But she can't bear to stay there, restlessness and hope and fear and disappointment keeping her pacing from wall to wall until, in a fury at herself, she goes outside. The heron follows.

Evening has fallen - abruptly, as always this far south - but it is still warm. Farielle sits on the ground beside a small pond, leaning against a rock, and looks up at the sky. The stars still bring her comfort, and she can lose herself among them, and find some small measure of peace from the turmoil in her heart. Something black and angular stands one-footed in the water near her. A small breeze is beginning to blow in off the ocean, rustling the branches of the vegetation.

A crunching noise is accompanied by soft footfalls - Nisrin comes slowly down the path, eating a bit of fruit freshly plucked from the orchard. Her face is slightly bruised, not that it is very visible, and her scimitar is hung across her shoulders.

Farielle tenses at the sound, her breath coming shorter, but she doesn't look around. A black shape detaches itself from a tree trunk - one of her guards who glances at Nisrin and then relaxes back against the trunk again.

"We're in the Seaward Gardens," Nisrin scolds the attentive guard, peering over his shoulders on tip-toe. "I do wish you weren't so tense. Nothing is going to attack you here, right?" Grinning, the Haradrim girl strolls closer to Farielle, plopping down onto the pond-bank beside the Gondorian.

"As you say," the guard replies. "Lady Seaward was most - urgent regarding the safety of her 'guest'." He gives the last word a full measure of sarcasm.

Farielle's shoulders hunch at his tone, but she does her best to ignore him, smiling a little at the other girl as she sits down. The bird in the pond shifts and gives a sleepy croak, moving its head just enough to peer at Nisrin with one bright eye before tucking its head back into its feathers.

"Just don't sit on any snakes," calls Nisrin over her shoulder. Then, turning to peer at Farielle and the bird in the pond, "What is that thing?"

A snort is her reply, the guard returning to his watch.

"I - don't know. I mean, it's a bird, of course, but I don't know what sort. Amestris said that she has seen them along the river banks, and it eats fish. And follows me around." Farielle sounds half-vexed, half-resigned - but her expression as she watches the heron is more affectionate than not. It has been pleasant to have a companion - and one that neither orders her about nor criticizes her.

"Oh," says Nisrin, tossing the core of her fruit into the pond (although not at the bird). "Does it fly? How do you feed it? I did not know we had many fish in Seaward, except for one goldfish pond that the cats quite enjoyed. The fishmonger?"

At the splash, the heron's head uncoils and it stares at the rippling water for several long minutes before tucking it away again. And Farielle twitches nervously. "I .. don't know. I haven't seen it fly. Someone goes and gets it fish from the markets." She shifts her position, then shifts again. "What have you been doing?"

"Fish are good," purrs Nisrin happily, tilting her head to admire the heron. "So it is your pet!" She looks over to Farielle. "I have been training. Except it has been a long time since I last picked up a sword," looking down disapprovingly at her muddy clothes, "and I did not do very well."

"I... yes. I think." The older girl shifts again - it is as if she is sitting on small sharp pebbles, and cannot get comfortable - except that the ground beneath is soft and springy with a sort of moss. She glances at Nisrin, her eyebrows pinching together. "You - like to do that?" she asks tentatively.

"Yes," answers Nisrin, resting her chin on her knees. "Well - yes. But I would much rather be sailing." Why, she does not mention. "But our house is renowned for its prowess with arms and Eron says I must do it, even if I am clumsy as a Mumak, because otherwise it would be shameful!" The girl rubs at her face. "I don't like getting hit much."

Farielle is silent for a minute, starting at some sound from the garden, then glancing back up at the stars. Looking at them seems to calm her. "You sound like my cousin," she says, her voice almost dreamy now as she stares up at the glimmering white sparks so far away. "Only her mother tells her she must learn to paint whether she likes it or not, for our house is renowned for being patrons of the arts. She would prefer to ride."

"Riding is terrifying," shudders the Haradrim girl. "In the desert they have Mumakil and camels and great lumpy creatures that smell. And they are not of much use on the coast. Do you know how to ride?"

