A House Divided RPG

[Envinyatar]

Tarciryan had passed him a small pouch of coins, and Megilwë was glad of it. Silver loosened the tongue more readily than did the blade. Various reports of the run away cart had been told him, most accompanied by hair-raising and impossible tales of how the teller or someone he knew well had barely been able to escape being crushed beneath the wheels.

What he had gleaned from all these accounts was that just before the horses had panicked a number of nearby merchants had seen someone slip in to where the horses had been tethered. And it was in the confusion of those moments, when their attention was focused on gaining control of the horses, that somehow the cart had rolled down the hill, picking up speed as it hurtled toward the booth below.

Tarciryan listened in silence to his guard’s report. A few questions on details followed when Megilwë had finished; then, he dismissed him, thanking him for his information gathering. ‘Go to the palace guards’ quarters and clean up and get yourself something to eat. Once done, report directly back to me. You and Caeran will be Earnil’s personal guards now. Let Caeran know that I require this of him.’

^*^*^*^*^*^

It was a grim faced Gaeradan that listened to Tarciryan’s telling of the incident in the market place. ‘Too convenient,’ he said aloud, when the man had finished his recounting. ‘And yet how would anyone have known you and your family would be present at that particular time. Either it was simply an unfortunate happening, or the network of ill-wishers against this regime is larger than anticipated.’ He scratched the back of his neck, chasing a prickling sensation that had started during Tarciryan’s account of the incident and the findings of the guard. ‘I’m betting on the second to be true, unfortunately. Rumors have come to me – more merchandise coming in from the south.’ He clapped Tarciryan on the shoulder in a familiar manner. ‘Thank the stars your family came in early, and there was only a small window of opportunity to strike.’ He shook his head at his following thoughts. ‘I hate to think what was planned for your announced arrival day.’

^*^*^*^*^*^

‘Eärnil, I insist!’ Miriel was shaken by the near miss of the cart in the marketplace, and she was intent on keeping her son close to her side. They were at the moment engaged in a battle of wills about where he would be quartered.

‘Mother,’ returned Eärnil, quietly, his clear voice cutting through the rising hysteria of her demand. ‘I am in the King’s house now. I will be as safe as he is. There are plenty of guards to see to it. And look! Father has assigned the two guards who came with us to me. Megilwë has told me already that one of them will always be by my side.’ Miriel looked up to where Megilwë stood a few paces from her son. Her eyes flashed angrily at him, then relented as he bowed his head to her and stepped closer to his charge. ‘With my life, Lady Miriel,’ he said, bowing slightly to her.

Eärnil stood hands on hips, looking at her. There was a resoluteness in his countenance that she had seen before and over the years had watched grow. ‘So much like his father,’ she thought to herself. ‘He has made a decision for himself and will find a way to see it realized. Already my wishes are turned aside, though as gently as he can.’ She sighed mentally, then straightened her shoulders and addressed him. ‘Will there be a promise to me that you will not leave the sight of your guard?’ She looked closely at him as he considered her words. ‘If you cannot promise, then I am afraid I will have your Father intervene, Eärnil. And I will speak directly to the King, if need be.’

It was a small price to pay for a measure of independence, and after another moment of consideration, Eärnil acquiesced. Their business concluded, his perimeter drawn and established, Eärnil grinned widely at his mother and clasped her round the waist in a tight hug. ‘Oh, Mother,’ he said, sounding like her little boy once again, ‘Gaeradan told me he has a dog for me . . . that I might keep in my room. And he’s had shelves put up for my ships. I’ll be in the rooms right next to his, you know . . . oh, and I am to have lessons with the Master at Arms. And my Uncle . . . the King, I mean, will show me his new ships . . .’

Eärnil prattled on, his excitement at this new phase of his life evident in his voice and demeanor. Miriel listened attentively to him, a smile fixed on her face, and every so often she would glance up at Megilwë, wondering what comfort the loss of his life would bring her should she lose that of her son, too . . .

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

[elven maiden Earwen]

After the family entered the palace Pelladal turned back towards the square. He needed to get back to work. As he walked back towards the square he hear people whispering about the close call with Eärnil. That was something. It was a very scary thing; the heir to Gondor was almost killed. But who should save him but Pelladal, a shy guard of Osgiliath.

As he slowly passed two men that whispered to each other. As he passed he caught every few words.

“…The attack … … accident… … behind … horses … … … cart sending it … … … the heir. That’s … what I … … merchant …” The first man said quietly.

The attack wasn’t an accident! Pelladal had a very bad feeling about this. Cleary someone didn’t want the family here, or at least the heir alive. ‘I must keep closer attention’, Pelladal thought as her arrived back in the position he had been standing earlier today, ‘for my sake and Eärnil’s’...

[Envinyatar]

Belin's post

“Was he seen?” asked Farucan, slipping unconsciously into the detached voice he used with customers whose requests were entirely absurd, in the very moment when, were he less disciplined, he would have been shrieking at them as they told him his mad great-uncle had done once, when he had been in power. Farucan had always been of the opinion that the man was no more mad than he was, simply more public. He had never bothered to apply these principles to Berúthiel’s madness, and did not at this moment; the servant was by far a greater concern.

His cousin smiled faintly. “How do I know? He was not captured, and he was not successful. You can hardly expect me to hear what they are saying of it at the palace.”

“I don’t see what good you’re doing me then,” snapped Farucan, dropping his professionalism for a moment and stalking over to the table. “If they blame a lazy merchant, that’s one thing, but if they know we want to kill the heir they’ll hunt us down. They’ll hunt me down. And if they saw that it was a man of Harad…” Farucan stopped suddenly, and shuddered, not wanting to give voice to the ugly possibilities that suddenly crowded his mind. There was no telling what Tarannon might do to find him among the many Haradrim in the city, or how much more bothersome the Gondorians would become, or what the king might do with him if he were forced to return to Umbar under such circumstances. He would have to flee into the wilderness, he was doomed, doomed…

“On the other hand, they did succeed in drowning somebody at the docks,” put in his cousin helpfully. Farucan stared at him.

“Who?”

The man shrugged. “Some lord. You told them to look for a ship from the south. Maybe you should have been more specific.”

Farucan waved this away. “The point is, you’re right. I need to hear what the palace thinks. Thank you for the news.” The other, correctly interpreting this as “goodbye,” took his leave in something less than the formal court style used in Umbar. Dense as he was, thought Farucan, even he seemed worried. This was serious. He walked purposefully through his store, trying to decide how many people he could find that he could both trust and spare. Counting the assistant to the caravanner who regularly brought him news and an exiled farmer he had often spoken with of late, perhaps four or five. It would have to do. With a sigh of annoyance he set out to find someone who could carry the message. Perhaps that irritable young clerk of his would do, though it might be something of an effort convincing the man that, at the moment, he was there to observe and not to act. The next step would have to be considerably more circumspect. Poison? Well, perhaps. Access to the kitchen would be a good idea whether or no.

For now, he stored the idea in a corner of his mind and hurried about his business. If he didn’t finish quickly, he would be late for his meeting with the cats, and he prided himself on punctuality. On the other hand, it was not a meeting he looked forward to.

_____________________________________________

alaklondewen’s post

The palace kitchen buzzed with excitement as Habeth maneuvered around the other servants. The Queen was still refusing to leave her room since the night Miaama disappeared, and Habeth was determined to see her eat.

The heavy-set cook stood behind a long counter stirring a sauce when Habeth finally found him after a few minutes of being bumped around. “’ello, Habeth!” The man offered the servant a taste off his wooden spoon. “How’s the Queen treatin’ you?” Before she could reply, he went on. “I bet she’s none too happy about her nephew’s arrival this afternoon.”

Habeth could feel the color drain from her face. “Her nephew’s arrival? This afternoon? Are you sure?” This couldn’t be…he wasn’t due for two more days. Beruthiel would be devastated when she heard this.

“Yes, ma’ame,” he said nodding energetically. “The boy had some trouble too, I hear.”

“What do you mean…what trouble?” Habeth was suddenly sick to her stomach.

“You mean you haven’t heard yet?” The man’s eyes widened with shock and he rubbed his hands vigorously together with excitement. The stocky figure leaned far over the counter and told Habeth everything he’d heard about the boy’s ‘near accident’. What worried Habeth the most was the idea of it not being an accident at all.

“Oh, dear…that poor boy.” The cook shook his head sympathetically and returned to his sauce. “Do you have the Queen’s plate ready?”

The man exclaimed that he’d almost forgot and laughing he walked away only to return moments later with a wide silver platter. He laid it on the counter and uncovered the entrée to reveal a small roasted hen and fresh vegetables. Nodding with approval, Habeth re-covered the dinner and spun on her heels to return to the Queen’s rooms.

[ August 03, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[ August 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Envinyatar]

Sophia’s post

"Come in!" The command came from behind the sable curtains of the queen's bed. A lone hand protruded from between the matress and the curtain, beckoning toward where Habeth's anxious voice was calling. Inside the comforting darkness of her bed, Beruthiel felt the press of cat bodies all over her, from where Pirro's tail tickled the underside of her chin to where Miaama presided over her feet like purring royalty. The queen wanted no company but theirs, for it seemed that they alone understood her. But Habeth's voice intruded into her misery at regular intervals. Faithful Habeth who had followed her from her homeland. "Come in!" She called again. At least she could talk.

Habeth stood outside the curtains, only her voice breaking the solitude. "Milady, I brought some food." The sound of a lid being removed, and then Beruthiel could smell the meat and vegetables. She sighed heavily, she wasn't hungry. Habeth knew she wasn't hungry, she had only been told five or six times in the past few days. Mosi put his head through the curtains. Beruthiel knew he was giving Habeth a disdainful glare for interrupting. Hearing the Queen's sigh, her handmaid repeated, "But, Your Highness, you haven't eaten in two days... you must stay strong." Silence. Beruthiel heard Habeth replace the metal cover.

"Well, Milady," she was distinctly more nervous. Miaama moved to the opening as well, tipping her white head to the side, and thrashing her tail against the covers. "There is news in the kitchens. Your husband's brother and his family have arrived early." A second white face appeared in the opening, Beruthiel's.

"They are here today?" She whispered it under her breath, before emerging entirely from the four poster, disgruntled cats jumping to the floor all around her. "How could they be here already?" Her voice trailed off uneasily, and Habeth appeared to waver. Haltingly she blurted out the story of Earnil's near brush with death in the market square. Beruthiel sank into an upholstered silver chair, the blood draining further from her face, leaving it paler than before. For a moment her mind leapt from relief to disappointment and back again, before it settled on relief. She resented Tarciryan's son coming to interfere in her house, she resented the fact that Tarciryan's wife bore a son, but she had no wish for the boy to die. She gripped the arms of the chair with her fingers, trying to still their sudden trembling. Habeth stood to the side watching her with great concern, the cats drifting like silent ghosts across the floor all staring at Beruthiel with their wide green eyes.

After a length of time, the queen rose to her feet. "Help me Habeth." she said quietly, a look of desperation on her face. "Tarannon will summon me to dinner tonight, and I haven't anything to wear." Her voice was dazed. Shaking her head slightly, Habeth went to fetch the Queen's hairbrush.

[ August 03, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Evening of the next day

Eärnil sat on his bed, cradling his new dog on his lap. Four months old, and one of the larger of the wolfhounds, it draped over the boy’s knees, its four legs in the air, its floppy eared head lolling on the pillow Eärnil had pulled up beside him. The boy’s hand ruffled through the soft, grey puppy fur on the dog’s belly, and occasionally stopped to give a rub at certain spots found to make the pup scratch in the air with his hind leg.

