Seaward Tower: Parapet
The skies surround and uplift one, here atop Seaward Tower: truly this must be how it feels to be a Lord, for sprawled out far below is Umbar, as if it were there for the taking! To the east is the City, where the minarets and battlements of the various Towers and citadels rise, and west is the sea; north is Caldur, sparkling like a jewel across the Bay, and south holds the desolation of the desert. A fine Looking Glass is set upon a tripod for viewing all things far and distant.
The battlements are crenellated, providing cover for archers, and are patrolled by vigilant men in the colours of Seaward Tower. Torches are placed at every third crenellation, and the stairway here is covered by a stone guardwall and canopy.
The morning sun rises behind; the sea stretches out, vast and glittering before. Farielle is leaning on the stone battlements, resting her arms on a low place and looking out into the west. The breeze off the water ruffles her hair and picks at the pale cloth wrapped around her head and neck to keep the sun off. Her guard stands at the stairway; two others in Seaward's colors walk steadily around, keeping watch.
The sound of light feet skipping up the stairs heralds the arrival of Amestris. She glances around, spotting the Gondorian lady and crosses to join her, smiling broadly. "Hello, Farielle! Your maid said you were here."
Farielle turns part-way as Amestris comes up to her. She smiles a little in response, then looks down and reaches within her light cape, bringing out a small bag. "Hello, Amestris." A pause, and then, "Here." She holds out the pouch.
"What is that?" Amestris says, looking down at the bag in Farielle's hand.
"For the bird," Farielle explains. A bit of nervousness shows in her face as she tries to find words that won't offend the younger girl; that will convince her to take the money. "Please, Amestris? It is a debt I owe you. It isn't much, but..."
The girl hesitates a moment, then nods her head and accepts the pouch silently. It disappears into her robes and Amestris turns to stare out over the sea. "It is a beautiful morning, is it not?" she comments, her smile returning. "It is finally getting warm again."
"Thank you," Farielle murmurs, and turns back to her vigil. "Getting warm! I am so hot already. The breeze is nice, though."
"Hot?" laughs Amestris. "It is not hot. It is your northern blood. I imagine it must be hotter than ours to live in such a cold place, like having a little brazier inside of you. I have heard in your land it is so cold that the rain is changed into something like tiny bits of cotton and it collects on the ground and does not leave until spring when it turns to rain drops again." She glances aside to her companion. "Does the sun shine less often there? Is that why you have no color?"
"Snow," Farielle explains. "But where I live, it does not get that cold. Only rarely. That is farther north. But no. I mean, yes. It is cloudier more often, especially in the winter. But that is not why my skin is pale. That is my ancestry."
Amestris appears to consider this for a moment then says. "You are colorless because you foremothers were, but that does not mean /they/ were not colorless because the sun shines less often." She does not wait for a response ere she turns suddenly and declares, "The sea is boring, let us go look at the city. I will show you a game I play with my brothers!" The salt-tanged wind gusts, lifting the gauzy orange head scarf about the Bazhani girl's head. She reaches for it, but the wind wafts it lazily just beyond her fingers.
A sudden wistfulness shadows Farielle's eyes and softens her voice. "No," she says quietly. "Perhaps for all but one - she, they say, was of elven kin. They do not darken in the sun, and that is why I do not. I only burn and peel, and am white again." She looks out into the west still longer - seeing, perhaps, a distant island - and it is only reluctantly, that she turns away at Amestris' suggestion. The scarf flaps, and she snatches for it.
Another laugh rings out as Amestris chases the scarf. "Oh thank you!" she says when Farielle snatches at the scarf. "Orange shall be the first color! But my scarf does not count!" she continues on until she comes to the opposite side of the tower.
Farielle is smiling, Amestris' laughter is contagious, and so is the girl's good humor.
Amestris leans upon a crenel, squinting in the rising sun to look out at the city spread below them. "I take my brothers to the top of Farside Tower sometimes, and we play a game. One of us picks a color and we each must find as many things in the city as we can. Whoever finds the most gets to choose the next color. When you find something, you should say what and where it is quickly, because once it has been spoken, no one else can claim it as their own."
"Oh," is Farielle's rather muffled response. She is rewinding her scarf, so that it shades her face from the sun now that they are on the eastern side of the tower. "There is a... well, something. There. See? I think it maybe is a stall-roof?"
