[Elora]

Oh but it had been a long night!

Ruiel paced her chambers restlessly, yet to summon a maid or make a start on any of the other beginnings that entail morning for nobility. Her daughters had retired at each other's throats and neither particularly fond of their mother. Alethea had been severely cautioned about girlish chatter with Adrama. Pelion could easily be more than an irritation if Alethea did not carefully monitor what she mentioned to Pelion's daughter. Ruiel had, however, found cause to praise her youngest daughter.

Provided she stepped carefully, Adrama could be a useful source of information and an invaluable contact within one of Minas Tirith's most noble households, aside from Morthaniawen. Ruiel absently added the house of the Stewards to that list. Ruiel was not, however, given to excesses of effusive praise and Alethea was a sensative as her fool father had been. Little good it would do her, and of little avail had it been to him.

Compared to Dryea, Alethea had received glowing approval. It unfolded, thanks to Alethea, that her elder daughter had been seeing a great deal more than Ruiel realised. Deception and omission rankled her when it came from her own blood. Ruiel was somewhat nonplussed by Alethea's preparedness to betray her sister's confidences so readily. Dryea had not accepted Ruiel's words calmly. In the end, open rebellion caused Ruiel to send both daughters at great speed to their rooms. Dryea went with the threat that a watcher would be appointed to ensure that lout of a soldier Rhir did not find any other opportunities.

Unfortunately, that proved the least of Ruiel's concerns that night. Rebellious and love sick daughters were the least of her concerns. After the disasterous tea in the gardens, Ruiel had stalked back to her private office in a dark cloud. She had doffed the Gondorian garb there, and wrapped in a soft robe of finely woven indigo silk, golden iris woven through it, Ranne had dared to venture in.

That was when things truly started to become nothing short of infuriating. In their time spent at the Citadel, a number of correspondences had arrived. Ranne had swiftly sorted through them. When a report that bore a rare mark of identification came to her attention, she had quickly passed it to Ruiel. The Lady Morthaniawen's irritation at Ranne's interruption of her review of lineage charts faded when she saw the mark.

It was the words of that report that haunted Ruiel still by the light of the early morning. The Steward was being pushed to launch war against Umbar. With weddings and other high spirits, it just may happen. Men did such things as launch wars when they felt enlarged with good fortune and therefore invincible. Should war launch in the coming months, Umbar's navy would be decimated. A chill sat in the pit of Ruiel's stomach as she considered this.

A tap sounded at her doors and Ranne entered tentatively. She peered through the darkness of Ruiel's bedroom, the drapes still closed at the window.

"Good morning, m'Lady," Ranne ventured. Ruiel did not reply and simply waved the woman on. Familiar with her mistress, Ranne knew that at such times it was best not to disturb or intrude further than was strictly necessary. It was not the first time that grim or urgent news had come to the Estate and they had always emerged at the other end of matters in a favourable position.

As Ranne straightened the room and set out a gown for the day, Ruiel thought furiously. Her orders, and they were exactly that, had been clear and from no less than the highest lord of Umbar. Gondor must not strike and she was to set all she had at her disposal, including the lives of her daughters, household and herself to see this done.

There were a number of options to speed things up. Morthaniawen could perhaps hold a hunt, where something untoward would unfold. Perhaps a scandal or a tragedy to devestate Eckthelion and Denethor. It was not a subtle as Ruiel preferred, but it was an option. As Ranne tightened the bodice laces of a delicate green silk dress, Ruiel found herself loathe to make such a direct and vulgar move. Someone would be bound to notice if Findulias was pushed from her horse. Outrage would simmer, as would grief. The woman would be idealised instead of disgraced, and the esteem in which the Stewards are held would only rise in the minds of a populace.

Better to make war impossible due to internal fractures and unrest. Civil strife was far easier to spark and control. Besides, they already had laid the groundwork for exactly that with the rumours. Something Alethea had said about Adrama in the prior evening shone in Ruiel's recollection.

"After breakfast summon my daughters to my day room," Ruiel said. Ranne nodded, wincing at the tone.
"Do so pleasantly, Ranne. The time for displeasure is past. Umbar is to band together now if ever," Ruiel added as she saw Ranne's expression. The maid nodded, her expression lightening as she realised her new task was not to haul the sisters in for another roasting.

Ruiel remained in her chambers after Ranne had left. She cast a glance at the mirror and saw her reflection thrown back at her. How fine it would be when the day arrived that she no longer had to wear the charmless and dour garb of Gondor and instead wore Umbar's finest cloths made into gowns of office. With a thrill of dangerous excitement in her eyes, Ruiel fancied she could sense that day approaching.

The long years spent first in Dol Amroth and then Minas Tirith were coming to fruition at last.