrifice of Húrin and Huor, they had returned home undetected by Morgoth. Gondolin remained a secret.

Glorfindel and Lalwendë didn't speak a word as they trudged back to their quarters. It wasn't until she closed the door behind them that Glorfindel leaned back on the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.

'I'm expected to meet with Turgon and the other captains in an hour,' he said dully. Lalwendë could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and she nodded, taking a deep breath.

Moving like she was in a dream, she unbuckled her belt and let it fall to the floor. Her armour followed, then her boots and tunic, so she was just wearing her trousers and undershirt, both stiff from dried sweat and blood. Then she turned to Glorfindel.

She offered him a hand to pull him up, and he complied without complaint. He stood while she removed his weapons and armour, and lifted his arms so she could pull of his tunic and shirt. He moved like he was sleepwalking.

He had kept watch over her while she'd slept in their camp, she reflected numbly, but now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure that he'd actually slept since the battle. He'd been on edge until they'd been behind the seven gates of Gondolin.

She led him into their washroom and took a sponge. She wiped him down as gently as she could manage while still collecting the dirt and sweat that covered him. She noted the several darkening bruises and raw-looking grazes that covered his torso. He hated going to the healers; she'd see to them when he got back from the meeting.

'I'm sorry,' he said suddenly, seeming to realise she was taking care of him. She smiled tiredly.

'That's the best I can do for now. Here.' She offered him a fresh shirt, and he pulled it on, wincing as he did so. 'Broken rib?'

'Maybe.'

She took his hand and led him over to their bed. She didn't bother to remove the covers, and they both lay down. Lalwendë let her eyes drift shut. 'You have another twenty minutes before you need to go,' she murmured.

'Maybe… maybe you should come with me…'

'It's over, Laurë,' she said, shifting gingerly closer. Everything in her body ached. 'We're safe. I'm safe. It's over.'

'Hm.'

'Just sleep for twenty minutes. I'll wake you.'

Of course, he didn't sleep, and he left after only ten minutes had passed. Lalwendë didn't bother to wash herself when the door closed behind him; she simply gave into her exhaustion and slept – for once, blissfully, without nightmares.

She awoke hours later in Glorfindel's embrace. His arm was caught under her, and she wondered sleepily how he'd managed to get it there without waking her. She could feel his soft breathing on the top of her head. He was asleep, and she didn't dare move for fear of waking him.

It was another hour at least before he stirred, and the sun had set in the west. He woke with a jerk before relaxing, realising he was in his own bed. He sighed heavily, and she felt his head move to glance down at her.

'You're on my arm,' he whispered.

'You put it there,' she smiled, lifting herself up with a grimace so he could pull it out. Every muscle in her body was aching. 'What did Turgon have to say?'

'He thinks we got back undetected, but he doesn't think that Gondolin will stay hidden for too much longer.'

'Especially after Morgoth's victory at the battle.'

'Hm.'

'Anything else?' she asked.

'You smell.'

'I haven't washed yet. You're full of complaints this evening.'

He found her hand and laced his fingers with hers. 'Turgon has declared himself High King of the Noldor,' he said quietly. 'But since he is hidden in Gondolin, and no elves anywhere else in Middle-earth know where that is, he is king in name only.'

'Gil-galad didn't make it?' Lalwendë asked, suddenly remembering Fingon's son. She hadn't seen him with the host returning to Gondolin.

'He might have escaped, but he didn't come here.'

'Oh,' she whispered. She supposed normally she might cry for Gil-galad's supposed death, but at the moment she just felt numb. Fingon had been crushed into the ground by balrogs before her very eyes just days ago.

'The sons of Fëanor are scattered and without followers, but we believe they have all survived.'

'What a small mercy,' she said, throwing her free arm over her eyes. She wanted to go back to sleep and forget the heartache of the past week.

'Apart from that… Morgoth has complete control in the north. He has thousands of elves and men as slaves, and his servants go where they want.'

'Enough,' she said suddenly, sitting up and putting her face in her hands. 'I don't want to hear any more.'

'I'm sorry,' Glorfindel said quietly, placing a hand at the small of her back.

'We just…' she shook her head. Finally, the tears were coming. 'Everything has gone so badly. Everything is just awful.'

His thumb moved in a slow circle. 'We knew this would happen,' he said softly. 'We knew that suffering was coming our way.'

