"Does Laikendir seem different to you?"
Thiliel had a knack for picking moments to ask such questions, like when Dinmir had just slipped a needle into a silk shirt. Was she supposed to look away? "You know him better than I."
"You have a keen eye, like Dolennass." That name slid out through a shadow of a grimace. "Surely you can tell something is off."
Bah. The conversation had become too dangerous for sewing. Dinmir set the shirt on a nearby shelf, stabbed the needle into its cushion, then took a deep breath and studied Thiliel. The florist wore a blue dress, but that revealed nothing. She wore something blue on most days regardless of mood. The cup of tea hovering in her hand was a bigger clue. It couldn't be missing more than two sips, and with as long as she'd been sitting across the worktable it had to be cold. Dirt was lodged under her fingernails. That would've usually been remedied before she ever left her shop. Her hair was tied back in the hasty, distracted way she did when the walls of the world pressed in too close. Weariness sat under eyes flickering with concern. She'd been losing sleep.
Dinmir noticed all this before exhaling. The silk shirt should've remained fragments on her pile. It would've, but their companion had yet to arrive. Fingers longing to return to work traced shapes on the tabletop instead. "It began three days ago when Taurant took possession of the small garden on the north side of town."
The shadow of a grimace was no longer a shadow. "My mentor planted flowers there. They used to plan their next move against Taurant while gardening together. He's still pining for someone long gone." Those words sat like an admonition in the ensuing silence. Thiliel's eyes flickered a fraction wider, as if she'd realized what she said, then she stopped her mouth with a sip of tea. The wrinkle in her nose was all the evidence needed that it was, in fact, cold. Flecks of regret danced with the flickers of concern. "All I'm saying is that our calling isn't a replacement for..." Once again she took refuge in her tea.
Dinmir looked down and realized her fingers had been tracing along the patterns of violets. Few would recognize that treachery for what it was, fortunately. She'd accepted how things were, and how they weren't. Now that Thiliel had recruited Dinmir to her cause, adventure occupied what portions of life tailoring left undisturbed. She didn't need anything else. Why complicate matters further when everything she'd always wanted was now in her grasp?
"What do you have against Muinassë?" How had that slipped out? She'd been wondering, but had no intention of giving voice to her curiosity. Too late now. "If you don't mind my asking."
The florist's nose crinkled with another sip of cold tea. It was almost believable the frown was at the cup rather than the question. "I wish I could say it were something dramatic like she insulted me, or my mentor, or we were rivals of some sort, but the truth is much more mundane. She has too good an eye for my liking." The way Thiliel's shoulders relaxed, one would think she'd just confessed something held in for much too long. "Her information has been a great asset. Without it Taurant might've already accomplished whatever he's been plotting. She helped us counter him more effectively, and for that I'm grateful. I don't hate her, but she... made some observations, and trying to prove her wrong has been like fighting a prophecy."
Before Thiliel could punish herself with another sip, Dinmir snatched the cup away and dumped it, then fetched the kettle from the fire, filled the teapot and brought the whole tray back to the table to pour Thiliel a fresh cup. "I'm guessing those observations are nothing you want to share."
With an appreciative nod, Thiliel infused her new cup with honey and lemon. "That's correct. I just want you to understand... I was sincere." Regret weighed down the gaze lingering on the swirling spoon. Neither she nor Dinmir had to clarify.
Dinmir looked down into her own tea. "We can worry about that when it matters. In the meantime, if you can't prove Muinassë wrong, maybe you should stop trying to. If she's right, she's right. Accept it, then either embrace it or change it."
The door opened and Gelurien sprang in. Their conversation ended with the sound of boots tapping against the wall.
"Sorry I'm late. Laikendir sends his regards." Gelurien was a conundrum of reservation and energy. She could bounce into a room ready to claim it as her own, then vanish in plain sight. Give her an opening and a quiet remark would slice through discourse only for her to fade into obscurity again. She wore the cloak Dinmir had delivered at their first meeting. In fact, Gelurien had designated it her "official business" cloak when joining Thiliel and Dinmir in these councils. No small amount of satisfaction lay in knowing that, though Dinmir kept such thoughts to herself. More difficult to not grin at was the lilacs in Gelurien's hair. The contrast of white against midnight gave off a lunar glow.