"Yes, of course I do." Farielle sounds a little surprised. Doesn't everyone? "But.. Mumakil? What is that? Haven't you any horses?" She has looked away from the starry sky and sounds almost enthusiastic. "I can't believe that you go around letting people hack at you with a sword, but are afraid of riding. Lomin and I would race each other across the hills. I won," she adds smugly, then for fairness, "But probably only because I am smaller."

"Mumakil are ... great big animals with noses and tusks. There are not so many in Umbar, but in the desert, where it is bigger ..." Nisrin waves her arm vaguely. "We do not use horses much. It is much too hot, and they drink lots of water."

"If you are supposed to be small," the girl says, glancing sidelong at the Gondorian, "your brother must be very large."

"I am short," Farielle says, an echo of an old grievance in her voice - she has never grown, even to match her mother! "My brothers are all much taller than I. So are my parents. So are nearly all of my cousins."

"Tusks!" She wrinkles her nose. "That doesn't sound like much fun - but you would like riding a horse, I am sure you would. And it isn't hard at all. Why, I began to learn when I was but a baby!"

Nisrin purses her lips. "I received my first sword when I was six," she answers. "So I think we are balanced, there. But maybe you will get a horse in the future," the girl encourages brightly. "Some of the nobility have them for show, because camels are lumpy and like to spit."

This is not, perhaps, so encouraging as Nisrin might have hoped. All the pleasure drains from Farielle's face and she looks away, staring at the black lump of the heron standing in the pond. The stars shimmer on the water's surface, and behind her, one of the guards coughs. The other is silent. "Yes," the older girl says, her voice dull. "Perhaps." She leans forward, trailing her fingers in the water.

Diamonds in the sky, and stones below. It seems the perfect night to speak in friendly terms amongst one another. A Lady of House Hashikh and the could-be Queen of Gondor. Such a perfect set up for someone wishing to strike fear into the mass that is Umbar, and send a message to the would-be King of Gondor. The silence is numb as the two girls talk, the breathing of the creatures around them, and the guards Lady Eruphel assigned to Farielle having been tuned out. Soon though, it becomes substantially -more- silent.

If one were to look from the guards towards Seawards gates, one would find the twin guards at the iron missing, though upon closer inspection there are dark wet spots where once they stood. Soon a low whistling grows louder, and blurs of movement strike into the field of vision of both women, as well as the mist of red Vitae erupting from Farielle's guards. A roar from the gates heralds six black clad men, four of which engage the alerted Tower guards that sweep towards the gate as another moves to sound a call to arms.

Two men rush straight towards Nisrin and Farielle. One an enormous man whose hooded face is shielded from view. The other...

Is Vain.

"Step away Daughter of Seaward. Our fight is not with you..." Comes an obviously artificial voice from below the mask of Blood splattered Alabaster as mirrored eyes do not betray who Vain looks towards. But a Shamshir, a weapon of Nurn, is pulled from a scabbard with a hiss of violence as the hulking man moves towards Farielle, in an attempt to grab her by the arms.

Nisrin bites her lip, trying to answer Farielle. The silence is eerie - almost oppressive, and she cannot think of anything to say. She stands up to look around and then they are surrounded, and the ground is wet with blood. A swift glance at Farielle, and she pushes the other girl, trying to drive her closer to the pond and her bird. "These are Seaward grounds. It is very much my business!" answers Nisrin, her lip curling. She draws her scimitar, a heavy heirloom-like thing with a blue stone in the handle. "What is your intent?"

It is very quiet indeed, but Farielle hardly notices. Until the silence is shattered by sounds... She turns, her eyes wide with shock, and stares at one dead guard; then lifts her gaze to the enormous man coming at her. Nisrin shoves in front of her, and the Gondorian scrambles to her feet, backing into the pond and looking around wildly.

