It is early afternoon in the Swan's city of Dol Amroth, and like it has been as of late, the rain continues to fall down from the heavens drenching all of the city and those that are unlucky enough to have to venture outside. But within the Lion Rampant's Parlour, it is dry and warm. Dripping cloaks hang from pegs by the door and servers move about dispensing drinks and plates of food to the patrons of the refined establishment.
Sitting in the back right corner of the Parlour is Captain Aearon. He sits at a large table that is covered in parchments, maps and random scattered papers. The Captain currently sits with an aged map in front of him and a cup of steaming liquid in his hand, poring over the map as he studies the aged parchment.
One small corner of that table is given over to Menelglir Telpekhor, soaked cloak hanging somewhere near Aearon's by the door. There's a steaming mug of tea next to the Squire, and in front of him is a hefty tome that he has somehow managed to get from somewhere...and to keep dry. He is deep into the book, tracing lines with one finger, frowning as he reads.
"Sirs," says a quiet, cultured voice not of the Lion's staff, "may I serve you?" It is Lominzil, standing nearby with a steaming pitcher of spiced and warmed wine. He is soberly clad in squire's attire and for once, well-groomed and steady of expression; rumor-mongers might, by his appearance, feel that he has stepped back from the precipice of grief-stricken madness, though some whisper that instead, he has stepped further down those stairs.
Hearing the voice address him, the Captain looks up from his map and looking at the squire says, "Serve us? In what manner, Squire...?" Obviously expecting the squire to introduce himself, then looking to his cousin a moment, he takes a sip of his steaming tea and leans back waiting for the squire to speak.
"Lominizil?" Menelglir looks up from the book in front of him, blinking. "Serve us? Why...sit down, obviously. Unless you are working here? But whatever for...and, this is my cousin, Captain Aearon of the Silver Ship, Blue Squire Lominzil."
"Yes. Thank you, Menelglir," says the standing squire, and after a moment's hesitation, sits. The jug is set upon the table as well, though he does not touch it.
His hands mesh, gripping each other as if for support. "I am Lominzil Girithlin," he says in his quiet voice. "My manner has been remarkably uncivil in the near past, and I confess it to be without reason. Yet I hope you will hear me, Menelglir, Captain Aearon," blue-grey eyes regarding each Telpekhor in turn, "for I come humbly to beg of you a favor."
Setting his cup of tea down, the Captain looks the Squire over a moment then says, "I cannot guarantee any favors, Lominzil. Menelglir and I are rather preoccupied with other matters at the moment. But there is no harm in asking, speak your mind."
"I will help you if I may," Menelglir says, though. "As I told your brother Gawithmir I would. You have heard, though? He was chosen to come with us." A glance at the pitcher now on their table, and Menelglir twists about to get the attention of a serving girl, who brings over cups for the spiced wine.
"Thank you," murmurs Lominzil to the serving girl. He pours swiftly, concentrating his attention therein, and nudges a mug toward each person. "I was present at the giving of the invitation," says the young man. "I wish him, and you both, well on your endeavor." Wrapping slender fingers about his cup, he begins, "My father, Caronnen, tells me that the Telpekhiri recently ransomed a young daughter from the South."
Rolling up the map and setting it down with the rest of the parchment upon the table, the Captain says, "Yes, we arranged such things during the Fair." Sipping his cup of tea, he continues "I negotiated the ransom with the she-devil of Seaward, Eruphel.. or Maha.. whatever name she goes by." Setting his cup of tea down again, he leans back and says, "Our negotiations were complicated, money was not the only factor."
"I understand. So the point of contact was initiated at the Festival of Falastur with the Tower-lord," says Lominzil, listening, though the observer might notice the vertical line of strain chiselled between his brows. "My sister, Farielle, was taken during the storming of Caldur. Since then we have had but one word from her, but that is already long past. I came to ask the means whereby the ransom was negotiated, that we might send them a like offer."
Thinking a moment, the Captain says "I negotiated the meeting place for the exchange whilst Maha - Eruphel was still within our lands. To be honest, the Fair was the main reason we were able to complete the negotiations." Tapping his finger upon his chin a moment, "Do you know which tower holds your sister?" then pausing for a moment, "And do not take these words wrong, but do you know if she yet lives?" Taking a sip of his tea again, the Captain continues, "Finding out which Tower holds your sister will be your first step; from there you can try and contact them.. as for how I do not know."
"I told Gwaimthir this, but he would have none of it-the Bragollachs, particularly the younger Lady Gweneth, arranged trade wtih some of the Southrons during the fair. Gwaithmir seemed to detest the Bragollachs-or so his reaction indicated. I do not know if this is a family wide aversion," Menelglir says, looking carefully to the other Squire, "but I deem that family your best chance." He pauses. "Besides, you are Squire to Lord Bragollach."
"As it was in Caldur, it was likely Farside or Seaward that did the deed. As for her current state," says Lominzil quietly, pressing a fist to his chest, "I know nothing, but my heart chooses to believe that she lives still. My family will seek House Bragollach, then, if we must. Little do I regard House-strife now," the Girithlin admits, smiling weakly at the Telpekhiri. "If Sir Imrakhor will hear me, then I must ask him for kindness in this matter." His expression does not seem to relish the encounter.
With a sigh, and a look as if he feels for the young squire, the Captain says, "I wish we could be of more help, Lominzil. I wish you good luck and that you can arrange her return swiftly." Picking up his cup of tea and taking a sip, he continues, "Be prepared to pay a large ransom. Fifteen gold florins was the ransom for our niece, and she was but a young child."