'But the Valar don't want this,' she said, sniffing. 'For Morgoth to have this much power, to commit so many evil deeds to those who don't deserve it, even if the Noldor do… I don't believe that is Eru's plan.' Glorfindel was silent, and she looked back at him.

'I don't know,' he sighed. 'I don't know.'

'We have to keep fighting,' she said, wiping her eyes. 'I know they cursed us, but I believe the Valar are on our side against Morgoth. If that's true, there's a chance they'll help us.'

'All the ships Turgon has sent into the west so far have sunk,' Glorfindel said quietly. She shook her head at him.

'Have some hope, Laurë.'

He smiled slightly, reaching up to tug the end of her braid free. 'I'll try.'

She turned away from him again, letting him unravel her hair. It was matted with dust, sweat and flecks of blood, all dried and congealed. Suddenly all she wanted to do was to get clean.

'Bath?' she asked, and Glorfindel sat up with a groan.

'Alright, bath. You'll have to drag me out of bed, I can't move by myself.'

She laughed at him as she got gingerly to her feet and turned to see him grimacing, his hand on his ribcage. She held out a hand. 'Oh, my darling. Come on.'

'Sorry to be complaining,' he said as they shuffled hand in hand to the washroom. 'You were there too.'

She placed a kiss on his shoulder. 'We both know you took the brunt of the blows and then some,' she said. 'I'd be dead if it weren't for you.'

He stumbled a little, scuffing his foot on the stone floor. 'Don't say that. We made it.'

'You're right,' she said. 'Here, give me a kiss.' He stopped, smiling, and bent to kiss her briefly on the lips. 'I love you very much,' she said.

'You're much too good for me,' he replied.

As the years passed, the feeling that Gondolin wouldn't remain hidden for long began to grow in the city. Gondolin was the last major threat standing against Morgoth, the last stronghold of the Noldor. He knew it, and groups of orcs scoured the countryside for any sign of the hidden city. They didn't find it – yet.

Lalwendë stopped riding out into the mountains and stayed in the city, where she was on hand in case they were suddenly invaded, or if Turgon called for her. Her nephew had begun summoning her to his chambers more and more frequently, asking her advice.

He called her one day as he was staring down at a map of the city, his brow creased heavily and his crown on the table beside him.

'My King?' Lalwendë said by way of announcing herself in the doorway. He beckoned her in.

'Lalwen, thank you for coming. I wanted a second opinion to make sure my thoughts aren't insane.'

She glanced down at the map and saw he'd been drawing further fortifications on some parts of the walls. 'I don't have a military mind, Turgon, you know that,' she said. 'Hadn't you better talk to one of your generals?'

'Maybe,' he said. 'But you are of sound mind, and that's all I need right now.'

She laughed, turning. 'I'll find Glorfindel, or Ecthelion.'

'Stay,' Turgon insisted, looking up from the map. 'You know, I trusted my father more than anyone in the world. He was a hero to me, his judgement flawless in its righteousness and his courage unquestionable.'

Lalwendë smiled a little sadly, closing the door behind her. 'And?'

'And you are his sister. I trust you implicitly.'

She sighed and made her way to his side to see the map better. 'Alright. What am I looking at?'

'Fortifications,' he said, pointing to what she'd seen before. 'On our walls. If they get that far, we have to assume they've already broken through the gates in the tunnel.'

'Meaning the city gates probably won't do much to stop them.'

'I've been thinking about that. I've already given the order to fortify the tunnel gates.'

'If they come to Gondolin through the tunnel,' she said, 'there will be little point in fighting them inside. We'll be equally matched in the cramped space. But if we fall back to the opening, they'll have to fight coming out of a bottleneck.'

'I still think it's worth the extra fortification of the tunnel gates,' Turgon said rubbing the back of his neck. He looked tired.

'Not at the expense of the city gates.'

'It won't be. They'll both be reinforced after Gates of Summer this year.'

The Gates of Summer was the most important festival in Gondolin, called Andonavestan in Quenya. The people of the city would stand in silence the first morning of summer, and when the sun broke the horizon, they would sing. There was always great feasting and jollity – but every year since Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Gates of Summer had felt subdued.

A few weeks after the celebrations, Turgon summoned Lalwendë when he was in his private quarters. She found him sitting by his fire, staring into the flames and drinking red wine. The bottle was empty when she arrived, and pity filled her.

She made her way over and kissed him on the top of the head.

'I'm here, melda.'

He cleared his throat. 'Would you have a drink with me?'