‘Find everything you needed?’ Gaeradan peeked his head in through the opened door, and was about to step in, when a low growl warned him off. The pup, now alert, had placed himself on the floor between Eärnil on the bed and Gaeradan in the doorway. His hackles were not raised, but he stood alert, his yellow eyes fixed on the man.

‘Sit, Huan!’ came the authoritative voice of the boy as he scooted off the bed and stood by the dog’s side. This was followed by a slight tug up on the hound’s collar and a gentle pressure on his hind end. Eärnil smiled up at Gaeradan, still standing in the doorway. ‘The Huntmaster told me he would be a good companion, and he showed me a few commands to work on with him. They start them young in the stable, so it’s not too hard for him to follow what I want.’

‘Huan, eh?!’ said Gaeradan, smiling at the name from the old stories, ‘A fine name, for a fine hound.’ He noted that the dog sat placidly enough at the boy’s side, but his gaze never left the ‘intruder’. ‘Good,’ he thought to himself. ‘He’ll need all the protection he can find. The hound will guard him physically, that leaves me to focus on the poisoned words that may get flung his way.’ He smiled again at Eärnil. ‘Introduce me as a friend to Huan, if you will, we need to be less wary of one another if you and I are to spend time together.’

The boy and man sat together on the small cot talking of the young man’s day. Gaeradan was well aware of each moment of his charge’s day, but he was interested in hearing his take on what he thought interesting and what he found quite boring. And most important, his opinions and comments on those he interacted with. He found Eärnil’s young perspective quite refreshing and often very amusing.

He wound their chat down when Eärnil showed signs of tiring and started to yawn. ‘Take Huan down the hall and say good-night to your parents, if you’ld like. I just spoke with your Father in their apartments. I’m sure they’d like to see you.’ Miriel, he knew, despite her brave face, was still nervous about Eärnil being so far from her. And she had pulled Gaeradan aside earlier that day to his assurances that he was seeing to the safety of her son. Tarciryan’s assurance that Megilwë and Caeran would stand guard for Eärnil had not completely resolved her worries.

The boy and hound were half-way down the hall, Megilwë following close behind, when Gaeradan called out to them. ‘Remind them, if you will, that tomorrow evening is the dinner party with the King and Queen. Tell them I’ll come speak with them again tomorrow about it.’

Eärnil reached down and scratched Huan’s ears. ‘Will Huan be allowed to attend?’ he asked, in a hopeful tone of voice. ‘I don’t see why not,’ returned Gaeradan, contemplating whether the Queen’s cats would also be nosing about. The boy beamed at the answer, and Gaearadan could hear him addressing Huan as they continued down the hallway. ‘This means a bath for you, you know. And I shall have to ask the Huntsman if we can find you a suitable collar.’

[ July 30, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

It was early evening when Pelladal finally got of duty. Not much had happened after Eärnil’s close encounter. Many of the people in the square sat exchanged information on the close encounter. Pelladal heard many different stories about people going to try to rescue the boy but a soldier got there first, or that the horses got scared and since the wagon wasn’t the best it came undone. Very few times he heard of someone slipping behind the horses. This puzzled Pelladal and he tried to figure out why someone would want Eärnil dead as he walked home.

He repeated the words over and over again in his head but still couldn’t think of who might have done that. After a while Pelladal decided to tell Gaeradan what he heard. Maybe he will know something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little while later

Pelladal headed towards Gaeradan’s quarters. When he arrived there he knocked three times on the door. He cleared his throat.


“This Pelladal sir, and I was wondering if I could have a minute” He said.

“Come in” was the only reply he got, so Pelladal pushed the door open a slipped in.

“Today while I was on duty I heard something that puzzled me. As I walked by a man I heard every few words he whispered to another. It was about the attack on Eärnil. He said it wasn’t an accident”. Pelladal watched the other man to see ht his reaction was.

[ August 02, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Envinyatar]

Pelladal’s report from the market place only confirmed what Gaeradan had pieced together from his informants in the city. Eärnil was in danger. The episode with the cart had been no accident, and what worried him the most was the fact that it had been pulled together so hurriedly, and had almost been successful. He grimaced at the thought of what might have happened had the family come at their announced time. How much more skillfully might the plan have been executed then.

Gaeradan slept hardly at all that night. At his desk, quill in hand, he bent over reports he had received from his sources in the south. Falastur’s hold on the coasts of the Bay of Belfalas was in the process of being secured, and then he would turn his attention to the lands further south of the mouths of the Anduin. Looking as he did so toward bringing the region around Umbar under the control of Gondor. Gaeradan, in fact, had just locked in a long term timber contract with their northern suppliers, and was expecting that Falastur would soon begin building another large fleet of ships using his newest design.

The political atmosphere in Umbar and Harad had heated up with the push of Falastur’s ships beyond the regions of the bay toward the Haven. It was only a matter of time until that unrest erupted into a full scaled assault on the King’s fleet as the Southrons pushed back against their age old enemies. He feared that this botched attack on Eärnil was just a small misfired salvo in what would erupt into a fully engaged conflict.

Outside his door, he thought he heard the sound of feet passing in the hall. Rising from his desk, he peeked out and saw Caeran changing places with Megilwë. Eärnil’s door was closed, and Caeran took up his place in from of it, listening for a moment as the other man gave a brief report.

Gaeradan returned to his desk, satisfied that the heir would be safe. He returned to his perusal of his stack of letters and documents. In the late watches of the night he rose several times from his work to look out his door and down the short distance to Eärnil’s door.

_____________________________________

Sleep eluded him that night, and he rose just before the day’s first light. Yawning, he made his way to the kitchen. Cook would be there and up already – the making of breakfast well under way. He hoped to grab a quick meal and talk to Cook. The small family dinner would be this evening, and he wanted to iron out any problems beforehand.

Gaeradan stepped into the already busy kitchen and looked about for cook, His eye fell on several new helpers whom he had not seen before. Olive skinned, he noted, and dark haired. Where had they come from, he wondered . . .

[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The queen sat perched lightly on a low black stool in her dressing room, with Habeth behind her pulling the stiff brush gently through the queen's tangled hair. An elaborate silver gown had been pulled from the back of the wardrobe and pressed for the dinner that the King was nearly certain to summon her to that evening. Miaama looked at the dress with disgust. Frills everywhere, and made in the very latest style. How degrading for her poor mistress to have to dress up in that lighthearted garment when she was so obviously miserable.

The cat flap opened wide and Arye entered, a smug look on his black face. I caught him, I caught him, I found him first... came the thought in a singsong tone. Miaama smiled indulgently at the young cat's enthusiasm, and sure enough, the door pushed open to reveal one of the King's pages just a few steps behind the feline herald.

Making an elaborate bow, the boy delivered his message, his words precise and studied. "My Lady Beruthiel, His Majesty King Falastur requests your presence at a welcoming dinner for his nephew and Heir, Prince Earnil. It shall be a private affair, with only the family and a few members of court present. What message shall I take His Majesty?"

Miaama snarled with irritation. Her Mistress was tired, her Mistress was unwell. These human creatures, how dare they meddle in her Mistress's private affairs? But the queen rose from her seat as Habeth stepped back deferentially. "You may tell His Majesty that, though it brings her no pleasure, Her Royal Highness Queen Beruthiel will be in attendance at his dinner, along with the Lady Morwen. Now go." She waved one hand at the boy in a condescending manner as he made another sweeping bow. Miaama sniffed. Curious the custom of humans, that their fine words covered their hatred with sugar.

Stalking through the cat flap and into the hallway, Miaama let out a low gutteral sound. Halfway between a growl and a purr, it was a menacing sound, a sound that conveyed her great displeasure at the fact of the Heir's escape. Tonight she would go, then, while the Mistress was busy with her husband's family. It would be safe for her to leave long enough to deliver her message, her message of contempt for the worthless human who had agreed to deal with this "prince", but then let it escape. She glanced back at Beruthiel's apartments nervously. She knew that the Queen relied on her to translate for the others, but she'd had no idea the effect her absence would have on the Mistress. She barely dared leave the palace grounds again, for fear that she might notice and be afraid. But it must be done. This man could not be allowed to let Earnil escape a second time. She must impress upon him the seriousness of this mission, and she must do it in person.

Yawla? Arye? She called the cats in her mind, one from each group, so hopefully their absence would be less noticeable. Tonight we shall go, next time we must succeed. Two black figures slipped carefully through the cat flap. Two voices of assent cutting through the silent air.

[ August 04, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[alaklondewen]

alaklondewen's post

Habeth stepped back and closely watched the Queen’s face as the page announced the invitation to the evening meal with the King. This dinner would be a difficult and tense occasion, and Habeth furrowed her brows as she guessed at Beruthiel’s misery. Tonight, she would have to lay her eyes on Earnil…her husband’s heir. It will break her heart, Habeth thought. He’s the child she can never have.

The Queen’s response to the young messenger was harsh, and Habeth’s heart raced. Fear shown in the young face as he stood stiff as board, displaying his respect to his Queen. As soon as he bowed, he fled from the room. Habeth couldn’t blame him. The poor lad had no idea the pain Beruthiel had experienced.

Beruthiel sat down heavily onto the stool, and Habeth returned to brushing her long, thick hair. As she listened to the small sparks popping from the friction, Habeth remembered being a small girl, so curious and full of wonder, and watching her mother care for Beruthiel, then just a princess. Habeth had thought Beruthiel was so beautiful and intelligent, and it had been a very real honor if she were allowed to help her mother clean the girl’s room. She had loved Beruthiel then, and she loved her now, even when she was hit with harsh words. The Queen would never have spoken to her like that if she hadn’t had such a terrible life. Her childlessness hardened her heart and spirit from that active and vivacious teenager Habeth had admired. It wasn’t that she didn’t admire her now, but her feelings were deeper…matured perhaps. Pity filled her heart now, although she would never have voiced that particular word.

“That’s enough…I want to be alone now.” The Queen’s voice almost startled her, and Habeth shook her thoughts away. Lowering her head and curtsying, the servant quickly honored her Majesty’s wishes and slipped out through the heavy wooden doors. Habeth paused once outside and wondered what she could do for Beruthiel that would ease her pain after the dinner.

“You stand around a lot, don’t you, Habeth?” The condescending voice came from behind her, yet Habeth didn’t have to turn already knowing to whom it belonged. It was that nasty Morwen. “I keep telling…Beruthiel, she needs rid of you.” When she spoke the Queen’s name, she spit it out as though it had a bad taste.

“Morwen, I work hard for the Queen…you know I do.” Habeth turned to face her attacker.

“Lady, Habeth…I’m Lady Morwen. Show me respect. I am your superior.” Morwen’s eyes narrowed and she grinned as though she’d won. Habeth stiffened and clinched her jaw, but she curtsied mockingly never looking away from Morwen’s gaze. “I suppose I’ll have to redo your work for you and clean the Queen’s room again, or worse, take over those pesky cats.”

“You will have to do nothing of the kind, Lady Morwen. My work is satisfactory as always.” Habeth was determined not to back down from the hurtful look in Morwen’s eyes. “And anyway, the Queen wants privacy. She’s asked to be alone.”

Morwen smiled mischievously and replied, “Is that so?”

