It wasn't all that different from watching a mother nip and tuck at her daughters before taking them to be paraded in front of a host of suitors, standing in that store while the tailor and Lord Denien spoke of different fabrics and cuts, the two brothers propped in front of full length mirrors wearing half-finished jackets with various patches of cloth being attached and removed as new ideas were suggested and old discarded.
"-while this pattern has a more regal look to it," droned the tailor, holding the fabric in question against Laegorn's jacket as Lord Denien nodded slowly and ran his fingers through his beard in a thoughtful manner.
It never ends... And I have somewhere else to be.
"With the ruffle collar and sleeves it makes for a decent dress," said Ameren dryly before Lord Denien had a chance to weigh in. Not that her opinion had been asked for, and while the guard next to her suddenly had a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips and Eithil tried to suppress a chuckle, the looks she got from the other three suggested that it wasn't appreciated either. The tailor seemed rather offended, having his work criticised by a sell sword, Lord Denien had a dark frown in his features, and Laegorn shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, looking down at his jacket and tugging a little on a ruffle sleeve.
"Thank you, Branson, but perhaps fashion is not one of your fortes," said Lord Denien and turned toward his son, his back to her again in a very clear signal for her to be quiet. But Ameren wasn't deterred that easily, looking the young man up and down in an exaggerated manner.
"You've padded the shoulders too much, it makes his head and torso disproportionate."
One more little jab should do it.
"Yes, yes, thank-..."
"The colours are wrong as well, too light for his complexion."
"Thank you, Branson," snapped Lord Denien, pinching the bridge of his nose. But the damage was done, Laegorn was staring at himself in the mirror, fiddling with the sleeves, trying to puff out his chest and make himself look bigger, the discontented frown he wore made it clear that he now saw all the things she'd pointed out. Lord Denien watched his son for a moment and gave an annoyed sigh just as Ameren was about to make another unwanted comment.
"It looks like we'll be here for a while, Branson. I'm certain the captain can manage on his own during that time, so you're free to go about your own business if you like," said Lord Denien with a sharp edge to his tone to match the slight glare he was giving her. Ameren graciously bowed her head to him first and then to his sons in turn, Laegorn looking relieved and Eithil disappointed.
"As you say, your lordship. Young masters. I'll be back in an hour."
"Better make that two, Branson."
"You're too kind, your lordship."
"You're not going far, I hope," mumbled the guard to her as she turned to leave, causing her to shake her head.
"Don't worry, I'll just be across the street at the library," replied Ameren silently, glancing back at the nobles fussing over clothes. "Have fun, captain."
The man huffed and folded his arms across his chest, he would without a doubt also have preferred being elsewhere.
Where is he?
Ameren looked up from the book she was pretending to read and over toward the hallway leading into the library, her back against one of the great stone pillars supporting the upper floors, standing partly in its shadow and watching people come and go. She hadn't been waiting all that long, not nearly long enough to start getting restless and worried, and yet she found herself glancing up from the pages almost constantly in hopes of seeing Connwear come walking. He had turned up in Linhir a few days ago and come across Havaldr on the docks, and was now filled in on their plans and helping them. Not happy about any of it, that much was clear, least of all with the 'murderous husk wearing Ameren's face', as he'd put it.
And who can blame him?
Ameren frowned slightly, idly flipping the pages. Seeing him again had brought everything back in an instant despite the months apart, first the overwhelming joy, the sense of relief and safety she'd come to feel in his presence, then the sharp reminder of why he'd not come with them from the start, and after that came the doubt, and the near crippling fear of having something she couldn't stand even thinking of losing. All of it buried again just as fast as it resurfaced, if they were to have the slightest chance of getting out of this alive she had to be flawless. Being swayed by emotion was not something she could afford.
Tools don't feel, after all. Their only purpose is the one they were created for.
That was the benefit of her training, the mind easily slipped back into what it had been shaped to be, following the more familiar patterns of thought and bringing a reassuring calm with them. When Connwear came striding into the library a few minutes later her focus had returned, and snapping the book shut she caught his eye before leading the way further inside toward the studies on the second floor.
"Any problems so far?" asked Ameren after she had shut the door behind him and started searching through the courier's satchel he'd brought with him.
"None of note."
"But there were some?"
