Fo.A 19, Nov 21st

Thuringwethil hated Údar. Almost as much as she currently hated herself.

She sat before the mirror in her room in Minas Tirith brushing her long black hair, wearing a dress of midnight blue that had been a favorite of hers back when-

She slammed the brush down, breathing hard. Curse these memories!

Maybe she should kill something to help ease the pain? No, she'd already done that. Thuringwethil looked at her bed, seeing the man lying motionless in a pool of blood. She'd wanted to be held, to feel those feelings again, that's why she had asked him to call her Nalwen.

But it wasn't the same.

It wasn't Údar.

Rage surged through her, and Thuringwethil swept her arms across the dresser, sending items scattering along the floor. She braced herself against it, the anger burning in her, the memories burning alongside it.

Closing her eyes, she wondered if she had made a mistake in capturing Údar and holding him prisoner. Over and over again she'd been drawn back there over the years, and at first, it was to break his mind, body, and soul. And it had worked. 

But then, it became about being with him, being close to him. There were times when she would quietly go and watch him in the darkness; it was during one of those times that she found herself unable to bear seeing him so broken, and she had ordered that he be taken to the dungeons and given whatever he wanted.

She'd thought it strange when all he'd asked for was his journal; it was filled with gibberish; the ramblings of a madman she'd told herself.

Even now, she hated how weak she had felt around him, and it disturbed her deeply. Thuringwethil had once been a name that struck fear into the hearts of all, and now it did so again.

But there was one significant difference: now she had a weakness.

Thuringwethil sighed as she went about picking up the mess spread around her room. A memory triggered as she picked up a pressed flower, a nephredil.

This time, she didn't fight it.

-II-

TA. 2986 June 7th

Nalwen wandered through the market, admiring the wares and speaking with the vendors to catch up on the local gossip: the butcher's wife was having with an affair with the potter's son; the stonemason had supposedly left his inheritance to a foreigner, and his children would be homeless.

It was all the same rumors, only half of which ended up being right.

Nalwen twirled a strand of her dark hair absentmindedly as she looked through the dresses, admiring the work of the seamstress.

"Are you looking for something in particular?"

Nalwen shook her head, knowing how to play the game. "I'm admiring your handiwork, as usual, Gwyneth. You are truly gifted."

Gwyneth smiled. "You are too kind, child."

"I think you should get the blue one," a voice interjected from behind her. "It suits you."

Nalwen turned and saw a man in dark brown clothes, a green cloak wrapped about his shoulders despite the heat of the morning. His head was shaved, and his beard hid a smile beneath it.

"Thank you," she replied, unsure of what to make of him. "But I do not have the money for so beautiful a dress, especially one made by Gwyneth."

Gwyneth chuckled, acknowledging the compliment with a nod.

The man raised a brow. "Indeed? I think that all the more reason you should have such a dress."

Nalwen flushed. She turned and gave a quick farewell to Gwyneth before heading out of the market. Much to her annoyance, the man followed after her.

"What is your name?" he asked, coming alongside her.

"Why do you want to know?" Nalwen asked, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.

"Is there something wrong with asking someone for their name?" returned the man.

"After flowery words, it makes the question rather suspect," Nalwen said, turning up the street towards the inn where she worked in the first level of the city.

"Do you believe me to have less than honorable intentions, lady?"

"I do not pretend to know your intentions as I don't know anything about you." She paused before adding, "Nor do I care to know."

The man placed a hand on his chest, frowning. "You wound me. I only wished to pay you a compliment." He stopped. "I am sorry to have caused you any trouble. Good day."

Nalwen turned and watched as the man disappeared back into the crowds, scolding herself for such rude behavior. But she quickly put it out of her mind as she entered the inn to begin her work.

Nalwen finished up her duties in the kitchen just past ten and went up to her room to bathe. A knock sounded at the door before she'd even had the chance to remove her shoes. Grumbling to herself, she wearily shuffled across the room to the door. "Who is it?" she asked, irritation plain.

"Gilren," came the reply.

Surprised and curious that the innkeeper's daughter was outside her door at such a late hour, Nalwen undid the bolt and opened it to see the sprightly blonde girl holding a wrapped parcel. The girl, who was barely thirteen, held out the package to her. "It's for you."

"How do you know that?" Nalwen asked, eyeing it.

"I read the note," the girl replied sheepishly.

Nalwen gave her a look, but the girl only responded a small smile. "Thank you, Gilren," Nalwen said, taking the item from her.

The girl gave a curtsey and headed back down the hall while Nalwen closed the door behind her, eyes not leaving the package. Very odd.

Deciding to wait until after the much-needed bath, she tossed it on her bed and began to undress. The tub, having been set up just before she'd got back, was filled with steaming hot water, which felt divine on her sore and aching muscles. But her mind could find no rest; it kept wandering back to the item on her bed.

Nalwen scrubbed the dirt and grime from her body vigorously before stepping out and drying off. She then counted out the correct amount of money, setting it aside on the table next to the wooden tub for the innkeeper to take in the morning; four months of saving up had been well worth it.