She raised an eyebrow at the empty bottle. 'If you tell me what the matter is.'

He shrugged. 'It's nothing in particular this time.'

She knelt before him, looking up into his blue eyes. 'Be honest.'

He stared down at her for a moment before speaking. 'Lalwen, does… does the loneliness ever get to you?' She took his hand in hers as he went on. 'Everyone is dying.'

'Not everyone.'

'The curse will take us all before long. I try, but for the life of me I can't remember what I was hoping for when I left our home to come to Middle-earth.'

'There is still hope,' she said, hardly believing it herself.

'My brothers, Fingon and Argon, dead. My sister, Aredhel, dead. My father, Fingolfin, dead. My cousins, my friends… and Elenwë –' His voice, steady until then, suddenly wobbled. 'I miss my wife every day, though she's been dead for centuries. I think of her every day.'

'Think of it like a pool,' Lalwendë murmured, looking up at him searchingly. 'Every time we lose someone we love, the water grows deeper. One day, you find that the water has covered your head, and you can't breathe.'

Turgon stared at her. 'It feels like that,' he whispered. 'Some days, it feels like I can't breathe.'

'Then you need to make the decision to keep sinking, or to swim up.'

He closed his eyes, and a tear slipped down his right cheek. 'Will you have a drink with me?' he asked again, and Lalwendë laughed and straightened up.

'Find a new bottle and I will, you drunkard.'

Glorfindel was awake, sitting and reading by candlelight when she returned to their rooms in the early hours of the morning. His head jerked up when she came in, then he looked away quickly. He wasn't fast enough to hide the blatant relief on his face. She sighed and made her way over to him.

He put away his book and looked up at her as she came to a stop before him, arms folded.

'Stop worrying about me.'

'I wasn't…' He stopped and sighed. 'Sorry.'

'I'm safe in Gondolin. We're safe.'

'I know.'

She sighed and stepped closer so their knees bumped together. 'I don't believe you.'

He took her hand. 'I think about you all the time,' he said. 'All the time. So when you're not with me, I start to wonder where you are, and I start fearing the worst.'

'But you know I'm alright.'

'I hope you're alright. Which is why I don't come running after you every time.' He tugged her forward and she twisted to fall into his lap.

'I want you to stop worrying.'

'I know you do. But I won't.' She stared at him, her arm looped around his neck, and her smile faded. He met her gaze seriously. 'I want you to stop worrying,' he whispered.

'Laurë, what would happen if one of us died?' she asked, thinking of Turgon crying, his hand in hers, just a few hours before.

'We're not dying.'

'I'm not asking for the sake of it,' she whispered, resting her cheek on his shoulder so she wouldn't have to look at him. 'I want to hear that you'll be alright.'

'You're not dying, Lalwen,' he said, his voice a little sharper.

'When Turgon lost Elenwë, the only thing that kept him going was Idril,' she said. 'We have no children.'

'You would find reason to go on,' he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. 'You'd have Turgon and Galadriel, and your people, the Noldor. Your duty to them.'

'I'm not talking about me,' she murmured, pulling back so she could meet his eyes again. His face was fixed in a frown. 'Tell me honestly, Laurë. If I die, what happens to you?'

He sighed deeply. 'If you die, that's the end of me.'

She shook her head. 'No.'

He smiled at her. 'I could barely handle it when you told me you didn't want to marry me all those years ago by the lake,' he whispered. 'Now, after I've known what a life with you is like – do you really think I could manage a life without you? Do you think I could even contemplate it?'

She turned her face into him again, and he held her tightly. Everything had gone so wrong. The curse of Mandos on the Noldor people had caused her more pain than she ever could have imagined. Everything was turning to darkness, and here was the only sliver of light she had left.

A few years later, she was lying awake, sleep escaping her. It was raining outside, and Glorfindel breathed deeply beside her. She stared up at the ceiling.

'Have you ever thought about saying goodbye?' she whispered. 'We've lived with each other, loved each other for centuries. But if Morgoth invades, we'd only have minutes – seconds to say goodbye.'

'Lalwen, please,' Glorfindel mumbled, his voice rough. She'd woken him.

'I'm so afraid of not having said everything I need to say to you,' she whispered. 'If they invade Gondolin, I won't have time to say it. But I don't want to spend our days now thinking that everything I say to you is a part of saying goodbye.'