_____________________________________________

Lyra's post

“And anyway, the Queen wants privacy. She’s asked to be alone.”
Morwen's heart fell. For once in her life she wanted to see the queen and this servant would not let her? Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

“Is that so?” she replied with a patronising smile. "Well I am afraid that there are too many things to organise. I have been notified that I am to attend the queen to a dinner for her nephew tonight. I suppose she has left all the details with you?"
Morwen looked at Habeth with eyebrows raised.
"No?" she added in false surprise at the woman's blank look. "Well if you will excuse me..."

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

Morwen found the queen staring blankly at nothing. She couldn't see or hear any of the cats, and relief warred with a feeling that they were just behind her, about to pounce... Grimly she resisted the temptation to turn around.

"Your majesty" she began, then gave the merest hint of the required courtsey, "I have to attend you to the dinner. I don't know if you've been told?"
The words of dismissal that Morwen could see had been forming on the queen's lips died, and her eyes unfocussed.

"Very well" she said resignedly, no emotion entering her voice.
Shall we see how calm you are after my news, your majesty? Morwen taunted silently.
"I am sorry I was late, your majesty" she continued evenly "but it seems that my son is one of the guards of the heir, your nephew, you know."

With pleasure Morwen heard the intake of breath at the mention of her son, and another as she talked of the heir.
I still do not think that memory is enough to get me through an evening with you and T-, the king, she thought viciously.

"Of course my son is a very good boy. I believe he takes after his father, although he has my-" Morwen cast around for a feature, "hair" she concluded.
"He is getting married soon. I suppose that in a few years I will be a grandmother! How old that will make me feel, indeed." she added with a false chuckle.

"Come back to me in an hour" Beruthiel said, turning away. There was a hint of strain in her voice that had not been there before. Excellent, Morwen thought as she left politely, exchanging false smiles with the queen's servant outside the door.

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

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Ouch! That hurt Huine! Arye wailed as Huine swiped a paw at him mercilessly. The two had been fighting playfully for about ten minutes at the bottom of the grand stairwell, with Yawla pacing nearby. They were waiting for Miaama to join them, and tell them of their next mission.

Stop whining, Arye! I barely hit you! Huine complained before Arye tackled her into the nearby wall. They continued play-fighting for several minutes before Yawla walked gracefully over to them and pulled Huine away from Arye and sighed exasperatedly.

Honestly! Both of you, stop bickering! Yawla hissed before pawing back to her former state of pacing back and forth before the stairwell. It continued like this for several minutes, with Yawla pacing and Arye and Huine glancing back and forth at each other, each tempted to pounce at the other. Then, when Miaama finally did gracefully paw down the stairwell, Yawla stopped and waited for the white cat to reach the bottom.

You know where we are going and what for, correct? Miaama began when she reached the bottom. She sat down on her haunches next to Yawla and in front of Huine and Arye. The two younger cats shook their head no, but Yawla nodded a half-hearted yes. We go to explain our disappointment in Farucan's inability to carry out the assassination attempt.

We have no room for failure, and Farucan ruined our chance to rid the Mistress of the troublesome boy! Yawla added, and received a nod from both Huine and Arye for their comprehension. The cats silently padded away from the stairwell, keeping to the shadows.

Meanwhile, Lassra sat comfortably curled in the corner of the dining hall, intent on watching over her Mistress while Miaama, Yawla, Huine, and Arye were away. There was no telling what could or would happen at that point, for Lassra was not sure how the company would react to her Mistress' state. Not to mention what the Mistress' horrible mate might do to degrade Beruthiel.

Mosi was prancing about the kitchen, gleefully nipping up any scraps the foolish or clumsy cooks would drop onto the floor. Mmmm! That is some good milk! Wonder why it's red though! Arye thought after mistakenly lapping up some spilt wine. He skillfully avoided the frantic feet of the cooks, and went off into the dining hall to sit with Lassra.

[ August 08, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Susan Delgado]

Tarannon stood at his window, looking out at the garden, watching the birds. Such peaceful creatures, birds; they had no care or concerns, nothing to keep them awake at night pondering. He sighed heavily. This business with Eanil coming back after so long....Beruthiel may put on a good show of complacency, but he shuddered to consider what she really thought. She had always wanted a child, and Earnil's years in the palace when he was a young boy had been particularly hard on her. Tarannon knew that she had sighed in relief when Tarciryan's ship had sailed away with the five-year-old heir apparent aboard. And now he was returning, and Beruthiel would have to watch Earnil grow up and become king in place of the child she would never have. He felt sorry for her sometimes...she had been beautiful once, but the years of disappointment had etched her face with lines and put silver in her hair, though she was not really very old. He avoided thinking about the cats as much as he could. He didn't believe she was truly mad, but he also didn't like the cats inhabiting her apartment. They were good for killing rats, yes, but he did not understand why she surrounded herself with them. He sighed again and turned back to his writing table. He had taken a small break, but the duties of a King never truly stopped. At least the problem of Eranil still had a few more days before it had to be dealt with.

As he returned to his chair and sat, a knock sounded on the door. It was Gaeradan, and he looked flustered.

"What is it, Gaeradan?" He asked

Gaeradan bowed perfunctorily. When he straightened, he said, "Sir, I have recieved word from one of the city guards: Tarciryan, his wife and his son are here, and there has been an accident. No, no, it was not serious, no one was hurt! A cart lost control and nearly hit the boy, but one of the guards managed to get to him in time. They are on their way to the palace now."

Tarannon sat back down."Thank you, Gaeradan. When Tarciryan arrives, I would like to see him."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Gaeradan bowed and slipped out the door.

Tarciryan, here, now? Two days early? Why would he do such a thing? Just to surprise and cofound his older brother? But he had never been known do do things like this in the past. Why would he do it now? Tarannon grumbled and shuffled the papers on his table as he considered what to do next and what Beruthiel's reaction might be. She had become so unpredictable in the last few years, he never knew what she might do in any given situation. He turned around and stared out the window again. He would just have to see what happened when it happened. In the meantime-he glanced up from his papers at the knock on the door. That was fast.

"Come in," He called.

Gaeradan entered, Tarciryan close on his heels. Tarannon motioned for his brother to sit, and gestured Gaeradan out of the room with a nod of thanks.

After formal greetings, they stared at each other for a time. Tarannon broke the silence. "Well, here you are, and I am glad to see you. But do you mind if I ask why you're here early? Beruthiel is not going to like this."

Tarciryan grinned. "Just for a surprise, Brother. And Earnil was so excited about it and wanted to see the countryside. So we left early."

Tarannon nodded. Tarciryan always had doted on the boy. "Well, I am glad to see you Tarciryan. It has been far too long. Tell me what's been going on...I have so few people to speak to as equals."

They chatted for a while, reminiscing about old times when Earnil was at the palace the last time, and even older times, even back to their own childhoods and forward again, into the future, to when Earnil would be king and they would both be ashes in their tombs. After a while they fell silent and contemplated all they'd said.

"Well, Tarciryan," Tarannon said after a while, "There will be a family dinner this evening. Just the five of us and our aides."

Tarciryan looked a bit surprised at the inclusion of the aides, but nodded and promised to come. He rose and left, leaving Tarannon alone. He hadn't realised how much he had missed his brother. Soon after Tarciryan left, he had sent out a mesenger to tell Beruthiel about the dinner and request her presence here in his office. As he waited for her to arrive, he thought about his brother and Earnil. He loved the boy as only a king could love his heir, but sometimes he did wish Beruthiel had been able to provide a son for him. Well, no use for it now. He, and she, would have to deal with what had happened just as it was. How fortunate that Tarciryan had a son, however. At least the line would not die with himself; the blood would continue.

Presently there was a knock on the door to interrupt his thoughts and Beruthiel entered, looking unhappy. When she saw the carefully composed pleasant look on Tarannon's face, she paused and glanced around warily. She could see that something was up but coulsn't tell what it was. Tarannon gestured her to sit, which she did gingerly, as if she felt the chair was about to collapse under her.

"Beruthiel," he began. He had decided the easiest way would be jujst to do it. She knew they were coming anyway. "Tarciryan, Miriel, and Earnil have arrived. They are here, now, in the palace."

She sighed and looked at her hands clenched on her lap. She was taking it more calmly than Tarannon had expected. She looked up at him, her eyes sad. "And, the dinner tonight? They will be there?"

"Yes, the five of us, Gaeradan, and Morwen."

She nodded. "Thank you. I shall go now and prepare," and rose from her chair. She made it out the door before he could call her back. Not that he knew particulalrly what else he would say to her, but her departure had seemed very abrupt. He shrugged; it was time he began getting ready as well. Before leaving his office for his private chambers, he composed messages to Gaeradan and Morwen informing them of the dinner, and sent them out with his page. He didn't wait for their replies, if there were any, but went immediately back to his apartment.

[ August 08, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

After Pelladal left Gaeradan’s chamber he headed home. He had a small supper, as he was quite hungry and headed of to bed. He was very tired but he found he couldn’t sleep. The attack on Eärnil still puzzled him. Who would attack such a wonderful boy?

Maybe I’ll go outside and look around Pelladal, thought rising from bed and dressing quickly. He stepped outside his house. It was a pleasant and cool night. Pelladal headed towards the square where the attack had happened.

Once he arrived at the square he looked around. First he headed to the place where the cart crashed. It was mostly cleaned up and Pelladal could only see a few pieces of splintered wood. Nothing of importance. As he turned to head another way he would have sworn he saw a black figure jumping into the bushes.

Shaking of the feeling he was being watched he headed towards the place where the cart had been tied. Once again he found nothing but pieces of food or straw or wood, or dust. Whoever did this was certainly secretive about it. And again he became puzzled on who would do such a thing. He just hopped that whoever tried to hurt Eärnil this time doesn’t try again.

Pelladal now very tired started walking back home. As he walked back home he saw a small black figure run away. Cats! Pelladal hated them and he could just tell that this was one of Beruthiel’s. The ones that always were sneaking around or even spying it seemed one the people of Osgiliath.

He neared his house and went to bed. This time he fell asleep almost immediately. But before his eyes closed he saw two large yellow eyes peering into his house. The same yellow eyes he had seen before, only weeks ago.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[Envinyatar]

The King apparently was in a foul mood. ‘He must have seen those reports of the ships lost just beyond the Bay in the recent storm.’ He had dismissed Gaeradan peremptorily, and then, possibly distracted still over the damage reports to life and vessel, had sent him a note about the dinner that Gaeradan had planned for tonight.

Gaeradan shrugged it off. The plans for the party were finalized. Cook had the menu and the staff well in hand. Eärnil, just this afternoon, had been briefed on court etiquette for the small formal dinner – where he was to sit, what subjects were permissible to be discussed, how he was to address the King and Queen, where Huan might lie, little proprieties that he must learn to fit comfortably into the milieu.

‘And where will you sit, Gaeradan?’ Eärnil had asked as he sat brushing the newly washed dog. ‘By me, I hope.’

Gaeradan reached out and ruffled the young boy’s hair affectionately. ‘So young,’ he thought to himself, ‘to have to already learn to be alone.’ He smiled at Eärnil. ‘It is likely you will be placed near the King, who will sit at the head of the table. Since I am not part of the family, I will not be sitting down to eat with you. In fact, I will not be at this dinner tonight. I have something to do which must get done tonight.’

Eärnil’s face brightened. ‘May I come with you?’ His face fell again when Gaeradan shook his head ‘no’. ‘You have obligations tonight, Eärnil, as do I.’ He reached out and stroked Huan’s head. ‘You take good care of your Master tonight, Sir Dog.’

‘Andrus will serve in my place tonight, Eärnil. He’s another of the King’s aides. Keep your eyes and ears open while you’re at dinner. Then tomorrow tell me all you saw and heard.’