"Oh yes! I see it," Amestris says. She shifts her eyes to the northeast where stands the massive stadium. "I see three orange banners flying over the stadium! That was too easy, though, there are many banners over the stadium. We can not see it so clearly from Farside."
"Do you count three for that?" Farielle inquires. "Um..." She squints down at the city. "I am not very good at this game... There! That orangey-colored building. It must be made of some different kind of stone to be that color. That's two for me."
Gradually the sound of someone humming softly in a foreign language begins to reach the two women's ears, for it seems the young Easterling Priestess S'aria has decided to come to the top of the tower to practice her dance. A bright smile on the dark-haired girl's features is seen as she appears in the stairwell, blinking briefly when she encounters the guard. "Ummm... is Lady Farielle here?", she asks with a blink before the man points out. Blinking at the stranger, S'aria approaches cautiously, "L...Lady Fairlle? Am I interrupting?", she asks suprise on her features as it seems Farielle is actually talking with someone.
"Oh yes, it counts," insists Amestris. "Sometimes you find things in clusters like that. As long as they are truly separate from one another it counts. Binadel once got six at once on one clothes line. The people in that house must have liked blue very much."
The tribal girl's nose wrinkles as her gold-flecked brown eyes search the city. "Orange is a hard color..." She turns when her friend is addressed.
"Yes... Is that - No, it's red, I guess." She stiffens, the smile fading. It is a moment before she turns around. "S'aria."
Curiosity shines in the Easterling's expression as she looks over the tribal-girl with open curiosity, "Oh... greetings. I am S'aria, miss. Acolyte of the Eye and Envoy to Lord Alphros," she greets softly. A hint of sadness enters into the Priestess dark eyes as she looks up to Farielle, her mouth turning downard at the corners. "Would... you like me to leave, Farielle?", she asks, her hands folding behind her back.
Amestris looks at the Acolyte curiously and then back to her friend. She frowns slightly but remains mindful of her manners. She bows slightly. "I am Amestris bint Tiribazus anBazhani who is Captain of Farside Tower." Then she falls silent, clearly aware of the tension between the two young women.
Farielle's expression clearly says 'yes', but her words, civil if not friendly, say, "No."
Dissapointment is clear in S'aria's eyes, yet she turns back to Amestris giving the younger girl a warm smile. "You desert folk do not look to much different from us Easterlings. From behind I could swear you were from the East," remarks the young Priestess with a chuckle. Crossing her arms she exhales, "Well, I can tell when someone means no even when they say yes...", she says before turning to Amestris, smirking with amusement. "I will leave you two to have fun. Goodness knows the Lady could use it... Herbs and rest will only go so far afterall. I would be curious to know what tricks you have used on her to get her to open up to you, I have been trying for months now," she says with a chuckle.
The desert girl's frown deepens, though it appears to be in thought rather than disapproval. "I am not certain I understand you. When you say 'open up', do you mean friendship? If so, one cannot trick another into friendship. It must be freely given and accepted."
"Amestris is my friend," Farielle says quietly, echoing the younger girl's words. "She has never tricked me into anything." The sun slowly rises higher, and the breeze from off the ocean flags. The Gondorian girl is beginning to look a little wilted; though she is not yet too hot, she is still not used to the heat of the sun.
"Tricks to get her approval! Obviously it most be freely given...", demurs the dark-haired priestess, giving a little roll of her eyes. She folds her hands behind her head, elbows flanking her round face. "By the Dark One's might... Make a little joke and you both pile ontop of my like I am a corsair that slits little children's throats for gold coin," she murmurs under her breath.
S'aria frowns slightly as she looks over Farielle, worry in her eyes. "Have you been using that creme I gave you? I am not going to have you burn that pretty skin of yours under my watch... You look like one of those desert plants!", declares the Priestess, walking over to Farielle to peer closely at her skin. She reaches into her satchel with one hand, fumbling around inside of it as she speaks to Amestris, "Well, I was making good progress to gaining her 'acceptance' but I made a mistake. Its my own fault... still its good to know Lady Farielle has someone to open up to."
Looking slightly bewildered, Amestris shakes her head. "I see. You are not speaking of friendship at all, but of a game. Though I find it strange you speak so candidly of "tricks" and "mistakes". Perhaps that is why you have not won your game. My father talks of similar things. He calls it politics. I confess, I do not understand such things very well. But I do understand the Merchant's Art. If you wish to persuade a customer to part with his money, you should offer him something he wants and you should never reveal your true intentions."
