The sun's light is fresh and cheerful this morning as it breaks upon the fabled city of the Corsairs, the streets of Umbar enjoying a break from the chill sea breezes of winter, and the walls of Desert Tower are lit no less than any fair region of the city. Within the practice grounds the drills of the Tower guard are underway, and it might be noted that more of the liveried swordhands are darker of skin than one might expect of Umbar; the burnished flesh of those who dwell upon the deep dunes present to bolster the forces of Lojrul.
The Steward stands in his study this morning, gazing down from his high window to the training below, hands held behind his back as he watches the men's exertions. A guard flanks either side of the door to this chamber, and they stand to silent attention as their master watches the proceedings.
Nearly two weeks have passed since Farielle has come into his keeping, and by now the servants of the Tower seem well used to the protocol of her movements, for as a knock comes at the door, the guards then step smartly to one side and give a rap of permission.
The door opens, and in walks a studious looking fellow, who coughs for audience. "My lord," says he, "the Lord of Seaward has arrived to speak with you, and I have fetched the guest as you asked. She waits outside, and Lady Eruphel will be here shortly also."
Farielle doesn't wait for long. The guard has barely finished his announcement, when she follows him through the door. She is still thin, far too thin, but not quite so emaciated as when she first came. There is even a hint of almost color to her face - a sign of returning health. She stops a little behind the guard.
Lojrul turns at her entrance, having spent the length of her introduction gazing down all the more, and he smiles. "Good morning, flower of Gondor," says he, relaxing his arms and taking a pace or two forward. "It is fine to see you now up and about. I trust you are well rested?"
"Thank you, yes," is Farielle's reserved, polite response. A brief smile crosses her face - though like all her other expressions these days, it never touches her eyes. "Your chefs have been most ... enthusiastic on my behalf."
Eruphel arrives, her customary loyal bodyguard in tow. She shows her pregnancy slightly, and is triple covered in warm robes, no doubt piled on by her servants. But she wears them open in the front, apparently quite warm enough. She steps into the room, having been shown in by one of the Desert pages. She smiles and waits to be announced or recognized.
And both come swiftly, for Lojrul's eyes flit to the doorway once more, and the Steward bows his head in a second greeting.
"Hail, cousin," says he with a smile. "My halls are graced with your presence, and your arrival is timely. I was just asking your young woman how she has fared since her arrival, and she tells me my cooks do me honour. A man should always have cause to be proud of his kitchens, would you not agree?"
Looking then to Farielle once more, the Steward chuckles. "Thank you, Farielle. They were instructed to cater to your every wish, regarding your diet. It pleases me to know they went about their work eagerly. Is hospitality similar in your own land?"
Even before Lojrul's greeting, Farielle has turned, hearing the quiet footsteps. She nods to Eruphel, the same slight smile curving her lips for a moment, then turns back to Lojrul. "It is where I have been," she says circumspectly. "I believe it to be so elsewhere also, but I cannot speak from experience."
"Greetings, cousin." Eruphel says with a smile and a stiff bow at the waist. "A tower may look impressive, but with poor fare a visitor will come away soured. But a tower that looks poor, but offers a fine feast has guests leaving delighted they came." Then Eruphel's eyes turn toward Farielle, noting how much improved she looks. "Farielle. I am glad to see you better." she intones softly.
"Aye," agrees the Tower's Steward, and he opens wide his arms in invitation. "Come, both of you, and step with me a moment, while my guards fetch chairs for your comfort?"
A quick nod is sent to one of the two sentries, who disappears with teh studious servant ere Lojrul meanders back toward the window. "The training is particularly impressive this morning, and I should be glad to show off the polish my lieutenants have brought to the vassals of Desert..."
Eruphel smiles and nods, and moves toward the window, folding the front of her robe double over her chest as she peers down into the yard. "Polish is good and admirable." She stares down at the lieutenants and their vassals. "Discipline and conditioning now translates to discipline and conditioning in battle, where one has no time to think, only to act."
When the guard returns to set an artfully carved wooden chair before Farielle with a subtle, it is without the servant who left in his wake. In his stead is a tall woman swathed in amber silks, bearing a second chair with little more apparent effort than the guard seems to expend in the effort. Niakhti places it beside the Lady Eruphel with a subtle bow of her own, with a smile that somehow remains demure despite the appraising nature of her gaze.
For the moment, the Desert woman appears more content on the room's periphery herself, leaning ever-so-slightly upon the corner of the Steward's desk with a second smile aside for him, and for Farielle.
"Indeed," agrees Lojrul once more to Eruphel, and he nods with perhaps a sly meaning attached as he looks to the Tower Lord. "The folk of the Sand are well used to this truth, as you know. I am glad to bring their prowess to mingle with the might of the Corsairs of Umbar. Powerful allies make for glorious deeds, as it is said among the dunes."
