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theworldisquietheretooquiet · 9 months

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A Lesson in Doors, Dresses, and Daggers

A mostly sweet meet-cute since I’ve been writing a lot of angst lately! Inspired by @fellowshipofthefics' great AU-gust mashup prompts :)

17. Locked in a room & S. ‘I’m sorry I took so long.’

AO3 2401 words

Nienor and Finduilas meet for the first time, get locked in a room together, and flirt through fashion advice.

"I'm sorry I took so long."

Nienor slips in the room and stops short.

“This is not the king’s office.”

The Elf who stands with her back to her, bent over a table cluttered with broken weapons turns around.

“And you aren’t Orodreth.”

The stranger laughs and flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. “His hair is longer than mine.”

Nienor reddens and starts forward to offer an apology and an introduction, pushing the door open wider. Why must Nargothrond have so many blasted rooms?

Before she can take more than a step though, the Elf cries out and gestures for her to stop.

She freezes in confusion and the heavy wooden door swings shut behind her.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t have let it close! The lock is broken, it won’t open from the inside now.” The elleth places down the rusted dagger in her hands and goes over to the door. She brushes past Nienor as she does so, smelling of polishing oil and flowers.

She pulls on the handle a few times to demonstrate the situation and sighs, frustration lining her face.

Nienor bites her lip and tries to think of what to say. There is still too much blood in her cheeks, but it is not all there because of embarrassment anymore. This Elf-maiden has no right to be angry at her; how was she meant to know?

But the elleth’s annoyance seems to be passing, she sighs again then offers Nienor a rueful smile and comes to stand before her.

“Well, no matter, someone will find us soon enough, I am sure.” She peers down at Nienor’s face, and her eyes brighten.

“And perhaps this is good fortune disguised as bad! I have wanted to make your acquaintance for days now. Lady Nienor, it is lovely to meet you.”

Nienor finds herself returning her smile and she takes a few deep breaths. Her heart had not yet slowed down since she had run all the way from her chambers, after realising she was late.

The Elf wanders back over to the pile of weapons. There are many more on shelves around the room, rusted and tarnished. This is probably some old storage closet; it is very small. Nienor wonders what this elleth is doing here.

“You were meeting with the king?”

Nienor awkwardly leans against the door and nods, before realising the maiden is back focused on her task, turned away from her.

“Yes, we had an appointment at six bells. However, I got terribly distracted writing a letter to my mother, and in my rush, I must have lost my way. It is taking me a little while to gain familiarity with all these stairs and levels and corridors.”

The Elf’s voice sounds amused as she answers. “Then you are forgiven for your interruption and its consequences. And do not worry –” She turns briefly and gives Nienor a quick grin.

“The king is famously late himself, so I’m sure you have caused him no trouble.”

Nienor is startled by the words. That had been her major concern and she is relieved to hear so, but this must be a high lady of the court to speak so familiarly of Orodreth. What bad luck to blunder on her first meeting with someone clearly important.

“I – I hope I have not, my lady. It was not a matter of great importance, which I wished to ask him about.”

“Oh?” The elleth drops a broadsword with a broken blade on the pile and the metal clang rings in Nienor’s ears.

“Perhaps I could offer to assist you with it? It seems wise to fully draw on the hours we’re stuck here so they’re not wasted.” She smiles at Nienor as she leans back against the table.

Nienor’s fingers twist in her skirt and she glances at the firmly shut door. But she nods and gives a strained smile. “Thank you, my lady, that is kind of you.”

The Elf waves her hand dismissively. Nienor sees two fine rings on her fingers, one she thinks might have a crest on it, and another set with a blue jewel, on her fourth finger. Is she betrothed?

“It is my pleasure! So, what is it you wished to ask the king about?”

“Well – it is the Midsummer feast in a half months’ time, and I am not sure what to wear. King Thingol’s court had certain traditions, but so far clothes seem to be different here, so…”

The Elf-maiden opens her mouth to speak but Nienor quickly continues. “I know it is hardly a matter for a king. But I had quite an enjoyable discussion with him about Iathrim fashion at my welcome banquet, and he said to always come to him with queries.” Her voice trails off.

