At The Shrine of the Heroes, a newly-reclaimed chamber where the Lady of the Tower can worship her ancestors, and pray.
Not long given to this purpose, yet somehow it almost feels perfect. Like the Great Hall below, a great window here opens to the West-where fallen Numenor lies beneath the wave-and serves as the primary focus of worship. As all other things about the Seaward Tower, this chamber is severe and minimalist in its decor, yet somehow elegant in such simplicity.
The illumination here is provided strictly by the sun; the oil-lamps are left out during the daylight hours. The only statuary in this shrine is sparse-white marble reliefs of Ar-Pharazon and Ar-Adunakhor-and mounted upon either wall. Three hard benches, with room for perhaps seven men abreast, face the window.
The sun slants in from the west, across the sea, through the only window. It is the only illumination, and so the corners of the room are dim for the brilliance of that beam of light. Within it, spurning the benches in favor of standing at the window itself, is a figure - little more than a shadow almost obliterated by the bright sun. Outside the archway is one of the guards; across the room, Farielle's door is open and the maids can be seen busying themselves.
Garbed in dark clothing once again more fitting of her profession, the young Priestess S'aria makes her way through the hallway towards the doorway and the arches. The darkness of her skirts seems to defy the light, the girl moving like a living shadow through it, the sunbeams bouncing off the gleaming black sheen of her lovely dark hair. Squinting just a little as she enters the shrine, the Easterling lifts a tan hand to shield her eyes, peering at the figure in the window. "Lady Farielle?", she calls out as if uncertain as to its identity.
"Tis her," says the guard, Ridwan by name, and shuts his mouth. He is not talkative like his cohort. But perhaps it is as well he has answered. Farielle says nothing at all, nor makes any sign that she has heard.
With a brief sigh at Farielle's continual shunning of her, S'aria slides a bang of black hair behind an ear, moving out of the way of the light to a more shady part of the room. She has her large leather satchel dangling from her bag, "I thought we might start our studies today unless you wish to discuss something else. Sir Alkhaszor or Lord Alphros are likely to inquire as to our progress and I will be in much trouble if I come up empty-handed." S'aria sounds hardly into the task either, though she reaches into her satchel. "I brought you some things. I heard you suffered burns during the warmer period... I have some creme I plan on using to keep my skin's natural color I figured you could use some too," she says pulling out a small glass container of a clear white substance.
"You may tell them that it was my fault entirely," Farielle answers. "I am sure they will be only too ready to believe you." She ignores the creme at first, then turns as if it is an after thought. "How does it work?"
"Except I am trying to help you... remember?", replies S'aria lazily, she has been around Farielle that responding to the other's treatment of her has almost become routine. Yet there is still a willful determination in her eyes, though her smile is wan at best. She approaches the fair-haired Gondorian beauty and offers her the ointment, a smirk forming on her lips. "Its much better than the drink I gave you when we first met, I promise." If Farielle takes it, she folds her hands across her chest, "You should apply it to the exposed parts of your skin or irritated parts ever day after a bath. It heals your skin of sunburns and prevents it from darkening... It is still going to hurt if you sit around naked at high noon, but at least this will heal the burns and you will not start to look like a desertwoman," she says with a chuckle.
"No," Farielle says flatly. "I do not remember." But she takes the ointment, setting it down on the window's ledge.
S'aria rolls her eyes at this, the little girl wrinkling her nose with irritation."You can tell me I have done a poor job of helping you. There you might have a case... But you cannot tell me I am not trying," she says stubbornly. With a grunt she steps up to the other woman, her nose almost touching the other woman's. The teenager's lip quiver's a little bit but there is compassion there in her dark eyes, along with her stubborn spirit not perhaps unlike the Gondorian's own. "Will you at least let me tell you what happened that night? If you ever thought... that there might be something good in me, don't you owe me that much? Come on, Farielle...", she pleads her hands tightening into fists at her side.
Farielle gives up looking west and turns away from the sun. But she doesn't step out of it, rather puts her back to the window. "I know what happened," she says. "I was there. Remember? But since I clearly cannot stop you, speak."