"There is another option," Menelglir says, having gone suddenly quiet. He sets his mug down, and, giving Aearon a quick, sideways glance, continues to the Squire. "The Black Company. They are known to support the Pretender. Surely they must have ways of reaching the Southrons. Though you would have to convince them to trust you-and you would have to do so without committing treason or breaking your oath."
"Any price. If Farielle could be brought safely home, I am willing to give them my head!" affirms the Girithlin squire, closing his eyes. "The Black Company, you say? Very well. I have heard little of their activities; perhaps they have already returned South. But it is something to consider. I thank you - Menelglir - Captain."
Shooting his cousin a half glare at the mention of the Black Company, the Captain listens to the words of both squires, then as the young squire goes to leave, he says, "Be careful when dealing with either of those groups, Lominzil, they are not to be trusted."
"Not to be trusted indeed!" Menelglir says with vehemence. "Not only that,Lominizil, but if you are to deal with them so and not be accused of treason, you must get permission from your Knight and from the Order. Anything to secure your sister-but would she sanction your death and your name being blackened as a traitor?"
"I am prepared to act as the situation requires," says Lominzil soberly. He rises, bowing deeply to the Captain and the other Squire. "Thank you, sirs. Finish the wine - it is good wine."
Again giving the squire a nod of his head, the Captain picks up another map from his pile of parchment, unrolls it, and begins to look it over, sighing heavily as he does so.
'Be wary,' Menelglir says as Lominzil departs. He watches the other squire a moment, then shakes his head and turns back to Aearon, saying something partially lost in the noise of the inn.
Farielle watched the lady go, and anger turned to triumph. Now, back to the plants. But this 'garden' was a jungle - she didn't know if she dared venture off the path. From what the guards had said, a dreadful fate awaited anyone who tried. But she hadn't yet had a chance to look along all the paths; she would do that before trying anything more dangerous.
Beneath the cultivated canopy, the afternoon is lush and green as a jungle, with no hint of salt air or dry desert. It is loud, in that animals chatter to each other nonstop from their perches, few people choose to walk the maze at this hour.
Nisrin, though, is perched on a bench, eye to eye with a slender green snake. The snake holds the girl's gaze for a long minute, unblinking, then slithers off suddenly across the path in search of some tasty insect. Nisrin mutters and reclines back against the bench, her eyes closed as she listens.
A snake gliding almost under her very feet brings a muffled squeak from Farielle, and a smirk from her guard. "Are they poisonous?" she asks after a minute, a little breathlessly, staring into the undergrowth where the snake has vanished.
"They aren't," calls Nisrin, smiling at the voice through closed eyes. "Unless you are an insect!"
The unexpected voice is nearly as startling as the snake, but less fearsome. Farielle's tense shoulders relax and she looks around, trying to find the other girl. "Oh, there you are. I didn't see you." Coming around the last little bend of the path, the Gondorian hesitates before sitting down. "Might I join you?"
"If you like," says the other girl, gathering herself into a sitting position. "Do you like the gardens? You aren't lost, are you?"
Uncertain quite how warm this welcome is, Farielle hesitates a moment before sitting down. She smiles tentatively. "No, I am not lost." She nods at the ever-present guard, and her voice takes on a bitter edge under the surface humor. "I could not get lost, even if I wanted to."
"It is very ... different. I've never seen anything like this. One of my kinsmen has a place with different animals in it, but it is not like this."
"Of course," Nisrin says matter-of-factly, "the Seaward gardens are renowned. Say, have you been in the audience of Lady Eruphel? Is she to let you go out? There are these wonderful embroidered slippers at the bazaar, only they will be all gone if we wait too long..."
"Yes. She says that I may go. With ten guards," Farielle answers, frowning a little. She glances at Nisrin after a minute, banishing the frown. "Slippers? Will they go with my dress?" And a moment later, lifting her chin a little, "I - I want to buy a gift. For Lord Alphros. Do you know him at all; what he might prefer?"
"I daresay they might," says Nisrin, then after a blank moment, "Lord Alphros? Perhaps ... a new embroidered veil? Or ... something to control his cats? I do not know, perhaps you could get something that reminds you of Gondor..."
The frown returns at the mention of the veil, and Farielle is shaking her head. "I don't like that... His cats?" She stops and stares at Nisrin. "How many cats has he, and why do they need controlling? Are they - do they - all /over/?"
"Cats," repeats Nisrin patiently. "Did you not know? It is the curse that follows all descendants of Queen Beruthiel. They come to him from everywhere, even though he does not call them. But he does not like cats very much, though Lady Azradi does."
"I did not know," Farielle answers slowly. "I mean, Yildirim told me that he had cats, but I thought, a few. For pets. I didn't - they just come?" She is silent, trying to picture this. Then she grins suddenly, and there is a spark of something else, satisfaction perhaps, in her eyes. "He needs the opposite of catnip."
"A pair of fine hunting dogs," smiles Nisrin, and her eyes light up. "Oh! Have I shown you the kennels yet?" And she is up and bounding away, tugging on the lady's arm.
"I don't think you gave me enough money for that!" Farielle protests, but she lets herself be pulled down the path towards the kennels, laughing a little at Nisrin's enthusiasm. The guard following behind has to lengthen his stride to keep up.
Farielle felt almost cheerful as she left the kennels. I think... I think I have found a friend. Suddenly, she was worried. Was it a betrayal of her homeland to be friendly with the enemy? But Nisrin - it was impossible to think of Nisrin as the enemy anymore. She was half-way back to the tower when she realized she had no desire to go back in. Not yet. She found a bench and sat down on it. The guard took up his position beside and a little behind her.