[*Varda*]

"This was a lovely luncheon," Elena politely said to Pelien, as she left. The Morthaniwens pulled away in their carriage, as Elena set off down the path to her home. It was only a few minutes walk, which hardly merited getting someone to drive her there. The afternoon sun shone on her, and altogether it would have been an enjoyable walk, if Elena had not been dwelling on other matters.

She had expressed her certainty over Finduilas' secret identity - the arguments in the luncheon had indeed been very convincing. Inwardly, she scolded herself - she should know better than to leap to conclusions so swiftly. What if Finduilas really was who she appeared to be, part of her argued. The larger part reasoned that there must be some truth to it all - this was not idle Minas Tirith gossip that the elderly women discussed over their afternoon tea. This was serious. And Elena could think of no one who would stoop so low as to spread these allegations. No, she told herself, they must be true. Resentment bubbled in her heart, as she thought of Finduilas. A stranger come into the court of Minas Tirith, to wed Denethor, to gain such power, and be lying all the time? Elena had little wish for this kind of power, being an unambitious person on the whole, but the idea of it irritated her.

But what were they to do? The Steward would never hear of this - he would pass it off as silly ideas among the more empty headed ladies of the court. She had not seen much of Siriel and Tiriel at the luncheon, but she doubted they believed the idea. No, if something was to be done, they would have to do it themselves. Arriving home, Elena swept up the stairs and into her pretty chambers, the sun bathing it in a warm light. Sitting at her small table, she rested her head in her hands and thought deeply, her brow slightly furrowed. The maid brought in a cup of tea and duly departed. Elena stared at the elaborate floral pattern, her eyes following it over the fragile crockery.

There was nothing to do but to meet with Finduilas. By and large, the women of Minas Tirith had done nothing but watch her from afar. Perhaps Finduilas' maids would have let something slip, if they knew about it. Calling the maid in, Elena spoke to her.

"Elsa? Have you heard the talk about Finduilas' identity? Have you spoken to any of her maids?"

"But yes, the maids have heard the rumours. I have not seen her maids - they seem to keep themselves to themselves," she answered.

"See what you can find out - it will probably be nothing, but they may forget themselves and inadvertently say something. " Elena dismissed the maid, and sipped calmly at her tea.