Diorwyn had slept fitfully; her surroundings were too strange yet for comfort, and she was unused to lying in a bed alone. As Finduilas’ seamstress, she was staying near the princess to be of assistance whenever her clothing needed change or repairs. She missed her family at home as well as her friends and relatives here in the White City. How nice it would have been to have someone of her own kind to talk to!
She resolved to finish her morning’s work as quickly as possible in order to have time to visit Gwinniel’s shop for a chat with her former colleagues there. When a maid brought Finduilas’ and Tessa’s dresses, she was ready to begin immediately. Fortunately, since they had been standing still for most of the time at the reception, there were very few small tears to sew. The maid responsible for cleaning the soiled hemlines would have some work, but all in all, her works of art, as she secretly thought of them, had suffered little.
She had some breakfast in the room reserved for the higher maids and personnel, then she walked through the streets of Minas Tirith briskly. When she opened the back door to the workshop, heads turned and faces lit up with welcoming smiles. A chorus of voices attempted to claim her attention, and she raised both hands in laughing protest.
“One at a time!” she exclaimed. Not even many years spent in rooms full of sewing women had accustomed her to understanding this kind of confusion. Work ceased for a few moments while they exchanged news of births, deaths and growing children. Gwinniel, who still came into the shop daily and kept a sharp eye on the work despite her high age, smiled indulgently from her desk. She knew that the interruption would not really slow down their work; excitement made the needles fly even faster afterwards.
The talk turned to the princess from Dol Amroth, and the women plied Diorwyn with questions about her. She answered with enthusiasm, describing her beauty and grace, and soon they were deep in discussions about the clothing that had been made in both cities for the noble ladies.
Later, alone in Gwinniel’s quarters, the elder woman said, “There are strange rumours abroad about Finduilas.”
“What kind of rumours?” Diorwyn asked, puzzled. She gasped when Gwinniel told her what she had heard whispered during the course of the evening. “Who would say such a thing? And who would profit from such evil gossip?” she wondered.
“Let us not speak of this openly,” Gwinniel replied, “but keep our ears open. Perhaps we shall be able to locate the source and find out more about those who wish your lady ill.”
Thoughtfully Diorwyn walked back to her chamber. She reached her room just in time for the noon repast.
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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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