As Niakhti enters the Steward's smile widens and his dark gaze turns then to her instead. "Ahhh, my lady," he greets the new arrival with a nod. "I am glad you were at hand."
"Cousin," says he then to Eruphel, "I do not believe you have met Niakhti, whose shrewd counsel has helped make my Tower strong."
Farielle takes a step towards the window as well, looking out expressionlessly, and without comment as the others speak. When the chair arrives, she sits down in it - not ungracefully, but almost over-sudden, as if the trek out of her room has wearied her. She says a quiet thank you to the guard and glances over at Niakhti before looking back at Lojrul.
"Lady Eruphel," Niakhti offers in a honeyed alto, sweeping from her perch to take the Seaward Lord's hand in a graceful, now more formal bow. "It is wonderful to meet you at last, after so many missed opportunities. Yes, I have indeed spent much of my life in upon the sands before my Steward saw fit for me to accompany him to Umbar anew." A vague answer, perhaps, and yet confidently spoken.
Eruphel turns, noting the placement of a chair for her nearby, and then looks at the woman who has brought it. At Lojrul's introduction, she nods her head and holds out her hand. "Then she must be impressive indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you, Niakhti. Are you also from the Desert Tribes?"
"And how could I not?" chuckles the Steward himself at this, looking between the two. "It was her skill and piety that helped me unite the tribes, and I can scarce afford to be without her wisdom when assassination is rife within Umbar..."
Lojrul lends meaning to these last words, before looking to Farielle. "Though fortune smiled upon me in that matter, as well as the retrieval of your prize, cousin."
Almost imperceptibly, Farielle stiffens. But nothing shows on her face or in her eyes other than that she is politely listening.
A lot can be judged by just a few words, or a held hand, it seems, for Lady Seaward smiles broadly and confidently. "You have the tongue of a courtier though. Lojrul is wise to heed your counsel. Would that I had such an advisor as you in Seaward." She turns to look at her cousin now, at the implication of assassination. "Ugly words, and ugly times. And yet, unsurprising in method. Many a good man has been cut down by such means. And many more who were ineffective."
She smiles. "And yes, you were fortunate in getting the Lady Farielle back to us. I rejoice, and thank the Heroes for your wisdom." She looks toward Farielle, who seems...lackluster. "I would like the details of such a happy finding, though perhaps at a different time, when we can do so in greater privacy."
"You are both too kind," Niakhti returns to both Eruphel and Lojrul in her smile's last moments before her manner cools upon matters more serious. Though any thoughts she may hold on the subject are left to flicker behind her silver-sparked eyes. They remain intent foremost upon Eruphel as the advisor moves to take up an observer's position at Lojrul's elbow.
Lojrul nods to Eruphel then, and miles anew. "A tale I will be glad to tell, when the chance presents itself. And with luck, we many know more by then of the man's identity. The insult to your Tower's dignity is plain for all to see, but I also am concerned that this cur claims to work for the Eye's benefit. You may take it on good authority, my cousin, that he is either mistaken, or false in his claims."
Sniffing then, the Steward returns his gaze to Farielle. "When do you think your limbs can manage the return across the city to the gardens of Seaward, Farielle? I have nursed you as best my Tower can, and you are welcome to stay longer if your strength fails you at present, but I am bound to return you to your rightful owner. Does the time come sooner or later, in your desire?"
Farielle has had plenty of practice in keeping her expression blank. It is just as well - nothing of her feelings show. Courteously, she says, "I thank you for your kindness. I am quite well. I shall be glad to relieve you of the burden of my care."
"Hmm..." Eruphel says, cutting her eyes toward Farielle. "Have her things gathered, and I will send an honor guard to escort her back anon." the lady says. Then she turns to Niakhti and smiles. "Lady, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope you will come to Seaward so we may converse more in depth. Cousin?" The last was said to Lojrul, and she smiles and nods. "I take my leave. Farewell, Farielle." And with that, the Seaward lady heads out the door, flanked by her bodyguard.
"I wish you well, then, pale woman," says Lojrul to Farielle as the Seaward Lord departs. "May your fortunes shift ever as the sand that guides your path. My Tower shall be quieter without the bustle you've brought; my servants have rather taken to you. But I state things merely as they are. You are captive still here in Umbar, even though you have been freed from Vain's clutches."
A softer glance then to Niakhti as he adds: "I pray only that you not forget the kindness shown by Niakhti in curing you of your stupor."