Farielle stiffens still more, withdrawing into the scarf that shades her face. But whether it is the mention of the Enemy, or that of corsairs, or simply the assumption that tricks must be used to gain her approval, it is hard to say. But if S'aria brings out more of the skin cream, she will accept it. "I am not a - a dolphin, to be fed fish until I jump on command," she mutters under her breath. Opening her mouth, it seems she will say something more, louder - for S'aria to hear - but Amestris forestalls her and she is silent, only darting a glance sideways at the tribe-girl's comments.
"Your words contain wisdom beyond your years, Amestris. I see why Lady Farielle likes you," speaks the Priestess as she indeed produces more cream. But instead of giving it to Farielle, she begins to apply it, her gentle fingers rubbing the substance into the exposed parts of Farielle's skin unless she is ressted. "I am indeed a master of politics, if I may say so myself. You must certainly know something of the church, as you hail for the Desert-lands." She smiles wanly, "But do not impugn my intentions. I am not trying to swindle the Lady Farielle out of anything. I merely do not know how to go about getting what I want - her friendship - any other way. The sad thing is I fear I do not really know how to pursue something I want the way you speak." S'aria puts the creme away, wrinkling her nose slightly, a hint of melancholy in her expression. "Besides, I am not sure she would even like me if I just 'presented myself as I am'. I am a Priestess of the great enemy of her people after all..."
Amestris makes no comment on the subject of Churches and religion, nor does she betray much expression as the Acolyte speaks of it. When she does speak, it is on the previous subject. "You give friendship with no expectation of return. If it is returned, you are blessed. You cannot win friends."
"I will not deny that my friendship with Farielle is unusual. My people and hers are enemies too. When I first met her, I expected to hate her for my people live in the Harondor, along the Poros. Gondor brings war to our lands often and when it does, our crops are ruined, our villages burned and our men killed. Lean years follow times of war. But I felt no hate for an unhappy woman who missed her family."
Farielle's expression is blank. She lifts a hand, to fend off the priestess. "Please, S'aria. I would prefer to do it myself." Despite herself, there is a faint edge to her voice. "If I would not like you as you are, what good will presenting a false picture do? Then, when I discover it, I will be doubly angry, for having been betrayed. Already, you have shown me different faces. How am I to know which is true?"
S'aria gives Farielle her space, the easterling stepping back towards the middle of the tower. Her expression darkens a little bit, "Its not about decieving... its about presentation. You freeze up on me whenever I mention the church. It has been my whole life since I was eight so I focus on other things that cause less friction," remarks the dark-haired teenager as she folds her hands before her skirts. "I am not sure why I want it so bad. I guess... I think Lady Farielle could understand me far better than most of the Haradrim here," says S'aria with a hint of afrown, her dark eyes growing distant. She turns to Amestris and gives her a nod, "Neither do I. I lost my family when I was very young too... and I know what it is like to be taken from your home against your will."
S'aria wrinkles her nose a little, rubbing her hands together. "Its not lying. I will... hopefully talk to you about those other parts of my life. Just not until you are ready to see that they are not all of what I am..."
"My visits are always brief, Farielle," Amestris says, turning to her friend with a slight smile. "I must return home. Mother wants to do the washing today. I did not forget the promise I made before you went away. I do not know if you still have trouble eating, but I have brought you a meal. I left it in your room. I prepared it and it is the same my family ate so you need not fear it."
The Gondorian listens, her head bent slightly, so she is not looking at either of the other girls. She nods a little at S'aria's final words, in acknowledgement, perhaps. Until Amestris speaks to her and she looks up, smiling. "Thank you," Farielle says gratefully. "I - my appetite is not very good." She glances at S'aria and hesitates. "I keep all the lamps on," she says after a moment, striving for a light tone. "But I think I must wake the maids up anyways. I will come down; it is nearly lunch time."
S'aria smiles perhaps with a little bit a good-natured jealousy in her eyes at Amestris. She bows deeply towards the younger girl, her long dark bangs reaching for the floor. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Amestris. May the Eye watch over you," she says, offering the customary blessing. "Would you like me to accompany you? I can help you wake those lazy servants up," she says with a chuckle before she makes her way towards the stairs, a few steps after Amestris.