Gaeradan went back to his room and changed into some plain clothes. He drew his old cloak on, and buckled his worn leather scabbard beneath it, well out of sight. Locking his room securely, he slipped down the back passageways, and out through a not often used gate in the southern wall of the garden. His long strides took him down dusty back streets toward the small harbor and the Inns that served the docked ships’ crews.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Beruthiel]

“Oh no, I couldn’t take this Maira!” Shumita said to the woman sitting beside her. The woman was holding a long, dark blue dress, which had flared sleeves, and a simple but bold pattern, which wound its way around the sleeves and skirt of the dress. “Of course you can dear, it’ll look lovely on you. Besides, you can’t possibly wear one of your old dresses at the dinner now can you?” Shumita grinned like a little girl. She had never had the chance to wear a dress like this before, especially not since she’d come to the palace.

Shumita couldn’t say no to such a lovely gift and so accepted the dress and thanked Maira many times before returning to her quarters. She only had a short time before she had to get back to work, more cooking and more cleaning. Shumita laid the dress down carefully on her bed, sighing quietly, there was no way she’d be allowed to wear such a thing at the dinner. She’d just have to wear one of her plain dresses and stay out of sight as much as she could. That was her plan anyway, to remain as inconspicuous as possible. She had not wanted to be at the dinner, the head cook had come up to her the day before and told her she’d have to do it even though she knew about Shumita’s encounter with one of the cats.

Shumita wasn’t made for such things, she preferred to stay out of people’s way but at this dinner she’d have to be there at hand whenever someone needed her. ‘How humiliating’ she thought as she folded up the dress and stored it away in her cupboard. There wouldn’t be many people there, only the closest family members and friends. The young nephew would be there. Shumita had met him once when she came to clean his room. He reminded her greatly of her younger brother that she’d left behind. The way he was always curious, always asking questions. The hound, Huan, had taken a liking to her and she was glad of it. She had grown up with animals and had loved dogs. Eärnil had talked to Shumita with ease and had convinced her to tell him a tale. It was one Shumita had heard when she was young, none of the tales that Eärnil probably already knew of, but a simple tale. Eärnil was listening closely as Shumita told the tale and wiped away the dust and dirt from the floor. By the time she’d finished her story she had also finished her cleaning. Eärnil was a sweet boy and the two of them had gotten along well like brother and sister.

Shumita had only glimpsed Eärnil’s mother and father; they and the King and Queen would definitely be there. Shumita had to admit there was one thing she was looking forward to in this. She had never actually seen The King and Queen talk to each other for more than a minute or two at a time and when they did the Queen's voice was full of bitterness and sadness. Surely tonight would mean they would have to have some kind of conversation, it could turn out to be very interesting indeed.

[The X Phial]

Pirro sighed to himself as he watched the queen ready herself for the dinner. Someone would have to be there, to assess the situation and know what was going on; to report to Miaama. It had been decided that Athel and Lassra were the best choices and they had already gone to the dining room to hide in preparation. Pirro knew why he was never picked for spying and hated his own weakness. He didn't cry, for cats cannot, but silently berated himself for not being strong enough to be there for Beruthiel. The usual trip to the warehouse had been taken from him as well since Beruthiel was sending no official message and his talents as a scout were outweighed in this case by his apprehension.

He sat and washed his paw, watching as Habeth wove elaborate braids into Beruthiel's hair. There was a strength in the queen's face tonight. A beautifully sad expression in the eyes and a determined set to the jaw. He heard her whisper to her maid, "They cannot take my pride."

The small cat's heart swelled with admiration for his mistress. He also counted them all lucky that she was distracted with preparations and did not notice the absence of Miaama, her especial pet. He supposed that was his real role, to watch and be there in case she needed a warm body to cuddle, to keep her from worrying after the leader of the cats. It wasn't much, but it was something he could do. He made his presence known then, threading through the ankles of Habeth and then Beruthiel, content to play even the smallest part in making his mistress's life easier.

**********

In the streets of Osgiliath Pirro's most sensible sibling was watching the two younger cats in her charge. She wasn't sure why so many were needed, but she was pleased to see that Arye was being cautious and that Huine's sulk had been replaced by a look of intense concentration. Miaama was behind, only darting to the new hiding places after they had been secured by the others. Her white coat was a liability on these trips and Yawla knew the leader's safety depended partly on her ability to read the route quickly and accurately.

Huine had already made herself useful, her bulk discouraging an attack by a sunken-eyed tabby in one of the dark alleys. Arye had a talent for learning quickly and Yawla watched with amusement as he unconsciously mimicked her pacing gait before nodding his all clear. She trusted him and sent the signal back to Miaama, but wished for the keen senses of her brother and his uncanny knack for identifying threat. He was safer at the palace, she reminded herself, warring between exasperation and admiration as she always did when thinking about Pirro. His gift is also his curse, she thought to herself and was surprised by the sudden warmth at her side. Miaama had made her dash. Angry at herself for losing focus, Yawla threw herself back into the moment. She forged ahead, used to being point on missions, sure the others would follow.

**********

The formal dining room was silent as the two feline spies scouted for hiding places. Rumor had it that Earnil had a dog, one of the wretched hounds that Athel delighted in tricking on every occassion. It meant they would have to hide out of reach of the floor and the prying eyes of any diners. The hound's nose would not be fooled, but if they were hidden well enough his barking would seem more like bad behavior than a real warning. Athel almost hoped he would spot her and have to be sent out of the room for causing a disturbance. Her amusement at the thought brought a sharp look from Lassra and Athel quickly sneezed to cover.

I will hide behind that vase, she decided, leaping to the mantle and insinuating herself behind an urn twice her size.

Athel, I can see your tail, Lassra warned, and the small cat pulled it in more closely. Better, her companion verified.

The lamps and fire were already lit and Athel's black coat blended well into the shadows. It was as good a place as any.

Lassra took up her vigil, close to where the queen would sit and, therefore, far from where the hound would be. A weapon cabinet stood in the corner near the queen's chair. It was filled now with nautical displays rather than actual weapons, the racks replaced by shelves to hold the king's intricate models. The cabinet was tall, to accomodate the length of a spear, however, and had a high scrolled frontpiece. Lassra could perch atop it easily and go unnoticed by the humans. Athel heard her sneeze and smirked to herself at the excellence of the king's cleaning staff who probably couldn't reach the top and so never bothered to dust it.

All that was left to do now was wait and listen. Athel braced herself for a long evening and hoped any excitement wouldn't be at her expense.

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Envinyatar]

Eärnil

Eärnil heard the familiar knock. ‘Well, it’s time, I think, Huan. We must remember what Gaeradan said and be on our best behavior.’

Megilwë opened the door and announced the arrival of the boy’s mother and father. Miriel rushed forward smiling, her arms extended toward her son, thinking to give him a hug. Eärnil, his face a mask of grave formality, took one step back and made a slight bow to her. He reached for her proffered hand, and taking it in his own small one, brought her fingers to his lips for a brief kiss.

‘Mother,’ he said, his voice well modulated, ‘so very nice of you to come to walk with me to the King’s dinner.’ He offered his forearm to her, indicating she was to place her hand there as he stepped up beside her. ‘May I escort you to the dining room?’ He bowed slightly toward Tarciryan. ‘That is, if you don’t mind, Father.’ Tarciryan acquiesced with a smile, and a look of pride mingled with some surprised regret passed between him and his wife.

He followed behind his son and wife as the made for the small dining room on the main floor. His hands were clasped behind his back, a thoughtful look on his face, as he watched his son practice his new role.

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

Anticipation mixed with a little anxiousness grew in Eärnil as they neared the entrance to the dining room. And he breathed an inward sigh of relief when he went in and saw all was arranged just as Gaeradan had described for him. The King and Queen had not yet arrived; they would make their entrance once their guests had come.

The King’s high backed chair sat at the head of the small sized table, the Queen’s at the foot. Eärnil would sit to the King’s right, his mother and father opposite him, with Miriel to the Queen’s right. Huan would be allowed to lie down just inside the door, and Eärnil smiled as he noticed the cushion that had been placed for the dog there. He led the hound to his seat and spoke to him in a quiet, serious voice.

As they entered, a server discreetly approached them from the serving entrance behind the King’s chair. A tray of drinks was offered – wine for Tarciryan and Miriel, a smaller glass of highly watered wine for Eärnil. They stood, holding their drinks in their hands and passing the time in idle conversation as they awaited the arrival of their host and hostess . . .

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

Huan’s sharp nose took in the scents of the room. Human mostly, and the rich odors of food from the kitchen just beyond. And cats! His head swung round the room as he sorted out the scents, his eyes and ears alert for any movement . . .

[ August 09, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Envinyatar]

Gaeradan

‘They should be sitting down to dinner, just now,’ he thought to himself as he skirted a mound of dung left by one of the great draft horses that pulled the wagons bearing cargo from the ships. ‘Andrus should be there, keeping his eyes and ears open.’ He muttered a small plea to Uinen to see to the safety of Eärnil. She had seen him through many a storm at sea, and now he called on her for protection from the storms that might sweep through the palace with the arrival of the boy.

He was bound for Ropemaker’s Alley, a small cul-de-sac really, just north of Osgiliath’s docks. In a small, ill lit side street between the Ropers’ Guild Hall with its attendant merchants’ stalls and the pulley-makers’ shop with its rows of tackle suspended from the ceiling beams holding the holding different pulleys, was the place to which Gaeradan was bound. There behind a dilapidated fence, bearing a weather beaten sign, stood The Gilded Gull.

Gaeradan paused for a moment at the gate that hung crazily on two of its four rusted hinges. He remembered in earlier years when the image on it, an indeterminate figure of some bird, its wings outstretched as if in flight – or death he laughed to himself – had born some gold leafing on its bill. But time and the elements had stripped it clean, leaving only the bare bones of the outline.

One of the older crew members on his first berth had taken him under his wing when he was just a fledgling sailor – given him the heads up on what to do about the ship to get one’s tasks done without coming under the scrutiny of the First Mate or his bullies. And just as important, he had introduced the young man to the run of sailors’ delights ashore . . . given him the knowledge of where to go if one needed something . . . anything . . . that is, as long as one had the resources for it.

And now he found himself pushing open the door of the Gull and making for the back table, on the left, rear - old Draugaer’s table. Two burly seamen stood to block his way as he approached, and just as quickly dropped back to their chairs at a quiet word from the man in the shadows of the booth. Gaeradan nodded at them as he slid into the booth, their cold eyes giving back nothing, only watching him closely should he prove threatening in the least.

Draugaer poured a small glass of fiery Southron spirits for Gaeradan and pushed it across the worn, rough surface of the table between them. His own glass left a ring of liquid on the grey whorls of wood as he lifted it to his lips, and he traced it casually with his finger, his eyes watching Gaeradan’s face as he sat the glass back down.

‘Did you bring what I asked,’ he said, as Gaeradan took a drink of the lip-numbing liquid. Gaeradan nodded, setting his glass down and slowly reaching beneath his cloak for the pouch tied to his belt. The henchmen watched his every move, fingering the knives at their own belts. He sat the pouch on the table and pushed it toward Draugaer. ‘Double that, if the information proves useful to me,’ he said quietly, sitting forward and leaning across the table.

Draugaer nodded, slipping the pouch, unopened, into the waistband of his breeches. Then he, too, leaned forward. And the muffled exchange of question and answer began.

