A House Divided RPG

[piosenniel]

Sophia’s post

Miaama swished her tail forcefully as she came around the corner. Her blue eyes were sparkling with anticipation as she approached the Queen’s chambers. Two Aides came down the hall toward her, boots clicking on the polished stone floor. They were garbed in the Livery of the Tower, Tarannon’s men. Miaama hissed at them as they went by. One of the men stumbled back in shock. The other shrugged. “It’s just one of the Queen’s beasts.” He said, with obvious disgust. “Shoo!” he waved a hand toward Miaama as though she were under his command. She sniffed in disdain and held her ground, licking one white paw delicately. The men exchanged irritated looks and continued down the hall. Only when they were gone did Miaama rise and continue, slipping through the door to Beruthiel’s sitting room.

The Queen was seated there, six of the other cats writhing around her ankles, all trying to be the closest. Miaama leapt lightly over them, coming to rest in Beruthiel’s lap. Miaama rested her paws on the Queen’s shoulders and brought her pink nose close to Beruthiel’s cheek. “Miaama, pet…” The Queen crooned in her ear. Beruthiel had been busy that day. She had sent out three of her feline messengers to spy out the garrisons of Minas Tirith. They were expected back late in the evening. Just in time. “Miaama,” she whispered confidentially into the ear of the white cat on her lap. “Tonight you must go. He will be waiting at the usual place.” The cat on her lap squirmed with obvious discomfort. “Miaama, love, you agreed…” She pleaded.

The white cat’s mouth opened, and she spoke. It was a sound that never became less strange, even after hearing it many times. “Yes Mistress,” Miaama said, “But take care. The King suspects that he has been betrayed.” Miaama felt a jolt, as the Queen stiffened in disgust.

“Yes, Tarannon.” She spat out the word, “The betrayer is now himself betrayed.” Beruthiel rose from her seat and walked to the window, Miaama cradled in her arms and the other cats following, like black shadows drifting around her feet. Staring blankly out over the city she stroked the cat rhythmically. “Soon we will see him squirm love, soon…” she said. Miaama purred with delight at this thought.

[piosenniel]

Gelion's post

Huine stalked through the other cats at the Queen's feet and off into a corner. She was tired of begging for attention, just to be ignored. She watched her two companions purring and weaving and envied them their easy compatibility, both with each other and the Queen. Huine just couldn't settle in. Any moment she was sure that Morna and Lome would find a better third. A quicker, stronger cat who didn't sulk.

Huine was also tired of waiting around. She knew the other cats were sent out because they were smaller and could fade into the shadows better, but she envied their freedom. Her companions rarely ventured out unless trouble was afoot. Admittedly, that had been pretty often recently. Also, there was no rule against wandering on your own, it was just sort of frowned upon among the troop.

For their parts, Morna and Lome were content to wait for orders. Though neither was lazy, they had lost that youthful urge to roam the streets at night. Morna felt it tug at her sometimes, but quelled it with her cynical outlook that the city would just be the same as always. Nothing was ever new. Lome noticed Huine's distress but could not bring herself to comfort the young one. She just couldn't understand the problem. Huine had friends, food, warmth and a kind master, not to mention an occupation. How many times had she told her niece to walk with pride?

Miaama entered and spoke with the Queen. Though the others could not understand her human speech, they knew what was being said. Miaama usually translated for them in her mind. Another mission was on for tonight, then. Morna yawned, Lome quirked an ear, and Huine wondered if they would be sent as backup like they sometimes were. She decided to sharpen her claws.

[piosenniel]

elven maiden Earwen's post

Pelladal was on the late shift. His job was to stand guard long through the night. It was already late night. The moon was high in the midnight sky and stars twinkled in the distance. A few feet away stood to other guards. He could hear them talking about Queen Beruthiel’s cats. Those cats, always lurking and what seemed like spying on the citizens. So loyal to Beruthiel. Quite annoying really. Soon someone came to take over his post.


Pelladal headed to his house. He was extremely tired, and went to bed immediately after changing. As he lay down he looked out the window and stared at the moon. He noticed a black shadow staring into the room. Yellow eyes. Soon it disappeared. Pelladal uneasy about the feeling of something watching him as he went to sleep. But his sleep was uneventful, except for those yellow eyes dancing in his mind.

[ June 25, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Phervasion's post

Armendur had finished his shift on guard and it was late at night as he began to make his way back to his cabin. He walked up the side of the path quietly humming and whistling to himself as he caught sight of someone else in the corner of his eye and looked to see it was the soldier of Gondor taking over his shift after him.

“Good evening,” Armendur said to him as he walked up to him

“Yes the evening is beautiful,” the soldier said back to him. “I presume you’re the soldier that was on guard of the town before my shift began, are you not?” He asked Armendur eagerly.

“That I am, and now I am going back to my cabin to get some rest,” Armendur replied.

“In that case I am late for my duty and must be on my way. I hope to see you again soon, my friend. Goodbye,” he said this and rushed of in the way that Armendur came. Armendur sighed and made his way slowly up the path to his cabin while continuing to hum and whistle. He opened the door to his cabin and lit the candle in the corner.

He then took of his armour and removed his sword and shield and tucked himself under the sheets of his bed and not long after fell into a deep sleep.

[piosenniel]

The X Phial's post

The light was quickly fading in the streets and men were hurrying about their business. None noticed three small dark shapes as they slipped from shadow to shadow, silently making their way back to the royal complex. If they had noticed, they would not have paid attention; street cats were common. The three felines did not mind being ignored by the townspeople. In fact, they relied on it. If the men knew the secrets padding silently through the shadows they would likely kill the cats – if they could catch them.

Yawla, the shadow leading the others, glanced back to check on her siblings. Despite their talents, they required some looking after. She stopped short; one of her companions was missing. Her eyes were clear in the twilight but she did not need them to know that the missing cat was Athel, her sister. Pirro never wandered alone if he could help it, preferring the strength of numbers. She flicked her tail at her brother, asking him without words if he knew where the wayward follower might be. Athel liked to trail behind, but Pirro’s sensitive ears could sometimes track her movements even without visual confirmation. This time, however, he was just as lost as Yawla. He hated it when Athel played these little games, and wanted nothing more than to get back to their comfortable rooms and deliver their message.

Yawla hissed faintly, annoyed with her sister. She should know better than to play when serious work was to be done.

“Stay here,” she told her brother. “I will go find our prodigal sister.”

Pirro cut off his reply. He knew that was just what Athel wanted, and that Yawla was playing her game, but he also knew better than to argue.

Yawla retraced her steps, sniffing and hoping to catch the scent of her sister. Half a block back she found a small alley and knew that this must be her sister’s hiding place. She searched it thoroughly, growing more and more annoyed. Finally, she resolved to let Athel find her own way back to the complex, if she wanted to compromise the security of the troop, it would be upon her own head. She turned to go and nearly leapt out of her skin. A huge figure was attacking. A microsecond later she realized it was simply Athel animating a cast off coat and her fear turned to anger.

Athel was laughing, silently as only cats can. Yawla, on the other hand was poised for fighting. Her ears were laid back against her head, her tail was slashing wildly and she was crouched low. She hissed at her sister as she spoke.

“Athel! Why must you be so foolish? You know we have a job. Would you have us betray our mistress with amusements?”

Athel remained unfazed. “You take things far too seriously, as usual. You know, if you could laugh at yourself you wouldn’t be anywhere near as fun to tease.”

She turned to walk out of the alley, only to be pinned by her sister a moment later.

“I may be too serious, Athel, but your games could get us noticed and killed. Look at how easily I pinned you. Pay more attention or I cannot be responsible for what happens to you. Now let’s get back to Pirro before he gets paranoid.”

“No one asked you to be responsible,” Athel snapped back. Secretly, however, she regretted upsetting her sister. She sighed inwardly. Perhaps there would be some fun to be had back at home. She followed her sister back to Pirro’s hiding place, looking properly chastened but cherishing the look on Yawla’s face just the same.

The two became three again and melted into the twilight. They still had important news to deliver.

[piosenniel]

Belin's post

Farucan left the warehouse with some satisfaction. He cared little for trade, with all its distastefully obvious struggles for gain and position, but this had been a good day, and a certain tactic of his had yielded far more than he had expected, much to the chagrin of the southern caravan leader with whom he’d been dealing, an irritating man who glared at Farucan more fiercely than did any of the native hagglers. At moments like this he could understand the smug bearing of the Gondorian merchants, and, for a moment or two, he amused himself by attempting to imitate it. The parody was a bit too obvious, he thought; a small, graceful man of Harad who has spent his life in the shadows can hardly hope to capture the essence of bulky, unabashed pride the way the Gondorians did, at any rate not without years of practice. Perhaps he would make a study of it if he didn’t hate them so much. He shrugged and continued down the street in his normal gliding fashion until he reached the appointed meeting place, another warehouse of his and one that he hardly used for purposes other than this. After shooing away his servants, a pair of slack-jawed youths he’d picked up on the Osgiliath docks and who really ought to have been more grateful, all things considered, he settled down to wait for the messenger. These meetings still unsettled him, in a way. He had his share of what the Gondorians would call superstitions, and there was something unnatural about these extraordinary messengers. He did not like their silent stares or their graceful disdain. They were more like him than any living creature he’d met in this city and he didn’t like it. But who was he to argue with a queen?

The three messengers, unable to open the door, moved silently around its corner, and Farucan, quickly and politely to the extent that it was possible to be both, closed the door behind them. They wandered around the warehouse for a few minutes, pretending to be interested in boxes of coffee and yards of fabric.

Farucan cleared his throat. “What does the queen have to say to me today?” he asked in his driest and most professional voice. The messengers turned and stared at him, and then at each other. The smallest of them sat down and gazed philosophically into the distance, while the other two moved toward him, silently as ever. He could not suppress a shudder as he took the written message from them. “Give the queen my thanks,” he said, controlling himself, “and tell her that I will send her some fine carpets in the morning. Here, I will write it down.”

The smallest messenger jumped up and ran over to him as he wrote, and it was to him that Farucan gave the message. And then they left, not walking in straight lines the way everything else seemed to move in this city, but wandering through shadows and turning for trifles. To be sure it was clever. Nobody would expect such important news as they carried to be in the hands—or, to put it more properly, around the necks—of cats.

[ June 28, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Beruthiel's post

Shumita opened her eyes slowly. The morning light streamed through her window. She sat up slowly and yawned. Looking outside the window again She watched the birds flutter about and sing. Then suddenly, a black cat pounced onto the windowsill, scaring away the birds. The cat hissed menacingly at Shumita and ran off. Standing up quickly she realised, she was late! Running through the house with her hair in a mess and her clothes all twisteed and scrunched up she dashed across the grounds and hurried into the kitchens.

Before entering she made one last attempt to make her hair neat and she pushed open the door slowly. Peeking in she saw all the others were already there. She slipped in as slowly as she could but just as she turned to close the door, it creaked and everyone turned around and stared at her. "Shumita! How many times do I have to tell you! You must be here before the sun comes up!" The head of the kitchens sighed. Shumita looked at her feet and muttered a quiet apology.The other servants looked back at her while some whispered to their neighbour. She was greatly tempted to smack them all on the face but she restrained herself. Remember why you’re here, don’t blow it now!

The servants were then given their orders for the day and left the kitchens. Shumita was cleaning the entrance hall, again. Three days in a row she had to clean it and this time if it wasn't clean enough she knew she'd be in deep trouble. The hall was ages away from the kitchens, making her work time even shorter. Come on, stop whining or you'll never get anything done She thought. She picked up the buckets and the cloth and walked over to the hall. Not a bad start to the day was it? She said to herself as she dragged her feet.

Behind her she head a cat meow, still angry at herself she turned around about to scream at the cat but before she did she realised who was holding the cat, the Queen. Dropping to her knees she bowed. "Good morning Your Majesty." she said quietly. The Queen nodded but had a look of disgust on her face, Shumita quickly tried to fix her hair again but it was no use. The Queen walked on and the cat she was carrying hissed back at Shumita and then seemed to whisper something into the Queens ear...