“No, you are right, it is just the sort of thing he would take joy in dealing with. But he is always exceptionally busy these days.” The elleth clears her throat. “Anyhow I would love to help you with it.”

Nienor looks at her and sees her grinning, easy and happy, and her stomach twists.

“So, the simplest element to remember is the colours.” The Elf gestures to her own gown. “All shades of blue, especially when adorned with silver are favoured, throughout the season somewhat but especially at the feast.”

“Ah yes, that is similar in Doriath.” Nienor smiles, more than a little relieved that some customs are the same.

Her companion inclines her head. “Yes, it is one of the oldest traditions, from the days before this kingdom, and before my father’s people ever returned to these shores. Blue and silver catch starlight the best, you see.”

Ah, so she is half Noldorin at least, Nienor thinks, as she nods to indicate she understands.

“For the celebration itself it is popular to have small bells sewn into the edges of sleeves and hems.”

She frowns, wondering what the story behind that is. And what her mother would think if she returned in a dress that jangled every time she moved.

The Elf must see her curiosity because she laughs lightly and says, “For many in Nargothrond, summer returns their minds to The Dancer of the West. She who is called Nessa in the old tongue and who, they tell us, danced on the ever-green lawns of that land.”

The forbidden language makes Nienor’s face twitch, her years in Doriath pulling taut inside her, but she does her best to hide it. “Ah, so the bells are to pay homage to her and her skill?”

Shrugging, the Elf says, “I believe that is how the idea of the thing started. But mostly we keep doing it as it is a festival for dancing, and it’s a glorious thing when all our feet sing together.”

Then she winks. “It also makes it most fun when couples attempt to sneak away and, ah, do things best suited for the shadows.”

Nienor feels her whole face go crimson and hot. She does not know where to look.

The elleth laughs, but it is empty of mockery, and thankfully continues speaking.

“The key elements to remember for the garment itself is that your overdress should have a lower and sharper neckline, to better display your underlayer. And at the wrist your sleeve should fall and become wider.” She indicates her own flared sleeves, the cuffs embroidered with small white birds.

“Oh, and,” she smoothly closes the distance between them in two steps. “Dresses and tunics in Nargothrond have been fitting tighter than this since Fingolfin was king. May I?”

Nienor realises the Elf’s hand is hovering over her body. Swallowing, she nods her permission and cannot help tensing as the elleth reaches out and runs her fingers over the material at Nienor’s ribs and waist.

“Yes, it will need to be much tighter than this. A closer fit will suit you better too, Lady Nienor.”

She feels as if the walls have marched in two feet in the last few seconds. Her face is on fire and still the Elf-maiden’s hand lingers.

Breathing quickly, Nienor darts her eyes up to the elleth’s face. For once the bright smile is absent and it is a mask, her eyes calm but intense as they focus on Nienor.

Her heartbeat is even quicker than before, pounding in her chest.

But just as she can’t bear it any longer, she will have to say or do something, the Elf abruptly steps back, dropping her hand.

Nienor exhales, long and low. She watches in disbelief as the elleth returns to sorting through the mound of weapons, humming quietly to herself.

She can still feel the ghost of fingers on her ribs and allows herself one fast glance down to check they are truly gone.

The close space and lack of an escape settle heavier in Nienor’s mind, and she clenches her teeth. Inhale. Deep breath out. She presses her hands hard against her legs.

Nienor leans against the solid door again, letting it take her weight.

She will show this bold Elf-maiden that not all of the Edain fall at Elvish feet with the slightest pressure.

“Thank you for the advice, my lady, I will keep it in mind.” The elleth does not turn around and simply inclines her head. Nienor frowns and watches as she examines a dagger with rubies set in the handle and – are those teeth marks on the blade? The Elf places it in the larger pile on her right.

