I invite her to remove all her gear, to place it all on the table beside me. Her eyes widen as she realises I speak in her language. Well enough; though each slippery syllable is bitter in my mouth, thick as ashes. I am an erudite Man, not a slack jawed fool. She needs to understand.
I repeat my request. Now she understands what I mean by all. All, everything, every item, every stitch. She shakes her head, wrapping her arms about herself. I give her the choice then, if she will not do it while I watch to ensure that she does not try to destroy or hide anything, then I will do it myself. She glares at me. I let her.
Let her drink in the dark of my skin, tilt my head, let her see my profile in the half-light; my neat clipped beard, my aquiline nose, the pride of my heritage stamped upon me. Drink deep, pretty bird. It is many years since my like has walked in the north; land of the faithless, land of the betrayers.
Disrobe herself, or I will do it ... or I will call in some of my men to do it. I do not care. She finally understands that I am the one who holds her dignity in my hands, and that I am the master here. As expected, she chooses the lesser evil.
Because she is intelligent, because she obeys, I call in two women. I reward intelligence and obedience. I am not a brute. I leave while they attend to the matter, offer her a black robe to clothe herself, arrange all that she has on the table for me.
When I return she is draped in the simple dress. Well and good. It is her choice to be naked or wear the colours she must hate.