Dinmir shielded her grin with tea. "Not at all. I know how taxing it must've been for Farothel to carry all those heavy pots while negotiating with all those branches, then digging the holes, settling the plants, and covering the roots."
Pink tinged Gelurien's cheeks as she glared. "You make it sound as if all I did was gawk at him while he worked."
"I wouldn't have said 'gawked', no. 'Admired', perhaps."
Pink inched closer to red as she scurried to the teapot and poured a cup. "He's my guard. That's all, I assure you." Gelurien could hide behind that all she wanted, but evidence to the contrary had begun to mount. The way she came alive around Farothel, the indignant glares when Dinmir would slip and ruffle his hair like she used to when they were children, the way witty retorts flew freer in his presence. She didn't vanish so easily when he was in the same room; she carried herself like her camouflage no longer blended and she no longer cared.
Thiliel cleared her throat. "As a point of fact, he is not your guard. Laikendir's return was the end of that obligation. Dinmir may correct me, but as I recall his stay was supposed to be temporary. Or do you believe he has reason to delay his departure further?"
Dinmir's nod triggered a spike of panic in Gelurien; one that she altogether failed to conceal. "He's... he'll be needed again. I'm certain of it. Laikendir will be leaving in no time with the way you two plot things." Those last words carried enough heat that Dinmir had no choice but amusement.
Thiliel sighed. Her earlier concern was better concealed than Gelurien's panic. "I wish I could deny that, but we do have some new information." Just like that, the banter ended and their meeting had begun. She pulled a paper from a pocket, unfolded it and smoothed it on the table.
Gelurien leaned over and studied the picture and scribbles written on the paper. "It's a brooch?"
"Yes. It's been lost quite some time, and only recently have we received hints that it's resurfaced. If we can recover it, the rightful owner will be quite indebted to us. That's her assurance, at least." Thiliel raised her cup and took a sip. Then a few more. It must've tasted better hot.
"So... now we go out and find it?" Whether Gelurien was excited or horrified by the prospect, Dinmir couldn't quite tell. It might've been both.
"Mm-mmm." Thiliel swallowed and put her cup down. "No. Our duty is to gather information and ensure its veracity. Others conduct the search and retrieval mission."
Dinmir timed a strategic sip of her own. "Unless we get bored." She grinned at Thiliel's eyeroll: the signal for "Don't give Gelurien ideas." The florist had all the overprotectiveness of an older sister. No wonder Gelurien and Farothel looked at each other like kindred spirits. If Dinmir were honest, she felt a different kinship. If not for a certain trying individual, she might consider herself lucky to be locked away in some hidden repository tending to dusty tomes and parchments untouched by sunlight for longer than she'd been alive.
Missing the exchange, Gelurien sighed. "Laikendir would never admit it, but he's too worn to go on another mission so soon. Perhaps Farothel wouldn't mind..."
"No." Thiliel's eyes were cold and her voice sharp. "We are not asking for his help."
Dinmir nodded in agreement; not because she thought Farothel would refuse, but because she understood why Thiliel was so adamant. "There's two others we could give the assignment to. They haven't had any in a long time."
A warning glare launched across the table with as much impact as if Thiliel had slammed her hands down. "You know why that is."
"It's time we test the theory. We can't afford to remain unsure."
"Dinmir, this mission is too important to risk falling into Taurant's clutches."
Gelurien huffed. "Of course she's not talking about this mission." Her eyes widened at her own tone, and she murmured into her cup, "I'm guessing."
Dinmir smiled. "You guessed right. We'll create a mission of our own."
"Separate missions, of course." Gelurien kept her eyes on her swirling tea.
"Of course. We send them out for different 'artifacts', and see if either end up with Taurant."
Thiliel tapped her finger on the workbench. "What if Taurant figures it out? What if he already has a plan in place?"
"If we're going to bog ourselves down in endless 'what-ifs' we might as well surrender now. For my part, I refuse to let him win."
Thiliel finished her tea in silence, then set her cup down and sighed. "We'll need something irresistible."
"I have a few friends in Imladris who would jump at the chance for this kind of game."
A mischievous grin flashed on Gelurien's face. "And once we know, we can use that to our advantage."
Dinmir drained her cup and put more water in the kettle over the fire. This meeting was about to turn into a long night of planning.