[piosenniel]

alaklondewen's post

In the cats’ room, Habeth was busy scrubbing the floor. The light that came in the window across from her glistened in the fresh soap she applied to the hard, cold floor. She dropped the large brush back into the pail at her side and looked at her hands. They looked older than she remembered, and were calloused from her work. Her nails were short and dirty.

After drying her hands on her white apron, she reached up and took a hold of the shelf above her, using it to pull herself up. She paused and stretched her aching joints, and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her right hand. She picked up the pail and put it on the shelf. The water could be used again if she needed it.

Three clean bowls were picked off the shelf, and Habeth carried them as she exited the room. She stepped into the hallway and turned to the right, where a side door that lead outside and to the well was located. The door was already open, and as the fresh air hit her, she smiled and breathed deeply. After walking down a short path, she came to the well, and filled each of the three bowls with fresh, clean water. She balanced two full bowls on her left arm and held the third in her right hand. It might have been an awkward task for many, but she had done this enough to be comfortable with it. She walked quickly back to the cats’ room and hurriedly placed the bowls just inside the door on the left side. Now the cats’ could have a nice drink when they returned from their errands.

It was almost time for Habeth’s duties for the queen, and being late was not an option with Queen Beruthiel. She made her way to the servants’ quarters and washed her hands and face. Beruthiel insisted on her aids having immaculate appearances. Habeth took off her dirty apron and placed it on the pile for the wash. Quickly, she left the quarters and headed for the queen’s chambers. When she reached the queen’s door, she smoothed her hair and her simple black dress before opening the door. She slipped through to her usual position just inside the doors of Queen Beruthiel’s chambers.

[piosenniel]

Envinyatar's post

The door to his study was slightly ajar. 'Strange,' he thought, his brow furrowing. 'I'm certain that I closed it as I always do.' Gaeradan drew nearer and leaned in close to the opening, his senses alert for any sounds within. It was quiet, not even the sound of a breeze through the small leaded window rustling over the papers on his desk. Ominously quiet. A palpable silence that made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

‘What is wrong with me today?’ he murmured to himself, his hand sliding to the knife at his belt. He had been uneasy all day, a feeling of being watched prickling at the edges of his mind.

Gaeradan nudged open the door with his foot. The light from the window fell in a bright bar across the room, puddling on the braided rug in front of the room’s small fireplace. Dust motes danced in the light, stirred up by the passage of the door as it arced open. He stepped in and looked carefully about, his eyes sweeping the room for anything out of order. He found nothing amiss.

He let out the breath he’d been holding with a relieved sigh. ‘Spooked my self,’ he said aloud, shrugging his shoulders as if to twitch off the feelings that had chilled him just moments before. Assured, he unlocked the drawer in the desk and removed a sheaf of papers bound with a blue cord and bearing the seal of the King. Directives to his captains concerning the next phase of his campaign.

Gaeradan closed the window above his desk and turned to leave the room. His eyes caught a movement near the door as a plump black cat jumped from the floor to the straight-backed chair that served as a catchall for his cloak and what ever other oddment he found in his hands as he entered his study. The cat's green-gold eyes regarded him coolly as he looked toward it.

Without thinking he strode to the door, and picked up the cat to set it outside as he left. Indignant, or perhaps simply ill tempered, the cat protested the eviction. Wriggling in the confines of Gaeradan’s free arm, she hissed and squirmed, scratching his hand until he dropped her in disgust.

Sucking at the bloody scratches, he cursed silently at her dark retreating form. ‘Berúthiel!’ he hissed, hurrying down the long hallway to the conference room.

Behind the large potted palm in the hallway, in the shadows it made against the stonework wall, another pair of green-gold eyes stared out, noting with interest where he was bound.

[piosenniel]

Orual's post

Tarannon Falastur sat back in his chair, looking out the window into the gardens outside of the palace. He fiddled with the model of a new ship he planned to submit to the chief shipmaker, once he got around to it. Right now something else was on his mind.

He sighed as he glanced at the portrait of his family--that is, himself, his wife Beruthiél, and her managerie. He did wish that she would not obsess over those cats like that, but he supposed it was better than her unseemly work at the gardens at Osgiliath. He could have gotten her nice cats, good, well-bred, decent cats, but she had to have her strays. He did not understand it, but at least it got her out of his hair, most of which was gray because of her moaning about wanting a child
.
He heard a mutter from outside his door about the "Queen's beasts," and frowned. If Beruthiél was going to insist on keeping those animals, the least she could do was keep them from being underfoot all of the time. One would swear that they followed Tarannon around, given how often he tripped over them.

A knock came at the door. "Come in," Tarannon called.

"My lord, the schematics you asked for are in," said a lanky young man, closing the door behind him and offering the king a small stack of papers.

"Thank you," Tarannon replied, and dismissed the man, going through the papers. Beruthiél and her cats were forgotten; military matters now consumed all of his thought.

[piosenniel]

Lyra Greenleaf's post

“My lady Morwen, a letter from your son”

Morwen grimaced at the interruption. That boy was so slow to take the hint that she would much rather they dropped all pretence at a relationship.

“Yes, yes” she said dismissively, plucking the letter from the messenger’s fingers. He quickly departed at her glower. Finally certain he was out of hearing, Morwen turned back to her companion.

“I do not know who has been spreading this rumour” she said sadly. “Indeed it is not so strange that a woman as lonely as her should turn more and more to the company of those animals. Simply because she talks to them although they can understand, it does not follow that she is mad. And I am convinced there is no truth in the rumour that she eats with them from their dishes.”

Morwen looked from the corner of her eye at the effect this would have on her companion, and was gratified when her eyes lit up. There might have been no such rumour before, but now there certainly would be. After a few moments more chat, Morwen excused herself. Now that she had done what she intended she had no reason to make small talk. Soon the court would be abuzz with the news that the Queen- the mad Queen- ate with her cats. Once again Tarannon would be shown proof positive that he made a mistake with her. She failed her main duty, that of producing an heir, and now could no longer even attend to her minor ones of entertaining and organising. Instead she stayed closeted with those- those furballs! Morwen sniffed disgustedly. Whether she ate with them or not, it was disgusting. Animals belong in the woods, or the fields- or at the most, the stables.

A bell rang, interrupting her thoughts. It was time to present herself to the Queen, to do her duty. How she wished she could have refused the post of Lady-in-Waiting all those years ago when it had first been offered, but it was a duty and an obligation, and Morwen, unlike some others, would live up to what was expected of her. She had no room for fancies and stray animals. Savagely she snatched up the scarf she wound around her hair when doing her duties. It was not right to outshine the Queen, and if she would wear black then Morwen, also, must dress as if she wished to fade into the shadows at night. It was yet another example of obligation. Obligation was all that was left to her, and dreams that were nightmares now. Vaguely she could recollect what hope felt like, but it had been decades ago and nothing to her now. Duty awaited.

[piosenniel]

Aylwen Dreamsong's post

Arye’s green-gold eyes were brimming with great interest as the relatively young black cat sat crouched on his haunches in a remote hall of the royal complex in Gondor. He easily lifted a paw, and let his claws scratch at the strange barrier. It was like woven metal, but the metal was extremely thin, and the weaves were loose. There were small gaps in between the crossed metal, which allowed Arye’s vision to penetrate to the outdoors but seemingly was too small even for Arye’s claws to cross through.

Arye’s nose twitched, along with his white whiskers, which held stark contrast against his black fur. His ears flicked backward as wind gently blew through the open wiring, and the scent of many unidentifiable things floated on the waft of air. It was so interesting to Arye, who had never seen such a door-like barrier in his home, the royal house in Gondor.

It is a screen door, child. It is designed to keep bugs out, but still allow fresh air to flow in.

Arye did not have to turn to know that the information had come from Lassra, the all-knowing elder cat who had taken Arye and his brother Mosi under her wing...or, paw. The bigger, older cat was as silent as anything as she came to cit next to Arye by the screen door.

What are those smells? asked the curious, but slightly aprehensive Arye, his pink nose sniffing the air once more. Lassra was the best cat to ask, considering her extensive knowledge of such scents and things in her time with the cooks.

Many spices, and perhaps one too many freely opened barrels of wine, as far as food goes. Lassra replied wisely, thinking her answer through. Her nose wrinkled slightly, her whiskers bristled a bit. Not to mention the extremely high amount of...sewage of some sort.

Just as Lassra finished, a tiny black shadow sprinted down the hall, not even stopping until it collided with Arye. It was a cat, just the size of Arye, if not smaller. Mosi, Arye's brother, had come prancing and romping home after a day of doubtless recreation or perhaps even investigation.

Well, well, Mosi. Did you take note of anything intereting or out of the ordinary on your little outing? wondered Lassra, her words spiced with a tinge of annoyance. Mosi nodded vigorously, tail flipping back and forth.

A mouse!

A mouse? repeated Arye, both shocked and not surprised at the same time at his brother's ability to get so easily distracted. But there are hundreds of thousands of stray mice in Gondor!

I know! But...this one was special! I named is Posy. Mosi replied, attitude not the least bit dampened by Lassra and Arye's disappointment and disapproval.

Lassra merely shook her head with distaste, and silently, wordlessly, led the two young cats away from the screen door that had mesmorized Arye.

You are both strange kits. But your interests and amazements never cease to amuse me. Come! To our Mistress! Lassra informed the brothers absently as she led them down the halls.

[Envinyatar]

Tarannon sat hunched over the diagrams for his newest ship design. Sleeker and trimmer than the great ships that now were the mainstay of his fleet, these sturdy little birds could maneuver more easily than his larger warships, and they were fast . . . fast enough to catch those Southron ships that held the waters round the Havens of Umbar.

‘My lord?’ Gaeradan’s voice broke in on the King’s reverie, breaking the image and scattering it until his thoughts refocused, and all that lay before him were the inked drawings.

‘I’ve brought you the contracts our man negotiated in Minhiriath. They have promised us an increased supply of lumber from the Eryn Vorn.’ Gaeradon reached for the map of the lands in Southern Eriador. ‘We’ll need to send men and supplies to refurbish the sawmill we have here,’ he continued, pointing to the cape between the Baranduin and the Gwathló. ‘To handle the increased production.’ He shuffled through the sheaf papers he had brought in. ‘Here are the projected needs and the costs to us. Given the quality of woods they will be bringing in, I think that Gondor can well afford it. What say you?’

Gaeradan could see the attention of the King shift back to his ship’s model, calculating the price of it. A certain fire lit his eyes as he handled the little ship. And just as soon went out as he sat back in his chair, his eyes resting briefly on the royal family portrait. He rubbed his forehead and started to speak when Gaeradan stayed him with a smile.

‘I had almost forgotten this, my lord.’ He pulled out a piece of thick folded vellum sealed with the signet of a small branching tree and seven stars. ‘From Tarciryan. He and his family are returning from Edhellond.’ Gaeradan laughed as the King raised his brows at this news.

‘No,’ he assured him, ‘I did not read your letter. I received one also.’ He perched himself on the edge of the desk, in a posture of easy familiarity. ‘His son, Eärnil, is just turning ten this month. He wishes you to take him under your wing, let him serve at court. Get him ready to assume his place among the others here when he comes into his majority.’ Gaeradan stood, picking up the papers from the desk the King had left for him to see to the details.

He paused, just before leaving the study. ‘It will be good to see Tarciryan. I have missed him.’ Gaeradan nodded to the King. ‘I’ll return later with the names and costs attached to these.’ He held up the sheaf of papers in a mock salute and shut the door firmly behind him.

‘Yes,’ he thought to himself, as he hurried down the hall to his rooms, ‘it will be good to have Tarciryan here to see the pall Beruthiel has cast on the King. Perhaps he can talk some sense into his brother.’ He narrowed his eyes as he saw a small black shadow dart across the passageway in the distance.

‘And it will be good to have Eärnil here, safe, under my protection. Barring some sort of miracle, or worse, yet, some twisted plotting of our enemies, he will be Elendil’s heir, and Gondor’s continued hope.’

