A House Divided RPG

[Lyra Greenleaf]

Caeran sat alone by the window in his room. He was not on duty, but he could not relax. He desperately wanted to be with Earnil, both on account of the boy's suffering and because of who that food had been meant for. It was not the dog. However he knew that for the moent at least Earnil would not like to be around the man who had seen his grief or his tears. The lad felt his age and his responsibilities keenly.

Caeran sighed suddenly. That was not all of course. Although he didn't like to admit it to himself he felt huge guilt. Guilt that he had not been able to save Huan, but guilt that he had been looking after Earnil and the lad had nearly been killed. He shuddered at the thought but forced himself to face it- he could have been killed. Perhaps it was not negligence, certainly no-one had lain any blame on him, but that did not stop the guilt.

This is what being a father must feel like all the time, he thought wryly and wondered- as he so often did- why he was so keen to become one. This brought thoughts of Lorna, and a desire to see her that was almost painful.
Why do we torture ourselves like this? he mused. Love seems to bring so much pain- missing someone, worrying about them, loss. Perhaps my mother has the right idea after all. Look where her sole love has brought her!

A sort of fellow feeling gave Caeran more pity for his mother than he had felt for a long time. She probably knew the same longing he was feeling- and his would last only weeks. He felt as though a dark rain cloud had settled itself over his head and shoulders, weighing him down and putting blackness in front of his eyes.

Enough of this nonsense!, he admonished himself after a minute or two. All I need is a long walk. I shall look at the beauties of the city so that I can describe them to Lorna. Purposefully he strode out through the corridors to the nearest door. As he looked up at the sky the first few drops of rain began to fall from the assembled rainclouds.
Such is life, he told himself wryly.

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

"Poison? Poison in the br- boy's food?" Morwen asked in a hushed voice. This was news that deserved respect. An attmepted poisoning on the heir? That was a once in a lifetime occasion, surely!
"Do you know anything else?" she asked the maid, almost forgetting to sneer. "No m'lady" the girl said.

Typical, Morwen thought bitterly.
"Don't you have work to be getting on with?" she asked the maid icily. The girl turned and almost ran away instantly. Morwen returned her thoughts to the poisoning. Well she would have to find out some other way. Perhaps she could visit her son? He was a guard to the brat- a grand job he seemed to be making of it!- and it was a suitable excuse. Motherly concern. She was supposed to be going to the Queen, but she would understand.
Or not, she thought maliciously. Not having personal experience as it were...

The thoughts of the Queen tugged at a new idea in Morwen's head. Who would want Earnil dead? Beruthiel surely had to top the list? Morwen shook her head slightly at the thought. Was she getting imaginative all of a sudden? Starting a rumour like that was far too risky. That could do more than damage if the origins of it were ever traced.

Caeran was not in his room, Morwen discovered. She would have to go to the Queen on time after all. She could lie, of course, and say that she was with Caeran, but her duty awaited. Stifling an unladylike sound of annoyance she began to make her way to the Queen's appartments, via her own room to fetch her black shawl.

The piece of paper flattened itself across the front of her dress. Morwen shook her skirts to dislodge it- it was not her job to pick up rubbish!- but it wouldn't move, tucking itself into a crease. Angrily she reached down for it. About to throw it away she glanced at it. It had cost her trouble, she might as well know what it was.

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.


Morwen smiled.

[Belin]

Farucan’s eyes wandered listlessly over the inventory sheets, not really seeing them. He wondered whether he had been rash. Certainly it seemed unlikely, as he had never known himself to be so before, but he found himself thinking of the news he had not yet heard, and wondering whether anyone else would hear it. The death of the heir would cause a stir, he supposed, but the effects of the poison he’d chosen were much like those of a disease rather common in Harad, and would, he hoped, be attributed to some weakness of Earnil’s own. All lines of royalty became corrupt eventually, did they not? In any case, Farucan was no apothecary, and his limited means of research had yielded nothing better.

But death would always be a problem; it could never be hidden. Let the queen deal with it. Perhaps blame would fall on the demon. He certainly would have suspected it first, even had he not heard it speak. Didn’t explanations of things everyone already knew usually hint at something suspicious? Idly fingering the fine embroidery on his sleeves, Farucan tried to clear his mind. Only a fool would bear malice to a demon, he told himself, absently signing the figures he hadn’t checked. Be calm. Twelve for the eastern side of town, twenty for the merchant, three for that absurd wedding, five for the palace, “the human child must die…”

Farucan jerked his head up suddenly, taking no notice of the inkstain suddenly obliterating the rest of his records. “The human child?” he cried aloud, suddenly filled with disgust.

