Alabaster, Gold, And Onyx

“I have never been on a ship,” Nida hummed thoughtfully. She had been, of course, about to be when she had first emerged to the river and the one named Wyn had managed to flag down a barge. That captain, though, had merely run off with all of their things and left them to walk the distance to the stone city.

The woman herself was not sure how to start fulfilling her promise to proclaim against the evils of Sauron, or indeed how to once more find her children in her arms. Golasgil mentioned Dol Amroth, apparently a seat of some power. She had not thought there was more than one ruler of the lands to the west; they flew all under one banner, the one of the tree, and she was no certain that Maalik even cared to know much regarding life here. While she knew she would hardly be welcomed to walk straight into the halls of the Steward there in Minas Tirith, or this Prince of Dol Amroth, perhaps the one she travelled with could.

“I…may have a favor I yet need of you, my lord,” the woman started hesitantly. She hesitated, kneading her lips together for a moment in deliberation. Perhaps it was wrong to ask such favor of a man she had truly just met, and yet, she could not let herself pass the opportunity by. “When I was taken to Nurn, I…I made a promise that I would speak out against the…mustahdir al'arwah. The Necromancer, and his forces.”

She turned her slate grey eyes to him brow furrowing earnestly. ”The Steward will not wish to see me, I know. But…may you get me audience with him? And your Prince?”

She had seen the creatures of Mordor, how they were thriving, and the size of the armies that as of yet, Gondor had only guessed at. She had news of the alliances from the south, how the tribes were uniting under Sauron’s banner, and could speak perhaps on how the chieftains were going to bring war to Gondor. All of this she might be able to say, and use this information as currency of sorts to find a way either back home, or to get Bahadur and Hala to her, there.

She knew Maalik had entered the agreement, the one she had begged him to reconsider. She knew, for it had been the talk of the uruk of the fields for days afterward; how the Haradrim were theirs to command now, how even the Mighty Lion of the Haradrim was now under whip and leash. Nida was unsure if she was ready to outright betray her Chief, though she mused what he might see as betrayal could truly be her seeking to restore him to his former self, a force of his own free from Sauron’s shackles.

Absently, Nida rubbed the skin of her wrists, and then her neck. The very thought of the binds metaphorically placed upon her homeland reminded her of the very real ones she had worn at night when the orc had their fill of watching laborers who very well could run.

”Ah,” she hummed, eyes noting the passing glances the two of them were receiving, and she looked once more to her ragged garments. First, before any of this, Nida needed something to wear beyond the crumpled, destroyed rags of her service in Nurn. ”Perhaps I get carried away.”

With a sweep of her attention, Nida mused that this perhaps was the equivalent of Minas Tirith’s market. It was unlike anything she would have seen back home, and had she not been pried from her conversation with her companion by other means, might have walked right through none the wiser.

Even the market was white. There were no colorful tents, rugs arrayed upon the ground with wares glittering in the bright sunlight. The roads were wider, and though they perhaps shuttled more people up and down the way than she was used to in her own land, they seemed somehow less crowded. There were more true shops than stalls, though some stands did seem to operate free from the stone walls about. Doors were open, welcoming visitors and the breeze that seemed to steadily sweep through the street, beautiful wares behind glass enticing those who meandered by.

She had never seen things like these; to her left Nida could see a jeweler’s shop, delicate silvers, golds, and gems worked into settings that were of a design foreign to the lands of Harad. The vegetables looked different. A few, of course, she recognized but there were some she had not ever seen before. She wondered how fertile the lands of Gondor were, to provide such an array of foods to sell in this land.

It was the tailor that her eye fell upon next. It was a large store front on the opposite side of the street, with two great windows bookending the doorway inside. In one, there were simple dresses, plain, though well stitched. Black and white, brown and tan. One dress, and one tunic set. Nida’s eyes marked them, though fell instead to the somewhat familiar filling of the other window. These pieces were made of silk. Silk that was of her homeland, and Nida very well recognized their make.

However, despite the familiarity of the fabric itself, the way it had been cut, the way it had been pieced together to create a gown looked altogether alien, as did the men’s garment beside. ”Your land is wealthy indeed,” the woman marveled, approaching and looking into the glass upon the dress forms and the gown and jerkin inside. ”Such red is the color of chiefs. And purple as well…” She did not even utter her thoughts on the trim. The gold beading looked like something that should have been at home in Maalik’s closet, or perhaps Rashida’s. Even Nida had only ever worn purple once; it was a dress that did not long survive Rashida’s wrath.

”Is…is this the tailor, then?” While she would never dream of touching the silken gown—though her fingers wished to touch and feel its smoothness—the simple linens in the other display were something that would be modest enough, and perhaps something the Lord of Anfalas would not mind setting his coin to. Linen was likely to feel as silk anyway, what with the coarse rags she had been wearing for years.