"I meant with me, my motivations...", replies S'aria, her determined eyes immediately dropping to the floor. Her arms tighten uncomfortably in front of her chest, the girl's voice softening a great deal. "You lived in Gondor all your life right? Don't you know what it is like to feel trapped sometime? To feel... like your life has been set out before you?", she asks without looking, perhaps she is afraid of what she will see in Farielle's cold eyes. "You know I have been trying to get involved with Lord Alphros and his kind. I know you hate them... but for me its everything I ever wanted. A chance to do something with my life outside of the Church, a chance to achieve things of my own hardwork. You know I was inducted into the Church when I was eight right? Not exactly out of choice either," she finally gives Farielle a cautious look, indeed, it looks like she is afraid the other might laugh at her or make fun of her.
Farielle doesn't laugh. She doesn't - anything, really. But she listens. "No," she says at last. "I have never felt trapped... until now." 'Now', for her, means the past months. "I love my family, and they love me, and I know that my father will - would find me a husband, and I could trust him to find a man who would be kind to me and treat me with honor."
"Well, lucky you... that was the story of my childhood. It was either slop around in the mud with my father as a slave or be a Priestess of the Eye. And then when I excelled they kept me back because apparently sixteen is two young to be a Priestess of the second circle," demurs S'aria with a frown on her face. She lingers on the question of Father's though, her expression growing distant. She nudges the edge of the shrine with a sandled toe, "Mine... would have probably been a good Father too if things had turned out differently. I am sure he would have gotten me a husband too but... I was so terrified of the thought of living my whole life like that. I did not even hesitate when I was offered to join the priesthood... anything is better than a slave, right? At least that is what I thought."
There seems to be no reply to this. Farielle stands quietly in the sunlight, her face in shadow, and waits to see what else S'aria wishes to say.
Starting a little, S'aria realizes the got off track, her cheeks blushing a little bit. "R-right well... In Harad they are mostly keeping me back because of my youth and... I have been feeling the need to make a name for myself outside of the church." She swallows a little, still lingering in the shadows, though now she bows her head, dark locks hiding her tan face from view. "So you can imagine... there I was and Lord Alphros of all people was asking me for a favor. A chance to earn the gratitude of someone outside of the church. If he trusts me, what opportunities would be denied me if I served him well?" And then she approaches Farielle quickly, tears glistening in her eyes. "It... was wrong. I lost sight of what matters. I told myself when I joined the Priesthood I would /never/ be like that... and there I was selling you out like that... But... can't you understand? Wouldn't you have been tempted to do the same thing if you were me?"
"I do not know," Farielle says quietly. Hasn't she herself, just recently, been tempted to consort with servants of her people's long enemy? "But I have told you already, it is not what you did. I do not know; I may have done the same, if I were you."
"But I saw you, S'aria. You delighted in my distress. You gloated at having power, and using it for misery. And when you had a choice, even then, you did not choose compassion or kindness."
Tears dribble down S'aria's cheeks, the girl leaning heavily against the side of the room. She lifts a hand trying to wipe them away, "I know, it was cruel and wrong. But... part of me was gloating. I was going to earn a big favor from Alphros and from who... a Gondorian who hated my guts already anyway! I was sure I was not going to get to see you again either way... .." She lowers down to her knees in front of the other woman, her hands pressing into the stone floor as she looks up with wide, wet eyes. "If I could take it back I would... I am so sorry. It was horrible and cruel... nothing like the person I want to be..."
"I didn't hate you," Farielle says, quietly. "Stand up, S'aria."
She turns around now, to look back out into the West. "You were not taught as I," she continues, as if she is thinking out loud. "I cannot expect honor from who knows nothing of what it is." A little louder, "I will tell you what my mother said to me, when I was young. There are three things you can never get back - an arrow loosed into flight, a word spoken in cruelty, and a dishonorable action. I - " She hesitates for the first time. "I do not know how to tell you what honor is. I saw it, all my life, in my brothers and my parents. It is doing what is /right/ no matter what it costs." All this is spoken as she has said everything else, not loudly and with very little emotion.