[ June 26, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

The air in Beruthiel's chamber was full of supressed excitement. The three cats on assignment, Yawla, Athel and Pirro, had returned, mission successful. Everyone was pleased, except for Huine. She eyed the three with envy. Yawla was smugly grooming herself and Pirro was curled up in the Queen's lap. Always a favorite because of his size, he was basking in his success. Of the three, only Athel seemed not to care about their triumph. Huine was miffed just the same. It wasn't fair! Those three got all the assignments because of their size and got all the benefits too. Huine had tried to sneak up on Yawla once, put her out of commission for an assignment, but that skiddish Pirro had warned her and the resulting cuffing from Lome was enough to keep her from trying it again.

Unnoticed, Huine stalked out of the room through the ankles of the entering maid. She slunk through the shadows of the corridors, feeling sleek again now that she wasn't being compared to the little ones. She was wandering aimlessly at first, but decided after a while to sneak into the King's rooms. It always proved a challenge getting in, and Huine wanted to prove her worth to herself.

As luck would have it, one of the king's men was just leaving his chambers as Huine turned the corner. He was a regular in the King's rooms and Huine had seen him before. Like most humans, he was more involved with his own thoughts than the environment around him. Huine slipped into the King's chamber all too easily and caught the door from shutting all the way with her back paw. Running under the table quickly, she escaped the notice of Tarannon, who seemed to be playing with a toy ship.

There was some shuffling of papers on the desk and Huine heard Tarannon reading a letter, exclaiming now and then and muttering in appreciation. She recognized the tone he was using, it sounded like important news. The King set the letter on the edge of the table when he finished with it and turned quickly to look at something else. The paper fluttered to the floor and Tarannon didn't seem to notice.

Huine couldn't believe her luck! She snuck to the edge of the shadow and batted at the letter, slowly sliding it closer. After a few minutes of slow pushing the letter was completely under the table. The cat quietly picked up the letter in her teeth, tasting ink and hoping the words weren't smearing too much. She edged to the door as quietly as she could, doing her best to keep the paper dry. She heard footsteps outside the door and dashed back under the table. A man entered with a missive for the king, distracting both. Seizing the opportunity, Huine made a rush for the door.

Ten minutes later she was back at the Queen's door and slipping through the flap in the wall just for cat convenience. She laid her letter at the Queen's feet and purred, sure that now she would finally be appreciated.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The queen sat straight in a high backed chair, as Habeth pulled the brush slowly through her thick dark hair. Miaama sat a respectable distance away, her head tipped to the side, blue eyes watching the small sparks and poppings the brush set off in the queen's hair.

A paw to the face made Miaama retaliate sharply, cuffing Arye with a quick paw. The smaller cat sent her a contrite look. Ow, Miaama, I was chasing the sparks... the kitten waved a paw tentatively toward the crumbs of light as though to demonstrate. A change came over the older cat's expression, a smug mischievous look, that should have warned Arye what was coming.

"Yeeeeoww!" Arye shrieked, but his protest was muffled, as Miaama landed on top of him, her tail playfully thrashing back and forth as she pinned the younger cat to the floor. A disdainful sneeze brought Miaama's attention away from the mock battle, and her entire body stiffened at the sight of Huine coming through the flap in the wall, delicately dragging a piece of paper toward Beruthiel.

Even with her lips pulled back as far as she could from the paper, Huine's expression was still condescending, and Miaama's fur prickled. So intent was she, that she didn't notice the dark shape of her mistress rise up over her, and pluck the struggling Arye from beneath Miaama's paws. Robbed of her victim, she tumbled over ungracefully and felt the Huine's supercillious gaze turn to silent laughter. Offended, Miaama pulled herself up straight, and forcefully licked her fur back into line, strictly ignoring the other cat's laughter.

Huine crossed the room and sprang lightly into Beruthiel's lap, dislodging Arye who looked disgruntled to have been moved from his warm seat. Dropping the paper on her knees, Huine curled up tightly while Beruthiel read silently. A moment later, Miaama's bad mood vanished at the sight of Huine's surprised expression as she tumbled roughly to the floor.

*******************************

Beruthiel held the paper between stiff fingers as she rose from the chair. Her eyes were fixed on the paper she held, her brother in law, Tarciryan's writing. Habeth's face paled as Beruthiel spun and ordered her out of the chamber. She opened her mouth as though to speak, closed it again and inclined her head respectfully. Scooping up Huine, who was staring at the queen with an expression of wounded dignity, Habeth left the room.

Alone with her cats Beruthiel relaxed the muscles of her face. Her expression no longer mattered, her friends would not betray her. Emotions chased each other across her face, one after another. Anger, that Tarannon would have his brother, his closest ally here to work against her; betrayal, that Earnil would take her place as Tarannon's highest responsibility; despair, that when a child finally came to the King's House, it would not be her own.

Uncannily sensing her distress the cats in the room pressed against her, rubbing on her legs, springing into her lap. She lifted Pirro, rubbing her cheek into his dark fur, letting it wipe away the mist in her eyes that threatened to become tears. After a moment, Beruthiel composed herself, reading the letter over a last time she slipped it into the fireplace and watched the paper blacken and curl to ash.

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Morwen grimaced, sighed and knocked perfunctorily on the Queen's door. Without waiting for any reply she pushed the door open. The Queen was sitting by the fire, her face a picture of desolation. She was surrounded, as usual, by what seemed like hundreds of cats. As Morwen came in, some came and sniffed around her feet. Sometimes it was hard to shake the feeling that they were communicating, that they knew her distress and were playing with her, that they... No! she told herself firmly. That is the way to end up like the Queen. They are mangy, stinking, stupid animals. Nothing else.

Wrinkling her nose Morwen looked up at Queeen Beruthiel.
"It is time to dress" she said coldly, doing her best to ignore the faint stroking feelings on her ankles from a cat's tail or even- Eru forbid- a nose. I will not flinch. I will not flinch she told herself over and over, each time she came into the Queen's chamber. Irrational it might be but she would NOT let those animals win.

The Queen looked up slowly. She raised her hand as if to tell Morwen to leave. Morwen pursed her lips.
"You must your majesty. It is important and you have missed far too many dinners."
And whatever they may say about you no-one will say I have negleted my duties, she added silently.
"You are going have your nephew coming to stay soon I understand, majesty? A lovely boy, I have heard. King Tarannon's heir, isn't he?"
Behind Beruthiel Morwen smiled exultantly. Yes, he would be heir in place of this woman's children.

Beruthiel gave in and Morwen began to bustle around the room. We must make you, if not beautiful for I think you are a little passed that, then presentable for your King. Your king, who should never have been yours. Tarannon deserved better than a mad woman- a mad woman who can't even do her first duty and provide an heir. Morwen sighed deeply. Duty again. It seemed no-ne but her gave a thought to it.

"Where is your maid?" she asked Beruthiel, putting all the scorn she could not address to the queen into her voice. "She should be here. It is her duty. If she is this lax you should let her go."

[ June 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]

[Envinyatar]

The previous night - Eärnil

‘Look,Father! The Valacirca! See how the tip of the sickle points north, and how our ship’s bow points south and sails away from it.’

Eärnil stood at the stern railing looking up at the night sky. It had been his great delight to listen to the stories of the Elves in Edhellond as they spoke of how the Valar had placed the stars in the sky. And the Elven mariners had shown him how they often steered according to the placement of the clustered stars when that was all there was to go by on the dark, open seas.

Tarciryan smiled down at his son’s eager face, the boy’s features picked out in soft relief by the moon’s pale light. The breeze that blew them southward, ruffled the Eärnil’s hair, framing his pale face with a certain wildness. ‘One of Ulmo’s creatures,’ he thought, watching the seaspray glint on his son’s face. ‘Born to love the sea, I think, and to ride upon her in the great ships.’

The moon shifted in the sky as the ship turned slightly toward the west and the features of the boy’s face fell into shadow. ‘How long, Father, until we reach the Anduin?’

‘A day, I think, Eärnil, if the wind is with us. Then we will have to tack against the current to the docks at Harlond.’ Tarciryan’s brow furrowed as he sought to recall how long it had taken the last time he had sailed up to see his brother. ‘Hmm . . . four days I think for that, barring any difficulties.’

It was Eärnil’s turn to frown. ‘Harlond, Father? But I thought we were bound for Osgiliath. Isn’t that where Uncle Tarannon . . . I mean, the King, is?’

Tarciryan laughed at the perceptive young man. ‘Yes, we’re bound for Osgiliath. But I fancy a little ride before we get there. You can take a peek at Anor as we ride past. It’s not far from Harlond to the outskirts of Osgiliath. Only a few hours more. We can enter the city without the fanfare the King is sure to have planned for us.’ He grinned broadly, thinking of the surprise in store for his brother and his old friend.

'Your Uncle will not expect us for a week yet. When I wrote the letter to him, I thought we would sail later than we did.’ He tapped his son’s cheek lightly with his open palm. ‘We will surprise him . . . and Gaeradan . . . throw their well laid plans off kilter.’

Eärnil laughed at the image of his father’s friend caught with his plans gone awry. Tarciryan laughed, too. ‘Poor Gaeradan, he’ll have to improvise!’

[ July 01, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[alaklondewen]

Brushing the queen’s hair was one of Habeth’s favorite responsibilities; in fact, she hadn’t really considered it a duty. This was a special time she got to spend with Beruthiel, and Habeth regarded the act as an honor. As she pulled the heavy brush through the queen’s thick hair, she pictured her mother doing the same when Beruthiel was a young woman. Habeth, then a young girl, used to stand in the corner and admire the beautiful princess and hope one day she would do the same.

A slow dragging sound was heard behind her, and Habeth slightly turned to see one of cats coming into the room. Huine was carrying a piece of parchment. Habeth could not help but smile seeing the small feline with her lips pulled back and head up, obviously proud of finding this paper.

Beruthiel immediately stiffened when she glanced at what looked to Habeth as a letter or announcement. As the queen stood, dropping both the messenger and her hair from Habeth’s hands, she spun and with a wave of her hand she harshly told Habeth to “Go.”

Habeth wanted to ask Beruthiel if all was okay, but she instantly decided against it when she saw the steely look in the queen’s eyes. Bowing her head to show respect, Habeth lifted poor Huine who had not received the praise she was looking for, and left the chambers.

Stopping just outside the doors, Habeth scratched Huine behind the ears affectionately. “Don’t worry, dear. She’ll be thankful later…I’m sure of it,” she whispered and smiled warmly. Although she was glad Beruthiel had all the cats, Habeth was fond of Huine a little more than the others. This cat was smaller and younger, and Habeth worried because her poor mother had died early. “Why don’t you get a nice drink of water. I just put fresh in your room.” With that, Habeth gently placed the cat on the floor and patted Huine’s rear to get her moving.

Genuine worry about the queen overcame Habeth and she was unsure of what to do next. What if Beruthiel needed her? Habeth loved the queen honestly and faithfully, and her heart would always be devoted to Beruthiel. She knew what the others said about the queen…how she was mad, and the cats were more than just pets. Habeth shook her head with disgust. They didn’t know the real woman who sat in that room alone with her companions every day, and how her life had been so hard. No, they just mocked her. The rumors touched Habeth, and she sighed deeply.

Knowing in her heart that Beruthiel would not likely call her back for support, Habeth made her way toward the main hall. She knew of a new servant in the palace who had not had the best start, and she thought she might offer a hand.

When Habeth came around the corner, she could see the poor girl on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. The girl looked a mess…her hair was loose and her clothes wrinkled. “Here, dear, let me help you with that.” The young woman looked up in surprise and smiled. “My name is Habeth,” she said as she lowered herself slowly to the floor. The girl put her brush momentarily back in the bucket next to her, and outstretched her wet hand, “Shumita…My name is Shumita.” Habeth took the girl’s wet hand in hers, then taking another brush, she began to scrub alongside Shumita.

[ June 30, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[Orual]

There was more excitement and anticipation in the air than Tarannon had felt in memory. And well there should be...Eärnil, heir to the throne, was returning after a five-year absence.

The king smiled as he remembered his nephew, a small child when he had last seen him. Eärnil was eager, bright, and motivated. Always a question on his lips, and--unlike some children--he would pay fierce attention to the answer. He would succeed Tarannon well.

