Diorwyn sat at the window of her room, making use of the daylight to continue the intricate embroidery on Finduilas’ wedding gown. On the table beside her stood various small boxes with the pearls and crystals which were to adorn the neckline. Usually she enjoyed the feeling of the luxurious fabric and the sheen and sparkle of the precious stones, but today her heart was not in her work. She was troubled by the rumours she had heard and wondered what their source and purpose could be.
Though she was not familiar with the court of Minas Tirith and the relationships of the noble families with each other, she knew enough about women and their ambitions to suspect what was happening. It would have been strange indeed had there been no jealousy involved in the marriage of the White City’s most eligible bachelor to a beautiful yet foreign princess.
But what could she do? No one at the Citadel would listen to the words of a seamstress, not even one whose skills they sought. Suddenly the words her father had often spoken occurred to her: Fight fire with fire. Of course! The best way to counter rumours was by starting opposite rumours. Yet who should be the target of those? She resolved to listen to the maids’ gossip at the evening meal, then seek out Gwinniel afterwards. No doubt she would have found out something in the meantime.
[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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