S'aria listens quietly, slowly pushing to her feet as the other speak. Her dark brows furrow, the girl not really understanding what Farielle is talking about. "We Easterling have a similar word but it does not sound the same. It is a warrior's honor... achieving glory in battle, protecting your clan, defeating your enemies so that your name lives on in the stories passed down to generation. But we do not see shame in retreat, or in chosing your battles. Honor for the clan is in victory, not defeat. Though we do not see shame in death unless it is the result of stupidity," explains the girl. She exhales, wrinkling her nose as she tries to comprehend, eyes still moist though she seems more in control of her emotions now. "I suppose that that is what is right for my people? Then is it incorrect to say they were honorable?"
"I don't know," Farielle says. "My brothers spoke of honor in battle - there is no honor in defeating someone weaker than yourself, or unarmed. Nor in harming a woman - but women among my people do not fight, so it is cowardly to attack them, for they cannot defend themselves."
"To do what is right ... I - my father is the lord over people and lands. He has power over them and their lives. It would be wrong of him to use that power to please himself, and make the lives of his people wretched. It is his honor to care for them, because they are weaker than he."
"It is wrong to make a promise and not keep it - and my father says that any word he speaks is as a promise; and so he must be careful of his words, to only say what he is willing to back up with his living." She stops, turning half away from the window, to see if any of this has made sense. "I cannot say if your people were honorable or not. I do not know them. But the one you serve, I /know/ that he is not."
The Easterling girl seems to be taking this in stride, her dark eyes flickering with thought as she crosses her arms. "I guess it makes sense in a way. People will surely like you more if you behave that way... though I guess it depends. Most Easterlings consider harming your family or your friends to be wrong. But someone you do not know? What obligation should you have towards them? I felt bad about what I did to you because I want you to be my friend but... I would not have questioned it otherwise if I barely even knew you or you were a complete stranger." She rolls her head back, her eyes dissapearing in her raven mane of hair. "We used to sing stories about the heroes of old. Of their Honor... it was very inspiring to me. It still is... it is one of the reasons I am not like most in the Church. Though... the honor we sang of has many similarities to your own there are some differences. Maybe it was the same notion before Humanity cleaved into nations."
"I do not do it to make people like me," Farielle says quietly. "And it is not true that people will. Those here think I am weak for it. I do it because it is what I was taught is right - and because it is the person I want to be. I do not want to be cruel some times and kind others. What if the person I did not know was someone I might love or honor if I knew them? I should be unkind to him simply because I didn't know him?"
She is silent a moment, a frown furrowing between her eyebrows. And it seems for the moment, that she doesn't see the room at all. Almost beneath her breath, she says, "I wish..." and is silent.
S'aria cants her head to the side at this, a lop-side smile on her face. "I do not think you are weak, Fari. There is a kind of strength in you that I respect... otherwise I would not try so hard to befriend you." She sighs though, threading her fingers through her hair, lifting those dark locks up above her head before they tumble back down to her shoulders. "I am not sure I understand why you do it then if not simply because that was what you were brought up with. If thats the case, the Haradrim cannot be blamed for following the way of their forefathers right?" She does give a brief nod though, "Some Easterling... that are more traditional used to talk about the 'big clan'. They talked about treating everyone like family. Perhaps that would be the closest to what you are talking about?"
As the other girl speaks softly, S'aria takes a brief step closer, her dark skirts swirling about her shapely legs with the movement. "W-what... what do you wish?", she asks, curiosity dancing in her youthful gaze.
"Family. Perhaps," Farielle answers. Her gaze, still distant, snaps back to the present. After a moment, she replies. "I wish that I could talk to my mother. Or my father." There is something strange in her eyes just then, a flash of some suppressed emotion. It is swiftly veiled again. "I told you," she says. "I do it because that is the person I want to be. I do not want to be hard and cold and uncaring of anyone else, or the pain my actions might bring them. When someone is kind to me, I ... " She stops. "I want to give that to other people."