Sometimes, of course, the king wished that he had his own child, an heir to carry on his blood as well as his title. But he had known that that was an impossible wish for years now. He shook his head ruefully. All Beruthiel had given him was street cats, so he thanked Eru that his brother had been more fortunate than he to have a son like Eärnil.

The door creaked open, and Gaeradon walked in. Tarannon stood and walked over to him. "Eärnil and Tarciryan shall be here in, I'd say, a week or shortly under. As I am still finishing up the plans for the new ship models, I need you to see to setting up Eärnil's training and lodging."

They discussed the details, and Gaeradon left. Tarannon went back to his desk, and smiled. He looked forward to seeing his nephew. A child would be a nice change of pace.

[Beruthiel]

Shumita had been scrubbing the floor hard for hours. Her hands were getting wrinkly from her hands being wet so long. She looked up and groaned loudly, there was still a lot more cleaning to go. Her knees were aching and the girl yawned and stretched before turning back to the bucket of water. She hummed quietly to herself until she heard footsteps behind her. Afraid it might be the queen again she fell silent and scrubbed even harder before daring to look back at the person.

To her surprise it was one of the servants, she had seen her around the palace usually looking after the cats. The woman approached Shumita, "Hear dear, let me help you with that." Shumita felt relieved but shocked at the same time, she had thought the woman had come to tell her off for something. "My name is Habeth" Shumita automatically outstretched her hand and the woman took it but Shumita had forgotten that her hand was soaking wet. Quickly pulling it back she grinned, feeling quite embaressed but Habeth simply picked up another brush and began scrubbing and Shumita did as well.

Habeth and Shumita managed to finish cleaning the hall just before supper time where Shumita was needed in the kitchen. Thanking Habeth again and again, she waved goodbye to her and turned back to the kitchens. When she reached there all the servants were chatting loudly and just starting to cook. Relieved that she wasn't late, she took her spot on one of the tables near the sinks where she started to shop up some vegetables. The ladies in front of her were talking in hushed voices but Shumita was able to hear what they were saying quite clearly.

"Someone told me that the King's nephew is comin' here soon"
"Nonsense, there would have been a big announcement already if that were the case
"
"Oh no, the letter just got here today. Leah was in the Queen's chamber cleaning out some of the papers that were lying around and she saw one that was lying on top of it all. A message addressed to the King from his brother. Well thats what she told me anyways..."

But the ladies were interupted when another maid spilled water over their table. Shumita turned back to her vegetables and began chopping much faster. 'Why would a letter to the King be in the queen's room?' She thought to herself. She began to drift off into her thoughts again before the head cook knocked her out of it. "Come on, get a move on girl!"

[Envinyatar]

His footsteps echoed in the empty stone hallway; his attention fixed on the list he held in his hands. On his face was a satisfied look as he ticked off the items, one by one . . .

Elamir, Captain of the King's Guards - he'll need to set up and honour guard for their arrival . . . Lore master . . . Horse Master . . . Weapons Master . . . hmm, better see the armourer about a mail shirt and helmet, I think – can’t have the boy knocked out cold . . .

Gaeradan laughed at an old memory of Tarciryan and himself as young boys under the tutelage of Derlin, the old Arms Master. Tarciryan, fancying himself a master already at blade work, announced one day that he did not need his helmet in the practice rounds. 'No one can touch me,' he declared, his helmet held under his arm. Derlin had raised his bushy eyebrows and called him a little cock-a-whoop, but allowed him the lesson of his folly. Gaeradan had been assigned as his partner for parrying, his skill level fairly well matched to Tarciryan’s. Their blunt wooden practice swords had thunked in a furious pattern as each tried to best the other.

After a particularly brilliant parry, at least in his opinion, Tarciryan had turned for a moment to his admiring crowd and taken a little bow. He was just straightening up, when Gaeradan, at the urging of Derlin, advanced on him, giving him a solid whack to the side of his head. Tarciryan went down with a cry of ‘Unfair!’ and wobbled to his feet in a rage, windmilling blindly at Gaeradan.

Derlin stepped in and hauled the angry pup up by the back of his tunic. ‘Best wear your helmet next time, laddie. Were that a real foe you faced, he would have sliced your head in two – sending what little brains you have in there flying.’ He set Tarciryan down, declaring the lesson over.

Tarciryan wore an angry bruise for a week, and Gaeradan, as he recalled, teased him about it whenever he could. Despite that incident and few others, the two had remained close friends through the years

Gaeradan’s thoughts brought him to the door of the kitchen. It was nearly time for the evening meal, and the kitchen was a beehive of activity. He approached on of the tables where the servants were preparing the vegetables for supper.

‘Shumita, isn’t it?’ he asked, smiling pleasantly at one of the furiously chopping young women. She looked up curiously, as he had called her by name. ‘Where can I find Cook?’ he went on. Shumita pointed with her knife to the open pantry door, then resumed her attack on the carrots. Gaeradan gave her his thanks and went to discuss with Cook his plans for a little welcoming party for Tarciryan and his family. He was just leaving the kitchen, having set up a less hectic time to go over his plans, when something brushed up against his leg, snaking around his ankles, nearly causing him to stumble.

‘Damnable creature!’ he hissed at the black cat, swatting it away with his rolled up list. It arched its back and hissed at him, then sauntered off, tail high in the air, tip twitching, when he stood his ground.

Gaeradan watched its insolent retreat. ‘I need to put the Master for the Hunt on my list,’ he murmured, making a mental note of it. ‘He has some whelps, as I recall . . . and just the right age . . .’

[ July 02, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Pelladal awoke the morning. He went off to keep guard.

“Did you hear, that Eärnil and Tarciryan?” a soldier asked Pelladal. “Elamir is looking for soldiers to be part of the Honor Guard!” He added before running of to spread the news among the soldiers. Pelladal remembered Eärnil. He hadn’t seen the boy in five years. Eärnil had always been an eager young lad. His questions had been missed in Osgiliath during his five-year absence.

After Palladal’s shift was over he headed back to his small house. Seconds after he had entered he herd a loud knock on the door.

“Hello Captain” Pelladal said as he opened the door. “How may I be of service?” Elamir handed him a letter and strode of to another house. Pelladal opened the letter slowly and read the contents.

Pelladal,
You have been selected to represent your fellow soldiers as a soldier in the Honor Guard for Tarciryan and Eärnil. As you may have heard Tarciryan and Eärnil will be visiting, and they will arrive in only some days from now. This is a great honor and if you accept you shall meet me at the King’s chambers at noon.

-Elamir, Captain of the King's Guards

Pelladal was shocked that they had chosen him to take part in the Honor Guard. But he forgot about his astonishment as he realized it would shortly be noontime. He swiftly got prepared and headed in the direction the King’s chambers lay.

[ July 03, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Miaama stared down at the queen from her perch in the lower branches of a cyprus. The queen paced the garden furiously. Her body was rigid, only her eyes moving as she watched Beruthiel striding back and forth over the brick path. Miaama's eyes darted around the garden, in search of the other cats she knew were there. Huine, Morne, and Lome had gone, Beruthiel has sent them to the harbor, down to find out who was expected to gather there for the arrival of the King's nephew.

Lassra lay in the shadow of a dark green shrub, lazily watching as Mosi and Arye scrambled through the bushes chasing the butterflies. Miaama stopped a moment to watch the antics of the young cats, but soon turned her eyes back go Beruthiel. The woman's face was set, a dark look that Miaama was familiar with. A look that had fallen across Beruthiel's features more and more often lately.

Stretching gracefully on the limb where she stood, Miaama dug her claws into the bark of the tree, before jumping down. Shaking herself after the jarring landing, the white cat turned and ducked under a strange bitter smelling plant and stalked off across the garden in search of Yawla and Pirro.

********************************
Beruthiel had gone to the garden in the hot afternoon, and now the sun was fading to evening. She loved the garden, the sounds and smells calmed her. Smells of home, the bitter herbs and sweet flowers that her mother had grown during Beruthiel's childhood.

She paced the brick paths relentlessly today, disregarding the wind that worked her hair loose from the tight pins. Her tears had drained away, or dried in the warm wind, but the bitterness solidified. There must be some way to turn this to her advantage. There must be.

Pausing beneath a dark statue, Beruthiel looked up at it. She had them sent specially, this sculpture and three others, sent specially from home. To bring her good luck, she had thought at the time. The dark face of the kneeling woman looked down at Beruthiel as she stared back at it. This one was to bring health to her family. Beruthiel scowled at the sculpture, focusing in on it, so that the dark shapes of her three companions blurred in the background. The three sculptures representing love, longevity, and fertility melded into a shapeless background to the compassionate stare of the kneeling woman.

Beruthiel's face twisted into a sneer. Her charms had not brought her luck, only something else for the idle and curious to talk about. Love and fertility had failed, and health and longevity were meaningless to her without them. Turning she seized on a drowsy Lassra, snatching her up and pressing her close. After a startled moment the cat sneezed and began to purr gently. Cradling the warm bundle under her chin, Beruthiel sank onto a stone bench and watched the sun disappear behind the garden wall.

_____________________________________________

alaklondewen's post

As soon as the floor was finished in the Main Hall, Habeth rushed to the servants’ quarters. Standing in front of the wooden mirror over her small dark dresser, she slowly pulled her now wet black dress over her head trying not to destroy her hair. She tossed her clothes into a bin, and pulled out a similar black hand-made dress from her drawer. Beruthiel would not tolerate her coming back looking like an unmade bed.

Once dressed, Habeth left her room and walked as quickly as she could (without running) to the Queen’s chambers. Raising her fist, she knocked lightly on the door, and then stuck her head inside.

“Madame?” She spoke softly. “Madame. I’m here to make sure you’re ready for dinner.” Habeth was now all the way inside, but the Queen was not in sight. Walking slowly throughout the rooms, she checked every corner and chair. Where could she be? she thought. She’s usually in here at this time…what was on that paper? Whatever it was, Beruthiel had been shaken by it, and Habeth was concerned about her Queen.

After several minutes of consideration, Habeth decided to check the gardens. On occasion Beruthiel would walk in the gardens if something was on her mind. Closing the heavy doors softly behind her, Habeth moved quietly down the long hallway and out a side door that lead to the private grounds.

“Madame…” Her voice sounded weak as she called out. Habeth walked cautiously, since the light was fading and shadows were long, not wanting to trip or step on one of the cats that were always about. “Madame, are you out here?”

“Yes, yes, Habeth…I’m over here.” Sure enough, as Habeth rounded a corner, the Queen was sitting on a stone bench with Lassra on her lap. Beruthiel looked terrible…her hair was a mess and her face was pale.

“Madame, is everything okay? Have you had your dinner yet?” Habeth wanted to hold the Queen and comfort her. That kind of aggressive move, certainly, would be inappropriate of the servant, but her heart was in pain just seeing Beruthiel in this condition.

[ July 10, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[The X Phial]

Pirro yawned and kneaded his cushion before lying down, eyes half closed. The summer heat filled his mind and body with lassitude and he felt an uncharacteristic calm washing over him. The small feline was usually in a state of hypervigilance, but the cats' chamber was deserted but for the pacing form of Yawla, and Pirro felt he could relax. He was worried about the Queen of course, they all were, but he knew his strength wasn't in planning. He was a scout. Normally he didn't let that get in the way of him worrying, especially on a mission. On occasion, however, when he was warm and feeling safe, he let his sisters deal with the details.

At the moment, Yawla was doing more worrying than planning. By now all the cats knew that Earnil would be visiting soon and by the Queen's reaction and subsequent mood, Yawla thought the visit was likely to be unpleasant. Vaguely, Yawla understood this had something to do with her mistress never getting to have her own litter, but it seemed a bit odd to her that Beruthiel would need more companions. She listened to the sound of her brother's purring and was glad he could rest. Yawla worried about his skiddishness from time to time.

The cat door opened and Pirro jumped to his feet, instantly alert. Yawla eyed him sadly and then turned to greet Miaama who was approaching rapidly.

The mistress is still distressed, Yawla. She is mourning the arrival of that cursed boy.

The white cat snarled slightly as she thought this, and Yawla knew Miaama was taking the Queen's sadness personally. She started to answer and was interrupted by the entrance of her sister.