Connwear spoke of how he'd had to make up a story about non-alcoholic wine substitute to get the courier to drink from the wineskin laced with poison while she sorted through the letters, finding no less than eight addressed to Lord Idhren's seneschal.
Hopefully one of these has something of use.
The wax seals on the envelopes were all of different design and Ameren recognised a few of the sigils from the hours she'd spent of her free time in that very library learning what she could about the noble families in the region. Using a small, razor-sharp knife she carefully separated the wax from the paper of the letter she thought most promising, namely the one from Lorilad's ruler, Lady Maerion.
"Any luck?"
"Luck of the gods. This is exactly what I was hoping to find."
Indeed it was, Ameren could hardly believe their fortune. Maerion was a young, rich widow who had been granted the rights to rule over the small city by her late husband before he passed, something which was eagerly reinforced by the people of Lorilad, with whom she was very popular. A bit of a black sheep among Gondor's nobility, one who there were plenty of rumours about but few had actually met, since she seemed to prefer the company of the common man to that of her fellow nobles. And the letter stated that she wouldn't be attending the banquet, blaming her deteriorating health. Ameren took out quill and ink, and a few rolls of parchment, unrolling one next to the letter and started to copy Lady Maerion's handwriting, writing the same sentence over and over.
"This lady wouldn't be enough of a black sheep to bring a guard with her to the banquet?" asked Connwear, patting the hilt of his sword, the tone of his voice suggesting that he was only half-joking. "Or a bastard half-brother?"
Don't want me going in there alone, do you?
"I appreciate the concern, but no personal guards will be allowed in, Seldorien's orders. Otherwise I could have gone as Branson," replied Ameren, her gaze still on the papers. "And a male chaperone would work against catching the target's att-"
She stopped herself at the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway outside and upon seeing a shadow appear in the gap under the door out of the corner of her eye. After letting go of the quill she pressed a finger against the mask, indicating silence, and looked toward the door to draw Connwear's attention to whoever was outside.
Damned spies crawl all over this city. Killing him here would rouse too much suspicion, but we need to get rid of him. How-
Connwear was quick to act and started talking about his wine substitute again, looking at Ameren and waving his hand to get her to play along. On that cue she switched to a Gondorian accent and said some nonsense related to the topic while silently stepping toward the door, reaching for the hunting knife at her back, not taking any chances.
"Since when do you have so little concern for people's lives!?"
He had asked her that the night he came to Linhir, and Ameren didn't have a good answer to it. She did what she had to so that they'd remain undiscovered, if a life could be spared it was, but more often than not bloodshed had been the less risky solution in this city. Fortunately it wasn't needed this time. Ameren could hear footsteps again as whoever it had been listening at the door moved on.
"He's gone," mumbled Ameren, letting go of the hilt and going back to her work, trying to perfect Lady Maerion's handwriting.
The 'D's are softer... like that. The space between the-
"A 'thank you' would have been nice..."
Connwear's mumbling was quite silent, but with the only other sound in the study being that of the rasping quill it was impossible to miss.
He's right, his quick thinking spared you a lot of trouble. You're no longer alone in this.
"Pardon. Thank you, I do appreciate your help," said Ameren, and while her tone may have remained cold more out of habit than anything else, the gratitude was genuine.
Two more parchments filled with the same sentence later she was finally satisfied with the way the writing looked and wrote a new letter to the seneschal in Lady Maerion's hand, letting him know that she would be delighted to attend. After that she let the ink dry, folded the paper and stuck it into the envelope, resealing it and examining it carefully to ensure nothing looked amiss.
"That's it?"
"Aye, we're done. All that's left now is for it to return to the courier," replied Ameren as she put the letters back into the satchel and held it out to Connwear.
"Right. Wish me luck?"
"Good luck. I'll keep in touch, so don't bolt your window."
Despite the situation Connwear managed to joke and then winked at her, halting with his hand on the door handle as Ameren started clearing the desk, putting the used papers in a pocket to be burned later. He whispered of love just before he slipped out, leaving her frozen, staring at the door as it shut.
Don't go... Please, don't-
She was snapped out of it as the quill broke under her clenching fingers and cut into her palm, quickly pocketing the remaining items and picking up the book again.
Stop it. One mistake and we could all die. You have to keep your mind clear and on the job, bury everything else.
Ameren waited a couple of minutes before going to put the book away where she found it and return to her employers, set on spending the next couple of days finding out as much as she could about Lady Maerion.