The dark-haired teenager washes Farielle's face intently, sadness entering into her eyes as the other woman gives voice to her wish. S'aria gently steps towards the other girl, reaching most tenatively to try to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I... am sorry... Kidnapping is the gravest of crimes to my old people. Family is inviolate... What has been done to you is... reprehensible," she says with conviction in her voice, seeking out the other girl's eyes briefly before she retreats her hand whether it was accepted or not. "I can understand that. I spent much of my youth thinking about who I wanted to be when I grew up... I wanted to be like the heroes, have my name sung in the legends, maybe one day even return to the East and help my people reunify." A shadow of guilt passes over her features, "That girl in the island... she wasn't me. At least not what I want to be. I do not know if that makes things better or worse..."
Farielle doesn't move. She acts as if S'aria's hand isn't even there - but perhaps the other girl can take comfort in that she didn't jerk away. And her words... the girl listens, this is true. But it is late in the day for trust or acceptance. S'aria said words much like these in the past, and Farielle has been hurt by too many people too many times to open herself to still more. "Then do not be her," she says. "But trust is like an egg. If you drop it, it breaks, and you cannot unbreak it simply by saying you are sorry." A pause, and then a flicker of a smile, gone almost at once. "My mother said that, too."
"I... know. I know... but still, it would be even worse if I did not try to clean up the mess, right?", demurs S'aria with a sigh, her shoulders rising and falling with the heavy exhale of breath. A whistful smile forms on her face, those dark eyes growing misty for a moment as S'aria turns away from the other girl. "My mother... taught me much as well. She was wise... and a strong warrior. I think you would have liked her," she says softly before turning back to Farielle. She offers her a bit of a grin, the gesture somewhat uneasy as she tries to get away from these heavy topics, "Well I won't force you to talk about it anymore. Do you want me to teach you some of my healing arts? Perhaps that would suit your demeanor better than teaching you about the Law... You might even be able to make that creme yourself if you learn it well. And other useful things."
"I have studied with the healers," Farielle answers, politely enough. She seems about to refuse any instruction from S'aria at all, when she stops, arrested by some thought.
S'aria is not about to force the issue, the young Priestess pushing off from the wall as it seems Farielle is going to ask not to be taught today. But she notices Farielle's hesitation and tilts her head to the side, "Umm... what is it?", she inquires curiously.
"I want to know my way about the city," Farielle says, with sudden decision. "You can show me."
S'aria blinks with suprise, the young Priestess lifting a hand to scratch at the side of her head briefly. "Oh... well alright. Is there are particular place you want to go? I would suggest you bring a cloak, if not for the cold then to keep the sun off you. It is just as bright during the winter."
"Everywhere." Farielle's face - where once she might have wrinkled her nose in jesting disgust - instead goes more still and dispassionate at the mention of a cloak. With no expression at all in her voice, she says, "I shall wear a cloth about my head and face."
S'aria is not sure what to make of this but she can see no guile in the other woman's eyes and so with a nod of her head she makes her way towards the archway. "Alright then. I suppose we will go to the market place first... it would be good for you to know how to get there and then perhaps to the waterfront. The moist air would feel nice at this time of day I think," remarks the young priestess as she smiles with anticipation. "I will see you downstairs then, alright?"
Back in Farielle's Room
Evening has fallen, and the cool night air wafts through the room, stirring the cloths over the windows. Every lamp - and there are plenty - is burning. Farielle is sitting on her bed, cross-legged with her back against the wall, bent over something in her lap. Embroidery, maybe, from the occasional flash of a needle. Her eyes are distant, remembering the day - trying to keep straight in her mind the intricate twists and turns that lead about the city.
Another woman, a maidservant in her 20s, is sitting in a chair drinking tea. "...and then I said to her...!" She seems quite happy to be carrying on what is essentially a conversation with herself, as Farielle contributes nothing. The usual guard stands outside the door, which is shut.
There is a knock at the door, and then the expected waiting period for a call to come in.