The heron stirs, pulling its head out of its feathers and turning its long, wickedly sharp beak this way and that. Then it spreads its wings and gives a hoarse cry. As if a spell is broken by the sound, Farielle screams as well, and feels around her. Her hand closes around a rock, and she hurls it towards the attackers with all her strength.

"As you wish, Hero Worshipper.. The Eye claims this vassal," Vain says, as he watches his brute take the rock cleanly in the chest. Alas for Farielle, the stone bounces off of metal audibly. "Take her NOW," Vain hisses, quitting with subtly. He and his man leap into action at the same time, one to secure the prize, another to send a message to Seaward.

The Shamshir is lifted, and with strength and speed befitting a form twice his size, Vain slashes towards Nisrin, the heavy weapon screaming towards the void in armor, where hip meets torso.

Nisrin cries out as the leather hem of her vest tears, spilling more blood onto the ground. "She's not yours to take," hisses the Haradrim girl, limping towards the masked figure with scimitar raised. "She is Eruphel's ward and no vassal of yours. The Tower guard will be here any moment." She cuts out at the figure's legs, hoping to slow him down.

Farielle feels around her for another rock, but finds nothing - and then it is too late. The gigantic man's hands close around both her upper arms, and drag her from the pool. The girl struggles, still yelling; and the heron adds its share to the chaos by pecking at the man's legs - as if he is a cat to be chased away - and buffeting him with its wings, and squawking.

The hulking back kicks out to silence the Heron before speaking. "Got her, boss... Let's go..." He hoists Farielle over his shoulder and takes off for the gate. The others of the raiding crew disengage their opponents and flee as well. The bird screeches, and takes to the air, coming to rest in the top of a nearby tree.

Vain lets out a harsh laugh. "Failure again, Lady Hashikh...Yes, we know you...Sleep carefully..." he says as he lashes out, but only half heartedly as he too turns to escape.

Nisrin hisses furiously as the Eastern blade cuts her forehead and blood obscures her vision. "Who are you?" she yells, limping after the retreating figure.

The Gondorian girl pounds her fists on the back of the man carrying her off, trying to twist away - to kick him - she'd bite him, if she could.

The voice echoes through the courtyard as Vain and his men depart with their prize. "Vain speaks for The Eye. The Gondorian woman will serve her purpose in life!"

And they are gone.

...

His time was up, so swiftly. Lominzil strapped his packs to his horse, trying not to think about the wasteland he was leaving behind. The lush greenery of early spring was as nothing before the ashen desert of his parents' silences. He spurred the horse out of the courtyard, letting the pre-dawn drizzle spatter in his face and not wiping it away. It hadn't even wet the road; he would not melt in it. He had bidden his mother and father farewell the evening before. Now, he grudged every moment that it took to ride to Dol Amroth. As dust rose from his horse's wake, his parents found a letter waiting upon the mantel.

...

Father, Mother,

I must go. By the time this letter is read, I will surely be upon the road away from home once more. I beg forgiveness for deceiving you both, for I leave not to my squirehood in Dol Amroth, but upon a farther road that I have requested from my Knight. Lay no blame upon Sir Imrakhor; though he is a man called to answer for many things, this task was of my own appointing.

To be called your son has been an honor of greatest worth, and Iluvatar grant that I do not dishonor our blood. Indeed, I go because my blood compels me to restore the unity of our family; so, we must be parted for a time. There is much I cannot say; therefore, I can leave you only my deepest love.

I am sorry.

...

A few days later, he was there, riding wearily down the cobbled streets. He sought out Lord Imrakhor, who looked at him enigmatically and told him to care for his horse.

Lominzil barely stopped the sharp words on his tongue, and bowed silently, turning away. Once his mount was stalled, brushed and fed, in warm straw; he paced up and down the narrow confines of his room, before remembering his purpose - was it only a week ago?

From then until Lord Imrakhor called for him, the squire spent in the great libraries of Prince Imrahil, reading everything he could find that had ever been recorded of the Haradwaith, and committing words to memory, though he had no idea how they should be pronounced.