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Beruthiel held her head high as she walked down the stairs, accompanied by Lady Morwen. She looked her best and she knew it, the thought bolstered her as she headed to the arranged meeting place with the King; the silver of her gown set off the black of her hair and eyes and her still red lips. The black velvet cord at her throat had been shortened tonight, so that the silver cat's eye pendant hung above the neckline of the gown and flashed in the light of the candles. Yes, she looked well.

Morwen walked just a step behind the queen, and out of her line of sight. The usual sour expression on her face had been replaced with a lighter look, one of mingled anticipation and boredom. Her garments had also been carefully selected for the occasion, the dark blue gown intended to fade into the background while Beruthiel shone out, the curse of her position.

They approached the door to Tarannon's apartments, where one of the King's aides was standing waiting for them. Beruthiel recognized him as Andrus, one of her husband's more trusted advisors. Dressed in the full livery of the White Tree, he was an imposing figure. Making a short bow, he slipped inside the door and returned with the King. He too was dressed formally, his high leather boots polished to a shine, and the cape around his shoulders pinned with a silver star. If she disregarded the few silver threads at his temples he looked almost like the young prince who had travelled to Umbar and returned with a Haradrim bride... Beruthiel's lips curved slightly at that memory, but the harshness of her present crowded in on her, twisting her soft smile into a sneer.

"My Lady." The King bowed low before her, and then offered an arm. She inclined her head as was expected before taking his arm, and together they walked toward the dining room. Morwen and Andrus followed behind them, their voices low as they talked together.

The guard outside the dining hall threw the doors open as they approached, and announced loudly "His Majesty Tarannon Falastur, Lord of Gondor, and his Lady, Queen Beruthiel!" Everyone in the room rose, Tarannon's brother Tarciryan and his wife from their seats at the table, and Earnil, the prince, from the floor beside his puppy. The boy had apparently been lecturing the dog. Beruthiel's stomach twisted inside her. How utterly precious the child was, and how she hated the sight of him, with his inquisitive eyes so like his Uncle's.

Tearing her eyes away from his face she extended a hand to Tarciryan and one to Miriel. "So lovely to see you both again." She said, in a voice that implied otherwise. "And your son, how much he has grown." She didn't look at the boy as she spoke, instead fixing her eyes somewhere above him on the mantel. Two emerald eyes peered back at her from the shadow of a large vase, and the tip of a black nose. Her cats, her guardian angels... of course they were here. The queen smiled to herself as she took her seat at the foot of the table.

Casting a warning glance at Huan, she spoke to Earnil, in a voice dripping with honey. "What a fine hound you have, young sir. Of course, you won't object to leaving him outside if he causes trouble..."

"No ma'am," the boy replied earnestly. "He's a good dog." Tarciryan smiled indulgently, and Tarannon's expression was much the same. Beruthiel's smile widened as Shumita set the first course on the table and retreated respectfully to the door.

"Of course he is," she conceded, lifting her fork delicately. "Just see that he doesn't cause trouble."

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Miaama let Yawla slide in through the open warehouse door first. Let the stupid human think all was well, that three black cats were coming to him as usual. Let him think that there would be no white ghost to unsettle him with her unmistakably feline voice. She watched Arye slip inside next, and then Huine. Her perceptive ears caught the sound of Farucan's usual greeting, and then she slid through the open door.

The small man was startled by her appearance, she could tell, though he tried to hide it. His scent changed, and his head bobbed up and down like a small bird's. All his movements were birdlike, in fact, and Miaama sat silent for a moment, watching him like she would watch a songbird she intended to make dinner of. His movements grew more and more jerky the longer she sat, so she prolonged her silence. The full weight of her wrath must be felt by this miserable human. He must know how he had betrayed her, and in doing so, betrayed the Mistress.

When Miaama finally spoke her voice was distinctly cold. "Greetings from the Mistress."

"Give my greetings back to your Mistress." The thin fingers twisted around each other as the man spoke. Miaama fastened her eyes on them.

"My Mistress is displeased. The human child must die." The man responded with a nod, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. "You must not fail again." Miaama's eyes were like blue ice and she lashed her tail as she spoke. "You must try again, and you must succeed." Without waiting for a response she turned and left the room. The remaining cats could take a return message, her work was done.

In the blackness of the streets Huine, Arye, and Yawla were barely visible as they slipped out the open warehouse door a moment later. The three of them clustered around Miaama to disguise her startling brightness as they made their way back through the streets to the King's House. He was scared! Did you see how scared he was? Arye chattered in the darkness as they walked. He should be scared, thought Miaama fiercely, if he failed again she would see that his life was forfeit.

[ August 10, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[alaklondewen]

Habeth watched nervously as the Queen and Morwen walked down the corridor toward King Falastur’s apartments. Beruthiel looked beautiful this evening. Many seasons had past since Habeth had seen her Mistress looking so lovely. If only she felt that way on the inside, she sighed. As soon as the women were out of sight, Habeth relaxed. There was nothing she could do now to help the situation.

Actually, if Beruthiel wouldn’t have been so miserable about going to the dinner, Habeth might have been a little excited. Her duties were all caught up, and this time away from the Queen gave her some much needed free time. She would be able to sit and enjoy her dinner with the other servants, instead of eating after the Queen was done and everyone was out of the cafeteria. Although she would never complain, Habeth sacrificed much to be Beruthiel’s personal servant, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Habeth’s feet could be heard padding down the hallway until she entered the servants’ quarters. A few other ladies were rushing about getting ready for dinner, and after a couple of short greetings, Habeth made it into her own simple bedroom.

The room was small almost barren except for her full bed and a half dresser that sat across from the bed. A wide wooden mirror from which white paint chips often fell hung above the dresser. Upon entering, she untied her apron and slung it onto the beige-covered bed, and purposefully left it…she was off duty. After peeling off her dress, she walked around alone in her slip for a while, enjoying the feel of the coarse rug under her feet.

Pulling out the top drawer of the dresser, Habeth slowly reached in and pulled out a heavy bristled brush that had been hand-carved for her mother when she was a teenager. The woman’s hand softly touched the intricate lines along the handle, and she smiled from warm memories of her mother. Then holding the brush firmly in one hand, Habeth brushed her own hair with the same long meticulous strokes she used on the Queen’s royal strands.

As soon as the Queen flitted through her mind, Habeth stopped mid-stroke and with her head tipped she spoke to herself. “I wonder just what will go on in that room this evening.” She had seen the boy earlier in the garden with his puppy, and she smiled as she thought about the cats that had surely found their way into the dining room and the chaos that might be caused if the hound noticed them. The thought made her chuckle. Shaking her head with laughter in her eyes, she went back to brushing while considering a way to get in where she could see the action.

[Envinyatar]

Eärnil fidgeted in his chair between the soup course and the next round of appetizer. He had gotten through the odd gelled slice (an interesting shade of red he noted) on a bed of some unrecognizable greens. And though it had some pieces of meats he was not quite sure of, he remembered his manners and took a few small bites before placing his fork in the ‘done’ position. His father, who sat opposite him appeared to have the same reaction, though with a smile on his face he noted he did compliment the cook for what must be some Southron delicacy.

The soup had been delicious. A thin, tasty creamed soup smelling of the mushrooms he liked so well. He spooned it up with gusto, slowing down only when his mother caught his eye and raised her brows at him, then slowly sipped the soup from the spoon.

And now he was faced with some warm appetizer – a fish of some sort, skinned and boned and stuffed, encased in a puffy sort of pastry. The first bite was odd; the crispy light outer layer giving his teeth no resistance and then the dense layered centered of fish and vegetable stuffing. It became a game of sorts to see how slowly he could sink his teeth through the pastry and then how much more pressure it took to push through the fleshy portion. This time it was the King who looked at him askance, a half smile on his face. As he shoveled a manly bite into his own mouth to be dealt with.

And between these courses came the wines that went with them, and though his were well watered, still he was beginning to feel a little light-headed. Just before the main course, another round of wine was brought out, and Eärnil motioned the server down close to him and requested some water only.

Conversation flowed, at least on the King’s end of the table, between the King and his brother, and Eärnil, too, when he could fit in a comment of his own. The Queen was quiet, and Eärnil noted that try as she might, his mother was having a difficult time drawing her out.

The main course came out, a savory smelling dish of small game hens. The server presented the dish to the King, taking off the cover with a flourish, and his uncle in turn as well as the others again made their compliments to the cook. Eärnil took the opportunity during this diversion of attention to turn round and eye Huan, who lay resignedly on his cushion, his muzzle resting on his crossed paws. Only the salad left to go! And then dessert!! Eärnil mouthed to his companion, who raised his head, hoping he would be given the signal to come forward and sit by his master. But Eärnil’s attention was taken by the server who now stood to his right and the boy was focused on moving the small hen to his plate without incident.

The dog yawned, and laid his head back down, giving one last look about the room as he did so. There, on the mantle, he saw something flick out for a brief moment from the shadows behind the vase there. The long, thin black tail of a cat flashed out and was quickly withdrawn. His interested now fully engaged, he sat up, his yellow eyes riveted on the feline position, his hackles raising slightly . . .

[The X Phial]

After catching the queen's eye, Athel pulled herself back behind the vase and listened to the dinner conversation. The hated heir and his parents seemed oblivious to the tension between the king and queen but she knew the Morwen woman was aware and enjoying it. She could see her from her vantage point, smiling slyly and shooting small contemptuous glances at Beruthiel when the King spoke in his quiet voice.

Most annoying, though, was the wolfhound puppy. Athel's primitive hatred of the dogs was at a near fever pitch in her mind. Like her brother's fear, her need for vengeance sometimes overtook her sense. Seeing and smelling the puppy sitting so quietly was driving the small cat mad. She risked another small look out from the shadow and noticed that none of the humans were paying any attention to either the mantle or the pup. She decided she would have her fun.

Ever so slowly and lazily she flicked her tail out of the shadow in the direction of the dog. In his glaze of boredom it took the dog several tail flicks before he noticed. She could feel his sudden attention, smell his excitment, but not yet hear him barking. She wanted him in a frenzy, removed from the room, but she had to be careful not to be seen by anyone else. She flicked just the end of her tail out again, teasing the sharp eyes of the hound. His excitement was growing and she risked another. Finally, she heard him whining, growling, and ultimately yipping up at her on the mantle. Smiling to herself and sensing the disapproving annoyance of Lassra from across the room, she stuck her paw out ever so slightly and spread it wide so it looked like she was yawning. She knew it would drive Huan into a frenzy and was not disappointed when a series of high-pitched barks erupted. She couldn't see him, but knew he would be straining and staring intently up at the mantle. It was a risk, his attention might easily give her away.

Once more with the tail and the barking was full-blown, loud, and undoubtedly disturbing to the humans. From across the room she heard a small noise and then heard the dog's focus changing, barking randomly at it. She didn't know if the noise had come from the other cat or the queen, but knew it was meant to shift focus away from her, and she was glad.

Finally, she heard the voice of the queen calling for Huan's removal, and even Morwen's voice murmuring in assent. A liveried servant came and picked up the small canine, still barking, still struggling to reach the source of the maddening black tail. Athel noted the satisfied tone in her mistress's voice, heard the outburst from the dog's master, and closed her eyes, satisfied with her work.

[ August 13, 2003: Message edited by: The X Phial ]

[Envinyatar]

‘Put that dog down!’ Eärnil’s boyish voice cut through the barking of Huan and the rising murmur over the interruption of dinner. The servant, recognizing the imperious tone of command, hesitated, looking at the King.

Tarciryan gave a stern look to his son, and motioned for the man to take the pup outside. ‘To the boy’s room, if you please,’ he said, ‘where we won’t hear his howls.

