Eruphel is gone. The other woman has left also. Cautiously, Farielle opens her eyes from where she had lain curled up in the blankets pretending to sleep. The room is quiet and empty, save for the shadowy figures of the two guards at the door. After a moment, the girl reaches up and moves the curtain aside - but dusk is falling if not yet here, and this does not brighten the room at all.
Her motions becoming a little more anxious, she takes the lamp at her bedside, and stands up, going to light every other lamp that she can find: one on the desk, two in sconces on the walls. She is standing on tiptoe trying to light yet a fourth - hung higher than the others - when one of the guards comes over and does it for her.
No sooner does the guard light the lamp than the door opens and a guard lets in another man. This one is tall-taller than the Haradrim-dark haired and grey eyed. He wears a dark cloak, but it is pushed back over his shoulders and underneath is a tabard in black and white and silver-a heron and a tree. He simply stands there for a moment, studying the woman.
"Thank you," Farielle says softly. The guard looks at her, then nods once and returns to the door just as it opens. Caught in the pool of lamplight, the flame adding a false illusion of color to her skin, Farielle turns and looks at the man. In the past days, as the drug has worn slowly out of her system, she has learned not to doubt everything she sees - but still there is a moment of uncertainty: is he really there? She touches the wall lightly, notices another lamp left dark in the corner, and goes to light it.
"(Sindarin) "It -is- afternoon," the man says dryly, continuing in the same tongue-the guard who opened the door gives him a sharp look. "(Sindarin) Why the need to light so many lamps?"
Farielle freezes, her hand hovering mid-air for a moment before she lets it drop and turns around. And now she looks at him much more closely, noting the height and the eyes of the man - so unlike most Haradrim. In the same language, she replies, "I don't wish it to be dark, and the sun is setting."
"Very well. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alkhaszor anAlkhaszor of Gondor and I am here to check on your health." The man bows. "I hear you have been through a terrible ordeal."
Of Gondor. Something flickers in Farielle's eyes and is suppressed. "I am well," she says politely, if not entirely truthfully, going back to the bed and picking up the blanket to draw around her shoulders as if it is a cloak. She sits on the edge of the bed, leaving the single chair for him, if he wants it, and studies him.
"Ah. I see." Alkhaszor frowns and looks at the chair, then sits. "Are you? Really? Well? This is surprising and seems to me a half truth."
As if it is the most unsurprising thing in the world, calmly and with little emotion, Farielle explains, "No one wishes truly to know me or how I am. There is no point in telling people what they will not listen to. I am well enough, though I am cold. I have no broken bones, as you see, nor wounds to bandage."
"There you are wrong, my lady," Alkhaszor shakes his head. "It is my job to ascertain how you are-truly how you are. I am Knight and Herald to King Alphros, and I must make certain that the King's best interests are kept in mind. No matter what others may try to cover up. So tell me. How are you?"
Farielle is still, the stillness of a deer suddenly alert, and she watches the man more intently as if trying to read something in his face or eyes. "The Lady - Eruphel - tells me she wants what is best for me, but she only wants me to say I will marry your king." Her voice is the same, unemotional and reserved - some part of herself has been withdrawn, hidden tightly at her core. "I do not wish to marry him. I want to go home."
"I don't know what you want me to say. I am cold. I am too thin, I can see this - " She lifts a bony wrist and lets it fall back to her lap. " - but I am not hungry. I am not so thirsty as I was. I have stopped seeing things that aren't there - I think. I - I don't want it to be dark." For the first time, her voice falters a tiny bit.
"Well." Alkhaszor lapses into silence for several moments. "I thank you for being honest with me. This is important. I am here to look out for the best interests of my liegelord. The Queen of Gondor must be regal and fitting and sure of herself. It is an important position, and not something, I feel, that should be forced upon an unwilling partner. This would not be in his best interests."
"I will talk to my lord on this. Meantime, though, you should eat and recover your strength. I can tell you this-I know for certain he does not wish you harmed, no matter if you become his Queen or not. He wishes for your safety."
This last makes it past some internal guard, for Farielle blurts out in surprise, "But he hates me!" Then she flushes faintly, dropping her eyes to her hands; her shoulders stiffening.
"He hates you?" Alkhaszor asks in equal surprise. "That is not what he told me in private conversation-on my word of honor, Lady. If you will believe me that those of us that support the King have honor," he adds with a grimace. "Nonetheless, on my word, that is not what he conveyed to me. He has even delayed...matters...on your account. Delayed things that he must and will do-all because he wanted you returned unharmed."
Uncertainty, doubt. "But... I saw him there. In the dark," Farielle falters, looking up to meet his eyes. "I do not remember... I saw so many things and I don't know which ones were real and which ones weren't, but I am sure - I am sure I saw him. The veil he wears - it comes and goes in my dreams." Along with other things, no doubt, to judge by the haunted look in her eyes.
"Lady...have some sense. The Lord Alphros, King of Gondor did -not- abduct you. You were given herbals, teas, things to make your mind see things. If King Alphros had abducted you, why would you be here now and not with him? Think clearly. A Queen must be able to see through such things," Alkhaszor says, sounding irritated.
"I never asked to be a Queen," Farielle says, irritation stirring in her own voice. "I am sorry if I am not sufficient to your purposes - tell your lord this and let me go home. If he wishes a bride, why does he not go to those who are his supporters, surely there are plenty of women who would desire such a place."
"I know they put drugs in my food," she adds more quietly. "But how should I know the secret purposes and desires of this man? I have spoken to him once, and he accused me of being a whore."
"He accused you of that?" Alkhaszor laughs. "And what was your reply?"
"As for your not asking to be Queen..." He shrugs. "You have been given the opportunity. Think carefully on it. Though I, for one, will recommend against his having you as his queen. Clearly you are not fit for such an honor." He stands readying to leave.
For a moment, Farielle looks haughty, every inch a noblewoman, perhaps even the queen he denies her fitness for. "Why should I have answered such an insult?" she asks proudly. "I told him if he could not rely upon my honor, he should look for a woman in whom he could, for I would not marry such an one as he."
To his parting words, she only bows her head. Perhaps that is a glint of triumph in her eyes?
"Very well. You will have your wish, likely, but I do not think you will like the outcome of it," Alkhaszor answers coldly. Saying no further, he leaves.
Home. She was going home. That thought was the accompaniment to everything she did; the rock that kept her from drowning, the bindings that held her together. Home. Something had crystallized within her when everything else was falling apart. She didn't know how, but she was going home.