“You have not yet said why you are in here. I presume you knew this wasn’t the king’s office.”

Nienor winces at her own joke and is not surprised when the answering laugh rings a little hollow.

“Ah no. I am, um –” She turns and studies Nienor’s face for a long moment in silence, then says “I am looking for a weapon, a dagger, that belonged to my – to someone important. A truly foolish servant assumed it was to be gotten rid of.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Apparently it is common to keep unwanted items at the back of your wardrobe, in old, locked chests.”

Nienor bites her cheek, unsure how to respond. It was a far more personal answer than she’d been expecting, and she is aware of the colour that has risen in the elleth’s cheeks and the way her hands have curled into fists.

But despite this, she steps closer and meets her eyes, pushing down any hesitancy. Their colour brings to mind the way the sunlight hit the floor of her bedroom in Dor-lómin.

“I am sorry you have lost something of value to you. I do not mean to say I know how you feel, but I have felt further away from my lost loved ones since leaving my home in Hithlum. It is irrational, they are no closer than they have ever been. But the comfort of simply being near something they touched is never to be understated.”

“Yes,” the Elf-maiden murmurs, her eyes intense on Nienor’s but her posture relaxed and calmer now. “That is exactly it. I have more things of hers but the possibility of being deprived of even one is… very hard.”

Nienor thinks of Morwen, the look on her face when they arrived in Menegroth and were told Túrin was gone. “You cannot bear to lose them in any more ways.”

The elleth nods wordlessly and something passes between the two of them, a sharp second of understanding that reverberates in Nienor’s chest and lodges in her heart.

The following quiet is not uncomfortable but after it has drawn on a while, Nienor breaks it, saying softly, “Would you like me to help you look?”

“Oh, thank you,” the Elf smiles at her, smaller and sadder than before. “But I think I ought to give it up. I had searched most of the room before you arrived and this was one of the final places in the city for it to be, anyway.”

“Well, I am sorry.” Nienor returns her smile. “I will help you hunt down the servant if you like. Make them go and test every dagger in Nargothrond on themselves, just to make sure.”

A short, surprised laugh pushes past the elleth’s lips. “Who knew Men were so bloodthirsty? Again, I thank you Nienor, but no, it was not really his fault. It was a mistake without malice.”

You are kinder than I am, Nienor thinks and does not say.

The Elf-maiden walks over to her. “And, about before, I –”

The door swings open with a bang and they both jump.

An Elf with long dark braids stands on the threshold.

“Finduilas, there you are! I was wondering –” The elleth stops, seeing Nienor, eyes going round with surprise.

“Lady Nienor! I did not expect you to be – here. Princess, I apologise for interrupting. I thought you were alone.”

Nienor steps away from the Elf – from Princess Finduilas. Her mind moves sluggishly, refusing to adjust to this new information.

The princess glances at her quickly and then smiles brightly at her friend. “Egleriadis, you are our valiant rescuer, thank you! Lady Nienor lost her way, and I failed to tell her in time that this door is broken, and will not open from the inside if closed, so we became trapped.”

Egleriadis’ wide brown eyes go to the door, then to Nienor, then back to Finduilas.

“What a piece of bad luck, Princess! I hope you weren’t stuck for too long?”

“No, no, not at all, and it was very pleasant finally getting to know our new guest.” She smiles at Nienor, who cannot quite feel her face it has gone so red.

Egleriadis opens her mouth to say something more, but Finduilas grabs her arm, props the door open with an old shield, and manoeuvres her out the room in one fluid motion.

“Come along El, let us leave Lady Nienor to make her appointment with my father, as was her original intention.”

As the two Elves turn away, Finduilas looks back a final time.

“It really was a joy meeting you, even in this way, Nienor.” And then, so quickly that if Nienor was not staring, eyes still wide and stunned she might have missed it, the princess mouths I’m sorry, flashes an apologetic smile – and winks.

She stays standing there, open-mouthed and processing for a long time.

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