Athel was out of breath but clearly amused. It took several minutes before she calmed down enough to explain herself, and by then Pirro had also relaxed enough to listen, having bolted under a potted plant at Athel's abrupt entrance.

Where have you been, Athel? You smell like dog! Yawla began, but was interrupted.

That's because I have been in the kennel of course. She smiled in a self-satisfied manner. The newest puppies are about ready to hunt, so I thought I'd take a look. Always a good idea to know your enemy you know.

Yawla sighed, Get on with it, Miaama and I don't have all day.

Athel blithely ignored her and continued. Anyway, so I went to have a look. Managed to get in undetected, as well, since the puppies were alone in the kennel and never smelled cat before. They were playing...simpering things, dogs...and I managed to overturn the entire day's scraps into their pen. It was enough to feed 20 dogs, but they ate it all. I stuck around long enough to hear the Hunting Master yelling at them as I ran away. They never knew free food could cost so much. I imagine they will be pretty sick as well. Dogs will eat anything!

Athel finished her tale and ignored Yawla's disapproving, but amused, sigh. She noticed a small smile on Miaama's face, as well. Pirro's reaction really threw her, though. He came up and started grooming her, sadly.

Athel, what if you'd been caught? he worried in his quiet way.

Oh, Pirro, they're just dogs, she replied, but she knew they were all thinking about their mother's death in the jaws of a hunting dog. Athel took every opportunity to try to pay the dogs back, but she knew that Pirro would rather they stay safely out of the way. She decided to change the subject.

What were you talking about when I came in?

It was Miaama who answered, The queen is in distress. I, for one, am tired of seeing her constantly belittled by the king and his followers. I think we need to do something about the arrival of the Royal Heir, but I'm not sure what. Something has to give, though. Our mistress does not deserve such pain.

Yawla purred softly in agreement. Something clearly needed doing. The queen's distress would go away if the child went home.

Maybe we can find a way to send him home, she ventured.

The others considered for a moment and were interrupted by an almost whispered thought.

No. He has to die. He has to go away forever. That's the only way to fix it.

Yawla whipped around and was shocked to realise that it was Pirro who had thought this. Quiet Pirro, who avoided danger like water was suggesting the arranged death the heir.

Miaama growled at him, As if we could do such a thing! Cats cannot kill a human. A healthy boy would be far too strong.

Pirro cringed and looked away. I didn't say it could be done, only that it's the only real solution.

They sat together in the sun, thinking and brooding. The thing seemed impossible, but they agreed with Pirro that it was the only way to make the Queen really happy again.

Cats cannot kill a human, but a human can kill a human. It was Athel, she of the plots and plans. Our contact at the warehouse. He could do it. He has no love for the king, either.

Yawla started pacing again. We are bound to be sent to him tonight. The queen will want to pass on news of the heir's visit, and we are her favorite messengers. We could ask him when we go, but how? None of us can write, and only Miaama can actually talk to the humans.

I will just have to go with you, won't I? But four cats will be too many, draw too much attention. Athel should stay here.
Miaama reasoned.

Yes, Athel, you,Yawla cut off the protest. We can't afford any side trips, Pirro has to go because he carries the messages, and we both know that Pirro will freeze up if I am not there to encourage him.

Pirro looked down, embarrassed. He hated the sweeping panic that overwhelmed him sometimes when he was far away from the palace, but knew that what Yawla said was true, he needed her.

Fine, my idea and I can't even go, Athel pouted. Her mood didn't last long, though. The plot itself was almost as important to her as the execution of it.

The four split up, content with their plan. The siblings would leave as usual with the message and Miaama would take Athel's place in the palace yard. They only had to hope that the Queen wouldn't notice her absence.

They set off directly after dark, two black shadows and one white ghost disappearing into the dusk.

[Envinyatar]

Gaeradan knocked softly on the entry to the King’s chambers. He heard the familiar muffled voiced, raised as if in greeting, and opened the door. ‘My Lord, I’ve come with the papers we discussed this afternoon.’

The King pushed his goblet of wine to the side, and motioned Gaeradan to him. The night was warm, and the doors to the room’s porch were open, allowing the fragrance of the night-blooming flowers in the gardens below to filter in. ‘I’ve gotten the names of the suppliers and a list of their costs. I’m confident we’ve come to reasonable deals with each of them.’ Tarannon glanced over the sheaf of papers and put them aside for closer inspection later.

‘Sit down, Gaeradan.’ Tarannon reached for a goblet from the serving tray and poured the man some wine. Gaeradan took a sip, then put his drink down as Tarannon leaned toward him, asking how the plans for Tarciryan’s arrival were proceeding.

‘I’ve made arrangements for Eärnil with the various masters. We’re fairly well set in that area. And I’ve just returned from the Cook. There will be a small dinner party – You, the Queen, Tarcyran and his family. I will be there to attend on you, should you need me.’ Tarannon nodded his head, thoughtfully as Gaeradan made his report.

The talk turned to other matters – the King wanting to reminisce about his brother, Gaeradan filling in with stories of his own. He left the King’s chambers in a good mood and made his way back to his own.

[Phervasaion]

Armendur awoke early in the morning to get to his shift on guard. He quickly rose from his bed, put on his armour and left his cabin. He was walking down the path as per usual and met his captain on the way and he stopped him.

“Good day Armendur, you have been selected along with another handful of soldiers to be in the honour guard for when the kings brother, Tarciryan arrives in just a few days. If you will be good enough to accept, then please meet with the other soldiers in the Kings chambers at noon,” Armendur was rather surprised when his captain suddenly asked him to be in the honour guard.

“Well…of course, I will be there near enough to noon if you wish,” Armendur stuttered in reply of the captain. The captain dismissed Armendur and they went their separate ways. Armendur walked down the path happily to his post where he spent the rest of his morning.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The entrance hall was dark and quiet as Miaama waited by the door for Pirro and Yawla. She crouched behind a potted plant, hoping the shadow would hide the bright whiteness of her body. The last thing she wanted was for one of Beruthiel's maids to spot her and carry her back upstairs. She sniffed the air tentatively, hoping to catch the scent of Pirro and Yawla approaching, but all she could smell was a harsh chemical smell. Some sort of cleaner.

After a few minutes, Miaama caught sight of a movement at the edge of a splash of moonlight on the main staircase. Stepping forward from the shadow of the plant, she met them. Athel was still looking rather sulky, and Pirro was on edge, pacing back and forth unable to stand still. Yawla sat calmly, licked a paw, as Miaama came out to join them. All ready? she asked them softly, three black faces stared at her, three simultaneous yeses.

Slipping out into the gardens the four shadows went into the night. Athel left them there, her job was to find the others and let them know the plan. Under the palace gates and through the silent streets, the three cats made an odd grouping. Not invisible, like they usually were, Miaama's white form nearly glittered in the shadowy city. They kept to the darkest corners, the lonliest alleyways, all three intent on their purpose, even Pirro's usual jitteriness replaced by an intense calm.

Yawla and Pirro walked to either side of Miaama, guiding her through the streets. Though the older cat had once known the city well, she was unfamiliar with their destination. They reached the warehouse without incident, slipping in through the partly opened door as though they belonged there. Farucan was waiting inside. The man was dark, smaller than Miaama had thought. Pirro had always thought of him as a dark, terrifying figure.

Miaama hovered in the back now, her white tail curved over her paws, disregarding entirely the strange look the slender man sent her. He stepped forward now, to take the note from around Pirro's neck and read it with some surprise. His dark features settled into an expression of intense satisfaction, but he didn't speak. Tucking the papers into a leather bag at his side, the man inclined his head gracefully toward the cats. Taking this as her cue, Miaama stood. Stretching languidly she moved toward him.

"My Mistress sends greetings." The white cat gazed at an undefined spot high on the wall as she spoke. She had never spoken before, to any save Beruthiel, and she was terrified to find herself doing it now and under these circumstances. Lowering her eyes to the man's face she continued. "The message we bring now is too secret to set on paper."

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Lassra purred and rubbed her head against Beruthiel's chin, enjoying the closeness after her initial surprise of being picked up. Beruthiel was worried, Lassra could tell. Lassra knew the scent of worry and apprehension well thanks to her mistress. Lassra was glad to be of some comfort to Beruthiel, who always seemed to be depressed for one reason or another in the recent years.

Mosi was darting back and forth in front of the bench, chasing the same butterfly. It was so beautiful! Mosi wanted to see the wings up close, which was why he was determined to catch it. Arye watched silently from in front of the bench, nose and whiskers twitching as he saw Mosi leap and fall several times trying to catch the butterfly. Arye didn't know why Mosi could not just be content with watching the butterfly from a distance, instead of falling and wasting time trying to catch it.

Arye! Arye! Over here! Arye heard someone calling his name. It was not a human though...it was one of the other cats. Arye slowly padded over to one particularly large flower pot, where he thought the calling had come from. Sure enough, behind the pot was Athel, peering between the leaves of the plant in the pot to where Lassra was being hugged deftly.

I need to talk to you and Lassra. Can you find some way to distract the Mistress? Athel asked as she pawed away a leaf to get a better view of where Beruthiel was seated. Arye nodded, a questioning look in his eyes.

What about Mosi? Arye wondered, turning his gaze to see his leaping brother.

He seemed pretty preoccupied now. Just go get Lassra!

Arye nodded and padded back out into the open and walking to the bench where Lassra was in the arms of their mistress. Arye leapt up onto the end of the bench and meowed softly. Beruthiel was talking to Habeth, but Lassra, who was undistracted, turned to face Arye instantaneously.

What? Can't you see the Mistress is in a bad mood? She needs company that will listen to her and not hurt her like her human kind do, Lassra growled, whiskers bristling as she tucked her head sideways against Beruthiel's shoulder and collar bone.

Athel is here, said Arye simply. Lassra said naught in reply, but instead she gently dislodged herself from Beruthiel. Then Lassra rubbed her head against Beruthiel's hand one last time before following Arye to the flower pot where Athel was waiting.

Is it important, Athel? Lassra asked impassively, wondering if this was just another one of the trickster cat's jokes.

[Belin]

Farucan, uncharacteristically wide-eyed, stared dumbly and frozenly at the little white cat…if indeed it was a cat. In his own country there were tales of evil beings who walked the earth in animal shapes, most of them brilliant and fearsome warriors, who had secret powers far beyond the worst of these Gondorians. But he had never heard of any of them walking as a beast as humble as a cat, though cats were devious and tricky creatures in any case. Quickly, almost reflexively, he made the sign against evil strangers. But these were allies, and it would be a grave insult to Berúthiel to run from them or to hurt them. In any case, Farucan was not eager to let the Queen of Gondor think him a coward, mad though she might be.

Still, he could hardly bring himself to speak to it. In his initial astonishment he had actually taken several quick steps away from this pale ghost without noticing what he was doing, and now it looked smaller and more unassuming than ever, but it was staring over his shoulder at something he was almost certain he did not want to see. Taking a deep breath, he bowed politely, groping for words. Be calm, he admonished himself. Remember what you are doing here?

“Greetings to your mistress, …messenger. I am glad for any message she sees fit to send me.”

The creature paused for a moment, twiching its tail. “The heir to the throne is coming to Gondor. He is not wished to live.”

Farucan raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t have thought Berúthiel capable of arranging the death of…of her own nephew, if he remembered correctly. She had always seemed so sad, so eager for affection. What was this demon playing at? He looked over the note again. It did carry this same news, and the rest of the note was in all other respects a perfectly ordinary request, written in her usual even hand and betraying no sign of either anger or fear. Perhaps the queen’s madness ran more deeply than he had suspected, or perhaps this creature had plans of its own. He cast a speculative glance at the other two cats, and turned expressionlessly back to the white ghost.

“The queen is prepared to reward me for such a contingency, I assume?”

The beast’s tail twiched, and it looked over its shoulder at the other two for a moment before turning back to him. “Yes. Richly. We will discuss it later.”

Oh, of course we will. Later. Farucan smiled slightly. “You see, I would hate to find myself mistaken, particularly in matters of the queen’s will. But, you know, messengers take no liberties in my country, and they have their reasons for it.” He allowed his gaze to rest on the creature in what he imagined to be a mysterious and intimidating manner, but it did not react, though the tiny cat in the corner seemed nearly ready to take to his heels.

