It's afternoon - and the hall and common lounge are nearly empty. Which is a relief to Farielle, perhaps; she has ventured down again from her room and is looking around rather cautiously. A guard walks with her, a little step behind.

It is noticeable, perhaps, that the Gondorian shies from actually making eye-contact with anyone that she can avoid looking at. Though she smiles and nods politely to anyone who manages to force her to.

A flurry of hushed words sounds from the doorway before the guards part to admit a tall and slender woman with a purposeful stride and eyes for the far curtained walls. Where Seaward adherents wear deep azure, she appears to be arrayed in deep purples where her dark cloak shifts aside to allow a glance; she does, however, appear to carry a faded, bloodstained Seaward sash clasped in hand, an accessory put into strange contrast with the serene expression upon her finely-featured face.

The sharp relief of a raised brow comes into play, however, when her focus chances upon Farielle, and her course across the hall is soon changed to bring her nearer to the Gondorian and her escort. "So you are the girl," Niakhti muses plainly and quietly to spare an echo, a winning smile offered first to Farielle's guard as she places herself in their path.

Farielle stops, looking up warily. She says nothing, as nothing Niakhti has said seems to require a response, but instead looks at the woman with a little curiosity. The garment she wears is different... But Farielle doesn't know enough to know what that means.

Niakhti shifts the bloody sash casually in her hands with every pretense of an absent-minded, fidgeting gesture drawn out far more deliberately. "Forgive the lack of an introduction, will you?" she asks with little invitation for answer. "I suppose it must be as strange to ask as it is for me to offer. I am Niakhti, and you, Farielle, yes?" The dark woman's alto is smooth and her manner decorous, though her eyes linger an unapologetically appraising weight upon the pale young woman.

"Yes," Farielle says slowly. "I am Farielle. Of Girithlin," she adds.

"Yes, yes," Niakhti echoes idly, as if narrating her thoughts while she considers Farielle. This pause, whatever it brings to mind behind her dark eyes, elicits a languid smile. "I was looking for your... Lady. Eruphel." She states this confidently enough, with a pronounced awkwardness on the title. "Though I am sure her ladyship has many more pressing things to deal with than such a little matter as is mine. I would not wish to anger her with idle things. Perhaps you know the tower well enough by now to help me yourself?"

"To help you with what?" The girl's words are more cautious. "I know only a little of this tower."

"I found a Seaward man in the streets, dejected and badly beaten. By some beast of a foe, no doubt, though he seemed reluctant to say. Perhaps the poor soul was too frightened of reprisal?" Here Niakhti pauses to consider the girl's reaction before speaking on with a more reassuring tone that wavers toward patronizing, whether knowingly or not, as she fingers the sash in her hands. "I would not ask you do anything to endanger your favor with your keepers. I ask only to be granted a vial of medicine for him, that he may recover is health and honor before returning to his station."

"That is not too much, is it?" she asks, voice lifted just enough to be audible to the guard as well. "I would ask Eruphel herself, but I do not wish to rouse her from more important matters if it would anger her." Her last sentiment is spoken almost like a question, and again Farielle would find her face watched, if she were to make eye contact with Niakhti.

A slight frown winkles Farielle's forehead, and there is something in her eyes - disgust, perhaps. "Beaten by whom?" she asks, stiffening a little as the woman goes on. "I do not know where such supplies are to be found, but I daresay the captain of these guards might."

The guard looks like he might have a better idea of who Niakhti is talking of, for he rolls his eyes, but says. "Yes. Such can be fetched." He eyes the woman. "And you undertake to care for this ... man yourself, do you?"

"He would not name his assailant... Lady," Niakhti repeats, trying the title with a carefully-reprised smile. "Indeed, he seemed reluctant to reveal his condition at all, but his pain was so plain it could not be masked. So gruesome were his wounds... and no small man himself. It must have been terrible for him."

Here Niakhti lifts the bloodied sash for the guard to witness, though makes no offer to hand it to him. If rolled-eyes are noticed, they are met with a cool, calm patience. "Goodness, no," is her answer for him. I seek only to do a favor, to Eruphel and her Corsairs. I would just as soon go, if help for such an unfortunate condition is not needed."

Farielle's face grows pale, and she swallows hard. "There is medicine," she says. "I - I cannot get it for you, but one of the guards..." She glances back at the man.

He nods, and looks around - there is no one here at the moment, but... Ah. A young man crosses the great hall, and is hailed and sent for the medication. "A favor," the guard says then. "Indeed, that is very kind of you, lady." His voice is so expressionless as to be ironic.

"Thank you," lilts the dark woman to Farielle specifically upon her consent; little heed is paid to the deadpan guard, perhaps suggesting that thanks and favor is not Niakhti's aim after all. "I am sure Bahazaid will wish to thank you himself, when he learns of your part in this," she adds quietly for the girl alone, his name punctuated by a particular emphasis and further study of the girl's pale face, though Niakhti's own expression is a kindly (and carefully-managed) smile. "I am sure your waiting husband would wish you to see our true kindness here, if you are to enjoy your new home."