Glorfindel turned over under the blanket, grunting softly at the movement, and lay across her, his head resting under her chin. He settled there with a sigh, and before long his breathing was deep and even again. He was heavy and warm, but somehow the weight of him across her torso calmed her and pulled her back together, making her feel whole on the inside again.

She closed her eyes and threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the rain lull her to sleep.

'News from the outside,' Glorfindel announced as he strode through their door one afternoon, some years later. He stopped short when he saw that Idril was sitting with Lalwendë, both of them fletching arrows while they talked. It had become a more popular pastime among the women of Gondolin in the past years. 'Hello, Princess.'

'Should I go?' Idril asked, half-standing.

Glorfindel looked like he wanted to tell her to go. There were faint shadows under his eyes, and Lalwendë realised he probably hadn't slept in more than a week. 'Of course not,' he said. 'Stay, please.'

'What is it?' Lalwendë asked, standing and laying aside the arrow she'd been working on. 'Good news or bad?'

'There is no such thing as good news from the outside anymore,' Glorfindel said darkly. 'Nargothrond has fallen. Orodreth, the King of Nargothrond, is dead. Nothing lives in those halls now except Morgoth's dragon.'

'Orodreth was Finarfin's grandson,' Lalwendë said, feeling the familiar stab of grief. 'What happened?'

'Nargothrond was safe for a while after Nirnaeth Arnoediad, while they kept their gates closed and their enemies out,' he said. 'But Orodreth took the man Túrin into his halls.'

'Túrin the son of Húrin?' Lalwendë asked. 'The one we've been hearing about?'

'The same,' Glorfindel said. 'He won Orodreth's respect, and since then had been advising the king on all military matters. He led their army of Nargothrond out more than once, and apparently this was too much of an insult to Morgoth.'

'Valar,' Idril whispered sadly.

'They are all dead,' Glorfindel said flatly. 'The women and children that survived were taken as slaves to Angband. Rumours say that the dragon left Túrin alive as punishment. Celebrimbor, Fëanor's grandson, escaped the massacre and found his way to Gondolin. That's how we've heard all this.'

Lalwendë folded her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling cold. She didn't know what to say. There was a silence, and after a moment Glorfindel passed her a shawl. It didn't help.

'I will find my father,' Idril said, and she left quietly. Lalwendë pulled the shawl closer around her.

'I can't believe the Valar would do this,' she said.

'What?' Glorfindel asked.

'Just… sit and watch while we get picked off, one by one.' She felt close to tears, and Glorfindel reached his hand out to her. She didn't take it. 'We are children of Illuvatar, just like them, but they are content to sit and watch us be enslaved, tortured or killed by the hand of their brother.'

'Let's go for a walk.'

'Laurë, I want – I want to let myself be angry, for once!'

He ran a hand over his face, and his exhaustion became fully evident. 'There is no one to blame for this but ourselves, my love.'

'This is Fëanor's doing, him and the silmarils –'

'No, Lalwen, it was us,' Glorfindel snapped. 'We made the choice to go with him. We made the choice not to turn back with Finarfin at the kinslaying at Alqualondë. We knew what Mandos had said about us, and we chose to come here.'

'I never wanted any of this!'

'Yes, you did!' he cried, spinning and beginning to pace the room. His hands clenched into fists; the pressure had been bearing down on him for months, years, and only now was he cracking. 'You want someone to blame, but there is no one! You wanted to come to Middle-earth!'

Lalwendë stared at him, her own anguish fading into worry for him. 'Laurë –'

'No, you can't deny it!' he went on, shaking his head. 'You can't commit to a decision and then try to blame someone else when the consequences come!'

She had tears in her eyes, and she answered them softly. 'They're not just consequences. Nearly every member of my family is lost to me forever.'

'Well I don't have family,' Glorfindel growled, rounding on her. 'I just have you. And you can't give up hope now, after everything – even if the only thing you have left is me!'

She closed the distance between them and hugged him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut when she could feel him trembling ever so slightly. He let out a long breath and returned the embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

'Lalwen – Lalwen, I'm so sorry –'

'You're exhausted, melda,' she whispered.

'I didn't mean what I said,' he went on feverishly. 'I don't know what's happened, it just – it was too much for a moment…'

She didn't want him to know she was crying, so she didn't trust herself to speak. Of course, he knew anyway. He pulled back and put his hands to her cheeks. She could see that his eyes were wet too, and she smiled despite herself.

