Ar-Pharazon's Isle
The isle housing the Corsair fleet and military complex fills almost half of the harbour. East to west the island is slightly over 200 yards long, and less than half that north to south. A lighthouse stands high over you, obviously ancient-its brilliant beam of light shines bright out over the ocean to the west. There is a large low building just ahead housing some military personel, and the Corsair docks extent off to the East. Hundreds of ships of varied type, all with black sails, sit awaiting the call of war.
It's morning, and cool. Cooler anyways. Along the eastern edge of the island are rows of waiting ships; but on the west, little, if any, of this can be seen - especially if you are looking to the west out over the water, as Farielle is. In the shadow of the lighthouse, sitting among low tufts of grass; her shoes are set beside her and her feet are bare. And standing flanking her and a little behind, are the two guards - Hassadite Retainers from Caldur.
A woman, in her 30s, sits nearby, on a blanket. She is silent, and looking rather disapproving. Farielle ignores them all. She has gotten as far away from the three as she can, without them picking up and following after her again.
A young woman, barely more than a girl, wanders from behind the lighthouse. "Come /on/," she cajoles, speaking to someone still hidden by the tower. Her voice is full of exasperation and she waves her hand, beckoning, as if to a small child. Evidently this does not produce the desired effect either, for she next reaches into her robes and pulls out something small and slightly floppy. She holds it out, like a treat. "C'mon," she repeats, this time her voice purposefully sweet.
Then it emerges, but it is not a someone, but a something: A beautiful black heron, high enough to stand up to just below the girl's hip. Though, admittedly, she is quite small.
Upon the periphery of Farielle's vantage, where the land bends around toward Umbar's vast stand of Corsair ships, two silhouettes stand in the slow-warming light of the morning hours. One is a woman tall and slender in stature whose silken clothing drifts absently in the breeze; the other a tall, broad-shouldered man with arms crossed, and a brow furrowed so moodily as to be seen from such a distance. Though no sound carries forth this far from their meeting, the bent of their heads and occasional gesture of hand suggests an involved conversation.
After a length of time they part, the figure of the man rounds the island out of view at a pace. The woman, however, takes up an idle stroll over the sand with, as can be noticed the closer she comes, bare feet and an untroubled swing in her slender arms. If she sees either of the two young women, or the former's guard, then she prefers to appear unaware and nonchalant, it would seem.
Voices. Movement. Unseen, Farielle grimaces, and refuses to look around. But then... she peers over her shoulder, and a smile comes unbidden. She doesn't call out right away, but watches the younger girl - until the bird comes stalking out. The smile slips into a frown, and Farielle looks back out at the ocean, her shoulders tight.
The girl tosses the fish and the heron cranes his neck to catch it. With a quick flip, it's down his throat, creating a fish-shaped lump therein. With quick undulating movements, the fish is worked down his long neck and disappears. He readily follows the girl now.
Amestris turns around, looking from one person to the next. She does not appear to recognize any of those sharing the beach with her, but she heads towards the water, her passage bringing her nigh Farielle.
The heron's dramatic catch seems enough to draw the woman's eye for certain, and the veil of thought upon her lifts to leave an amused half-smile upon a face now recognized to be Niakhti of Desert. The steel of her eyes hones in upon Farielle long before she approaches, apart from the occasional wary glance to the girl who approaches her with her avian company.
"My, my. You do command quite the crowd, don't you?" she muses to the pale woman when closer company is reached, a brow quirked by Farielle's hard-fought focus upon the waves as much as by the heron.
So much for quiet and a dubious 'privacy'. Farielle smoothes the frown away from her face, and resigned, looks up at Niakhti. "It is not by choice," she answers resignedly, and lifts a hand to catch Amestris' attention. And in case this isn't enough, she calls the girl's name as well.
Surprised to be known in this place, the desert girl looks around until she espies the Gondorian lady and her dark-clad companion. "Farielle! You're back!" she cries, her face lighting up. She rushes over. The heron toddles after her.
"Perhaps by choice in some cases," Niakhti returns with a more pronouncedly appraising eye upon Amestris' approach. "Should I be hurt?" The same amused half-smile rests upon her features, but nothing about the woman's manner suggests any real offense taken, whether it is meant or not.
It was not meant. But Farielle's eyes fly up to Niakhti's face to see if she is serious, before she looks back at the other girl. "Yes," is all she says to Amestris, her voice neutral. But a smile flickers on her face again at her approach.
"When did you return?" Amestris asks, then quickly on the heels of that question comes others. "And where did you go? What happened?"
Only after this volley of queries is shot does she look up at the other woman. "Good afternoon," she greets politely, bowing slightly in the tribal manner.
A hooded girl with dark curls picks her way down from the lighthouse, glances for a moment at the gathered, then moves hastily away.
Niakhti mirrors Amestris' bow in fashion. "To you as well," she answers in a verbal flourish that doesn't quite match the smirk upon her lips. "Enjoy the sun." This her only farewell, Niakhti turns her smile from the young women and sets off around the isle again.
Farielle watches Niakhti leave. "A week ago, I think," she says. "I don't know. On a boat somewhere." She falls silent then, picking at the grass and shredding it to bits. "I am glad you took the bird," she says at last.
"Oh I am so glad you are back, Farielle," says Amestris, plopping down on the blanket. "Now you can take your heron back. It has been very difficult caring for him."