But even supposing the white ghost to be an evil spirit that wanted nothing more than brand Farucan a murderer in the eyes of the queen, and even if he were forced to flee Gondor for this, he could see no better way to make his exit. No proper heir to the throne of Gondor, only a brother who might not even outlive the current ruler… yes, his king would be pleased. Perhaps he would even be willing to consider allowing Farucan a place at court once again. It would be the least he could do in exchange for granting him such an advantage over Gondor, would it not?

He glanced around the room, including all three cats in what he wanted to say. “The queen’s request is regrettable,” he said, in his saddest, most richly accented voice, “but understandable. If indeed she wishes it of me, I can arrange an accident for the day of his arrival.”

The creature nodded in satisfaction, in a manner it must have learned from Berúthiel. “Good,” it said. “Thank you.”

Three black cats entered Beruthiel's private garden. Two came in together, walking side by side, one alert, tail held high, the other with a tail swish and flick of the ears that indicated to feline and human alike that she was bored with the whole thing. Following close behind, the smallest of the three stalked haughtily through an outer gate. Lome, Morna, and Huine had returned.

Though humans would likely not notice it, they all smelled strongly of fish and water to feline senses. Morna walked to where the queen and her maid were talking and wove her way through Beruthiel's ankles, letting her know they were back and all was well. The Queen absentmindedly reached down and scratched the large cat's ears, and Morna arched her back, purring.

Lome fought the urge to join Morna at the Queen's ankles and looked around for Miaama, it was her job to report in. The trip to the harbor, while a pleasant change, hadn't garnered much new information, but she could tell the white cat the little they had found out, the rumors of the heir's ship being spotted much sooner than expected at the mouth of the Anduin.

Lome spotted Athel, Lassra, and Arye in conversation behind the queen's bench. Mosi was distracted, as usual. The older cat joined the others by the bench and felt, more than heard, Huine following her.

Where is Miaama? Lome inquired of the others, interrupting what seemed to be an intense conversation. We need to check in.

Athel turned to the newcomers and narrowed her eyes at them. I was just explaining why to Lassra and Arye, but I can start over.

Why not tell us why you aren't with your sister and brother taking news of the heir's arrival while you're at it. Huine interrupted. Or are you so irresponsible that you just leave the hard stuff to them?

Athel hissed and her ears flattened against her skull. She looked ready to pounce, but it was Lome who cuffed Huine, before the smaller cat had a chance to attack.

Let her explain, Huine. You don't help anything with your attitude.

Huine snarled in response, but held back her words.

Good. Now, Athel, where is Miaama? Lome continued.

But before the cat could begin her explanation again the queen suddenly stood, looking about her as if missing something for the first time. She asked Habeth something about Miaama and the maid shrugged her shoulders. The knot of cats dissolved into individuals again and several of them went to the queen, trying to soothe her mood. She looked down, as if to ask them where their leader was, but was interrupted by the slam of the inner door.

"I should have known!" the voice of Morwen split the peace of the garden. "My lady, you are already late for dinner with your husband. The cats can wait." And, throwing a deadly glance at the cowed Habeth, she escorted the queen away.

[ July 15, 2003: Message edited by: Gelion ]

[Envinyatar]

Beruthiel's post for Shumita

Shumita walked slowly along the corridor, it was almost the end of a long day and the place seemed quite empty. The only sound was the shuffling of Shumita's feet and the sloshing of water in the bucket she had in her hand. She had spent most of the day mopping and cleaning the guest quarters of the palace. Her work load, along with a lot of the other servants, had doubled since the announcement of the King's brother's forthcoming arrival. Shumita still had her supper kitchen duties and then she had to help the head cook with plans for the welcoming feast.

The girl sighed as she reached the end of the corridor; the bucket she was holding still had water in it so she used the rest to water some of the plants that were in the room or on the window sills. After emptying it all out she took it to the store room which was behind a plain door on the opposite wall. She hurriedly put the bucket onto one of the shelves but then felt a pang of annoyance; she'd left the mop in the other room where she'd been cleaning.

Shumita dashed back through the hallway to the other room. She stared around, searching for the mop when she heard a loud shattering noise which made her jump. The noise had definitely come from somewhere near this room. Moving cautiously around the corner she saw to her horror that pieces of glass were scattered all over the floor. One of the glass ornaments which were normally on top of a long table which ran along the wall was missing.

She didn't know what to do, what if someone found her and thought it was she who had broken it? She'd surely be kicked out for breaking one of the priceless decorations. She peered around to check that no one had seen her and then stared back at the glass. Then to her surprise a silky black body crawled out from under a table which the ornament had once been on. Shumita glared at the cat, furious with it. The cat must have pushed it off as it had moved along the table. Shumita had no idea which cat it was; they all looked the same to her. "Why you...stupid...furry...pesky...little..." Shumita grumbled furiously through clenched teeth. The cat miaowed as though it was laughing at her and it started to stroll away, its tail high in the air.

She couldn’t stand it, “Oh no you don’t” she yelled and she ran straight after the cat and picked it up. She hurried straight to the store room where she’d put her bucket and shoved the cat in. It made horrible hissing sounds but Shumita shut the door before it could get out and sighed feeling quite pleased with herself. She made her way back to the room where the remains of the ornament was but she jumped slightly when she saw that another servant was standing there staring open-mouthed at the glass.

“Shumita! Can you explain this?” The woman shouted at the girl.

“N…No… I haven’t been here since lunchtime” She replied lying and hoping that the woman would believe her.

“Alright. Don’t touch anything, leave it for Aina to clean it up, I’ll go get her now.”

The woman said shortly, turned and marched back down a flight of stairs. Shumita waited until she was gone before leaving for the kitchens, she felt a wonderful sense of happiness at the thought that the cat was shut up in the dark and probably wouldn’t be found for a while.

_____________________________________________

Sophia's post

Beruthiel slammed the chamber door on Habeth's concerned questions. Yes her lips were pressed tightly together and shaking, yes her cries had been heard all over the complex... she tightened her lips further. She crossed into the bedchamber, yanked the silver clip out of her hair fiercely. It tumbled out of her hand and onto the dresser, trailing long silver hairs behind it. A black shape threaded itself in around her ankles, and Beruthiel recognized it as Athel. The female cat sat at her feet, casting luminous yellow eyes on her, with that expression of cat-worry that the queen had come to recognize.
She scooped Athel up in her arms, held her close against her chest. "That man!" She spoke from between tightly clenched teeth. "He cannot take you away from me, he will not." He mind wandered back over the dinner conversation, and she slumped to the edge of the bed, one hand crushing Athel to her body, the other snatching at the silver of her down comforter. How dare Tarannon suggest that she get rid of her precious kittens in favor of that child, that brat. How dare he suggest that she lock them up, claiming they carried disease, that they scratched and bit.

Athel squirmed in protest of Beruthiel's tight hold, her voice squeaking in an offended "mew". The queen looked down at the cat in her arms as though she hadn't properly seen it before. "Athel? Why aren't you..." the queen's voice was low, but her puzzlement very obvious. "Where is Miaama?" Athel leapt lightly to the floor as the queen stood and pushed open the sitting room door.

Disregarding her tangled hair, still half pinned from the day, and rumpled clothing, Beruthiel went to the open window and called to the white cat. Nearing panic, the queen descended to the garden and pushed through the swinging doors. "Miaama?" What if the other cats had been waylaid, what if Athel was the only one who had been able to return? Were they alright? Yawla... Pirro... What if they had found Pirro... the note? The blood drained from Beruthiel's face as she slumped to the stone bench where she'd sat earlier.

A movement by the door caught Beruthiel's eye, the queen stiffened, putting a hand to her disheveled hair. It was the servant girl, Shumita, who came through the swinging door and into the garden. "Milady?" She spoke timidly. "Your maid, Habeth, sent me out to see if you needed anything." She curtsied unsteadily. Beruthiel looked at the girl, then at Athel who had followed her out and was snaking between her ankles.

"Yes, yes girl. Find Miaama, I want the whole house searched. Every room, every closet until she is found!" Beruthiel was nearly screeching in her terror.

"Miaama?" Shumita's eyes were wide, and she was clearly frightened. "Who is Miaama, Lady?"

"My cat, girl, my cat! The white one, find her! Go!" The queen's eyes were blazing as she stood, and Shumita lingered only an instant before she took to her heels across the garden. Beruthiel collapsed back onto the bench, white and shaking. It was at Athel's urging that she finally looked up, the black cat's head rubbing under her chin and against her hands.

***********************************

Miaama paced across the yard, her tail held straight up, and her head high. Athel's distracted thoughts had reached her before they got to the palace complex, and Miaama knew it would be difficult to hid her nervous state from the Mistress. She ducked under a low plant with great purple blossoms, and looked at Beruthiel from a distance. The Mistress's silver hair hung like a curtain over her face, and her hands were twitching in her lap. Miaama swallowed a rush of concern and stepped delicately up to the bench where Beruthiel slumped.

"Miaama..." the queen's voice was quiet and shaken. "What happened?" The white cat focused her large blue eyes on a tree behind Beruthiel as she shook the dirt of the street delicately from one front paw. "I felt like going along. I..." she sneezed disdainfully, "needed the exercise."

Leaving Beruthiel to the ministrations of Athel, and Yawla and Pirro who had just returned, Miaama pushed through the half open doors and made her way to the queen's chambers. She had lied to the Mistress, and that thought made her nervous, but she consoled herself that it was all for the good. That what they had done tonight would solve the Mistress's problem forever.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[alaklondewen]

Even though Habeth was the Queen’s personal servant, her work load increased dramatically with the news of the coming of the heir to the throne. It was now two days before he was to arrive and Habeth was cleaning Beruthiel’s quarters. The curtains will have to come down and be washed, she sighed as she realized the work seemed as though it would never be finished. One by one, the servant unpinned the velvet, black draperies and put them in a basket.

Lifting the now full basket, Habeth laboriously carried the curtains to the wash room. Hot water was already waiting for the dirty draperies, and as she forced them in, the water bubbled and sloshed with gratitude. Her hands instinctively kneaded the curtains after she added an appropriate amount of soap.

These will need to soak a bit… Pulling her dripping arms out of the water, Habeth pulled a clean linen from the shelf behind her, dried her hands and arms, and then used the cloth to soak up any water that had escaped the tub.

“I suppose I should do the floors while they are soaking,” Habeth spoke softly to herself as she brushed a few loose hairs from her face. Taking a small pale of the bottom shelf, she filled it will a reasonable amount of soapy water from the laundry tub and walked across the hall to the store room. Before she could even touch the handle, a horrifying noise came from within. It was a long drawn out reeow, the sound of a pitiful and wounded animal.

Habeth had been momentarily startled and had withdrawn her hand, but she reached out again and slowly pushed the door open. A black streak darted between her legs, and she stifled a small cry. Her heart was pounding, but after a few deep breaths, she managed to calm her senses and continue on with the rest of her duties.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Arye rolled his eyes boredly. After being scattered by Morwen taking their Mistress away, he and Lassra had gone towards the kitchen. Lassra had begun to tell her 'life story' to Arye, in attempts to teach him something he didn't know before. The only problem was that Arye and Mosi heard her life story at least once a week.

Mosi had gone off after his butterfly, which had fluttered into the palace and towards a freshly cleaned room. It flew up above one of the shelves, and Mosi immediately followed it as he jumped up onto the polished table. Mosi clumsily knocked over some sort of vase as he jumped on the table, but he ignored the crash and continued to jump after the butterfly that had flown out of the room. Before he could continue out of the room a loud scream eminated from nearby, and Mosi was quickly picked up by some maid.

The maid angrily held Mosi and brought the black cat to the store room, where she proceeded to shove him into a room. At this point, Mosi finally realized that this maid had not picked him up to adore and pet him. He hissed and meowed, to no avail.

But then, moments later, after Mosi had taken to screeching out low then high rreeeoows someone opened the door, and Mosi immediately darted between her legs and ran off to find Lassra and Arye.

