The talk grew louder in the room as the ladies of Minas Tirith debated Finduilas’ identity. Slowly, the doubt was cast from their minds as everyone added their own opinion to the fray – Finduilas, in the eyes of the court, was an imposter. The only question now, was what to do about it.
Patting her hair as she walked through the room, Elena moved closer to Dryea and Emilia. The two of them turned to greet her, as Elena put the fragile cup of tea she carried on a nearby table.
“Tell me, have we heard of anything new regarding the lady Finduilas? I feel certain everyone in the room must have heard, and have their own opinion on it by now.” Elena smiled, knowing full well how much some of the mothers disliked Finduilas for becoming betrothed to Denethor in the first place – this was adding insult to injury, if she was not who she seemed to be.
“Not that I have heard,” Emilia answered her question. “I wonder if the Steward and his son suspect anything?”
“Doubtful!” Elena laughed. “The men would not have heard any rumours - and if they do, it goes in one ear and out the other! What I want to know, is if she isn’t really who she says she is…who is she? Surely these rumours must have come from somewhere, and for some reason – someone must know something about her past.”
[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: *Varda* ]
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'It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them' ~Frodo
"Life is hard. After all, it kills you." - Katharine Hepburn
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