Slipping into a clean nightgown as she walked over to the bed, Nalwen's mind raced as she picked up the package and untied the cord that held the white cloth in place. As she unfolded it, a dress of midnight blue lay neatly folded in its center.

It took Nalwen several moments to realize what it was before she dropped the dress onto the bed, looking for the note Gilren had mentioned. Upon finding it, she unfolded the parchment and read the neatly written script.

I hope this gift may show you that I meant what I said today. I can only hope that you will forgive my brashness.

Údar.

P.S. I suspect you shall look very much like Lúthien Tinúviel of old.

P.P.S. I'm very hungry, and I hope you shall join me downstairs for dinner.

Nalwen reread it twice more with a feeling of confusion. Did he buy the dress? What did he mean? Was he here?

Letting her curiosity get the better of her, Nalwen almost walked out in her nightgown, catching herself at the door. It was then she also realized that her dress from that day was dirty, and the thought of getting back into it after a hard-earned bath was an unwelcome thought.

She glanced towards the bed and the dress, noting a pale white flower upon the breast. She sighed, walking back over to look at it. "Well, I suppose this will do," she muttered.

Nalwen brushed out her still wet hair as best she could before slipping into the dress; though it was a little long in the sleeves, it fit her well. There was no mirror in her room, so she had no idea if she was a mess or looked somewhat decent.

Placing the flower in her hair, Nalwen pulled on her leather shoes and walked down the hall towards the common room. Was he really there? How had he found her? And what was he talking about, having dinner?

As she descended the stairs into the room, she was surprised to find it completely empty, save for one. The man, Údar according to the note, stood by a table upon which sat a small assortment of food.

He wore a white linen shirt without adornment, black breeches, and tall leather boots that had probably seen better days; his green cloak hung on a peg on the wall.

"You're here," he said, looking at her wide-eyed.

Nalwen tilted her head. "So it would seem," she replied, finding the comment odd.

Údar shook his head, stumbling over his words. "I, um, I mean that you..." he took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "I meant to say," he started again, "that you look beautiful. For a moment, I mistook you for Lúthien."

Nalwen couldn't help a wry smile. "You're quite the charmer."

"More like a bumbling fool," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

He was endearing, she would give him that. "Why have you done all of this?" she asked, motioning to the dress and the meal.

Údar shifted nervously on his feet. "To be honest, I'm rather impulsive. I saw you in the market and..." he trailed off.

"And what?" Nalwen pressed.

"Well...I thought you were beautiful and wanted to approach you. You're simple beauty-" he stopped himself. "I didn't mean that you're simple! Just that you're plain, argh, no! I mean that you're attractive." He slumped into the chair behind him, looking defeated.

Nalwen covered her mouth to hide her smile, then she walked over, taking a seat across from him. "Do you always make such a fool of yourself around women?" she teased.

Údar looked at her, a crooked smile crossing his face. "Usually."

After that, they found conversation easy and talked long into the night, sharing stories and laughing together. It was well past the third watch when they stood to head their separate ways.

"I enjoyed your company tonight," Údar said, quickly throwing his hands up. "Not in that way!"

Nalwen laughed, delighting in his discomfort, then smiled. "I had a lovely time as well," she replied. Twirling a strand of hair, Nalwen added. "Perhaps we could do this again sometime?"

A broad grin spread across Údar's face, reminding her of a child opening a present during Yule. "I should like that very much," he said.

"How does one find you if they are looking for you?"

Údar raised a brow. "I'm a man of mystery, so I cannot say."

Now it was Nalwen's turn to raise a brow.

Údar chuckled. "I'm staying in a room at the end of the hall, at least for the next month."

"What? Here?" Nalwen asked, surprised.

"The next inn was on the third level, and I hate walking uphill." He winked. "Besides, I hear the maidens here are likened to the elves for their beauty."

Nalwen gave him a playful shove, rolling her eyes as she walked towards the stairs, pausing to look over her shoulder. "Good night, mysterious man of mystery."

Údar smiled. "Good night, Nalwen."

There was something about the way he said her name that caused her to blush, and she ducked up the stairs, heading for her room. Opening the door and throwing herself down onto her bed, her mind wandered back down to the common room where Údar was, and she smiled.

-II-

The tear rolling down Thuringwethil's face drew her out of the memory and back to the present, though a part of her lingered still in the past.

She and Údar had spent the rest of that summer together, then towards the fall he'd asked her to marry him, and she'd said yes; she regretted that now.

Thuringwethil placed the nephredil back between the pages of the book it had fallen out of and sat in her chair once more. She realized then that she still loved Údar, and wished that somehow they might find each other again. He'd given her something she'd never had before: happiness.

And she hated him for that.

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I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and showing what Naldar (YES I HAVE A SHIP NAME FOR THEM!!!) was back in the day.

What did you guys think?

Comment below and let me know!!