Farielle's room is a blaze of light. Every lamp has been lit, and there are not a few of them. The girl herself is sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and her head bent over something on the table.
"Farielle, I need your opinion on something." Nisrin is here at the door, and has brought another candle. A bundle is draped over one arm.
"Hmm?" Farielle doesn't look up right away, dabbing a brush at the canvas and then setting it down. But then she smiles. She seems a little more relaxed than before, still tired and her expressions muted, but a little more herself. "What's that?" A glance past at the hallway. "Come in and close the door."
Nisrin obliges, closing the door with a soft click. "It is about clothes," she begins, before eyeing the collection of paints on the table. "Are you busy?"
"No." The smile, faint but there, remains on Farielle's face and she looks at the bundle curiously. "What about clothes?"
"I am considering a change in ... wardrobe," begins the Haradrim girl hesitantly, her nervousness evident in the brightness of the room. "There was this ..." she holds up a black tunic, embroidered stiffly in gold, "and this ..." Another tunic, but of the Farside colors. Notably, the girl is no longer wearing her blue corsair's garb.
Obediently looking between the two, though somewhat bewildered, Farielle asks, "You aren't sure which one? That looks nicer on you than black." She points at the second of the two. "But Nisrin - " Her gaze lifts to meet the other girl's eyes. "Aren't you supposed to wear blue?"
"I like blue, but it clashes so with my skin..." Nisrin runs a hand mock-despairingly over her face, dropping the two outfits on the rug and plopping down beside them. "Farielle, can you keep a secret? At least for a little while?"
A swiftly muffled giggle. "It does not." Then something twists the Gondorian's mouth. "I have no one to tell anything to," she points out. "So yes. I think I can manage." There is something else in her expression, a sort of quietness, a reservation - perhaps she is keeping more secrets than just this one.
"Very well." Nisrin leans in, fidgeting with the stitching on her sleeve.
"Yildirim has given me command of the Arambodh. I am to have a ship, Farielle! But it is a Farside ship..."
Farielle's eyes widen. "You will be - a captain?" she asks, wonderingly. "But - isn't that good?"
A pause. It seemed so long ago - much more than only a month or two. "Farside. But... you are leaving Seaward?" A faint light of pleasure for her friend brightens her eyes. "You will be able to marry him!" she says, almost gleefully.
"Leaving?" Nisrin pauses, as if she has not considered the finality of the statement. "Yes, yes I am. That is why I am so afraid, Farielle. I am not without my ties to this tower, though I have not sworn any oaths. And I have not yet spoken to the Lady Farside to finalize the decision."
"Or to Lady Seaward, or her ... husband."
"But why are you afraid?" It is an innocent question, born of the 19 years of Farielle's life before Harad. The last three and a half months intervene almost before she has finished speaking. "They - they would not hurt you, would they?" she asks, her voice hushed suddenly, and a ghost of fear wavering across her face.
Nisrin says only, her head close to Farielle's and her voice in a whisper, "My brother is not as kind as yours."
Farielle shakes her head, her eyes haunted. She has learned some of what men can do here in this place... "Why are you going then?" she asks at last. "Before - I thought you said you could not. When I gave you the picture."
"I do not know!" The other girl leans back, pulling dejectedly on a curl. "There is no place for me here, not anymore, once Lady Seaward has her child. I would like to think that the Fleet Master Yildirim holds me in his confidence, as no one has before! He said that there are few people to be trusted in Umbar, and I ..." She pauses for breath, then sighs. "It must seem very selfish to you ..."
She has never had to worry about politics before; never been thrust into the middle of them. But Farielle is not stupid, and she hasn't grown up at her father's knee for nothing. A small frown wrinkles her forehead. "Then he will have an heir," she says slowly. "And you..."
"Why? Because you wish to live and be happy? Because you are happy that someone you - like thinks well of you?" A sad smile flickers over the girl's face. "It is what I want, too. If that is selfish, then most men are afflicted with it. Go, Nisrin. If you have the chance, take it." She looks away, the smile slipping. "I ... I will miss you."
In the expression she tries to hide is a little hint of how lonely and purposeless are her days here.
"Will be its aunt," says Nisrin resignedly, "to keep its accounts while it grows and to train its subjects in loyalty and arms."
"I will go," she decides with a rueful smile. "Thank you, Farielle. Is there anything you need? Is the bird all right? If you ever are to be ransomed back to the North," the girl begins awkwardly, "I should like to be your escort..."
Farielle is still for a long time. When she looks up again, her eyes are dry. She looks into the other girl's face for a while longer, fear warring with desire. "You spoke once of your loyalties," she says at last, slowly, tentatively, a question unspoken in her eyes.
"I did," says Nisrin shortly, puzzled by the question. "Is it so difficult to suggest such a thing when an agreement has been reached? I am not talking of anything traitorous!"
Her question has been misunderstood. Farielle lets her eyes drop. "No," she says, expressionlessly. "Never mind. Thank you. I will remember."