Lassra and Arye were crouched and laying right outside the dining hall and inside the kitchen hallway. Here, they could smell the wonderful scents the cooks created at a safe distance from the booted feet of the cooks. Lassra had just finished talking to Arye about foods and wine, when they caught a conversation Morwen was having with one of the cooks.

"I swear, there are enough cats around here to start a menangerie," they heard Morwen say irritably, and they leapt off the table they were on to get a better look. "She has been brainwashed by them! I overheard Beruthiel whispering to them several times! Horrible little creatures, little better than rats or mice."

Arye growled at this, making a low sound that came from the back of his throat. How could the woman be talking about the cats this way when she hardly stayed around to pet them? Not to mention her bad mouthing of the Mistress. Lassra, however, kept Arye back and told him not to do anything rash.

"Oh, I know! It's terrible! Think of the impression we will make on the heir!" One of the minor cooks replied, though it seemed she was only saying such to carry on the conversation. "The cats are bad just around the kitchens! Especially that lazy one that used to belong to the head cook. She is always in my way. Not to mention the white one! They are all just stupid ugly vermons!"

At this comment, Lassra began to join Arye, only she began to hiss.

"Beruthiel has become distant...she has come to have poor judgement...everything she does involves those cats!" Morwen spat out the last words, but all other traces of the conversation were lost to the cats ears as Morwen and the cook walked away, chittering about the Mistress.

We should tell the Mistress! Morwen is a nasty human! Talking behind the Lady's back like that! Arye hissed, flexing his claws and eyeing the path Morwen and the cook had taken. The nerve of that old woman!

Of course we will tell Mistress. But this is not the time. Her mate is already upset about us, there is no need to upset him more by interrupting their dinner. We will tell Miamma when she returns and then Miamma can tell Mistress. Lassra intoned, and Arye nodded.

Now...where is Mosi? Little troublemaker...

[ July 22, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[ July 24, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

"Roow"
Morwen clasped a hand to her heart, beating rapidly as she jumped to escape a ball of fur shooting past her ankles.
After a mouse, most likely. I’m only upset because it made me fall over my feet she reassured herself but in vain. The suspicions that the horrible beasts knew exactly how she felt about them and liked to scare her would not pass. With a groan Morwen pressed her back against the wall of the dark corridor.
Next thing I'll be as crazy as the queen, she told herself sardonically. Only I won't have cats. Dogs, mayhap. Huge, fierce dogs with big teeth...
With a private smile, Morwen continued on her way.

It was now what was hilariously called her "free time". Free to do what? Morwen wondered. Free to write to her beloved son, perhaps. Free to share wine and wisdom with the other old crones in the city?

The realisation that, despite the cats and the queen, Morwen's time of service was the most pleasurable time of the day had not been a pleasant one. It showed exactly how empty her life had become. And yet it could all have been so different! Morwen allowed herself to think of life as Tarannon's bride- but only for a short time. It did not do to dwell, she thought with an inner laugh.
No, for that leads to bitterness and we know how unattractive that is!

Not for the first time, Morwen considered that perhaps her strategy had not been the most advisable, but it was now a part of her as much as her hands, her face.
Too late for regrets, she told herself firmly. Besides she could always try to find Janna, an acquaintance among the maids. It did not do to be too familiar with the servants, of course, but how suitable they were for spreading rumours!

With a stiff, unnatural smile Morwen began to walk again, keeping a sharp watch for the dratted animals.
Something new was needed. Something different. Use of the cats for sabotage perhaps? Or to attack children? The whole city knew the queen's bitterness regarding her lack of heirs. That might do very well indeed...

[Belin]

Envinyatar's post

Gaeradan . . . just after the morning meal, two days before the expected arrival of Eärnil

‘Well, Cook, they should be here in two days. Is everything in order?’ Gaeradan had made his rounds one last time. The Captain of the King’s Guard had his troops in order. They would be stationed at the dock early on the morning of arrival and await the arrival of Tarciryan’s ship. Cook produced her menu for the evening dinner and the servants’ list.

‘Are we sure this one will be acceptable to the Queen?’ Gaeradan pointed to the sixth name on the list. Cook’s brow furrowed, then she nodded her head. ‘I’ll ask the Butler to substitute another. This was the one who shut one of the Queen’s cats in the closet just last week . . . and probably on purpose, though I can’t fault her for doing that.’

The sound of a low growl stopped any further conversation. The kitchen dog, asleep on the rug by the small cooking fire, had raised her head, looking intently at the door from the hallway into the kitchen. Hackles raised, she got to her feet and trotted over to the small crack where the door had been left open a bit. Her lips drew back from her teeth, and she growled louder as a small black nose withdrew quickly from the opening. Cook got up and shut the door securely. ‘Good girl!’ murmured Cook to the dog. ‘She keeps them out of my kitchen,’ she said to Gaeradan, as the dog returned to her warm resting place. ‘Filthy little beasts . . . always poking their noses into this or that. Queer ones, her cats – they always seem to be somewhere looking and listening.’

Cook shook her self a little as she sat back down, throwing off the uneasy feeling she always had when one of the Queen’s cats was near.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The same day . . . Eärnil's unheralded early arrival at the port of Harlond

‘Look, papa! There it is!’

The great towering bastion of stone thrust itself from the massive mountain behind it – a sharp-edged ship’s keel straining east. Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun. Eärnil squirmed in his place at the prow railing. He had noted, in his now ten years of ‘wisdom’, that oftentimes places or people he remembered from his younger days, which then seemed so tall and looming, had shrunk considerably now that he was older.

But the sight of the city was all that he remembered. His eyes danced with delight as they drew nearer, watching the white-winged gulls wheel and turn before them, heralding their approach to the port at Harlond.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Nenruin, the dockmaster, hurried out from his office and ran to where the ship was putting in, alerted by one of the dock hands that a craft bearing the flag of Tarciryan was angling in to one of the slips. He watched as the ropes were secured to the posts, his hand going up in greeting to the man and boy who stood at the railing.

‘We were not expecting you, my Lord! We would have had a party here to greet you had we known.’ He paused for a moment and caught his breath. ‘In fact, I believe the harbor master at Osgiliath is awaiting your arrival - two days from now, or so I believe. We were to send riders once we saw your ship to alert them.’

Tarciryan clapped the man on his shoulder. ‘We have decided to surprise them, Nenruin. I hope you did not send riders out yet?’ He cocked his eyebrow at the dockmaster. ‘No, my Lord. Do you want me to do that now?’

‘Nay. As I said we wish to surprise them. Can you arrange for some horses for us? Myself, my Lady and son. And two guards. We will ride to the city and then to Osgiliath. Tomorrow the captain will take the ship and our belongings up river to the harbor there.’ Nenruin nodded his head yes to the requests and sent one of his men off for the required mounts.

Nenruin was invited aboard the ship to pass the time until the horses arrived. He had served under Tarciryan in his younger days, and the two of them shared a few memories over several cups of wine. Eärnil was all ears, tucking away these bits of his father’s life with great relish.

A number of hours later, when the horses had arrived and the Lady Miriel had declared herself ready to go, the small contingent mounted up and began their leisurely ride round the perimeter of Minas Anor. Eärnil pleaded with his parents to ride slowly. He had never traveled along this route – at least that he could recall, and he wanted to take all of it in that he could.

The five riders traveled at a leisurely pace, acceding to his wishes - seeing how the land and city had changed since their departure . . .

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The Heir in Osgiliath

The lovely, sprawling city of Osgiliath wrapped itself around the river like a lover holding his beloved in his arms. ‘Do not leave me,’ you could almost hear it say, as the waters of the Anduin rushed past it, heading ever to the sea. Lush and green, the gardens of the city beguiled the traveler, drawing him in with their promise of hidden pleasures. The scent of the flowers lay like a thick carpet on the air, inviting the weary to lie down and rest their spirit. And there, to the east, a great citadel, the Dome of Stars, holding a precious treasure within . . . the palantír of Osgiliath.

The delights of the city were not lost on Eärnil, and the great market in the center of the city was not to be denied him. It’s scents and sights and sounds enthralled the boy, and he begged his parents to stop, if for just a little while. Laughing at his eagerness, they did just so, dismounting from their horses to wander from stall to stall.

Taking his little leather coin pouch from beneath his tunic, where it hung heavy on a thin cord, Eärnil moved slowly through the crowd, his parents following, seeking the merchants who sold sweets and the craftsmen who made the little models of the King’s ships he so adored. ‘I will have a fleet of my own one day,’ he told one of the woodcarvers, who indulged him with a smile as they haggled over the final price of the little model. ‘I’m sure you will,’ the merchant said winking at Tarciryan, ‘and at a good price I might add if you are the one who will bargain with the builders and lumberman!’

His little ship tucked under his arm, and a sweet stuck securely in his cheek, Eärnil turned up the last line of stalls. His eyes widened as he saw the small booth at the end of the market street. ‘There, Father! There is the very one I was looking for!’ He ran helter-skelter down the short lane toward the little stall. There before him were the ships he coveted, that would make his little navy complete. ‘Look, Father – those are the ships I need for mine to fight against,’ he said, eyeing the colorful sails and trim keels of the vessels before him. ‘Corsair ships from Umbar.’

Tarciryan and Miriel smiled indulgently at him and moved to the booth next over, to look at the beaded hairclasps there. The guards, their attention distracted by the pretty maidens who danced for coins in the small square by the fountain, let their eyes wander from the boy . . .


__________________________________________________ ______________________________________


Lyra's post

Caeran watched Earnil indulgently as the boy gazed at the unfamiliar city. He himself had grown up there, but the sight could still take his breath away. No wonder the lad was enthralled! He couldn't wait to bring Lorna to see it. He could imagine her eyes sparkling as she looked around, an excited smile playing across her face, showing her dimples... She was amazingly beautiful. He knew that everyone who met her had to fall in love with her- even Mother.

At the thought Caeran winced slightly. Mother- the only possible stumbling block in the plan of his perfect life. He had not told Lorna much about Mother- just that they had a troubled relationship. He laughed mirthlessly at the understatement. Although he loved his mother he often found it very hard to like her. Sometimes she seemed to take joy in hurting him. But she would not in this. He had made up his mind- either she would be happy in his marriage or she would no longer be part of his life. He just hoped she would choose to be happy.

Thinking about her always made Caeran fell unhappy himself. He could understand that she did not care for his father- Caeran was not so blind that he could not see her feelings for the king- but amongst the nobility marriage was often made for advantage. Mother could still have chosen to care about her son, but she had not.

A smile spread across Caeran's face. He would not be like that, his mother or those people who had to make the best of it. He was going to marry for love and be perfectly happy all his life. He would have a big family, with perhaps a son like Earnil. He was a bright young lad, and nice too.

Thoughts of his charge made Caeran start guiltily. He had neglected his duty and stood in a daydream. Quickly he glanced around. Where was the lad?

__________________________________________________ _______________________________________


Belin's post

Farucan stared expressionlessly at the strong young brat who had accompanied one of his customers. The Gondorian child, oblivious to the threats hidden in such a look, continued prattling to the man, missing some consonants and tilting some vowels in a very exaggerated imitation of Farucan's own voice.

“Are you ready to buy yet?” he asked softly. “I’m certain you won’t want to keep such a …clever lad as this out in streets like this any longer than you need to, would you?” Indeed he was surprised that the boy didn’t have retinues of assassins trailing after him, ill mannered, offensive brat that he was. Then again, the Gondorians seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.

“Hm?” said the customer, blinking at him stupidly. “These rugs are very important. I need the best, you know. There’s a great demand for such things where I come from. Why, in Harlond, I very nearly sold one to the king himself!”

Farucan raised an eyebrow. “You mean the King of Gondor? Quite a tale for a traveler, I’d imagine. When did you say this was?”

“Oh, just today.” Farucan’s smile remained polite, but it must have revealed more than he thought it did, because the Gondorian threw him an embarrassed and rather puerile grin and amended his story instantly. “Well, as close to him as I’m likely to get anyway. His next of kin was there, in town, near the shop actually. I wasn’t in at the moment, but my brother was. And if my kinsman has seen the king’s, then, in a manner of speaking, you could say I’ve seen the king, could you not?” He chuckled at his own pleasantry.

