"I promised Farothel I would deliver it for him since he was called away." Arandil stood next to Dinmir's workbench, his fingers tracing along the border as her gaze locked on the fragments of a shirt. His gaze warming the top of her head made the impulse to brush her hand over her hair difficult to resist.
Three people who could've brought Dinmir's lunch, and they let Arandil? Did they draw lots, and if so, how did that end with her losing? Calm. She could make it through. "Thank you very much!" Too empty. The forced cheer gnawed at her, but it was that or brusqueness. There was no in-between, and she dared not look up at him. Then again, why should she hide her displeasure? If she met his loving gaze with anger, if she looked into his beautiful eyes with an icy glare, it was his own fault. Why should he have it easy?
"I don't suppose we could talk? If not today, perhaps tomorrow?" Arandil stopped tracing.
An all too familiar request of late. Of course he meant just her and him, or he could've said his piece at any time. Why would Dinmir want to be alone with him? So she could slip up, let loose, and give him a piece of her mind? Is that what he wanted? In moments along the journey from Imladris, moments she'd never admit to, she'd counter silent tears with thoughts of what to say if ever she saw Arandil again, how she'd let him have it for giving up. That's not what happened when he showed up on her doorstep. Where was the blaze she'd readied herself to let loose upon him? Had her wrath frozen over? Yes, that must be it. It was tundra. Perhaps it would thaw one day, but not yet. The tundra was numbing. The tundra was comfortable. Whatever Arandil wanted to talk about could wait. It would wait, until she decided to have that conversation.
"Oh, I'm sorry, but Thiliel asked me to meet some of her friends tomorrow. She gave me a rather cryptic explanation, and you know how that piques my curiosity." At least she could give an honest excuse. Not that she needed one.
"I understand. It can wait." See? It could wait. It wasn't that important.
Silence. Arandil's fingers resumed their outline. His posture, the hesitation in the air: she'd seen it and felt it enough to know he was searching for something to say. She didn't want him to find it, or she did. She wanted him to go, to stay, to... bah. To end the silence, to quell the conflicting thoughts, Dinmir spouted out the first thing that came to mind.
"You know, I think she's taken with Auros. Thiliel that is. Auros being Auros, of course, he doesn't see it. All he sees is someone chatting with me, drops off whatever he's brought, and leaves." Dinmir risked a glance. The grin brightening his somber countenance inspired one of her own to escape. "You know, I almost feel bad for her. Not that he's not polite of course."
"Of course."
"It just that if he weren't so caught up in his own concerns, he might see it. If he weren't so focused on—" Bah! She'd almost let him do it again. Her gaze fell back to the shirt before the glare settled in. It would take more than a flashy smile to win her over, even from Arandil.
His hand stopped just short of hers. "Yes. Well, I must get back to work. We have much to cover before the rain really starts. Don't worry, though. We won't be idle. There's still plenty we can accomplish while we wait for everything to dry out."
By "we", Arandil meant him. Even if there was nothing else they could do, Arandil would find something to keep busy. In that much at least he was like Auros. She would find new pelts sitting on her shelves; the meat would be sold to local shops, or given to someone who hadn't been so fortunate in hunting, or set to be smoked for the winter. He would speak to the tradesmen and arrange for better deals for supplies. On a few occasions he'd arranged to provide supplies to the tradesmen. Arandil had quite the knack for it all. Among those circles, Dinmir suspected he was already better known in her town than she was.
Bah. She didn't have to fall for him, but she didn't have to be harsh either. "Arandil." Dinmir fought to look him in the eye. "Thank you." Appreciation was all she could give. It would have to suffice.
Arandil nodded and left.
Once he was gone, Dinmir let out a sigh. Just those few minutes contending with the man exhausted her. Bah, what did he expect? A warm embrace? A passionate kiss? Longing, lingering glances? He'd had his chance for that, and he'd missed it.
The parcel sat warming by the fire. Farothel made a larger lunch than usual. She should be grateful Arandil brought it with the way large droplets of rain slammed down on the roof, their pace increasing the further they got from his departure. Clouds had threatened a downpour most of the morning, and now that it was early afternoon they'd decided it was nigh time to make good on that threat. While the road was too well-travelled to soften, off the path a careless step might cost one a boot. Not that, in her haste and anger one morning, she'd nearly got a boot stuck in the mud. Aldawë would've made jokes for a week if such a thing happened.
Dinmir stretched. She'd been sitting too long already, but if she got up she wouldn't soon sit back down, and that shirt wouldn't put itself together. If she wanted to enjoy the lunch warming on her fire —was that gravy she smelled?— she had to turn the fragments into a finished product. Mmm, the spices. Bah. Concentrate. Farothel made this lunch extra tempting on purpose, she was sure of it. No, her breakfast should've been more than a stale roll from dinner. There'd been too many days like that of late, but Dinmir needed to get away before the work on her house began. Before Arandil emerged from her guest room. So much for the attempt to avoid him. The only things more distracting than her hunger were the stray thoughts he'd left unsettled in his wake. Needle stabbed through fabric, joining sleeve with body as she pressed them together.
Fine, she didn't all at once admit her feelings for him all those years ago. How was she supposed to anticipate falling in love with one of her brother's friends? That's what she'd told herself at the time: Arandil was one of Aldawë's friends, and that's why his antics held her interest a bit longer, made her laugh a bit louder, than anyone else's. How often had Arandil just so happened to join their little group for meals, for games, for even the small celebrations? The reason behind so many of those so-called chance meetings? Auros. "Facilitating an opportunity" indeed. Look where it got him.
