[Lyra Greenleaf]

Emilia stared at the door for nearly five minutes before she got up the courage to knock. This wasn't like her- such timidity showed weakness that she hadn't known she contained. But then she had never really spoken to the Steward before. She had been introduced by her father, presented as all high born young women were. He had smiled and asked a few questions, and she had smiled and answered quietly. This meeting might not be based on equality of place, but her news gave her a power that for this one moment in time nearly equalled his.

It was what she had always dreamed of, though she had imagined a more orthodox way of getting it- important marriage. Yet despite this, she was struck with syptoms of nerves and an uncomfortable feeling. She did not fool herself that it was compassion for her former friend, although the news of Rhir's death had jolted her. Dryea deserved no sympathy after what she had done. She had almost ruined any chance of Emilia gaining her aspirations.

The sudden reappearance of outrage gave Emilia the momentum she needed to make the all important contact with the door. The noise echoed painfully in her head. She wondered if everyone else heard it as loudly as she had.

"Come in" came the command from inside, and Emilia did as she was bidden. Once inside the room, and standing in front of the Steward, all Emilia's tremblings came back to her and her thoughts crystallised into one: This was the most important moment of her life.

"Yes? I understand you wish to talk to me?" Ecthelion asked gently, and Emilia saw that he expected- who knew what? Something of far less import than what it was. Patronage, perhaps, for a child. Maybe his attendance at a party. Desperately Emilia wondered how to start what she wanted to say.

"My Lord" she said, and curtseyed, buying time.
"Yes?" The Steward repeated.
"My Lord, I have to tell you that Gondor is in very grave danger" Emilia blurted out, then cursed herself. Quickly she raced on with the story, trying to prove that she could back up her flimsy opening statement with fact.

At the end of her tale then Steward gazed at the wall, his face set in concentration. Emilia waited impatiently for him to speak.
"So there are spies, and they are the Morthaniawens" he finally mused, as though to himself. "That explains..." He trailed of, obviously remembering anomolous details, knowledge that the Corsairs should not have got access to- but even in his abstracted state knowing not to speak of secrets before Emilia.

Finally he regarded her gravely.
"This is a strong allegation" he began. "I believe you, although there is no proof. For all I know for sure you could be the agent of Umbar, directing suspicion on the innocent. But I believe you. Your father is a good man- perhaps more to the point your mother is a good woman. A strong woman," he added with a smile. "Your family has lived in Gondor for generations, while the Morthaniawens are newcomers. This does not constitute proof, but it shows likelihood. Furthermore there is a ring of truth about you, and about what you say."

His gaze became even sterner.
"But this is a delicate situation. We have nothing fixed against the Morthaniawens and a case of your word against theirs would be damaging. They might manage to make it look as though you are mistaken. Anyway, getting them to leave is not enough. We need to disrupt the whole of the Corsairs' infrastructure in Gondor, not just remove it's figurehead. I am telling you this for one reason: You must not say anything to anyone of this. Do not write to your parents, do not let it slip to your friends. You do not seem empty headed enough to go running to the Morthaniawens themselves, accusing them. Whatever you do, do not confide it to your maid. I want you to understand that I am extremely grateful for this information, and I'm sure it will be vital, but that does not give you lisence to do as you like. If you keep quiet I'm sure Gondor will thank you for generations."

Emilia curtseyed again, lowering her head.
"Yes my lord" she answered, then turned and left. She now faced a dilemma. It made sense to obey the Steward's instructions, and yet how could she not tell such a piece of gossip? She sighed deeply. It was a thorny problem indeed. It was so hard to serve one's realm.