'I'm so, so sorry, Lalwen,' Glorfindel whispered.

'There is nothing to be sorry for,' she murmured. 'Nothing, ever.'

He stared down at her, his fingertips on her face. 'You… you are so beautiful. Whatever time we have, I've been lucky to have it.'

Melancholy stole back into her, and she drew in a breath. 'Laurë, if I hadn't come to Middle-earth, would you?'

He hesitated, reading her train of thought before it even played out. 'I don't regret being with you. Ever.'

'But if I hadn't followed Fëanor and Fingolfin across the sea, would you have done?'

He sighed. 'If you had stayed in Valinor, I would have stayed with you,' he said quietly. 'I was in love with you before I even knew what to call it.'

'We should have stayed,' she whispered, the tears returning. Glorfindel caught them and wiped them away.

'Regretting what happens will only make it hurt more,' he said. 'We can still try to be happy. Morgoth hasn't finished with us, but we still have each other.'

'You're right,' she said. 'Morgoth won't be done until we all belong to him.'

'Or until we're dead.'

'We still stand against him in Gondolin, and so does Doriath.'

'Fëanor's sons might be scattered and dispossessed,' Glorfindel said. 'But word has it that they're alive.'

'I am happy,' Lalwendë whispered. 'Terrible things keep happening, but you find ways to make me smile.'

'I like it when you smile,' he said.

That night, neither of them could sleep. Glorfindel whispered into the darkness as he lay beside her.

'I know you have felt a duty of protection over every member of your family,' he breathed. 'I know how it hurts you when they die, and there is nothing you can do to help them. I feel it too.'

'I know.'

'Not just my friends, or the people in my House who are under my lordship and protection. Not even just the people I know. I feel like there is a part of me that needs to save everyone.'

'I know, my love.'

'Whenever I hear of another kingdom falling, another battle, I can't help but wish I had been there – and I can't help but feel that I've failed them. I've failed them all.'

She turned on her side to face him. 'I think that if I hadn't gone to battle at Nirnaeth Arnoediad with you, you would have killed yourself trying to save the lives of every person who is now dead,' she whispered. He sighed heavily, and she could see him staring up at the ceiling.

'Maybe. I suppose you're right.'

'I know you feel a duty to every good creature of Middle-earth,' she said. 'I know you want to save everything that you see. That's what makes you special.'

'It makes me miserable,' he said wryly.

'Everyone special is miserable,' she said. He smiled into the dark.

Celebrimbor was the son of Curufin and the grandson of Fëanor, but he was as unalike from them in temperament as anyone could be. Where they had been proud and jealous of their works, Celebrimbor was generous and open-hearted.

His passion was creation. From the moment Ecthelion showed him the forges of Gondolin, he spent very little time anywhere else. His work soon made him famous in the kingdom; Celebrimbor's craft was unparalleled in its delicacy, strength, and workmanship. Lalwendë hadn't seen anything like it since Fëanor had died.

He came to visit her soon after he'd settled in Gondolin. He bowed deeply before her when she let him in.

'Lady,' he said. 'I've never met you before, but I have long wanted to.'

'You are my kin,' she said. 'Do not stand on ceremony: you will call me Lalwendë, and I will call you melda.'

He grinned at that, and she smiled in return. His smile was broad and earnest. She liked him.

'You haven't taken a Sindarin name?' he asked, and she shrugged.

'Lalaith, if it comes to it,' she said. 'But I prefer to be called in my mother tongue.'

Celebrimbor looked down. 'You are generous to call me kin after what my family has done to yours,' he said. 'My father and grandfather burned the ships to leave you in Araman. I have never been able to forget that.'

'Do not be afraid that I hold some kind of grudge against you for what your ancestors did,' Lalwendë said. 'I will judge you on your own merit.'

He looked almost surprised, as though he had come to her expecting to be rejected. Her heart went out to him. 'You forgive quickly,' he said. 'Not everyone does.'

'Not everyone can,' she said. 'But let's leave it in the past. These days, I remember only things that have brought me joy.'

'You are wise, lady,' he said, and his smile resurfaced when she frowned at him. 'Lalwendë, I mean. I hope we will be friends.'

'Then let us be friends,' Lalwendë said. 'I expect frequent visits. And I hope you won't mind showing me some of your craftsmanship.'

'Then I shall never leave you alone,' he said, reaching hesitantly into his pocket. 'And there's – well, we made something recently, and I think it's good.'

