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Vadri did not speak to Jak that day. Nor did she look at him, save for the occasional hateful glare. She was staring at the bare stone wall opposite her when a voice brought her out of her trance.

"My lady?"

She looked up. It was the man. He was beckoning to her, and unlocking the cell door. She stepped through and he closed it behind her. "You're... letting me out?"

"Only to speak with my father," he said, leading her by the hand away from the cell. "I never got your name. What is it?"

"Erm, Vadrielith."

"I'm Faramir. Vadrielith... is that Elvish?"

"Not where I come from, it's not," she said.

He stopped outside a pair of large double doors and looked her up and down. Her dark hair was cut at shoulder length, framing a pale face with grey eyes. She had a red leather top on that showed her stomach, over which she was wearing a jacket. Her boot-cut denim jeans were ripped and torn at the bottom from wear, and her leather boots were muddy.

He sighed. "Well, that'll have to do... there's no time for you to get cleaned up right now..." He again grabbed her by the hand and led her through the doors into a stone hall.

"Hell... we ain't got nothin' like this back home..." she muttered.

As they reached the other end of the hall, Faramir kneeled to a man seated in a chair next to the throne. She did the same, but had no clue what was going on.

"Is this the girl?" the man asked.

"Yes, Father."

Denethor examined her closely, then seemed to make a decision. "Yes..." he said softly. "Perfect..."