Farucan’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners. “The…heir?”

The man nodded, oblivious. “Yes, the heir came through, riding here. Hadn’t you heard he was coming to Osgiliath?”

Farucan licked his lips nervously before answering. “Yes,” he said faintly, “yes, I had.”

*********************

Getting rid of the Gondorian was an effort, and getting rid of him in a polite and appropriate fashion was still more of one, but it was managed at last. Farucan stood in the doorway, watching him go, mind racing. The heir was on horseback. The bribe money had been stupidly wasted, and the assassination attempt would come to nothing. More failure. He muttered briefly in his own language, turned on his heel, and was off, nearly at a run. He knew where he was going.

The house was a small and unobtrusive one, as was its inhabitant, a countryman of Farucan’s and his distant cousin. However, there was a servant attached to it, and as Farucan spoke nearly inaudibly to his colleague, it was to this servant that he gestured. The man, unusually well-muscled for a servant but flawlessly deferential, stood respectfully by the door, not seeming to listen to a word until they beckoned him into the conversation to give him his instructions.

He was a loyal man, an excellent fellow by all accounts, who understood precisely what his place was and precisely how it ought to be used. When he had been a soldier in his own country, he had known how to play within a framework and how to reconcile what was necessary with what he’d been told. His career might have been brilliant had he not served the house to which Farucan had belonged, and some of that sting remained, but Farucan, though he knew the man only marginally well, was quite certain that he would jump at the chance of returning to Harad, just as he himself would, and this had to happen. The other, the colleague, had a good guess as to where the heir would be, and the former soldier’s passive nods as they explained their plan caused them no worry at all.
“Perhaps you should put an end to your plans at the docks?” suggested Farucan’s colleague as the man walked off, unobtrusive as a shadow or a cat.

Farucan shrugged. “Too suspicious. Let them figure it out.”

*************************
In such soldiering as this, it is important not only to accomplish what one is sent to accomplish, but also to report it correctly. What Farucan heard afterward was that this quiet supposed servant had slipped between the cart-horses in the confusion of the market, and that in only a moment or two they had inexplicably panicked, and that the cart had somehow come loose and as the terrified merchants attempted to regain control of their beasts, the cart rolled down the hill toward the inattentive heir...

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Pelladal stood on guard in the Square. People were hustling around buying things. Many of the people were so excited that the heir was coming. They hurried to and fro making ready for the day he would come. He should be here in a few days Pelladal thought.

From somewhere in the square Pelladal heard some one scream. He hurried as fast as he could to where a group of people had already gathered. A large cart was hurling towards a young boy who seemed not to be paying attention. Without thinking Pelladal ran over and grabbed the boy, pulling him backwards. The cart flew down the rode, people jumping away.

“Are you all right?” Pelladal asked the boy, pulling him of the ground.

“Yes I’m a quite all right” he replied.

“Eärnil?” Pelladal said surprised. This was the same boy he had met many years ago. As he said that a man and woman came running up.

“Tarcyrian, Miriel!” what were they doing here already, “We weren’t expecting you for another few days.”…

[Envinyatar]

Tarciryan pulled his son from the grip of the guard, and pushed him behind him. The family’s guards drew near, their eyes hard as their hands went to their blades and drew them. Eärnil, broke free from the grasp of his mother, and stood before his father. ‘This is the man who saved me! Put your blades away! We should be thanking him, not threatening him.’

The truth of Eärnil’s words struck him, and Tarciryan relaxed, signaling to the family’s guards to sheath their swords. He reached out his hand to the guard and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘My apologies, good sir. And we do thank you for your service to us.’

Pelladal, it seemed was the man’s name, and now that he looked closely at him, he could see he was a member of the Guard of Osgiliath. ‘A favor Pelladal,’ he asked, drawing his son back close to him, ‘will you send a message to the King’s residence that we will be there directly. And will you accompany us there.’

He looked at where the cart had crashed into the stall, and up the lane from where it must have come. He motioned for one of his guards to come near and drew the man aside, whispering in his ear. The guard nodded his head once in understanding then disappeared into the throng that had gathered round the site of the accident.

‘Let’s mount up then,’ he said, directing the other guard, Caeran, to bring round the horses. He pulled Eärnil up into the saddle before him and bade Pelladal take the boy’s horse. Miriel rode close beside her husband, with Pelladal before them, and Caeran, behind whose one hand held the reins of his mount, and the other rested on the pommel of his blade.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[The X Phial]

Huine sat in the shadowy courtyard and listened to the clamor in the streets. Something important was happening outside. She dearly wanted to streak through the gates which served as no barrier to an enterprising cat, but Lome and Morna had been very explicit in their instruction; no leaving the palace. It galled her.

Normally, leaving the royal compound was discouraged but not exactly forbidden. Since the unexpected disappearance of Miaama a few days before, however, the queen had been very fragile. The cats had to be within a few minutes of her chambers or she could not rest. They had not even been dispatched to pick up news in town or at the harbor as usual, nor to take messages. Huine hoped Beruthiel would snap out of it soon.

The clamor got louder and Huine crouched low, her ears high and alert on her head. The crowd was close enough for her to make out a few words now. She caught a few snatches, "Earnil" "close call" "accident" "early" "so soon", it was enough to tell her that the best laid plans of black and white cats had gone awry and that it was probably due to the fact that the royal guests had arrived too soon, were coming now, in fact.

Without stopping to consider if she might be seen, Huine dashed across the courtyard, over the garden gate, and into Beruthiel's chambers. The only human in sight was Habeth, but Huine knew the queen was probably in the bed with the curtains drawn as she had been for most of the last few days. Her suspicion was confirmed when a white face peeked out from between the heavy drapes. Miaama had heard her return.

Huine called out to the other cats with her mind. He's here and he's early. That brat is here and he survived your silly plan.

In quick succession seven cats leapt from the bed to join her on the floor, all in varying stages of agitation. From close by she heard the other two coming. They had been in the corridor outside. Huine beamed, they were all paying attention to her now.

Yawla and Miaama were the first to the floor, flanking the young cat and staring at her impassively. The rest followed, Pirro the last from the bed and Athel and Mosi entering from the hall. Yawla briefly wondered what those two had been up to.

Tell us what you know, Huine, Miaama commanded.

Yawla watched as the normally surly cat relayed her news, obviously pleased to be the first with information. As much as she did not like Huine's attitude, Yawla admitted she had good instincts.

So, she said, Farucan has failed. I suppose he is not fully to blame. I wonder that he made an attempt at all given the change in plans. Damn these humans and their complications!

I should have known you'd give up, Yawla, retorted Huine smartly, and Pirro winced, certain he was about to see her smacked. The only two cats close enough to punish Huine however were not really big enough, and Pirro could tell the younger cat was still spoiling for a fight.

Instead, it was Athel that replied. And we should have known you would jump to conclusions, fool. Think a bit. He survived the attempt, but he's in the palace now and will be for a while. There is nothing that says we cannot try again. Let them think it was an accident. Humans underestimate other animals, let it be their downfall.

Whatever we do, Pirro somehow found the courage to add, our mistress cannot know. She was so upset last time. The others agreed silently.

Well, one good thing will come of this, at least. The queen will have to let us roam again, she will need our information too much to keep us locked up, for our safety or otherwise, Yawla concluded, and noted that Pirro looked almost disappointed. He had enjoyed the last few days at home.

The cats sat for a few more minutes, silently considering. Without any discussion they knew they should stay near the queen. She would be awakened with the news soon, any moment perhaps, and would not be pleased. One by one they slipped up into the bed, surrounding Beruthiel with as much of their fierce loyalty as they could, hoping she could feel their love.

Morna, Lome, and Huine were the last on the floor and Morna stood in front of the younger cat when she tried to jump up. You did well today, Huine, she purred.

Huine, for her part, licked her paw smugly. I'm glad you noticed, she preened.

If you speak out of turn like that again, however, I will personally make sure you don't have the strength to go on any missions for a long time, the older cat intoned, sounding almost bored. With that she leapt onto the bed and disappeared through the heavy velvet and brocade.

Huine stopped, mid-lick, eyes wide. Lome chuckled slightly as she passed her niece and joined the others in their vigil, She'll do it, too. Ever wonder why I'm missing a chunk of ear?

Alone on the floor, she recovered quickly. No one understood. Her moment was ruined. Couldn't they see how much she wanted to help, to show her abilities, to prove her value? All she ever got for her trouble was more anger. Even her own team preferred the other cats to her. On the edge of despair she overcame her sadness with determination. If she was rude, it was Athel and Yawla's fault. They thought they knew everything.

A small sound from the bed brought Huine back to the moment, and she jumped onto the bed as lightly as she could, joining the others. From under the queen's chin she thought she saw Pirro and shot him a dirty look, little suck up. To her surprise all she got from him in return was a friendly smile.

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Lyra Greenleaf]

“Mother!”
Morwen winced at the sound, and bit her lip before turning. Deliberately she arranged her features into her most forbidding look. Would he never take the hint? He was obviously stupid. He took after his father in that.

"Yes?" She bit off the word, loading as much disaproval into the one syllable as she could. She very nearly smiled at the way his cheery grin faltered, but realised that this could be misconstrued. Undaunted though, her son came up to her and kissed her cheek, gripping her arms in some sort of embrace in the process. Morwen shook herself free, purposefully not supressing a shudder. She felt a slight twinge at the hurt that shone from his eyes.
Nonsense, she told herself firmly. This is not time to get weak.

"M-Mother, I came to the city as Earnil's guard. I think I will be staying for quite a while."

Morwen looked up in surprise.
"The brat's here already?" she asked with interest.
"Yes, Earnil's here but he's not a brat he..."
She cut out the sound of Caeran's droning voice. It was quite wearisome. So the child was here? A malicious smile spread across her face at the thought. The queen would have to face her failing a day earlier, would she? How lovely for her.

Taking the smile for encouragement, Caeran began to talk louder and more excitedly. His words forced their way into Morwen's consciousness.
"- she's really lovely, I know you will love her. I can't wait to get married."

A mirthless chuckle passed through Morwen's lips at the dreamy smile on his face. Heaven's above, had she really produced such a child?
"There's no such thing as a happy marriage" she told him bitterly. "You will see that when you accompany the brat to see the King and Queen."

"But I love Lorna-" Caeran began, distressed.
"Love!" Morwen spat the word. "What use is love! They loved each other once, the King and Queen. What came of it? If you want to be foolish, fine. Don't involve me in your folly. Don't expect me to be pleased. Just stay OUT of my life."

*********************


Caeran was furious. How dare she talk like that! How dare she! It was always the same. He made the effort and she threw it back in his face. She wouldn't answer letters, she ignored him, she insulted him. He supposed he should give up, but it was so hard... All he wanted was a family. Well he would get a family- his own family with Lorna. He lifted his head defiantly. She wouldn't get to him anymore. He gave up on her.
Until the next time… a little voice whispered in his mind. Caeran shook it away.

And love! How could she dismiss it when it had warped her whole life? It was love that had made her the pitiful, cold shell she was. Well, if she wanted to continue going through life alone so be it. He washed his hands of her. He had to get back to his duties anyway. The scare earlier had unnerved him, and the whole party. Clearly Earnil needed watching closely...

[elven maiden Earwen]

Pelladal felt Eärnil being pulled roughly from his arms. Silver blades shone in the sunlight.

“This is the man who saved me! Put your blades away! We should be thanking him, not threatening him.” Eärnil said standing in front of his father. Pelladal sighed.

“My apologies, good sir. And we do thank you for your service to us.”

“Think nothing of it for it was my job” Pelladal said bowing low.

“A favor Pelladal. Will you send a message to the King’s residence that we will be there directly? And will you accompany us there?” Tarcyrian asked and of course he accepted.

“Yes Sir.” He said mounting Eärnil’s horse. He rode in front of Tarcyrian, Eärnil and Miriel, with the rest of the family guard behind them. Soon they reached palace. Pelladal hoped lightly of the horse and went to speck to the door guards. Soon he returned to Tarciryan.

“Welcome to Osgiliath” he said as the doors opened and the family was admitted into the palace.

[ July 26, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]