“I had a dream last night,” she said as they walked through walls and on streets of white, towering mountains sheltering in their world just outside. “I dreamed of a white horse, with lightning sparking from its hooves as it ran, and the earth quaked with a noise like thunder when it struck the ground.”
He looked to her, curious to hear what else her dream would detail. Mallossel was looking ahead of them to the road, lost in her thoughts. She twisted around her fingers a strand of hair that had fallen out of her updo. He waited a moment for her to continue; when she did not, he spoke.
“What else happened in this dream of yours?” He pressed, as they briefly parted to allow a guard to pass between them on the path. When they joined together once more to continue their walk, she said;
“There was a rider, too. A true warrior. They carried a sword and shield, and a halberd. They split the sky like lightning with their blade. Arrows pierced their shield, but they did not fall.” As Mallossel spoke, her eyes lit up at the memory of the dream. So vivid it must have been for her to recall such detail. Amathlan could not help but tease.
“I suppose you fancy yourself the warrior, then,” he offers in jest. His sister whipped her head towards him to offer her an ashen glare.
“Cardanith wants me to join him.” The statement was enough to send the jest running from Amathlan’s lips. He felt his face fall - no smiling, now, just concern.
“He wishes you to join The Host Palantine?”
“He thinks I have the skill for it. One of the Autarchs would still have to pick me, of course,” she explained. It was so dry, so matter-of-fact, as if her mind was already made up. Amathlan felt fear begin to stir in the pit of his belly; fear that he would lose his dear sister in senseless battle.
“What of us, then?” He asked.
“What about us?” Mallossel retorted. “You have made it clear that you have no desire to be a warrior.”
There is a long pause between them. They have stopped walking, now, standing beneath the shade of the walls of Gondolin. Amathlan knew he must have looked hurt, for Mallossel’s gaze softened, and she spoke again.
“Think you that we would be inseparable, Amathlan? There is terror in this world, and our paths will never be the same.”