Leena's story is cut off midword, and she sets her cup down to go to the door. "Who... Oh, it's you, my Lady." Turning, as she opens the door (no question here if Farielle wants to recieve this guest), she says, "It's Lady Eruphel, my Lady."
See? She was polite enough to knock, even though its her own tower. Eruphel slips in, wearing a soft flowing layered gown of blue, her slight bulge definitely starting to show now. As she looks around the room, it seems awfully crowded, for one, with so much furniture. She also notes how some of the furniture has been pushed across the conjoining door to Alkhaszor's room. "Marital difficulties?" she enquires with a slighly sardonic smile.
Farielle has looked up at Leena's announcement, but the faint polite smile with which she begins to greet Eruphel freezes, and something hard and bitter takes its place. For a moment. The girl looks down at her work, then lays it aside, and when she looks up again, the expression has been wiped from her face. "Please have a seat, Lady Eruphel," she says. "Would you care for a drink? Leena can fetch something..."
Eruphel smiles, and takes a seat, as offered. "A drink would be nice. Tea. With honey and lemon...Leena." She turns to the maid and smiles kindly, then turns back to Farielle. "I was glad to see you, when I came in just now, Lady Farielle. And for a moment I thought you were glad to see me. And then your face changed. What was that? What was that thought you refused to say?"
The maid hesitates at the door for a moment, looking back, then leaves.
Farielle looks away. "Surely you know, Lady," she says at last, her voice colorless. "You cannot be ignorant of what passes in your Tower. Or did you think I should be pleased to be bound to one who despises me?"
"I know...obviously I know. And if I did not, the arrangement of your furniture would tell me. But I do not know what /your/ thought was, and that was my question." Eruphel says.
The girl glances back at Eruphel. For a second, before she lowers her eyes again, the other woman might see a terrible anger there, and hatred. "You have not been unkind to me, Lady. It is better that we do not speak of it."
Eruphel seems less than pleased, the corners of her mouth turning downward slightly. "A friend and confidant would share it...unless it is directed at me personally. In which case, yes. Keep it to yourself. I do not wish to be displeased with you right now." She shifts slightly in her seat, curling her legs underneath. "Do you recall in Desert Tower that I suggested a position for you within my tower? As Lady in waiting?"
"No, Lady, it is not directed at you. I am sorry." Farielle curls her fingers together and looks at them intently. "I don't know what you wish me to say, though. I hate him. I will never know a husband, and never have a family. I am to spend my days being 'schooled' to manners by the priestesses of my people's greatest enemy. This ... marriage was blessed in the name of that one, and my - /husband/," she spits the word, "A man who claimed the honor of the men of Gondor, agreed willingly to this. He, who thinks me so vile and shameful that he could only be bribed into wedding me by being promised the Lordship of my family's lands - by the death of my brothers and father and uncles. I did not wish to speak because I thought him to be a friend of yours." Lost in her own bitterness and rage, she doesn't answer Eruphel's question.
Eruphel tries to school her expression to impassivity, though there are faint muscle twitches here and there. "You might know a husband...time will tell," she says calmly. "And it is quite alright to complain about Alkhaszor. Yes, I count him friend, and admire him. But I do not postulate that everyone I know must also like him, or elsewise keep their thoughts to themselves. He /is/ Gondorian, after all. To do so would require me to turn against my own people, for the discord is natural and seemly. And I am not sure if you noticed, but he may not have wanted to wed you either. He did so out of duty to his Liege. He was oath and honor bound to obey. Did he ever tell you I saved his life once?"
"I know very well he did not wish to wed me," Farielle says furiously. "He said so. At great length. And he did not seem bound in honor to obey - not until Lord Alphros - " This also she spits out, as if she can barely stand to say the words, " - offered him the lives of my kinsmen as blood money!"
"He has said nothing to me, save to tell me I am vile and shameful and a disgrace."