Bahazaid. A sick look crosses Farielle's face, but she shows no other sign of her thoughts. "I - do not think he wishes to say anything to me," she says in a low voice. Despite herself, and her mostly-successful attempts at self-control, her eyes dart to Niakhti's at the other woman's sideways mention of Lord Alphros.

Niakhti waves her hand dismissively. "Be that as it may, it is a good deed no less!" says she, laughter implied in her timbre as the subject is forgone. "Perhaps Umbar will take to you, and you to Umbar. In the meantime, I shall await your messenger here."

Strange though these may be as parting words, this would seem their intent as Niakhti steps at last out of Farielle's presumed former path with one last smile for her escort.

The girl gives a wary nod, and continues on her way, maybe leaving the room a little more hurriedly than she had come in.

Back up the stairs. The curving hallway is lit by a strong afternoon sun. Stark shadows lay across the spots where the light doesn't reach. One such shadow looms suddenly on the rounded wall, elongated until it barely seems human; another follows it. And both of these are joined by the sound of footsteps - Farielle's barely audible, her guard's more like a march. Her blue dress alternately flames a brilliant sapphire and dims to navy as she passes the arching windows.

Seemingly by chance, as they pass a T-junction in the Hall, Yildirim is there and takes up with the trio, much to the guards' surprise, short-lived as it is. "Good day, Lady Farielle. Nice to see you out of your chambers and out and about."

"I went to the library, and then downstairs," Farielle answers, after a short pause. A smile flickers across her face. "There are even some books I can read there. I didn't know if I should take them away, though." She looks at Yildirim curiously. "I didn't think you came here often." She doesn't mention her brief conversation with Niakhti.

"Only for thieves that hold my property in captivity, Lady," Yildirim in jest. "The harsh Haradrim winds kick up sands that are simply impossible to remove from the creases of one's armor."

"It's quite uncomfortable."

"If you wish it, it is simple enough for me to gather what is mine and be on my way."

Farielle's eyebrows draw together and she looks at him, puzzled. "Thieves?" A slightly hesitant, but not so brief smile crosses her face. "If you mean do I want you to go away again... please stay. I would like to talk to you. If you are not busy?"

"Only a thief, Lady, you!" Yildirim intones in mock forcefulness, "You have my cloak. I aim to have it returned!"

A sigh, "And I will suffer some time with you if you so desire."

Both eyebrows go up, and then Farielle laughs. "I had forgotten." They are near the doorway now, and she pushes it open, going in. One of the guards comes also, stationing himself near the door; the other remains without. The cloak is folded and laying on the low table, and the girl gestures towards it, sitting down on her bed. But then she doesn't seem quite to know how to begin, looking first at him, and then down at her hands, and then at the guard. "Do you - " she starts, then stops, and almost at random asks abruptly, "Who did that to your finger?"

Though he tries to hide it, there is surprise on Yildirim's face, and he turns towards the cloak, retrieving it and wrapping it loosely about his shoulders, "Is that not twice you have asked? Why so curious? Cruel as it may sound, I know from experience that not all men in Gondor keep the ten of their fingers during life."

Farielle watches him, her blue-grey eyes troubled. "I want to know," she says at last, looking away. "You spoke of - of torture." Her voice drops as if she can barely say the last word, and she shivers.

A deep breath, and a hint of shyness enters her voice as she changes (perhaps) the subject. "You said that you know Lord Alphros. Will you tell me what he is like?"

He smiles at her, "I have only been tortured by Gondorian hands, if that is your question."

"It was a mistake on my part, nothing more," Yildirim replies, seemingly carefree as he adjusts the cloak still more. "As for Lord Alphros... There is much to speak of when you speak of a man. Shall I just speak on him? Or would you steer my words?"

"Who?" It is barely audible, and Farielle huddles into herself, still not looking at Yildirim. Though her eyes flicker towards him and away again as she says, rather obliquely, "If I must marry him... tell me what comes to your mind." Hard on top of that, apprehensively, "Is he kind?"

"Have you been told that you must marry him?" Yildirim questions, some concern or maybe confusion in his words.

"As to what comes to my mind... I have never seen him kind, nor have I seen cruelty. He is fair and measured, like great men of old. He was once Lord Farside, and it was under him that I joined Farside as Corsair. He never demanded anything from his men, only expectations of competence if not excellence. If it was delivered, he was open with praise and rewards. If it is was not, then you are as a ghost until you once again prove your worth. But that is how a great leader leads men to great deeds. For a wife... do you enjoy cats?"