"Oh." Farielle throws a handful of butchered grass bits towards the water. They scatter in the breeze - an ineffectual missile at best. "I was hoping you would want to keep him," she says, her voice colorless.
"No, no!" protests Amestris. "I cannot! I have not explained to my parents where he came from and though they have not yet asked, I fear they will and I will be in trouble with my father. I tried to bring him to live in Farside's gardens, but the Fleet Master made terrible demands for that favor so I cannot. There is no where to take him where he will be healthy and happy."
She looks at the beach forlornly. "I brought him here, but I do not know if he can live near salt water."
"I see." Farielle picks at another piece of grass, beginning to shred it as well. "I don't want you to be in trouble with your father," she says at last, reluctantly. "It could not be let go near - near the river? Where you said you have seen them?"
"It would take three weeks through the desert to reach the Poros," explains Amestris, a bit impatiently. "He would die before then and I can hardly ask my father to bring me there for this."
"You /must/ take him back to Seaward with you. No one makes you count the fish there everyday."
"Three weeks. That is too far, you are right." Farielle has done her best all this time, to not look at the bird. "Very well." She glances over her shoulder at her maid and the guards, and raises her voice. "This bird must come back to Seaward and be fed fish and cared for. It belongs to Lord Alphros."
"Your home, is it near the sea?" she asks Amestris, idly.
At Farielle's decree, the older of the guards narrows his eyes upon the bird mistrustfully before his expression is righted. Still, the nod to follow is a wary one. The maid appears equally wary as she watches the heron strut aimlessly in circles around the two girls.
"Is that why you do not want your heron?" asks Amestris, looking a bit cross. "Because it was given to you by Lord Alphros? That is cruel, Farielle. It is not the bird's fault and the poor creature should not suffer for its origin. It has come into your care and is your responsibility. It is a beautiful bird and deserves a mindful tender."
She puts her hands on her hips. "And no, I live very far from the sea. I had never even seen it before we came to Umbar."
"I do not want to think of him," Farielle says flatly, "And the bird reminds me. I am sorry it displeases you. But they will take good care of it; they are his servants." This last she says loudly enough that the guards and maid can still hear.
"The bird likes you and will likely continue to follow you around and try to sleep in your room," points out Amestris, her cross expression not abating. "But I am sure if you carefully explain to it that you do not like it because of the man who gave it to you, it will understand."
She reaches into her robes and pulls out a bit of wrapped sackcloth. Its fishy smell betrays its contents. The Bazhani girl offers it to Farielle.
Automatically, Farielle takes the bag of fish. "Thank you for caring for it," she says, her voice dull now. "I am sorry it was so much trouble to you. I only thought - that you liked it." She sets the bag down beside her, and stares out at the water. It glitters in the sunlight, shifting incessantly; though they sit yet in the shadow of the lighthouse. Where that shadow stretches over the water, it is a dark, murky green.
"I do like it," assures, Amestris. "And if I were a great lady like you, I could keep it. But no one will allow me to bring it to a pond. But you can do almost anything you like. You have servants and you live in a big tower. And no one will stop you from using the ponds in Seaward."
"I live in a house and mother and I must draw water from the well down the street. Fresh fish must be bought every day and the market is on the opposite side of the city from where I live. It is just too difficult for me to care for it and the heron could never be happy living our house without water to wade in or the blue sky above."
"I am sorry," Farielle says again, not looking away from the water. "I did not know. I will pay you for the fish." She looks almost as if she might cry, as if it is only force of will that keeps her eyes dry.
Amestris studies the woman for a moment, saying quietly. "That is not what I meant."
"I think you came here to be alone," she observes. "I should leave you. But I would like to visit you later now that you've returned."
Farielle nods, as if for a moment, she dare not trust her voice. Then she clears her throat. "I know. But I must. It was wrong of me to put such a burden on you, and that I did not think is no excuse. It - it is a debt."
She turns her head then, and manages a somewhat wavering smile. "I would be glad if you came."
Amestris rises and places her hand upon Farielle's shoulder for a moment. She smiles. "I will come soon."
As she walks away, she calls to the guard. "The heron will follow Farielle and the fish. You do not need to catch it, lest you want it beating you with its wings the whole way back to Seaward. The young woman giggles and trots off.
Farielle's hand comes up to cover Amestris' briefly. And as the girl leaves, she returns to staring at the bay.
The young priestess kept coming to find him and talk at him. Lominzil - Batsai now, for that was the name she had given him - didn't know why. He didn't know what she was saying, though sometimes he could pick out this word or that from her speech. Slower as it was, it was easier to connect the words he had seen but never heard pronounced, with the ones spoken. And she looked different as well. Her skin was a more yellow shade of brown, and her eyes were tilted some.
She had brought him to this place, sometimes she brought him extra food. Though she had an Eye embroidered on her clothes and another hanging about her neck on a chain, Lominzil could not hate her. He bore with her mannerisms and kept the foolish smile pasted on his face and his eyes blank.
He could not go every day to sit outside of Seaward Tower and hope for a glimpse of his sister; he feared the guards growing suspicious of him - or simply tiring of seeing his face. But as often as he dared, he went to one side or another of the tower: surreptitiously scanning the wall, watching the gate guards changing shifts, trying to guess which window might be Farielle's. But no matter how he bent his mind to the problem, he could not think how to get her out.
Not without even being able to speak to her... That, he decided, must be his first priority. He had to find a way to speak to her so they could plan their escape.