Eärnil ignored the look of remonstrance from his mother, and stood up at the side of his chair, his face red with anger. He put his hands on his hips and faced the King and his Father. ‘If Huan is leaving, then I am, too! You can hang the hen and the salad, for all I care. And the dessert, too, along with them.’ As his last act of propriety, he gave a hurried bow to the King and the company then sprinted out the door and down the hall for his room.

He could hear Huan whining and scratching at the door as he neared. Megilwë, who had followed him down the hall, gave him a half-smile and opened the door for the boy. Eärnil shut the door firmly behind him and locked it. Sitting down on the rug near his bed, he let Huan roughhouse with him and lick his face.

At the last, Eärnil leaned back against his bed and put his arm round the pup who sat next to him. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have told them to hang dessert . . .’

[Lyra Greenleaf]

The behaviour of the heir's hound came as a blessed relief to Morwen. The atmosphere in the dining room was so tense it seemed almost as though the royal family could cut it as they cut their food. The King and his brother might talk normally enough, and the little boy would be as insensitive and brutish as all young boys but nothing could disguise the Queen's silence.

The Queen herself was eating and drinking little, and Morwen's duties left her plently of time to observe.In truth observance meant little more than gazing at the King and remembering. He had aged, of course, but there were hints enough of the youth he had been. Morwen stared and remembered, turning it almost into a game with herself to see how much she could take before it actually managed to give her pain.

It took very little. Bitterness had kept those ancient feelings of love, and later of loss, very close to the surface while twisting them into hate for the Queen. In times of introspection she could acknowledgethe unfounded nature of her hatred, but it made little difference.
Much good has her royal marriage done her, Morwen thought, suppressing a sardonic smile.

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

Caeran was drawn from his study of a large wall tapestry by the sounds of Eärnil's door slamming.

But the dinner should not yet be finished! he thought anxiously, calculating the number of minutes that had passed since the hour had been called. Dread visions of assassins concealing themselves under the bed or behind the door while he neglected his duties crowded his head and he rushed back down the corridor.

As he reached the door he saw Megilwë back out and heard the click of the lock. Caeran turned a questioning face on his fellow guard.
"The hound misbehaved, and the lad followed him." Megilwë said shortly, shaking his head fondly. Caeran returned his indulgent smile and took up his position outside the door, vowing as usual to be more attentive at all times.

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Susan Delgado's post for Tarannon

Earnil’s exit was met with a profound and embarrassed silence. Everybody looked at their plates, or the ceiling, or anything except each other. Tarannon could not understand how his brother could have raised such an ill-mannered little brute, but he supposed he would have to deal with the boy as he was. Perhaps with further training Earnil would learn not to storm out of formal meals with his king. Finally he turned to Andrus and said, “Andrus, please go fetch the boy back here. I have an announcement he should hear.” Andrus nodded and left the room smoothly and silently.

“Well,” he said with somewhat forced joviality, “Shall we continue our meal?” He tore into his game hen as delicately as his station and his stomach would allow, and the others could hardly do likewise. They all ate eagerly and heartily for the minutes it took until Andrus returned.

They heard the two returning long before they actually arrived; Earnil had not chosen to go quietly and was howling and yelling as much as any common-bred and much younger child would do. Tarannon would have to put a stop to this. The boy was ten years old! Much too old for him to be carrying on this way, even if one did not consider that he was a Prince of Gondor as well. They could hear Andrus trying to quiet the boy with reason, but it seemed Earnil had no thought for anything but his puppy, and was imaging all manner of slights and hurts done to it that Tarannon, quite frankly, had not witnessed. Finally Andrus fell silent and after the sound of something soft being struck, Earnil stopped howling as well, and a few moments later they entered the room, with no indication that there had been a delay. The guests followed their lead and did not acknowledge the ruckus they had heard. When Andrus and Earnil resumed their seats and had both eaten a bit, Tarannon rose his glass in a silent plea for attention.

“Well,” he said, smiling warmly, “We would like to formally welcome our visitors.” He nodded simply to Tarciryan and Miriel, who returned his salute. “Now, I know only Earnil will be remaining with us, but I sincerely hope our dear brother and sister will remain as long as they wish, and offer them the use of the castle as if it were their own.” He smiled again and drank from his still upraised goblet, then put it down and glanced directly at his nephew. He acknowledged the dessert when it was served, a delicate pastry filled with chopped fruit and some sort of creamy yellow sauce. He delayed his announcement until after everyone had finished and the after-dinner wine was being served, so it would have maximum impact without distractions. Not that everyone didn’t know it already, but he had learned in his years as king that the manner and timing of an announcement were nearly as important as the announcement itself. So, he waited until everyone was relaxed and calm to announce that Earnil would officially be made the heir tomorrow; he would draft a proclamation and send it through Gondor with the fastest runners he had. He glanced around the table, beaming. Everyone seemed happy except Beruthiel: she was staring at her plate (had not finished her pastry, in fact, but was swirling her eating utensil inside it, disrupting the delicate balance of the fruit and the sauce). Tarannon frowned. She would have to get used to it someday; all her moping did not look good. She had known this was coming, and had had plenty of time to get used to it. It was her own fault if she hadn’t allowed herself to accept the reality of Earnil being the heir. She would never have a child, and that was that and he was very tired of watching her sulk. To get his mind off his Queen, he instead watched Tarciryan and his family. They obviously could not be more pleased, and it occurred to Tarannon that, despite his earlier histrionics, Earnil really was a good child, and very clever for his age. He would make a fine king when he grew up.

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Beruthiel's post for Shumita

Shumita couldn’t believe what Huan had done. It didn’t seem to make much sense either. Huan was a good dog, well trained even though he was so young. It didn’t seem right that he would bark at nothing. The interruption the dog had caused only made the room more tense as the guests seated themselves again. Shumita cast a quick look at the queen whose eyes gave away her true feelings.

The Queen had surprised Shumita at first, she looked very beautiful and elegant. She was quite different from the bitter lady she served almost everyday. Yet in the Queen’s deep eyes she could see the resentment of being among these people, especially the boy. Shumita didn’t need much time to figure out why. Beruthiel had never had children and must blame herself for it. Shumita guessed that everyone had expected her to bear a child and heir to the throne. Shumita felt a small twinge of pity for the Queen, something she thought she would never do.

Shumita lost her train of thought as something caught her eye. There was something moving at the opposite end of the room, on top of the mantle. The girl couldn’t see it very well from where she was standing but there was definitely something there. Looking around to make sure she wasn’t needed anywhere she walked slowly towards the mantle. The thing had moved back behind one of the vases as if it had felt her coming towards it. Shumita stuck her hand out and moved it towards the vase when

“Shumita!” A sharp voice said loudly. “I…I need some more wine…” The Queen said again trying to make up for her small outburst. Shumita spun around quickly and hurried towards the Queen and poured her another cup of wine. Beruthiel gave her a hard stare and Shumita knew that the Queen didn’t want her to go to the mantle again. She moved back to her familiar corner and stared back down at her feet.

She knew what was behind that vase now. Why on earth one of them would be here Shumita didn’t know, maybe the Queen felt safer with her pets around. ‘Goodness knows why…” Shumita thought.

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

alaklondewen's post

Habeth walked quickly and silently through the King’s apartments to his private kitchen. If the Queen had not been at the dinner, the servant may have been stopped or questioned, but the few guards she came across just smiled politely and tipped their heads. Once she slipped into the kitchen, Habeth quietly approached the cook.

“Habeth!” The large man exclaimed. “Wh…What are you doing in here?” His thick hands delicately slaved over the finishing touches to the dessert that would be served shortly. Habeth had always been amazed at how such a large, and rather ungraceful looking, man could be so fastidious with regards to his work.

“I came to see what’s going on in there.” Habeth smile mischievously at the cook and gave him a little wink. “Has anything exciting happened? Anything that can be passed on that is?” The woman leaned over the counter offering her ear for a secret.

“Well, nothing exceptional, except…” The cook looked around and behind to see where the other servants were before continuing. “The boy’s dog made a fuss ‘bout something. It started barking and howling, and they made one of the guards remove it. Then the boy told the King and Queen that they could all hang…and his dessert too!”

Habeth’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. Why, Earnil had seemed so well-mannered…what would possess the boy to speak in such a way to the King and Queen? “What happened after that?”

“Well, the King’s nephew stormed out of the dining room following the hound. He wasn’t dismissed or nothin’!” The cook was becoming rather animated and had forgotten to lower his voice. Two servants walking back to the sinks stopped and gave him a curious stare. “Anyway,” he whispered leaning back over the counter. “The King went and ordered him back into the dining room. Shumita! Take this dessert out!” He broke away giving the pastry covered tray to the young servant who did not look pleased to be serving this particular meal. As soon as the girl was out of the kitchen, the cook became secretive again and motioned for Habeth to come closer. “The King’s going to make an announcement, they say. We’re not positive, but we think he’s going to announce the boy’s right to the throne.” The man backed way and nodded his head enthusiastically with both of his eyebrows raised.

They all knew Earnil would be the King Falastur’s heir, but Habeth knew the announcement would be bitter for Beruthiel’s ears. It would be especially difficult after the way the child had behaved toward her.

“Thank you for letting me in on the information.” Habeth warmly patted the man’s thick arm. “Here let me help you with those.” She picked up several of his utensils from the counter and carried them to the sink where she began to wash up some of the dishes. Many things were running through her mind, and cleaning had a relaxing effect on her, so she was happy to lend a hand.

[ August 15, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Beruthiel turned her silver fork between shaking fingers, before burying the tines deep in her desert pastry. "What a delightful child." she stated, the sarcasm in her voice evident to all present. The assembled family had been rather silent since Earnil's sudden departure, and Beruthiel's comment only made a small dent in the uncomfortable silence. The child's behavior almost pleased her, in its insolence. How obviously fitting for this transplanted heir to act so unused to royal manners and customs.

She swirled the fork through the insides of the pastry, mixing the creamy sauce with the red juices of the berries inside. The resulting pink crept across her plate in a rather unattractive rivulet. The queen stared at this, trying to keep her composure as Tarannon uttered the words she knew were coming.

He was going to adopt Earnil as his legal heir. The title of "prince" was going to fall on the boy officially, the whole of Gondor was to know that Beruthiel's hopes of her own child were all and finally over. She stiffened in her chair, stirring the pastry frantically. She clenched her teeth tightly, even though she knew the action caused her jaw muscles to bulge unattractively.

If she could only last a few more minutes, she thought desperately, the whole dinner would be over. Letting Tarannon's words wash over her, she sat staring at the pale sauce and the red fruit juice running across her plate in ugly pink streaks. A few moments and she could return to her chambers and block out her unhappiness, block out the faces of these proud parents whose fawning smiles looked forward to a faraway coronation that would now surely happen. The Queen tightened her jaws further.

The King finished speaking, and the heavy silence settled on the room again. Beruthiel stood, unable to stand the bright smiles of Tarciryan and his wife, and the indulgent satisfied look on her husband's face. "If we are finished here, I think I'll bid you farewell," she said, tipping her head toward the King, then to his brother. "My presence certainly isn't necessary with the future King to entertain us. Perhaps if you threaten the hound he could be persuaded to dance?" Her eyebrows raised delicately, she spun on her heel and left the room, leaving a flustered Morwen to bite back her curses and follow.

