[maikafanawen]

It wasn’t long after Dryea had glanced towards her mother before the rumour was introduced to Emilia, Elena, and herself. Upon hearing the story her mother had subtly concocted, Dryea froze in a mixture of humour, disbelief, and even slight terror. The latter came from being sure that there was no way Ruiel was going to get away with it. Of course no one knew that she had been the one to start it. The gossip was the first to pass it on so if traced, the blame would land on her and not Lady Morthaniawen.

It would be the same, Dryea thought with a slight shock, with Elena and Emilia. They had been the first to hear the guess from the Morthaniawen’s lips at the welcoming ball. Immediately they had assumed their suppositions were blunt and to the point but on reflection they would see that Dryea had said no such thing and they had made the conclusion on their own. Therefore the guilt would rest entirely on their shoulders and leave Dryea free of blame.

A smile played at the corners of Dryea’s mouth as she thought. How clever mother is, she deliberated. No one could ever guess. Then another idea wormed its way into Dryea’s gearing mind. The luncheon! Perfect! The rumours will be traced back to the luncheon. Oooh all the suspects to choose from! Pelien of course will be the first target followed by the supposedly concerned Tiriel and Siriel. Though Ruiel’s oldest daughter was unaware, Lady Morthaniawen had already chosen the victim who at this moment was surrounded by silly women hanging on every juicy word that issued from her tittle-tattle mouth.

Completely pleased with her mother’s success Dryea abandoned her insipid tea as Elena and Emilia buzzed over the information.

“Ar-Pharazon?” said Emilia dubiously. “That seems a bit far-fetched.” Dryea laughed daintily, careful not to slosh her drink.

“I think I have to agree with you on that, Emilia. Gossips theses days have quite the imagination,” the two shook their heads, but Elena cut in earnestly.

“No, no,” she argued. “Listen. I have been doing study in that area recently and it makes perfect sense. If you had survived the destruction and escaped as Ar-Pharazon’s descendents or what not, you’d go back to Dol Amroth wouldn’t you? And what would you take up as? Surely not a maid.” She paused enough for her friends to agree. “No, they had enough money to establish themselves as a well-to-do family with political acuteness. Eventually they’d grow in reputation until they were so close to the royal family that, as it is in Finduilas’ case—”

“Is the royal family!” finished Dryea as if she had just had an epiphany and figured this out for the first time. “You are clever Elena!” she commented as her friend smiled sagely. “But are you sure?”

“How can she not be,” snapped Emilia excitedly.

“It is clever of her though,” added Elena. “We should be careful in revealing what we know.” An amused glint had established itself in Emilia’s eyes and she talked in tones that told her two friends she wanted to use this to their best advantage.

“But she’d be discharged the minute the steward and his son found out the truth,” she said slowly. “And then her whole group would be out of our hair!”

“Ooh, but Ar-Pharazon was evil!” protested Dryea, acting timid. “Suppose Finduilas is just as terrible! Things could go very bad for all of us.” Emilia shook her pretty head confidently.

“I doubt it. Minas Tirith is too powerful,” she smiled as Dryea toyed nervously with the lace on her bodice. Then a second idea, that would do wonders for her act, replaced her simply nervous expression to one of fear. Elena and Emlia read it at once and voiced their queries.

“I’m from Dol Amroth!” whispered Dryea frantically. “She probably has the entire city filled with her allies and if she is found out and sent back then we can never go home!” She did well to make the beginning of what was to be tears appear in her eyes if she wasn’t comforted.

“There, there Dryea,” said Elena comfortingly. “When all of it is cleared by the steward I’m sure he’ll take action right away. You’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Deciding that her words were good enough, Dryea collected herself and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief hidden in a skirt pocket before folding and replacing it.

“You’re right,” she said confidently. “I’m being foolish.”

“Don’t take it to heart,” said Emilia. “Let’s have some more tea and turn our conversation to something more, interesting.” The other two knew that she wanted to speak of men and smiled mysteriously, diving into the conversation. Every now and then Emilia would say something funny and both Elena and Dryea would laugh a bit loudly, achieving reproving glares from the older women. Dryea, glad that her two friends seemed to be completely convinced, enthusiastically contributed to their discussion which lasted for the remainder of the luncheon.