“Shh!”

Farucan leapt to his feet, wheeling around wildly at the noise. “Who… where…Mizbah?”

The slender youth in the doorway bowed hurriedly. “I’ve come from the kitchens,” he said, speaking the language of Harad. “You asked me to bring you news. I have news. Close the door.”

Farucan moved past him with greater than usual swiftness and fumbled with the doorknob until he managed to get it closed. “Did…did I kill him?” he asked, with some attempt at composure.

The youth’s impassive, dark gray eyes took in the office and the man with what Farucan interpreted as contempt. “You killed a dog,” he said. “Oh, and some rats, for which I suppose I ought to thank you. Any assumptions you have about the kitchens of a palace are probably wrong. I’ve prepared better meals in the caravan.”

Farucan sank back into his seat, tugging at his own hair in an attempt to clear his mind. “Wonderful,” he muttered, “I am the distinguished assassin of children and household pets. I can’t wait to tell the king.” He glanced at Mizbah, who stood quietly, waiting for more questions. “Poison misfired, eh?”

Mizbah nodded. “Yes. He fed his meal to the dog, and the dog died. They understand, I think.”

“You mean everyone knows.”

Another nod. “They’re no fools. Or not all of them are. You’ve been careless. People are suspicious around the heir.”

“Well, I could hardly kill him without killing him, could I? Someone was bound to notice. Only I was counting on the confusion. Do they know any more than that?”

Mizbah spread his fingers wide in a gesture of ignorance. “Who can say what they know? I am not precisely their intimate confidant. They know that there was poison in the food. They know it was meant for the heir, and one of the rumors already says Haradrim are responsible. The rest is speculation that nobody really believes, yet. Not yet. I assume you have a plan for this contingency?”

“Yes, I think so… did a cat die?”

“No, a dog. Do you need me to explain this again? Are you confused?”

“No. Mind your manners, sir; I’m not a fool myself.” Mizbah’s answering bow did nothing to dispell Farucan’s irritation with the man, but there was no time to play it off against him now. He mentally pronounced himself the winner and moved off, dizzy with adrenaline, to gather the few things that were important to him. Where was he going?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t return to Harad as a failure. Impossible, just as impossible as remaining in Osgiliath, and all the world besides was a hostile wilderness where he would have no place. Much as he hated the Gondorians, they were at the very least not barbarians. But he’d have no chance to redeem himself, there or here. His brilliant career as a useless blundering exile would last out his life... The fault of the demon, without whom he would not have been reduced to flight from the child he’d been unable to kill...He looked back into his office, where Mizbah was still standing. “I don’t suppose you need another caravaner?”

The man smiled politely. Farucan nodded. “Listen to this, then,” he said, pressing gold into the other’s hand. “I’d like your master to escort me to a village. And I’d like you to stay here.”

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Arye had been unsuccessfully looking for Mosi and Lassra, since he had news to share from Miaama and he wanted to know how the dinner had gone. Turning a corner from inside the kitchen, Arye began to hear dramatic voices speaking quickly and assuredly, and Arye just assumed it was palace gossip until he heard one of the women speak.

“The boy’s dog died!”

At those words, Arye's nose twitched as the cat thought of Farucan. Arye picked up his ear for listening as the familiar woman's voice explained what had happened to the hound belonging to the heir. Poison? Poison...poison...poisoned...poison! The dog! Ha! Arye thought, images of the dead hound convulsing running through his little head. Then Arye shook his head, remembering that their goal was to kill the boy, not the dog.

“What about Earnil? Is the boy alright?”

Yes, yes! Is the boy alive? He isn't...he's dead, right? Arye wondered impatiently, hoping for the best so that his Mistress' cares could be eased and lessened. Miaama will be fairly mad if he isn't dead...

“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!”

Ha! I knew it, I knew it! Poison! I'm some detective... Arye thought proudly, before he could even think about what the woman had said. Hey, wait a minute! Alive? The boy is alive? Farucan's in trouble now!