"I did not think I had a choice," Farielle answers. "They said, if I please him, he will marry me, and if not..." But she doesn't finish, another shudder running through her body, her eyes shadowed with dread. "I know nothing of him. I have only seen him once and he insulted my kinsmen." A spike of clannish indignation sharpens her voice a moment.

"I don't know how to please him and - and I /hate/ that I must grovel to someone because I - I am afraid." She flushes. "Amestris says that it is worse than foolish of me to feel like that, but if he was kind, it might not be too bad..."

"Cats?" Surprise halts her words and brings her eyes up to meet his. "I - we have a cat. She just had kittens. What has that to do with anything?"

Yildirim's reply is delayed, pondering his response, "He has many cats."

"As to your end, I do not think it is all so bad as that."

"There is a prevailing view that you are dim, but I think you are more ignorant than dim. Though, to be honest, we have done no puzzles to test that theory."

"Simply put, you do not take seriously the claims of Alphros azAzulada. That is the simplicity of it. Others see you as weak or perhaps less than bright, but I think, as all Gondorians I have met, are cursed with the inability to believe a Haradrim for anything but a liar."

He takes a few steps towards Farielle, indeed, reaching out to take her hand, "Lord Alphros -is- the rightful King of Gondor. His will -is- to restore the Kingdom of Gondor, heal the fracture of our people and unite us. Now, I know you cannot believe it, for you have spent your life learning you cannot, but pretend you have had a different life, are a different person, and then look at where you sit. Queen of Gondor, surely someday, of Umbar and the Harad lands. Certainly, not so quickly as a snap of the fingers, but Gondor's wane has been clear for generations now. The tempest of time comes, to harken a new age, and Alphros is poised to be the leader of mankind through it. And here you sit, in your fetching gown of silks, in a position of more power, perhaps, than any other in Umbar and you bemoan your lot. That is why people think you a fool. But, I do not think you a fool. You simply..." he releases her hands, standing up, "Cannot believe it to be so."

Farielle listens, saying nothing as he takes her hands and talks, so earnestly, so sincerely, until finally he is done. In a low voice, she says, "That man - I don't know his name, he belongs here - he said that if Lord Alphros doesn't want me, I will be given to him and killed. For a sacrifice."

She looks back at him, letting pass the accusation of herself as stupid. "The lady, Lord Alphros's sister, she told me they are of King Tarannon's begetting, though I was taught he had no children. If it is so, you are right that he is king, but that is not something any belief or lack of it of mine will change."

Her voice grows more urgent, half-bitter, half-confused. "Why does everyone think that I should be glad to have been stolen from my people, happy to never see my family or my home again, or not for years if lord Alphros' claim is true. To be brought here, where I know no one and nothing, and no one will teach me. Where if you speak to the wrong person, you can be killed, or made a slave, or - or whipped. And Amestris is afraid to walk home after dark, alone. To be mocked and considered an idiot, where nothing I want or say is of the slightest importance to anyone, married to a man I have not chosen, who will never love me. Who doesn't even want /me/, but only my bloodline. Where in this is being a Queen supposed to comfort or please me?"

Yildirim smiles, "Well, I would say Gondor's particular bent to coddle women as weaklings is not to your advantage here. But, you are correct, Umbar has given you nothing to make you want to be Alphros' wife. In fact, but this morning I told Lady Farside and Seaward as much. Umbar has a freedom you cannot find in Gondor, and it is paid for with uncertainty, this is true. But..." he shakes his head, "My apologies. I am wont to lecture when given the chance. So much of Gondor's ways frustrate me."

"Simply put, the women of Umbar are more ambitious than in Gondor. Put in a similar position, they can only think of how they could use it to their advantage."

"Whereas, you are..." his brow knits together, "Too accepting, I think. Maybe? For them that is."

"I was happy," she says forlornly. "I looked to marry... in some years. Perhaps not for love, but at least someone pleasing to me. To look after his affairs and our estate. To... " She blushes faintly, "Have children, and my family near. I never looked higher. There are women in Gondor who are ambitious, but I - they seem hard to me, and calculating, with no care for anyone. I am not - I cannot be like that."

A quizzical look glints in her eyes. "I should scream? And pound on the doors? This would make people respect me? You are so strange. I will never understand." A moment later, irritably, "And I am not stupid!"

"Nothing so annoying as that. But I have heard that Lady Seaward had a man put to the lash for overly bothering you. Certainly, that threat has some weight. Others, your long memory for past wrongs when you are married perhaps," Yildirim attempts, "But perhaps even that defies who you are."

"In Umbar though, a man or woman can be both ambitious and caring. You simply have the will to move towards what you want. But, I will not press you to be Lord Alphros' wife. And, if I can, will speak with him and his sister so that they too do not force this upon you. It would serve neither you or Farside well for that. But that will leave you to the devices of Seaward, and I would be surprised if they did not take payment for your life, but I have no say in it."