The furtive glances shot her way, the jokes Arandil had told to coax laughter from her when she was sad. It wasn't long before she couldn't deny her own heart. Why couldn't he have said something when it mattered? If not words, then deeds. Something bold. Something daring. Some spark of audacity. Something she couldn't deny, that she wouldn't deny. Instead he shied away from anything that could risk declaring his love. Patience was pointless. Endurance was useless. Encouragement garnered no reward. Each time he retreated. That was his fault, not hers. They could've made a good life together.
Dinmir snapped the shirt like a carpet full of dust. If she'd had any doubt, any at all. Why didn't he ask her to stay? Why did he have to come with Aldawë? He'd had his chance to say something when they parted in Imladris. Bah, she'd chosen to move past all this before he appeared at her door, before she had to look at him again. It was a choice, and she'd chosen, so why was it still such a struggle? One last thrust of the needle and the other sleeve was joined.
The dulled thud of hoofprints on packed dirt caught her notice for the briefest of moments. Bah. He'd come to help. He didn't deserve icy glares and cold words. He'd even brought some new furniture for her shop. Shelves, cabinets, benches, and tables, all fashioned with Arandil's fine expertise. Likely they were made while Dinmir still dwelt in Imladris, gifts intended that he'd never mustered the courage to present to her. The care taken in his work said what she longed for him to express in words.
Dinmir grimaced at the shirt. What she had longed for. She didn't need to be showered with gifts, then or now. She didn't need a long courtship or an extravagant wedding. She would take Arandil as a pauper, a prankster, or a wanderer. Would've taken. Would've. Bah.
The first stitch impaled the collar. It took everything in her to be as cordial as she was. None of it would work otherwise. She'd never seen Auros so tense. Would the rift between him and Arandil ever heal? They were both good men, they really were, and it would be a shame if they couldn't find a way to mend their friendship. Acknowledging that simple fact didn't mean she'd fallen for Arandil again.
The shirt was done, and she could have lunch. She should have lunch, but on the far corner of her workbench a pair of pants waited to be sewn. Muffled sounds fought through the wall, some disagreement carrying on outside; but it wasn't in the shop so it was none of her business. Dinmir traced her fingers along the same pattern Arandil's had. She hadn't been inclined to examine the design. She still wasn't, but it felt like the contour of some flower. The workbench was covered in them. All the furniture from Imladris was. Thiliel told her at once how lovely it looked. At one time, Dinmir would've leapt at the opportunity to lavish praise upon Arandil's unmatched talent.
Thumping right outside her door: someone kicked the mud from their boots. Who was it? Arandil back to try again? Hopefully not. Once for the day was enough. Thiliel wondering if Auros would be making a delivery? That woman was relentless. Dinmir bet it was her. The door opened. "No Auros isn't— Farothel?! What are you doing riding around in rain like this?" She was so focused on getting through Arandil's visit that she'd forgotten to be curious who'd called Farothel away!
Sliding his hood back, Farothel looked to be in a better mood than she expected from the way he'd attempted to clean his boots. "Aiya Dinmir! We got caught in it along the way. Sorry to track mud into your shop. I found myself out and about, and well, I thought you wouldn't mind some company for lunch."
"I'd love some company! And who is this?"
A quick shudder to shake the rain off and a slender figure entered the shop. Somehow this person's boots were devoid of mud. Curiosity compounded as the visitor shed a long black cloak speckled with stars. Dinmir knew her own handiwork when she saw it.
"Gelurien?"
Despite the rain, Gelurien was in rather high spirits as well. "Good day, Dinmir. I hope we're not intruding. You did say I was welcome to stop by any time, and Sir Farothel assured me today was a fine day for it."
A day encumbered by pouring rain and Arandil? As good a day as any to have her mind taken off. Besides, the lunch was more than Dinmir could hope to eat by herself. She motioned to the seats by the fire. "Intruding? Not at all! Come in, warm yourself. I'd be delighted to have you join me and tell all about how you two came to be riding in the rain together!"
While Gelurien and Dinmir tooks seats by the fire, Farothel hung their cloaks and made one last attempt to rid his boots of the caked-on mud. "The story might not be as exciting as you hope."
Gelurien shot a surprised expression at Dinmir, then turned to gawk at Farothel. "Not exciting? After you so valiantly fended off a team of dragons?"
"Dragons?!" Dinmir shot forward in her seat, gaping at Farothel as he made his way to the fire. How could he not consider such a detail exciting? Getting comfortable was something she could no longer afford. "We're going to need some tea for this tale. Fortunately, I have a pot already prepared."
Farothel shook his head. "They were lizards, not dragons."
"Well, I don't know about you, Sir Farothel, but I've not often seen lizards so grand lumber across my path when riding to town. If I mistake them for dragons, I hope you'll forgive me. Once you've rescued me, of course." Gelurien was good. She'd managed to get all the way to the end before a cheeky little smirk appeared. Wait, why is she expecting Farothel to rescue her? What did Farothel get himself into?
Farothel leaned in as he handed Dinmir a plate. "They weren't that big. Since I can tell you're curious, I suppose I should give the end of the tale first. I've agreed to act as Gelurien's guard while her cousin is away."
Oh dear: goose, potatoes, and, yes indeed, gravy. If Dinmir didn't take a bite soon, her stomach would announce her hunger to the world. No, focus on the discussion. "Guard?" Auros wouldn't like that news one bit. "How long is he to be gone?"
"Um... hmm..." Farothel grimaced. Did he not ask?
"When will he be departing?" Again, nothing. Surely Gelurien would know. Dinmir turned to her.
"Actually, he hasn't told me yet either." Gelurien wore a sheepish grin as she shoved a chunk of potato into her mouth. The perfect tactic to avoid explanation.
His own plate in hand, Farothel eased onto a nearby stool. "It's a long story."
At last, Dinmir raised a forkful of goose and potato. "And I want to hear it, but I need to hear Gelurien's version first. The one with dragons has to be better."