Farielle waits a few minutes longer, then follows. She does not particularly want S'aria to help her, but there seems little way of getting her to go away. Perhaps ... she nods. She will take a nap after lunch, and then go out. And tell the priestess that she is Not Needed.
Marketplace
This open air marketplace is a veritable paradise for shoppers. Sights, sounds and smells assault the senses as soon as one sets foot in the Marketplace.
Unlike the rest of Umbar, this vast acreage set aside for merchants and commerce boasts two streets running parallel from North to South, both of them three times the width of a normal road that winds through Umbar. Another equally wide street running East to West bisects the two roads, creating a grid.
Flanking the roads and neatly lined are two story buildings, with shops on the ground level and living quarters on the upper level. Merchants from generations past have kept the tradition going, and here, people will find master craftsman and women hard at work, whether it be in jewelry making, bread baking, leatherworking or rugweaving.
In the center of the wide roads that criss cross the Marketplace are the small individual stands, tightly crammed together. Merchants who sell their goods in these stands tend to cater to the every day shoppers by selling fresh fruits, vegetables, breads, cheeses and meats, along with baubles, household goods, tools and cheap, ready-made clothes. Each stand is shaded with its own canopy, and often decorated with colorful and enticing banners and signs.
At the bottom of the social order of merchants are the peddlers who hawk their goods on carts, weaving through the throngs of shoppers, offering the best deal in the Marketplace.
In the center of the grid is a stage where slaves are auctioned. When the stage is not being used to sell slaves, local artists perform for the enjoyment of the shoppers.
It's crowded this morning - Farielle generally comes out in the morning, when it is somewhat cooler and the veils wrapped around her face don't stifle so much. They are a pale cloth, a light green that matches her dress. Two guards and a maid accompany her, as usual.
"Fish," Farielle says, looking around the marketplace. Her eyes flit from person to person, as if she looks for someone. A beggar, perhaps? But no sign of disappointment is allowed to cross her face.
A tall, slender man stands nearby, apparently browsing a stall of earthenware. His sand-colored burnoose covers the top of his face, but his grey-blue eyes, glancing to the veiled woman, speak of mixed Gondorian blood.
"They are this way, my lady," says one of the guards, pointing out a path that will lead them past the tall man, but not very near. Farielle - still hunting for people on beggar-level - doesn't notice him. She nods and turns to follow Tariq as he makes a path for her through the crowd.
The other guard walks behind her, the maid at her side. "You must be sure and tell me if you get too hot, my lady," Hikalla says worriedly. "I will fetch you a drink, and Tariq can find you a bench to rest on."
Nearby, the man laughs pleasantly and hands a few coins to the shopkeeper, letting the other man count the change and hand it back to him (not a little bemused that this person does not know how to count!). He receives a little porcelain cup in return, painted in sea hues.
That laugh... Farielle stiffens, then makes herself relax, answering, "I will. You should not worry so much, Hikalla," as she scans the crowd. Of course, the man is taller than those around - but she is shorter than many.
As if he has overheard the conversation between Hikalla and her mistress, the man strolls over, sketching a languid bow in the manner of the North. He smiles, white teeth in a dark face. "A pretty cup for the pretty lady to have a drink?" he asks, his Westron syllables rounded.
Tariq ahead glances back, but does nothing more than pause, waiting watchfully. It is the guard who follows who comes a step or two closer, putting himself near enough that this man cannot draw a dagger without being stopped. The maid giggles. "And look at that, just what you are needing!"
The shock is a little less than it might have been, for knowing he is here, but still Farielle freezes, her eyes flying to the man's face - they are wide with what might be alarm.
"Tis nothing to fear, my lady," Hikalla says reassuringly. "Look, he but gives you a gift, isn't that nice? Go on then... don't you like it?" She giggles again and smiles roguishly up at the stranger.
"Thank you," Farielle says softly, at last, reaching out to take the cup. "But... I am married..."
"Oh, what does that matter? He's not trying to wed you, my lady! He only admires you. And if a man likes you, well..." Hikalla shrugs expressively. "It isn't like ..." She stops at Farielle's look.
"It is as she says," replies the stranger who is Lominzil, his grey eyes smiling with mingled joy and caution. "It matches your eyes, when you hold it up to drink, just so." To the guards he waves a placating hand. "Fear not, I will not molest your charge. She has had enough at the rougher hands of Umbar." Again, Common Tongue, as if to include Farielle in the conversation.