"Don't - don't wear the black."
"I won't wear it," the other girl murmurs, looking apologetic. "Farielle, I like you, but we are at war. To do such a thing - openly - is welcoming disaster from both ally and enemy."
"I do not know what Yildirim thinks on the issue. He has said that you would do best back at your home, and I am inclined to agree ..." Nisrin bites her lip, having said too much.
"I did not ask," Farielle says, her voice resigned and dull - and very quiet. She glances towards the door, but it is still shut. And surely the guards can hear nothing through the thick wood.
"Yildirim told me, when - in Caldur, that I could not trust him. He would not help me unless his lord or lady told him to. Please - " Sudden urgency sharpens her tone. "Please do not tell him."
"Will you - No, /can/ you still teach me to speak Haradaic? That is a good thing, is it not? It shows I am resigned to staying here."
"I wonder if the compassion of Lady Azradi might be stirred by your plight," wonders Nisrin softly. "For she is indisposed towards her brother."
"There is a trunk of books in my room that I have kept from my childhood," she says, straightening and smoothing out one of the shirts. "Perhaps you will find use of it, although it is not what is spoken on the streets. If I am allowed ... I will come back and read them with you?"
"I have not seen her," Farielle says carefully.
"Yes, please. I would like that." The Gondorian's face smoothes a little, and she leans forward to touch Nisrin's hand. "Thank you. And congratulations."
"And to once think that friends could be forever," says Nisrin mildly, smiling and clasping Farielle's hand in her own. "I shall have them sent. Thank you, Farielle. Farewell."
Farielle takes Nisrin's hand and squeezes it. "We are friends," she says firmly. "Please come, if you can. I would like to see you again." She watches the other girl leave.
Clutching the clothes close to her chest, Nisrin exits the room.
Somehow, he was never exactly certain how remembering the exasperating frustration of trying to say, without ever saying, that he was looking for a girl with light eyes like his own, the woman in black - the priestess - had seemed to understand. At least, he hoped she understood. She had led him here, to a wide street, and pointed to a tall tower built of bluish-green stones.
Lominzil nodded, smiled, bowed, and squatted down in the corner of a wall across the road. If Farielle was indeed within, he would wait here forever. His eyes roamed over the walls that surrounded the tower - they were taller than a man's height - and settled on the gate. It was guarded by several soldiers.
He settled himself a little more comfortably and watched. Perhaps there would be a way in. Or maybe he would see his sister, if she ever came out into the growth he could see between the bars. He would wait.
Seaward Tower: Lord's Library
Barely able to wait until Nisrin was gone, hardly able to force herself to eat her lunch calmly and as if nothing was different, Farielle at last allowed herself to return to the library. She wandered along the stacks of books, and finally, as if compelled by boredom, took down the slim volume on sewers once more. She must read it more carefully for any hint of where it might refer to.
For a second, she wrinkled her nose up at the thought of it - the stench and the filth - and how did you get /into/ them anyways? Slip through the hole in the garder-room? Ugh! But the underlying determination that had been with her since her return from Vain's clutches dismissed all this as immaterial. If she had to, she would. If she could not, she would find another way. If nothing else, she would walk north into the desert until she died.
She was not staying in Umbar.
The sun has moved on; past the point where it shines through the windows - but the library is still bright. Farielle has found a couch she likes - she has come there several days now - but she isn't reading anything just at the moment. Rather she is curled up in the couch, leaning her head back and looking out at the sky. A guard or two stand by the door - perhaps not so common for the library.
The guards seem to recognize Alkhaszor, for they let him pass. "Is the Lady Eruphel here?" he asks of them in the common tongue, then directs the same to Farielle with, "Lady Farielle, have you seen her?"
"Ah...well if you see her," Alkhaszor says to her and the guards, "tell her I seek an audience with her and urgently. Though likely I will just impose on her hospitality here." As if to prove it, he flops into a nearby chair. "Improving your mind?" he gestures to the books.
With a glance towards the books, Farielle shrugs slightly. "There aren't many I can read," she says. "That one is about sewer drainage..." She points, wrinkling her nose slightly.
"Sewer drainage?" Alkhaszor says in surprise. "Surely the Lady Eruphel has more books about of a finer nature. I know for a fact she is a student of languages-and I have met her here in her library. I am certain that if you only would ask her she would supply you with something more interesting."
"I have not found them," Farielle says. "But I am sure you are right." She looks at him for a few minutes, then asks, "Did you tell Lord Alphros that I wished to marry him?"
"Wished to?" Alkhaszor laughs. "Nay, Lady, I did not. Why do you ask?"
Her eyes remain on his face, as if she is trying to discern if he speaks the truth or not. "Someone told me that you did; that you knew that was what he wanted to hear and so you lied."
"And who would this someone be that accuses me of lying and why are they too cowardly to tell me to my face?" Alkhaszor bristles.