Eruphel is cool and calm and collected. "And were you vile and shameful and a disgrace? What did you do or say that prompted him to say that? He's not an unkind man. You've met unkind men here...who would hurt you with words just to see you squirm. Alkhaszor is not one of them." She sits back, folding her arms. "Lord Alphros gave Alkhaszor a title of Lord, but as Lord in a land Alphros has no posession of. The actual landing would come later, it was assumed, as a debt for his loyalty through this endeavor. Alkhaszor is in the unenviable situation of being a man without a country. It must be difficult. You need to separate your heart from your head, Farielle, and look at this from a distance."
"So by giving you to Alkhaszor in marriage, Alphros made a step closer to fulfilling his promise. You could easily have been wed to some Gondorian you disliked, had you never been brought to Harad. But of course, in order for the lands to legally to to him through you, everyone in line for those lands before you would have to be eliminated." Eruphel shifts, taking a moment for it to sink in. "/However/, as I said before, Alkhaszor is a kind and honorable man, and was very good to his first wife, trying his best to see to her care and safety. If you were to..." she sighs, struggling to find the word, "be amiable, lovable, loving, do you not think that by the time that day comes, if it ever comes, you could not save your family through his love for you?"
No one has ever called Farielle vile or disgraceful in her life. She gapes at Eruphel, startled for the moment out of the poisonous well of her thoughts. "I - " she says. "How could I have been? I said I didn't want to marry Lord Alphros, and... " She tries to cast her thoughts back to that day, her expression turning slightly sick as she does so. "I - I kept seeing the mask," she says finally, in a low voice. Her fingers clench together. "From when Vain ... I told you? That Lord Alphros wears. I - I asked him to take it off." Her voice is thinning in distress from the memories.
"I b-begged him. He only ignored me, and went on talking to that priestess..." The cool, callous voice echoes in her mind. "I said he would be no fit king for Gondor if he cared so little for those he wanted to be his people. And I said I would not consent to a wedding in the name of - of /him/." Her eyes flick towards the east. "He hates me, and I have done nothing to make him. That he loved his first wife is no reason to despise me; I did not choose to take her place."
Eruphel sighs. "So many topics to discuss." Another sigh. "We will save Lord Alphros for another day, except to say that for a very select few, he reveals his visage readily and often. For you to be one of those few, you would have to have gained his confidence, which I somewhat doubt you have even attempted to do." She looks toward the door, wondering where her tea is. "And likely he ignored you because his mind was already made up about you. And no, I do not believe you've told me about a mask, but I am willing to listen." Eruphel blinks, and her face is filled with compassion as Farielle's stress seems to rise. "Come here, and let me hold you, Farielle."
"When Vain... It was dark. All the time," Farielle says, her eyes dark with remembered horror. "Things moved and I never knew if they were real or not. I - I tried to find things and they vanished, and people that weren't there s-spoke to me. And touched me." She hugs herself, and shivers, and looks at the lamps to make sure. They are burning. "I saw him - Lord Alphros - his mask. Veil. It comes and goes in the dark, only sometimes it is bright. It - He - " She cannot continue, struggling to control herself. And in her anguish and fear and loneliness, she crumples, weeping, at last into Eruphel's arms - enemy or no, here is someone sympathetic.
"Wh-when I saw him, then," she continues at last, her voice dull. "I remember. All that. I think it is him. That he will... I didn't ask him to stop the wedding, or to change his mind. Only - only to help me." Alphros, to her, is cold and uncaring and callous.
It is now that the door opens quietly, and the maid returns, carrying a tray with hot water and cups and tea, and a small pot of honey.
Eruphel embraces Farielle and holds her tight, letting her cry, yet shushing her softly and rocking like one might a babe. She places a hand on the back of Farielle's hair, smoothing and petting it soothingly. "The mask is not Lord Alphros. What the man in the mask did is not him. The mask lets you hide your face, but still will let you see. Lord Alphros wears a veil to cover his eyes. His eyes, Farielle." Her eyes turn toward the maid as she returns with the trappings of tea. With only a meaningful direction of the eyes, from her face to the teapots, she hopes the maid picks up on her desire to pour the tea for them. "Asked who to help you, Farielle? Alphros? Or Alkhaszor?"