'Let's see,' Lalwendë said, smiling and leaning forward. He unwrapped a soft brown cloth to reveal a jewel of astonishing beauty. It was coloured a deep green, and it was set in a silver brooch fashioned delicately into the shape of an eagle. She could see its individual feathers, and its eyes had a sharpness that made the metal seem alive.

'It was Enerdhil the Smith who did most of the work,' Celebrimbor said. 'His jewel-craft is much superior to mine. I helped with some of the metalwork. He is calling it the Elessar.'

'The Elfstone,' Lalwendë said quietly. 'It is magnificent.'

'He plans to give it to the princess, I think.'

'Idril is very worthy of it; it will suit her.'

'I'll make something for you, if you'd like,' Celebrimbor said. Lalwendë laughed.

'Such a fine jewel would not suit me,' she said.

'Your locket is very fine,' he said. 'Who made it?'

Her amusement faded, and she picked the locket up off her chest. 'Your grandfather did,' she said, tracing the winged sun with a finger. 'It is very peculiar; it can only be opened with a password.'

'I've been looking more into the mixing of trinkets and magic,' Celebrimbor said enthusiastically. 'It is a complicated science, but I really think it could achieve very great things.'

'Perhaps you are right,' Lalwendë said. 'Or perhaps that kind of thing should be left unmade.'

Word came of the death of Túrin not long after that. It was said that he had single-handedly killed Morgoth's dragon, the beast that had devastated Morgoth's enemies for decades, before killing himself. Lalwendë felt a stab of pity when she heard; it was thanks to the valour of Huor and Húrin, Túrin's father, that the Gondolindrim had escaped Nirnaeth Arnoediad with their lives.

She was standing at the wall of the city one day, watching the reinforcement works going on, and beyond that, the green valley before the mountains. She was remembering the way Fëanor had scooped her up and sat her on his knee, the once or twice that he was feeling generous. The memories mixed with a remembrance of Fingolfin telling her he had died. She had never cried for Fëanor, her eldest brother. She thought of him more often now that Celebrimbor, who bore all his grandfather's best qualities, had come to Gondolin.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint ringing of trumpets from the direction of the tunnel under the mountain. She straightened quickly, striding to the parapet and squinting into the difference. Glorfindel and Ecthelion had been stationed to the gate for the past week, she knew. Why could they possibly be sounding the trumpets?

After a moment, an answering fanfare went up from somewhere in the city. Wasting no more time, Lalwendë hoisted her skirts and began running to the King's Tower. Turgon was in his throne, Idril seated in the queen's place at his left and Maeglin, his nephew, standing to his right.

'Turgon, what is happening?' she asked urgently when she was close enough to the throne to not be overheard.

'I don't know,' he said. 'But I suspect we are receiving someone. Stand to my left, Lalwen.'

She made her way to stand beside Idril's chair. The princess shot her a look, and Lalwendë smiled at her, noticing the Elfstone at her breast. A previous time they had welcomed someone to Gondolin, it had been Maeglin's father, Eöl, and that had ended in the death of Turgon's sister. They had little reason to expect better results this time.

Finally, the doors opened, and in strode two strangers, flanked by Ecthelion and Glorfindel. The first was a bedraggled elf who looked vaguely familiar to Lalwendë, and the second was a warrior wearing full battle armour and a helm that covered his face.

The first elf dropped to his knees in front on Turgon, pressing his hand to his heart. 'My King,' he said. 'It has been many years since I left Gondolin at your bidding, to sail across the sea to Valinor and ask the Valar for aid. I return empty handed.'

'Voronwë,' Turgon said, and Lalwendë could hear the surprise in the undertone of his voice. 'What of the others that went with you?'

'They are dead, lord,' Voronwë said, looking down. 'We were beset by terrible storms from the outset. My ship barely made it a few days before we were driven back to the shores of Arda. We were sunk within sight of Middle-earth, and none survived the long swim back but me.'

'That is bad news,' Turgon said quietly. 'But rise, Voronwë. You have done no wrong.'

'No wrong – except bringing an outsider into our secret city,' Voronwë said, glancing back at the helmed stranger.

'So it seems,' Turgon said. 'Why does he wear my armour?'

'It is a long story,' the stranger said, stepping forward and removing his helm. Lalwendë's eyebrows shot up as he kneeled, and she heard Idril inhale sharply. He was a mortal man.

'Tell it,' Turgon said, leaning back in his chair.

