-Gondolin, F.A.-
With eager footsteps does Mallossel race up the stairs of their family home. A twisting staircase gives way to a hall upon which hers and Amathlan’s rooms branch off. In her hands, she carries a blade, one that was crafted personally and uniquely for her, and she so desperately wishes to share the prize with her brother. His door is the first on the left, but she hesitates. The door is pressed, with only a crack of light shining out from lit candles inside. As she stands outside, wondering if she should knock or call out to him instead, a pleasant sound reaches her ears. The plucking of harpstrings. A melody that she did not recognize, and could only be coming from inside the room.
She attempts to lean on the doorframe to peer through the crack in the door, just to attempt to affirm to herself that it was indeed Amathlan, but instead, she accidentally pushes the door further open. It let out a long creak, and she immediately winces and braces for it to be slammed back into her face for nosing about. Instead, the light floods her face as the door is swung open. Mallossel opens her eyes to offer a sheepish grin and a nervous chuckle as she is faced with her brother staring her down, an eyebrow quirked in a silent question.
“What are you doing?” Amathlan asks. He looks as though he was getting ready for bed - he has his silks on, and his red hair is in a long braid over his shoulder.
“I was not meaning to intrude,” Mallossel replies as she stands to her full height. Contrary to her brother, she was still wearing the armor of the Host. She holds her sword, wrapped tightly in expensive cloths, closer to herself. “I merely heard music and wondered if it was you that played.”
As she posed her answer, her eyes were drawn to the bed further behind her brother. There, on the sheets, lies a beautifully wrought wooden harp; the detailing in the wood was intricate and reminiscent of a flowering vine. Amathlan’s gaze was quick to follow hers to the instrument, but then his gray eyes fall on hers once more. Now his cheeks are reddened in a blush, and she is quite sure the door-slam is coming any second now. Surprisingly, he instead turns and gestures for her to enter the room.
She does so, and looking around, she realizes that it has been a long time since she has been in his room, and it is much cleaner and neater than hers. Nothing was out of place, and even the tops of his night-table and dresser were clear of clutter; save for trinkets and jewelry of sentimental value. The only thing that shows any disarray is his bed, but that was from the fact it is pulled down and unmade already for the night.
“You can set that on the dresser,” Amathlan says, gesturing from her sword to the long bureau in question. Mallossel nods and lies the weapon down across the top of it. She takes a moment to look at the few things scattered across the dresser. Some of the jewelry catches her attention, specifically a pair of stud earrings. Beautiful are they in their delicate craft; the crystalline shape of golden flowers being what caught her eye in the first place.
“Well? Let’s see it,” Amathlan encourages, and the sudden presence of his voice behind her makes her jump. She chuckles nervously but obliges, and she reaches out to pull the blue twine holding the cloths shut. He reaches out to take the twine from her as they fall loose, and the blade is revealed. The hilt is ornate and gilded, set with a dull red gem. Amathlan tosses the twine aside on his bed and picks up the sword, appraising it.
“It has a curve to it,” he points out.
“Better for horseback,” she counters, and he offers her a slight smile before handing the blade over to her.
“Has the Second Company given you a steed, then?” He asks, walking away from her to collect his harp from the bed. Mallossel watches him with the helpless curiosity a younger sibling has always borne.
“Not yet - I am still in training. Once I master the skills and they deem me adequate enough, they will bequeath me a steed as well,” she explains, and he nods in understanding whilst plucking listlessly at the strings. “I did not know you played,” Mallossel adds suddenly, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. A discordant note is struck, and her brother looks at her again with a flushed expression once more.
“I did not intend for you to know,” he says, holding the instrument the same way she had clung to the sword only a few moments prior. Her brows furrow and she shakes her head at his answer.
“But why not?”
“Because,” is all he says. She desperately wishes for him to elaborate, to speak as to why he wants such a gift kept secret… but she knows her brother. If she tries to dig further, he will burrow happily into his hole and never say it out of discomfort. She must have been outwardly disappointed because his gaze suddenly softens as he glances at her. Amathlan heaves a heavier sigh before offering the instrument to her to hold. Mallossel blinks in surprise, but she draws it gingerly into her hands.
The wood was smooth and polished. Closely does she inspect the intricate detailing of the vines carved into it; flowers bloom and bud at intervals along the spine of the instrument. She gently runs her hand along the grooves of the carvings, but then she realizes the magnitude of what she holds. A piece of himself that he wants kept secret, hidden, a part of himself that he trusts her to be gentle with. Suddenly she gives it back to him. She wonders if that is how he felt when he was holding her sword just a short time ago.
“It is a beautiful instrument. I hope you will change your mind about keeping your talent hidden; I heard you outside. It is a talent, hanar, despite what you may be about to insist,” she says with a smile, noting how her brother opened his mouth immediately to protest. He closes his mouth with a sigh as she continues. “Perhaps one day you will play for others without fear. I hope I may see it.”
Although Amathlan suddenly turns to put the harp away, she sees a hint of a smile on his face. That is enough for her, for now. She steps aside to wrap up the blade once more in the cloths, though she leaves the twine behind for her brother to deal with. “Goodnight, hanar,” she calls out as she makes for the door.
“Wait!” He calls out, and she stops in the doorway. He jogs up to her, something in his hand. He holds it out towards her and she opens up a palm to take it. Amathlan drops something in her palm and closes her hand over it so she cannot yet see it. “I was going to give this to you at the next celebration of your begetting, but… I figure this is a good enough occasion to celebrate.”
She raises her eyes to meet his, about to ask what it was or offer her thanks as he begins to shut the door. Then, he adds; “Oh, and take a bath ere you rest. You smell like horse,” he says flatly, shutting the door after. Mallossel huffs in offense… but a quick whiff of her clothes tells her that the stench indeed is the bigger offense of the two.
As she turns away down the hall to head to her own room, she decided to open her palm and see what was given to her.
In the center of her hand lies two earrings; two crystalline, golden flowers.