Farielle has not wept like this since a time in a tent in Caldur. A few tears, hastily stifled, but to let go, to stop trying to dam up all her emotions - no. It is a while before her sobs subside.
The maid silently pours out two cups, scooping a generous portion of honey into one and stirring it to dissolve, then retreats to her own chair.
"L-lord Alphros," Farielle manages at last to speak, though her voice wobbles still and is thick from crying. "It was the veil... Everyone tells me it wasn't him I saw, and - and I believe them, I think, but wh-when I see it, all that comes back. That's why I asked him to please take it off." She calms as she speaks, her voice dulling.
"Ah...yes. I see." Eruphel says. "Then it is well, is it not, that he decided not to marry you himself? Instead, he decided to marry you to one of his liegemen. I know you would have preferred not to be married but...it could have been worse, couldn't it." Once it seems safe to loosen her embrace, she does. "And, even better, not only is the man a Gondorian, and a Bragollach not just some commoner...but he is content to give you your space. Imagine how it would be if he lusted for you, and was intent on his rights as a husband, or cared not for whether you were a willing participant. There is much to be glad for, Farielle, if you can but look for it." She sighs.
"No," Farielle answers, tone numb from the emotional release. She leans back against her bed and wipes at her face. "He just hates me." The names he has called her ... a shudder runs through her body. And another at Eruphel's words, though she is too drained to summon up any more response.
Noticing the tea, she reaches for the cup nearest her and cradles it in her hands, shivering now as if she is freezing. It is the one with the honey, set there on purpose by the maid. Reserved, not friendly, but kind enough - or experienced enough - to know that the sweetness and the warmth of the tea will be welcome after this.
Eruphel lets Farielle pull herself back together. Then she leans forward to steep her own tea, stirring the hot water. "Hate can be changed, over time, Farielle. You hate him as well." She takes out the spoon and puts it on the tray. "Tell me, what...what one thing could Alkhaszor do that would make you not hate him?"
Farielle shakes her head. She doesn't believe he can - or will - change. "He was so ... " She stops, unable to find a word, and shivers again, looking slightly sick now at the memory of Alkhaszor's venomous words, his spiteful, malicious voice.
Her eyes lift to Eruphel's at the woman's question, then fall away, and she shakes her head again, whispering, "I don't know."
Eruphel shrugs, and smiles, and begins to offer suggestions. "Well, what if he defied Lord Alphros? I am not talking about what is likely, just...what would make you like him? What if he declared that your marriage never actually happened? What if he returned you to Gondor?" Many of these acts would be considered treasonous, of course. She adds lemon to her tea, and last of all, honey.
This brings Farielle's head up, her eyes wide. Something almost like alarm flies through them, and then is gone. "Yes," she says, voice barely above a whisper still. "If he let me go home..."
"Well. That at least is a positive thought. Maybe we can start from there as a starting point." Eruphel says, stirring the tea, then taking a sip. She takes a deep sigh. She did not come here for marriage counseling. "This is not what I came here for. I wished to know if you wanted to serve as my lady in waiting." she states bluntly.
The girl's shoulders sag and she bows her head again. A sip of tea. Of course, it couldn't be true. "I had forgotten," she confesses.
Eruphel nods once. Forgotten indeed. "Well then, I am reminding you. What are your thoughts on the matter?" She shifts in her seat, and shakes her head. "I must be getting old and doddering like my father." she mumbles to herself.
Eyes hidden by her bowed head, Farielle thinks. She takes a sip of her tea, and looks up. "If you still want me to. But... the guards. And - " A glance at Leena. "They are supposed to be with me all the time." There is a hint of question in her voice.
After a moment, tentatively, "Your father?"
"Do they watch you dress? The guards, I mean." Eruphel challenges boldly. Then she drinks more of her tea, making a face as she gets some of the tea leaves on her tongue, and picks them off. "My father, when I was about your age, was the Lord of Seaward. And he doted on a young, captured Gondorian. A Bragollach, no less, and gave him position and title within the tower, and took him into his confidence. The Bragollach used his position to betray my father and my tower, and escaped to Gondor. I hated his entire house...still do, really, with the exception of Alkhaszor."