'My name is Tuor, son of Huor,' he said, and suddenly Lalwendë could see the family resemblance in his face. She met Glorfindel's eyes from across the room, and they exchanged a significant glance. Huor had saved their lives, and now his son had found his way into Gondolin. Fate was at work here.

'You are too young, surely,' Maeglin said from Turgon's right, his tone lightly dismissive. 'Huor died at Nírnaeth Arnoediad three and twenty years ago, and you are little more than a child.'

'I am twenty-three,' Tuor replied simply, unoffended by the question. 'I was born a few months after my father died, and soon before she died, my mother gave me up to be fostered by the Sindar elf Annael, in the caves of Androth. There was a settlement of refugees there after Nírnaeth Arnoediad.'

'Androth is far from Mithrim, where I left that armour,' Turgon remarked. Tuor nodded.

'When I was sixteen, Annael led the settlement out, planning to migrate to the Havens of Sirion. We were attacked. I survived only because Annael saved my life.' Sorrow was written on Tuor's young face as he spoke. 'I was taken alive by the Easterlings, and I was the slave of Lorgan, their chief, for three years before I succeeded in escaping. I went back to Androth for a while, living as an outlaw and doing what damage I could.'

'As lived your cousin Túrin and his followers,' the king said. Lalwendë smothered a smile; she could tell that Turgon already liked the boy.

'I would have joined them if I had known where they were,' Tuor said.

'Better that you did not,' Turgon said. 'For they ended in tragedy. But what then?'

Tuor hesitated. 'Then… lord, I swear I tell the truth, but I dreamed of the Vala Ulmo, Lord of the Seas. He called me westward, to the coast, so I went.'

'A Vala spoke to you?' Maeglin spoke up, his again incredulous.

'I swear it,' Tuor said solemnly. Maeglin's sharp face looked unconvinced. 'I found the empty caves of Vinyamar, where you and your people once dwelt. It was there that I found the armour, and this blade.'

He drew a long sword from the scabbard at his side, and before he could blink, Ecthelion and Glorfindel were standing either side of him, both of their swords levelled at his chest.

'Weapons away, friend,' Ecthelion said tightly. Tuor's eyes widened.

'I'm sorry,' he said, quickly laying the sword on the ground before him. Glorfindel and Ecthelion sheathed their own, exchanging a glance before stepping back. Maeglin looked amused.

'So you took my armour,' Turgon said wryly. Tuor shrugged sheepishly. 'I had a feeling it was the right thing to do.'

'You are welcome to it,' Turgon said. 'Your father saved the life of every single elf that lives in Gondolin. He saved our hope, for at least a little longer.'

'That is why I have returned,' Tuor said. 'Ulmo appeared to me in person, and told me to find you.'

Maeglin snorted, and Lalwendë pursed her lips. She cleared her throat and shot him a reproachful glare. His smirk faded into a frown, and he returned his gaze to Tuor, sullen.

'Describe him to me, if that is true,' Turgon said to the man.

'He was… glorious,' Tuor said earnestly. 'It was as though he was made of dark water, though he took the shape of a man. He was tall and broad, his skin dark and his eyes a deep, glowing green. And he had a beard, white like seafoam.'

'And what did he say to you?' the king asked.

'He gave me a message and told me to bring it to you,' Tuor said. He straightened a little. 'The time is nigh where the Doom of Mandos will be fulfilled, and all the works of the Noldor will perish. Your fair city Gondolin will not stand much longer; flee now with your people, down the river Sirion and to the sea, where Ulmo awaits you. Those were his words.'

Lalwendë felt a chill run down her spine. The end was near, and one of the Valar had brought them warning of it.

'Is that all?' Turgon asked after a long moment of silence.

'Yes, my lord.'

'Then go, take some rest. You are welcome here in Gondolin.' The court disbanded, elves whispering among themselves. Turgon got to his feet. 'Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Lalwendë, Maeglin, Egalmoth, with me. You too, Idril. We have much to discuss.'

Your incel nephew shows up in your kingdom, and his mum dies, and you execute his dad. You make him Lord of the House of the Mole (hilarious), and the girl of his dreams (his cousin) rejects him, and he starts disappearing for long stretches of time because he's 'digging holes'. Then everyone's like 'omg I wonder who is going to betray us'. Well it wasn't Enerdhil the freakin jewel smith you drongos, make an educated freakin guess.

Anyway. Thanks for reading. Sige.