Niakhti's eyes follow Eruphel's departure for a long moment, then return readily to the young Gondorian woman. "Your absence will indeed be felt, Farielle. But I am sure your keeping at Seaward will be fair. Safer, perhaps, than it was the first time." There is a smirk behind these words with a smile aside for Lojrul that, while furtive, is kindly enough when turned back upon the girl. "How soon will you take your leave of us?"
"I have forgotten no kindness shown to me," is Farielle's reply. Perhaps her words could be read several ways, though there is nothing of duplicity in her tone. To Lojrul's continued hammering in of her status, she gives no reaction. He might just as well not have spoken. She rises. "Quietness, perhaps, will be its own blessing." With another meaningless smile for Lojrul and Niakhti, she replies, "When Lady Eruphel's guards are available to escort me as she promised. I shall go and rest now." She inclines her head to them both, rather regally, and turns away.
Watching her go, Lojrul sniffs ere he dismisses the last sentry to follow her. His eyes then turn to Niakhti once more, and he says: "It seems they stoke pride rather than sense in the Stoneland. I wonder what Eruphel and Azradi will find when they inspect this possible bride of Alphros..."
...
In his week of being a stable-boy, Lominzil had still not figured out how to get past the guards at the gate. He had watched, learning their movement, when they were relieved. He crouched in the shadow of the walls, sometimes, begging from the merchants who lined up to show their papers and pay their tax and pass within; and saw that none could go in without papers, excepting those who appeared to be slaves or servants.
He was considering how he might attach himself to one of these men, when he saw a young woman come out of the city. She was dressed in black and red, and wandered through the animal yards, pausing to look at this pen and then that one.
He lost sight of her when she headed back towards the mumakil, and returned his gaze and his thoughts to the line of merchants. Near the end, there was a man leading several over-burdened donkeys, who didn't appear to have either boy or slave to help him. Lominzil watched him without seeming to. If he went to help the man, if something fell off one of those donkeys, or if the beast panicked or balked for some reason... there was a chance the guards would think he belonged to the donkey's owner and not scrutinize him too closely.
He flicked a glance back at the gate. It might work. They were clearly bored, though not bored enough to not check and stamp every paper. But only those of the merchants; not of their chattel. He let his hand fall to the sand, feeling about for a pebble. He would throw it ...
A shadow fell over him, and he looked up, pasting on his sweet idiot's smile and holding out his hand, palm up, as if for a penny. It was the woman he had seen earlier. She was younger than he had thought, and said something to him in what even he could tell was slower and more accented Haradaic than the others. He shrugged, holding his hands up helplessly, and touched his ears and then his mouth.
She cocked her head, peering down at him, and said something else. Lominzil kept his silly grin on his face, but thought she must be a bit dim, if she kept trying to talk to someone who clearly was deaf...
At last, the woman - the girl - seemed to come to some decision, for she beckoned to him imperiously, and turned away. He blinked at her back a moment, then stood, careful to keep his shoulders hunched to disguise his true height, and followed her. She was going towards the gates, and his heart quickened. Was it to be so easy after all?
It was. The girl said a few sharp words to the gate guards, and passed inside. Lominzil hurried after her, his head ducked subserviently, and his shoulders tight against the expected blow or cry. None came. He was in the city, unsuspected. Cautiously, he looked up and around. A long road stretched ahead of them, with two curving branches that led off to the right and the left. These looked like major thoroughfares, but buildings crowded on every side, and there were smaller alleys and cracks that didn't deserve the name of alley, but were no more than black slits between sand-colored walls.
And there were people everywhere. Lominzil hurried to catch up with his benefactor before he lost her, then wondered if he should have taken the opportunity to fade into the throng and be lost. But it was too late now, she was turning to look for him. A smile crossed her face when she saw him, and she beckoned him onwards.
Resignedly, he followed. The girl turned this way, and that, finally coming out into a relatively quiet corner. The hubbub of the great streets was muted here, and only a few people crossed the sun-baked dirt of the road. She stopped, turning to look at Lominzil. Then she started to gesture, speaking as she did so. You - she pointed to him, then folded her hands against her cheeks and closed her eyes. Sleep here - a stab of her finger at a small door in the wall beside them. She repeated all of this, then pulled the door open.
It was a tiny room, no more than a closet. There was room for a narrow cot inside
and that was all. Lominzil nodded eagerly. His thoughts raced. Should he? But how was he to find Farielle in all this commotion? She was probably locked away somewhere, and even if she wasn't, he could roam the streets for months, and never see her.
Tentatively, he pointed to his eyes, looking the girl full in the face so she could see their pale grey color; then made the shape of a woman in the air with his hands. He cocked his head inquiringly, waving around to indicate the city they stood in, and waited, breath held tensely.