"No, they stay outside. Leena and Hikalla are in here. But they go everywhere I go. Will that cause - problems?" Farielle asks delicately.
She looks down at her tea again, swirling the tea leaves around in the pale liquid. "How did he betray him?"
Eruphel smiles. "Now see? Not everywhere. And...if you are with me, likely you are safe. Or, we both are in peril. I will speak to Lord Alphros about it." Eruphel smiles, then that smile dims as she recalls the issue. "My father made the slave a Steward, because he had knowledge of ledgers and numbers and languages, and because he swore on his honor and my father believed him. But it was false. And it was possible for him to be a steward and yet remain a slave, as a steward never has need of blade or spear. But he had other means under his control. So he bought some bad salt pork...he knew it was bad, and he convinced my father to let him go on...a raid or something. And then he stocked the ship with the bad food. Then, while they were out, the entire crew became ill. They could scarcely fight off the Gondorian attackers. And the steward jumped ship and returned home."
"That was wrong," Farielle says slowly. "To swear and to break your word..." She takes another swallow of tea. "And to make so many men sick, so that they might have been killed... but probably they would kill others if they were not sick..." A sigh, and she shakes her head. The conundrums of honor.
"I think I would not have made people sick. But I probably would have jumped off of the boat." Her mouth twists in a self-mocking smile. Foolish to be imagining a situation long past - and one that will never come within her grasp. It is with almost a smile that she says - an attempt at a joke - "You are safe, Lady. I will not feed you bad pork."
Eruphel smiles and nods, her eyes betraying deeper thoughts, yet she says nothing. "Very well then. I would like to go to the Garden," she says, her tone suggesting what her words do not, that Farielle should attend. She rises, putting down her tea.
The last of her own tea is drunk, and the cup set down. Farielle rises, to go with Eruphel. When she leaves the room, the guardsman follows her at a discreet distance.
Lominzil - Batsai - had thought of a plan. But... he twisted as if to scratch between his shoulders, scanning the street behind him as he did so. He kept thinking someone was following him; but no one was there. He made a disgusted face, spat on the cobbles, and shuffled off towards the place he had found.
Once there, he leaned against the wall, idly watching, until the alley was empty. It wasn't much used, he'd discovered, and so far, no one seemed to notice him as he slipped through a crack in the wall. It looked like nothing at all - like the stones had simply begun to crumble and the wall to lean; and when one looked at the crack, one saw newer stones built up behind, but he had noticed that if he squeezed through and then ducked down, there was a hole ...
He lay in the darkness, holding his breath and listened. Above him, sunlight streamed through the cracked wall, hitting the one behind. He could hear nothing. At last, he began to worm his way forward, crawling out at last into a dim, dusty room. It was piled high with barrels and crates - all of them, so far as he could tell, filled with clothing.
Unseen, alone at last, he let a feral grin slide across his face. Cautiously, replacing what he didn't want as closely as possible to how it had been, he rummaged through the boxes. At last, he had a pair of silk trousers. A tunic. A slender belt. A cloak. Shoes. He stuffed them into a bag, and began the process of edging back out. Just below the crack, he stopped, shutting his eyes to listen more intently. This was the most dangerous part.
Slowly, he lifted himself, sliding one eye out just far enough to see the street. No one was there - he didn't think. He slipped out, giving a swift glance all around, and breathed a sigh of relief. Scuttling like the beggar he was, he returned to his closet of a room, and shoved his loot under his bed.
Weary as he was, he hardly dared to sleep more than catnaps, sitting upright on the edge of his bed so that if he fell too deeply asleep, he would waken as he began to fall. But this time, he dreamed of his sister. Not as she was now, thin and pale and haunted; but as she had been: lovely, vibrant, teasing him about something or other. In his dream, he wasn't sure what, and he protested, laughing. But she flitted away from him, and was gone, and he was awake, halfway off the bed.
He caught himself with his hands, and sat back up, still smiling.
Tomorrow. He would try it tomorrow.