"I didn't get sick," Farielle says. "And I didn't faint either." But she is frowning again, and shaking her head. "Is that the only thing that people respect here? Cruelty and harshness? I don't want to think always of everything anyone has done to me that I didn't like, so that some day I might wreak vengeance on them all."

Perhaps he thinks his promise to speak to the lord and lady will comfort her, but Farielle's face turns suddenly white. "Don't," she begs him. "I - I will try. Amestris has said she will help me. I don't want to be branded or.. or killed."

"Only the weak use cruelty, like that fool Khaan. And I will not say you have not been treated harshly, but then there are great expectations placed upon you. I would like to think I am neither harsh, nor cruel, nor my lady, nor my lord. But they have a strength, in both body and character, that I seek to have as well. That is what they look for in you. Someone worthy to be called, Queen."

Yildirim glances towards the guards, busy with their own conversation, "I should go now. Was there else you wished to speak to me on?"

"And you think I am weak." Farielle's voice is flat. "No. There is nothing else."

Yildirim considers, "I see I have insulted you. But, are not women in Gondor often praised for... what did the poem said, a 'delicate flower of womanhood'? I have seen women shield themselves from the sun, so that their skin is all the more tender. Are you not shunned if you carry a blade?"

He takes a breath, adding, "In truth Lady, in what way do these luxuries of upbringing give strength? I can not see it."

"If you want someone who can fight in a battle, no," Farielle says. "I cannot. I don't wish to." She glances at herself. "I avoid the sun because I burn terribly."

"Shunned?" She considers that. "There are women who learn, to defend themselves. They are thought a little strange, but not shunned. To want to fight in war, yes."

"But there are other kinds of strength: to show mercy and compassion, to not lower yourself to the level of your enemy by acting as cruelly, to uphold honor whether anyone else is or not, not to let power make you feel you can act as you will be it good or evil, to think beyond yourself to the needs of your people, not to require of them what you are not willing for yourself." She comes to a stop, looking at him as if from the far side of an invisible and perplexingly impassable wall. "If these things are not valued among you, there is no lady in Gondor who will make a fit bride for your king. No one he should want, anyways. And Lady Azradi said he wanted a Gondorian wife."

"You said you would ask that they not force me. I would like to get to know him, a little. Is this possible?" She sounds wistful now. "How can I choose, if indeed I am given a choice, when I am so ignorant?"

Yildirim listens to the young woman's words. He seems to consider them thoughtfully as she gives her information and her arguments. Then he answers, "All of that is well and good, but matters not if you can be cowed into doing whatever another wishes, no?"

Farielle stares at him. Finally, utterly perplexed she says, "I don't understand you. I don't know what you want. I say I don't wish to marry Lord Alpros, and your entire country decides it is because I am too stupid to know what is good for me. I say that I will consider it, and you tell me I am being cowed into doing what someone else wishes. Am I also stupid and cowed because I don't want to be a slave? What do you want me to do? Kill myself, to prove that I am acting of my own free will? I tried that already! Nisrin said I was weak because I didn't steal a sword and slaughter everyone else while I was at it, but the first person who came along would have taken it from me, and I don't WANT to kill people!" Her voice is rising in frustration, and the guards look up - but there is no talk of escape, and that is what they are primarily concerned with. They return to their conversation, keeping a desultory ear open.

"Lady Farielle, you are right," Yildirim says, holding up his hands, "In all things, you should of course, be the woman you are. I only am trying to explain what others are looking for. For what it is worth, I do not wish you to marry Alphros." His voice lowers, "Nor do I wish to see your blood spilled for some ritual."

He returns to full voice, "I had hoped to help you understand the expectations of those that hold your fate in their hands. I will see if you can spend more time with Alphros."

"That makes two of us, for I don't want to marry him either," Farielle says, slightly grumpy still. She pauses, curious. "Why don't you wish me to marry him? Everyone else seems to. Am I that bad?"

"Thank you," she says then, formally. "They want me to be strong, and to want to be a queen so that I am someone more like them whom they can understand." She lifts her chin a little. "I can be strong. But I will not be like these people."

To her latter comment, he chuckles lightly, "If you insist. As to marriage, well, I am a common man. Regardless of your womanly virtues, this all seems more trouble than it is worth."

He stretches his arms above him, "But for now, I must not idle my own day away. My thanks for keeping my cloak well. Oddly, I do not have another."

Farielle's anger is short-lived. "You're welcome," she says. "Thank you for loaning it to me." She smiles.

"Then be well, Lady Farielle, and good luck to deciphering the differences of culture between your people and mine. I was in Gondor several months and much is still opaque to me."

The young man smiles in kind, "Perhaps, doing so will prove you are not so dim as people say, no? And to correct, I did not say you were... the judgement is still out," he teases. "Good day."