[ August 17, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]

[Envinyatar]

One last drink was requisite when one did business in The Gilded Gull, and especially so with Draugaer. The old man looked with amusement at Gaeradan whose nearly tearing eyes belied the stoic features of his face. ‘Don’t have this stocked in the King’s cellar, do they?’ he commented, throwing his third glass back with as little effect as if he had been drinking spring water.

Gaeradan took a deep breath after the shot clawed its way down his throat, nearly coughing as the harsh fumes, invaded his airways. His now empty glass hit the table top with a sound thunk. ‘No, they have other less direct ways of testing one’s manhood and loyalty.’

He sat back for a moment, his left arm resting on the table, his right hand rubbing his jaw as his gaze swept the room. Seamen. A rough lot, for the most part. And yet as he recalled, the rules for conduct among them were clear. No hidden agendas when you faced the sea, the deck rolling beneath your feet. Or perhaps that is just my drink hazed recollection he thought to himself, a half smile of regret on his face that it might be so. Or just the nostalgia of an older man for his youthful days . . . when life was brighter . . . the distinctions clearer and more easily made . . .

His attention returned to the man who sat opposite him. ‘I should be going now. Your information will need to be shared with those who need to know it. I thank you once again.’ Gaeradan stood up, making the effort to keep his gait steady he turned and made for the door. Draugaer’s voice halted him with a final thought.

‘Ever want to get another berth, come see me, Gaeradan. You were a fair enough sailor. And you’ve picked up other skills, or so I’ve heard. I could use a man of your talents.’

Gaeradan nodded at the man, acknowledging his offer. He filed it away, in the recesses of his mind, as he made his way through alley and headed back to the King’s residence. One never knew when an offer such as that might come in handy.

[ September 14, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[Belin]

Your Majesty,

Please accept my humble apologies for my failure in the market. Be assured that my next endeavor will not have similar results. The cause of your worries will be removed as expediently as possible. I hope you are not fond of leftovers.


The cats were gone. Farucan stalked through the warehouse at ever increasing speeds, in search of something to smash. “Rugs,” he muttered, “nothing lately but these idiotic rugs.” He kicked one as punctuation and was only slightly dismayed when it tottered and he had to catch and rebalance it as it threatened to fall on him. He made a note to have the thing burned the next day as unusable. There was some measure of control in this mercantile life, and there were no cats in it at all. He’d have to consider it as an alternative to his true profession. He’d had enough of this. He never wanted to see a cat again. Ever. He kicked a couple more rugs on suspicion of having cat designs and didn’t bother to catch them this time. He was in a rage.

He was not used to being bullied by a creature he could have picked up in his two hands. In fact, he had gotten out of the habit of being bullied at all, here where he was far from the king and outranked most of those he dealt with. Even the cats were only messengers, and beasts at that. But the demon was different. The demon had commented on his failure, a very serious breach of protocol in Harad, and one used only by those who wished to demonstrate that the one they rebuked was worthless. It meant an attempt that had not even been worth making and an interlocutor whose anger was to be dismissed. He wondered whether it had known that. Certainly everything in its bearing had suggested much the same attitude. “You must succeed,” he mimicked bitterly. Who was this creature to give him orders?

He was troubled to find himself upset at the unfairness of the rebuke. The fact that he had done more than could possibly be expected under the circumstances, which was certainly more than these miserable beasts who would certainly be lost without him had, was only relevant if he accepted the position the ghost had given itself as his superior. It was as bad as the king…and as necessary as an ally. His decisions had been rational, but he had not thought them through properly, reacting instead through fear and a reflexive tendency to respond to commands. He hated himself. But he hated that beast more.

He sat down to write another note, one he would send to his assistants in the kitchen, who had told him everything he needed to know. It would contain instructions not only for the heir but for a certain dish of cat food as well.

[The X Phial]

The human did not seem pleased, did he, Miaama? Yawla thought conversationally as the four cats wound their way back into the royal compound. The trip through town had been mostly uneventful, save for a moment when Miaama had to wait for several minutes while a cart lost control. Apparently horses are not fond of small black shapes streaking in front of them at night, and Huine was looking appropriately abashed for her role in the chaos.

Already, Arye was already atop the wall and looking back at the others. Huine was still climbing, making use of the old and weathered ivy. Ready to spring to the top of the wall, Miaama replied.

He did not seem pleased at all, no. But that, after all, is why we went. We need to do something about that note. Get Pirro's help taking it off when we get inside and find some way to get rid of it.

Yawla purred in response and watched as Miaama topped the wall lightly and disappeared.

Once inside she found her brother asleep in the Queen's chamber and the two of them retired to the garden to remove the note since Pirro's movements were the most delicate and he had the most experience with carrying the notes. They removed it with only a little shredding and pondered what to do with the incriminating evidence. Pirro's instinct was to hide it, but Yawla was afraid that someone would find it. It was too thick a parchment to chew up effectively and too slick to destroy by claw. Usually this was an asset for wet and danger was a constant threat when carrying messages through a city as busy as Osgiliath.

I think we have to burn it somehow, Pirro.

Well, we can't burn it.

No, but they burn the trash once in a while. I know I've smelt it.

Yes, it fills the palace all day and it comes from across the yard. I could probably get it over there and back quicker than you could. My senses are better than yours. Pirro shook as he said this and Yawla could see how much it cost him to volunteer. She began grooming his ears and purring.

I'm sure you can find it easily, she replied.

When he was calm again, he slipped out of the garden, note in mouth. Yawla found her way back inside and was surprised to see that the Queen was already back. Somewhat upset but hiding it well, Miaama in her arms.

Pirro, meanwhile, was making his way, as stealthily as possible, to the burnable trash pile, which he could smell from far away. He arrived with no trouble and began to bury the note. Suddenly a howl from the nearby kennels went up. The sound froze Pirro to the bone and he dashed away from the pile, acting purely on instinct, leaving the vitally important note to drift casually on the rising wind toward the chambers of the ladies in waiting.

[Envinyatar]

It was well past midnight when Gaeradan returned to the King’s residence. Old Ceorl was the porter on the seldom used southeastern door that led into the kitchen gardens. He was none too watchful, if truth be told - his only intruder in many weeks being a plump hare and his offspring seeking to raid the Cook’s vegetable patch. That and the bold family of raccoons that came regularly in the dead of night to raid the southern fish pond. So, it was with great pleasure that he stopped Gaeradan with a harrumph and an official sounding inquiry into his particulars.

‘It’s me, old man,’ said Gaeradan quietly, slipping his hand beneath his cloak and sliding a small flagon of tawny port into the surprised hands of the door warden. ‘It’s a brisk night for your old bones. I’ve brought you a little something to ward off the chill.’

A few more moments of pleasantries passed, and soon Ceorl was well on his way to insuring he would be adequately insulated against the night. Gaeradan bowed his head to him in mock salute and wound his way through the dark pathways to the eastern door.

A few moments later and he was walking down the hall to his rooms. Pelladal, he saw, had taken up the post outside Eärnil’s door. Good! He had requested that this guard be placed in the retinue of those who would guard Eärnil. He had already proved himself in the market place whn he saved the boy’s life, and again in the marketplace when he had gleaned and gathered news for Gaeradan.

‘Is he asleep?’ asked Gaeradan, approaching the boy’s door. Pelladal nodded his head ‘yes’ and opened the door to the room quietly for Gaeradan to have a look. Eärnil was curled in a ball on his bed, Huan resting against his knees, his great yellow eyes watching the intruder. ‘Fair sailing,’ he whispered to the slumbering boy, then shut the door firmly. ‘Glad to have you on board,’ Gaeradan said, smiling at Pelladal who had resumed his position beside the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

Tomorrow was coming all too soon, he noted, as he entered his rooms and saw from his window the pale light of predawn rimming the edge of the horizon. Sleep was disregarded in favor of a quick wash up in cold water, a clean pair of breeches and a fresh tunic. Already the King’s residence was rousing, the servants moving quietly down the halls with pots of strong tea and ewers of water for guests and residents to begin their day.

Gaeradan slipped out his door, closing it securely behind him, and made for his small office. There was a stack of contracts and mails to be looked at which would take him most of the day.

[ August 25, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

It was well-past midnight when, Pelladal stood guarding Eärnil’s door. He was glad when he had received orders to guard Eärnil. The boy was like he had remembered him, only bigger, older, stronger and smarter. Tonight he was quite tired, but he would be leaving in a couple of hours, when another guard came. Then he could head home and sleep. Soon Gaeradan appeared next to him. They didn’t speck for a couple minutes but then Gaeradan broke the silence.

“Is he asleep?” he asked.

“Yes” Pelladal answered slightly opening the door. There lay the boy curled in bed with Huan lying close. Huan wasn’t asleep and his yellow eyes peered in the darkness. He was a good watchdog, and a faithful pet, Pelladal thought. Eärnil loved him a lot and would rarely go anywhere without Huan. Pelladal closed the door slowly and Gaeradan left, heading home, I suppose.

The night slowly turned to day as Pelladal stood by Eärnil’s door. He was very tired but stayed alert watching to make sure another attempt on the boy’s life didn’t happen tonight. The night was uneventful, though. Pelladal would sometimes here the soft tapping of feet on the floor or a door closing but that was about it.

Later that night, which was closer to early morning, a guard came. It was Caeran, a young soldier and a son of one of the Queen’s ladies. Pelladal didn’t know him well but he was a pleasant man. The two men exchanged a few words and then Pelladal headed in the direction of his house. The sky was dark and there were few stars out tonight. The wind blew softly. As soon as Pelladal reached his home he went to bed.

He didn’t sleep for more than three hours when he awoke again. Now it was late morning. Pelladal ate a quick breakfast and got dressed. He headed out into the city where he decided he would spend his morning. When it was close to lunchtime, Pelladal decide to go check on Eärnil and Caeran.

[ August 25, 2003: Message edited by: elven maiden Earwen ]

[alaklondewen]

Beruthiel's Post for Shumita

Shumita nodded as the cook told her the things she needed to do. "So first things first, you need to make some food for the young heir, and you'd better hurry up, I'm sure he's hungry."

Shumita moved to the counter and began chopping tomatoes and other vegetables for Earnil's small salad and soup. It didn't take her long and she was just about to take it to the guests quarters when there was a loud crash and Shumita whirled around.

The sound had come from below in the wine cellar. Shumita walked cautiously to the door that led down into the cellar and she could hear what sounded like someone running away. She opened it and crept inside. A few bottles of wine had smashed at the red liquid was spreading over the stone floor. She heard more footsteps from above but strangely no one else came down.

Shumita ran back up above to get the head cook and as she was closing the door behind her she saw a figure running off out into the gardens. She cried out after the person but when she followed and looked outside the person had dissapeared.

She returned to the kitchen and found the cook. Shumita asked her if she'd heard the crash and the cook said, "Yes, but one of the new assistants was in there so I thought he'd help you, wasn't he there?"
"No I didn't see anyone..."
"How strange, anyway have you made Earnil's food yet?" Shumita nodded, "Well go on then!"

Shumita went back and got the bowl of soup and brought it to Earnil who was with Caeran. She left quickly and tried drove off the questions in her mind about the strange figure running away from the kitchens...

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[alaklondewen]

Caeran

The young soldier had spent most of the morning with the Earnil, and he currently was sitting just inside the door of the boy’s room while Earnil sat with his legs crossed on his bed playing quietly with his model ships. Huan was curled up at the boy’s feet with his head down on his paws and his eyes half shut.

Caeran enjoyed his time with Earnil. The boy had a wonderful spirit that always made the soldier smile when he was near. However, guarding the heir triggered his fatherly yearnings. Lorna had been heavily on his mind lately, and he wished his service was ending soon so he could be with her and eventually have a child of his own.