A faint flush, unseen behind the cloth, tints Farielle's cheeks. "Thank you," she says again, and the maid giggles.
"Now, isn't that a nice compliment," she says approvingly. The guards don't relax their vigil, despite Lominzil's casual wave.
Farielle's fingers brush her brother's as she takes the cup, and she smiles at him. This too cannot be seen, but the crinkles around her eyes show it. "And it is Seaward's colors," she says, as if merely commenting on the appropriateness of the gift. "Lady Eruphel will be pleased when I show her. I am to be a lady-in-waiting," she adds. Her eyes, fixed to his, show much the same expression - joy and warning. Of the guards, she comments, "They are very careful of me. They go with me everywhere." Carefully, "I am glad to be kept safe..." Another glance to see if he has understood her.
"It is good that you may walk Umbar, thus. It is a fair city with many interesting things, but none so fair as you," smiles Lominzil, nodding briefly at the later comment. "How should a humble young man address you, fair lady?"
Hikalla nods approvingly, "There, another pretty compliment. Just what you need, I daresay, my lady, to cheer you up."
"Farielle... Lady Farielle," Farielle corrects. "What - what is your name?" She sounds shy, tearing her gaze from his to look modestly at the ground for a few minutes.
"She's wife to Alkhaszor anAlkhaszor," pipes up the maid.
"My name is Elihu," states the young man, placing a hand on his heart. Yet he does not sound pleased at all at the maid's announcement, reluctance seeping into his smile. "And I am honored to make the acquaintance of Lady Farielle. Lord Alkhaszor must be a great man, to wed such a wife, and a busy one, to let her roam so!"
"Oh, well..." The maid sounds a bit flustered, darting a glance at her mistress.
Quietly, Farielle says, "My ... husband does not care for my company." She glances up, and for a brief moment, Elihu might see a cold, implacable hatred - if he recognizes such an expression in his little sister's face! Then it is gone.
"Oh, but..." Hikalla sounds almost miserable, "Surely, when he has had time - his first wife, you know, he loved her dearly..."
"That is enough, Hikalla," Farielle says, her voice still quiet, but unyielding.
"It is a sad, sad thing, to be unloved, dear lady," says Lominzil, his voice thick. "There is nothing worse than a void in the heart and an empty pillow at night. I am sorry for you, Lady Farielle."
That loud sniff might be the maid, a kind-hearted girl. Farielle looks down, that he might not see the sudden tears that have sprung to her eyes. Almost at random, to say something, she asks, "Have you a wife, sir?"
"None, lady. There was a girl that I once loved, yet I was too young and she maried a purveyor of wheat." Lominzil smiles fondly, glancing to the maid. "Oh, the things that she said! But perhaps it is a long story, for another time."
Another time. Farielle looks up suddenly as if abruptly aware of the time. "I must get fish," she says. "Thank you for the cup, it is very pretty."
"Of course," says the young man, bowing once more. "I am sorry for keeping the Lady anAlkhaszor with my idle chatter ... drink of the cup, and dream of love, Lady Farielle."
"Now, wasn't that a nice young man," Hikalla says as they move away. "Just what you're wanting, my lady, to put some color in those cheeks of yours. Why, I warrant he got you to smile! And to blush, too, I've no doubt! Tis a pity..." Her voice is lost in the crowd, and they are gone; Farielle clutching the cup tightly.
Said man glances about, then slips into a narrow alley.
Farielle walked back to the tower in a daze, holding the memory close - she had spoken to him! - and spend the rest of the evening composing a letter that could be delivered to him, that anyone could read without suspecting.
It was later that evening when she finally had it straight in her mind and asked Hikalla to bring her pen and paper. Smiling to herself, she dipped the pen in ink and began to write. They might suspect - but only that a young woman, married to a man she did not love, and who did not love her - had fallen instantly in love with the handsome young man in the market.
Delivered to Elihu by Farielle's maid. Written in Westron.
I do not know words to express my emotions on seeing you. Perhaps you can imagine I never expected this would happen to me.
But I do not know how we can be together. My guardsmen go with me everywhere, and often a maid as well; and also I am married.
I am to go to the Ship Builder's Office to keep accounts for a time; perhaps I will see you along the way. I will hope this may be so.
Tonight, I shall say your name to myself, though it sounds strange on my tongue. I thank you again for the cup. It sits beside my bed where I can look at it and think of you.
Know, that beyond reason and beyond hope, I will love you.