Farielle hesitates, her eyes unfocusing as she thinks back through her memories. "I cannot tell you," she says at last. "I said that I would tell no one of the things we spoke of."
"I see. But you have no trouble of accusing me of being a liar and yet you will not let me defend myself against my accuser," Alkhaszor says, angry now. "And you pride yourself on being a lady of Gondor and honorable? What honor is there in making accusations under cover of secrecy?
"I did not accuse you of anything. Nor did I say I believed what was spoken. I asked you if those words were true, because you have said you are a man of honor." Farielle doesn't drop her gaze. "You have chosen this land, and know its people. I know no one, nor who I can trust. If this - person lies about one thing, they may lie about others."
"There are only two people who could have overheard what I said to my lord. The woman S'aria or Steward Lojrul. So either they misunderstood what I said to Lord Alphros or else they are lying. You decide," Alkhaszor says.
Farielle nods, her face expressionless. Then she turns the subject. "S'aria said Lord Alphros asked her to be his - envoy to... " She doesn't even want to say the words, making a small motion eastward with her head. And much more intently now does she watch his face - this is of far more importance than whether or not he had lied about her willingness to marry his master.
"Yes, his envoy from the Dark Citadel," Alkhaszor says, smirking just slightly as he watches the woman in turn. "This surprises or troubles you somehow?" he presses.
"Yes," Farielle says flatly. "If you are yet a man of Gondor as you say, you know this. I will kill myself before I will ever ally in any way, be it by marriage or not, with that one."
"Did I say that King Alphros was allied with the Dark Citadel?" Alkhaszor says in a mild tone. "Now you're the one making assumptions."
"Why is he sending envoys?" she asks, not backing down. "What assumption should I make instead?"
"No, you misunderstand. My lord did not send the woman to you. She came of her own accord," Alkhaszor says. "She only asked if she could observe him in his work. In a way..." He shrugs.
Farielle is silent a moment. "What work?" she asks curiously. And then, bluntly, "Is Lord Alphros allied, or seeking to be allied, with the Dark Citadel?"
"My Lady. I do not know the mind of my Lord on every thing and matter,"Alkhaszor says. "And on this particular matter, I know nothing of his mind at all. I am sorry."
"Then I shall ask him myself," Farielle says. She lets the matter go, her manner relaxing somewhat. In a light, inconsequential tone, she asks, "Did you find an embroidery kit, as you said?" And in the same tone, as if it matters equally as much (or little), "Tell me what he is like."
"Embroidery kit...no. Things...came up.." Alkhaszor shrugs. "As for what he is like...he is fair and loyal and noble. I think that if you ask him these things yourself and get to know him, you will be pleasantly surprised."
Farielle nods as if she is unsurprised that Alkhaszor has not brought the embroidering supplies. "Shall you have time?" she asks politely. "I can ask Lady Eruphel." On the matter of Alphros, she is silent longer.
"I have had not opportunity," she says at last. "I have seen him only twice, and on the first occasion, he insulted my kinsmen, and on the second, myself. You will forgive me if I find it difficult to see nobility in these actions." And again, words that could be spoken bitingly are not; there is little expression at all in her face or voice, save mild commentary.
"No, Lady, in fact, I am going to sleep here tonight. Right on this couch, no doubt, for my need to see Lady Eruphel is urgent and my need to procure you an embroidery kit less so," Alkhaszor says. "As for insults, surely not. Surely it was a misunderstanding that can be cleared later."
"Then I shall ask her, and you need not be bothered," Farielle says mildly. Both her eyebrows rise a little at his assertion of misunderstandings. "If you say so."
"Ah...I am afraid you'll have to make do," Alkhaszor says. "What do you need to embroider?"
Farielle frowns a little. "Why? I am sure the Lady will give me this, if I ask her. And," she sounds a little exasperated now, "I cannot /make do/." She lifts both her hands - empty. "With what, exactly, am I to make do? I have no thread, no needle, no cloth. And I do not need to embroider anything. I wish for something to do, aside from staring at the walls of my room!"
"Search the library. Find books that are not about sewer plans. Learn the local language by looking at books if you can. Draw. Talk to servants. Try to learn the language. Surely there are thing sin life other than embroidery," Alkhaszor says flatly. "Ask Lady Eruphel to have a servant teach you the language of Harad."
"I did ask someone to teach me the language," Farielle all but snaps back. "And I have paints. And I have been reading. What do you suddenly have against my wishing to embroider also? I /like/ to."
"What is the urgency for embroidery I cannot even say if Umbar has such things," Alkhaszor shrugs. "If I have a moment to wander in the market, I will look for a kit for you. But I doubt it is sold here."
"I have said you need not bother. I only asked if you had, because you said that you would find one for me, and I wondered if you had been successful. Please do not trouble yourself." Farielle uncoils herself from the couch. "Excuse me," she says, coldly, and marches towards the door.
Alkhaszor watches impassively, then stretches out his long legs in front of him and settles in for a wait.