A soft tap at the door brought Caeran out of his thoughts, and he stood and opened the door letting in a young maid who was bringing Earnil his lunch. She carried a small tray and set it on the short table in the corner of the bedroom, and then left immediately through the door Caeran still held open for her.

Caeran watched Earnil slowly slide off the bed and saunter over to the table apparently not overly excited about the lunch. As the boy slid into the chair and began pushing the food around on his plate, the guard for the first time really looked at the small table and chair that was made especially for Earnil. The table was smaller than a standard adult table. Around the rim of the tabletop, a line of small ships had been hand carved in the dark wood. The chair sported the same ship only larger on the back. Unconsciously falling back into the chair at the door, Caeran pictured his future children. He would make a table like this for them. Flowers would be carved into his daughter’s table, and ships or horses into his son’s. He could see each of them sitting there playing with their toys and then looking up telling their father they loved him. Smiling warmly, lost in his fantasy, he rested his head on the wall behind him.

“Caeran! Caeran!” The boy’s shrieking voice snapped Caeran back to reality. “What’s he doing?! What’s wrong with him?!” It took a moment for the soldier to fully understand what Earnil was talking about. Then he noticed Huan was under the table and Earnil’s plate was sitting before him half eaten. The hound’s eyes were glazed, and his body was convulsing. The boy was crying and shouting at the hound and at the young soldier who was at a loss of what should be done. Caeran pulled Huan out from under the table and tried to keep the dog’s body still. He firmly held the hound’s midsection while turning him on his side.

Earnil was still in hysterics running around and jumping in one place crying out, “Don’t let him die!” and “Can’t you do something?!” Caeran wished he could help Huan, but he didn’t know what was wrong, and it had all happened so fast, he hadn’t time to really consider it.

“Come on, boy. Stay with me. Stay with me, Huan.” Caeran whispered in the dog’s ear as he leaned over its body putting his cheek on Huan’s head. Huan had stopped shaking, but his breathing was shallow and slow. “Earnil, come here. Pet him…keep him stimulated.”

The boy fell to his knees and rubbed and scratched the hound while his tears dripped from his nose and chin. “Don’t leave me, boy. I love you, don’t leave me.” Earnil said this over and over until he was crying so hard he could barely choke out the words. Huan exhaled a long, slow breath and didn’t inhale again. “No! NO!” Earnil shouted and then collapse upon the hound sobbing loudly.

Caeran sat back on his heels. His hands were shaking, and his eyes were wet as they searched the floor and the room. His gaze finally landed upon Earnil’s half-eaten lunch. Could it be? The soldier suddenly felt ill and he didn’t want to think of the possibility that the food was…

[ August 24, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[elven maiden Earwen]

Save: for Pelladal helping Cearen in come way

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

The hound?

Miaama's blue eyes were icy as she spat the thought at Huine in fury. The younger cat just nodded, a self satisfied look in her amber eyes as she flicked her tail. Miaama bristled with annoyance at both the young one's manner and the man's incompetence. Poisoned the filthy stinking hound and left the boy alive? The white cat leapt down from the chair seat where she had been sitting, one paw flashing out to catch Huine under the chin. The younger cat skidded sideways, bristling with indignance.

The hound? The voice was Athel's, and delighted, as the lithe black figure slid out from behind a wall. Poor little doggie... she chuckled, her tail tracing a satisfied pattern through the air. Miaama held her calm barely, hissing through clenched teeth at her two comrades.

Yes, he poisoned the hound, but the boy is alive. The last word was filled with hate and the other two cats sat down, suddenly respectful. The mistress will find out, the mistress will know... Oh my poor Mistress... Shaking with anger, Miaama stalked toward the bowls of food. Hers was separate, it always was. The other cats didn't eat her food, she didn't eat theirs.

Stalking toward the bowl the rich smell of liver came toward her. Lassra and Morne lay to one side of the room, licking their lips, smiling their contented cat smiles at the empty bowls. Miaama's nose twitched. The poor mistress who loved her so much, who fed her liver and beef. The poor mistress who had to live with this invader, this boy...

Miaama gasped as she suddenly flipped sideways, her face stinging with pain. Yawla stood bristling between her and the food bowl, with Pirro quivering beside her. What?! Miaama leapt at Yawla pinning her to the floor. What is this? She demanded.

Pirro says it smells funny, Yawla gasped, from beneath the heavier cat. You should listen to him... he doesn't want you to eat it. Miaama sat back and Yawla regained her feet, licking one black paw, smoothing the hairs out once more. Pirro sat beside the liver, his nose quivering above it.

Don't touch it. He hates you, the man, he hates you. Miaama glared at the bowl, sniffing it intently. That man, that horrible, ineffective, deceitful man. Did he have no respect for the mistress? Drawing a final sniff, Miaama stepped back from the bowl.

"Mrooooow!" Her plaintive cry rang through the room. "Mroooooow!" A creak and the sound of footsteps heralded Habeth's arrival. The offending bowl was removed under Miaama's ice blue supervision, and as Habeth retreated Miaama hissed at Athel. Follow. Find out where it goes, watch and see what happens if a creature eats it. Athel nodded her comprehension and slid around the corner after Habeth.

If that bowl was poisoned, Miaama gritted her teeth together furiously, the man will die, the Mistress will see to it.

[Envinyatar]

The news of Huan’s poisoning came to him in an indirect way. Closeted in his office with stacks of contracts and letters to be gone through, he would have missed it altogether, save that he had asked a page to bring him a light lunch from the kitchen later in the day. The meal lay now on his desk, uneaten, as he listened to the boy’s report of the happenings.

White faced, lips trembling, the boy tripped over his words, and it was only with much coaxing that the story was gotten out of him. Someone had poisoned the meal sent to the King’s heir at midday. No, the heir had not been taken ill by the food. His dog had eaten it and now lay dying, if not dead from the effects of it. No, no one had seen who had done this, or recalled who had fixed the plate for the heir. Yes, as far as he knew, the guard had been increased around the heir.

Gaeradan’s first impulse was to make for the boy’s room, but he held back. There would be plenty of people there to see to the boy, he would be only one more body in the press. A few moments of reflection and his course was decided. The King would be busy with the news, and of late he had been dismissive of his aide’s opinions.

Locking the papers he’d been working on in his desk drawer, Gaeradan made his way first to the kitchens to speak with Cook, and then to Tarciryan’s apartments. It was time to share what he had learned at The Gilded Gull with him. Perhaps the King’s brother could bring his suspicions to the King, and the King would listen.

[ September 27, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]

[The X Phial]

Athel threaded her way, unseen, through the darkened hallway, trailing Habeth. The maid seemed distressed and confused, glancing occassionally at the food bowl, smelling it once to see why Miaama had rejected the choice cuts of meat. Athel laughed to herself at that. As if a human's unrefined senses would be able to smell anything at all! Even Miaama and the others had been oblivious until Pirro warned them. She felt a momentary pride for her brother's remarkable senses.

Avoiding the kitchen, and the chance of being spotted, Athel slipped through a window and circled to the scrap pile behind the building. She arrived before Habeth, who seemed to have stopped to ask others what might be wrong with the cat's food and say she would make the next batch herself. Athel took up a spot under a low hedge and settled herself. Habeth came and went, depositing the rejected meat on the midden heap. Bones and other scraps were collected here throughout the day and then disposed of by a grounds crew every night. The rats always seemed to know when new scraps were added, however, and were never far from the kitchen. Even the presence of the cats didn't discourage them, though it certainly kept them from entering the gardens and the buildings themselves.

Athel had waited perhaps 5 minutes when she heard the scraping and chittering of the rats. The meat was aromatic and a treat not to be missed. She couldn't tell if there were four or five who climbed through the rubbish, but she saw some scuffling over the larger pieces and heard a squeaking cry of triumph as the winner took the largest piece some paces away and began to devour it right there. Apparently the rats had no sense that anything was amiss. The remaining rats tussled briefly for the rest of the meat and all got a share before they were done. They dug through the pile a bit and found a few hard bread crusts and ate those as well. Athel itched to attack them, disgusting little creatures fighting over the trash. They should be taught a lesson.

The rats began to move away from the scrap pile, and Athel wondered if she would have to follow them back to their nasty nests. Suddenly, the rat who had eaten the largest portion froze and then started shaking. The other rats did not seem to notice. He foamed at the mouth and let out a small moan, and then the others turned, interested. He shook more violently, and Athel could tell he wouldn't last long. As he fell to his side the others started shaking as well. Soon enough there were no live rats to tempt a playful cat.

Athel was appalled at the display. Not for the death of the rats, for they meant nothing to her, but for the fact that it might have been Miaama...that someone had dared to try to poison their leader and hurt their mistress. Fury warred with disgust in her feline brain, and Athel did not move for several long moments, mastering her feelings. Finally she stalked to where the five rat carcasses lay. She picked one up, gingerly, by the tail, afraid of any lingering poison. The rest she left to be found by human, dog or rat companion. She doubted any would mourn for the fallen.

Trying not to think about the possibilty of any other food being poisoned, pulsing with a cold rage, Athel entered the Queen's garden and left the rat beneath a tree. She went inside and found Miaama, who was finishing a new meal which had apparently been approved by Pirro.

It was poisoned. The rats who ate the scraps all died, like the hound. I brought one back so you could all see for yourselves. I did not want to believe it, but we have been betrayed.

Impulsively, she rubbed her head against Miaama's bulk.

We cannot let this go unpunished!

[alaklondewen]

Habeth scraped the uneaten food from Miaama’s dish as best as she could. Those cats are so picky, she thought as the last piece dropped onto the pile. She wondered if maybe one of the cooks tried putting stale scraps in the mix thinking the felines would never know the difference. Whatever the reason for Miaama’s dismissal, Habeth would make the new meal herself.

As she stepped back through the side door to enter the kitchen, Habeth heard several hushed voices coming from the small break room just off to her right. The door was slightly ajar, and the servant could see four maids leaning over the round table in the center of the room. Curiosity grabbed Habeth and she entered to see what the word was.

As she approached, one of the women, Ribwyn, was speaking quickly. “That’s right. It died right there…I guess there was no hope of saving it.”

“What’s going on? What died?” The women immediately made room for Habeth to sit down with them.

“The boy’s dog died!” Ribwyn leaned forward with her eyes wide. “My sister was cleaning the room across the hall, when she heard the boy screamin’ and cryin’. She came out to see what was wrong and the guards outside told her what happened. The dog had eaten the boy’s lunch, and then he started shakin’ and just died right there on the floor.” Ribwyn threw her hands in the air for dramatic affect and sat back in her chair exhausted from telling the story.

“What about Earnil? Is the boy alright?” Habeth suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

“The boy’s fine. He didn’t eat none of the food. That’s what they think did it…the food. They think it must’ve been poisoned!”

Poisoned?! What did this mean? Habeth’s head reeled trying to put the information together in a way that did not end with someone wanting to kill the new heir. Without saying another word, Habeth rose from the table and went back to the kitchen where she made a new dish of cat food. Her body went through the motions while her mind was numb. It just didn’t make any sense. If the food was poisoned, someone in the kitchens had to have done it.

With a new dish in hand, Habeth made her way back to the cats’ room and unconsciously laid the food down. She was going to find out what was going on around her. She’d keep her eyes and ears open wherever she went, and if someone who worked with her wished harm to anyone in the Queen’s family, she would find him or her. A new air of confidence surrounded Habeth as she held herself high and strolled through the hallways back to the kitchens.