Without another second of hesitation, Arye pranced out of the kitchen and into the dining hall, where Lassra lay dozing with Mosi chasing his tail nearby. Arye darted over to where Mosi was circling about the floor, and shouldered his brother so that the other black cat fell to the floor, dazed and confused.

Farucan messed up again! Arye hissed, but from the blinking stare he got from a dizzy Mosi, Arye decided that his brother was not the right cat to tell. Arye leapt over to where Lassra was snoozing, and jumped over her back and stomach, jolting the older cat awake.

What is it, Arye? What now? Come, tell me! What now? Lassra demanded, supressing a low growl from her lungs.

Farucan tried to poison the boy's food! The dog died instead! Farucan missed! Arye explained hurriedly.

Surely if Farucan continues to try and kill the boy suspicion will arise more than ever. What does Miaama think of it? Lassra asked, taking the information all in a stride. Mosi stood back up and continued to chase his tail.

I don't know, I just found out myself. Shall we get Miaama to tell Mistress?

Someone will tell her soon, if she does not know already. I will go, to soothe her stress. You and Mosi will go to find out anything else you can. If you see or hear anything important, come to me or Miaama. Understand? Lassra asked quickly, and without getting an answer from Arye the fatter cat stalked off to Beruthiel's quarters.

Arye felt he had the bad end of the whole thing, stuck with Mosi. Surely Mosi would cause too much trouble and commotion. Still, Arye could not leave his brother, and so Arye bit Mosi's motion-blurred tail to get his attention. Mosi yowled and listed to Arye as his brother explained their task. Though he didn't quite understand what Arye had tried to tell him, Mosi followed his brother out of the dining room and into the slightly chaotic hallways.

[ September 28, 2003: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[alaklondewen]

Habeth’s slippered feet padded down the corridor, her mind full of the events of the day, as she slip by the door to the Queen’s apartments. She paused and slowly turned her dark head toward the entrance. The Queen! Oh no, what would the Queen say? Did she even know about the possible attempted assassination of her nephew? Habeth knotted her eyebrows and with tightened lips, she looked down at her calloused hands as she spread her fingers and considered what her role would be. If Beruthiel already knew, she may think Habeth was gossiping about a serious matter; however, if her Majesty was unaware of the matter, she would be obligated to not keep information from her. Either way, she would have to tell her mistress and face the consequences whatever they may be.

Inhaling deeply, Habeth attempted to harden her emotions, and then, with her head lowered the servant knocked lightly on the door of Queen Beruthiel’s suite. And short “Enter” was heard, and Habeth pulled the heavy wooden door and stepped humbly in.

The Queen sat with her back facing the door, and when the door thudded softly to a close, she slightly turned her head glancing over her shoulder out of the corner of her eyes. “What do you want? I did not call for you.” Habeth was used to the cold unfeeling tone of her Mistress' voice.

“I have news, Madame…about your nephew.” Habeth’s voice trembled, but her words made Beruthiel unconsciously straighten her back in her seat. The servant paused, waiting for permission to speak.

“Go on with it.” Beruthiel tried to cover her interest with irritation.

“Huan…Earnil’s hound, he died today after eating Earnil’s lunch. They think it was poisoned…and…and meant for the boy, Madame.” Habeth spit the last of her words out and after taking a fresh breath she continued slowly, "The boy is well, but the dog is dead." The servant stepped back, closing her eyes, expecting harsh retaliation from the Queen, but nothing happened. Slowly opening her eyes, Habeth saw Beruthiel sitting silently in thought. The servant nervously shifted her body weight, causing the Queen to snap her head up and give Habeth a sharp look.

“Are you still here? Out with you.” Habeth opened her mouth wishing to help Beruthiel in some way, or at least know how she felt, but she changed her mind when the Queen raised her hand in silent authority. Habeth lowered her head, and after a small curtsey, she hurried from the room. She paused in the hallway, and let her weight lean heavily on the door. Her chest was heaving, but she’d survived.

[ October 11, 2003: Message edited by: alaklondewen ]

[Susan Delgado]

Tarannon stood behind his desk, staring out the window.Someone had tried to kill Earnil? Who..Why? What would be the point of it? Earnil was the only heir; if Tarannon were to die with no heir, the kingship would be in chaos. Tarciryan would not have another child, and Beruthiel had already proven herself barren. Beruthiel....who had done this? Could it be the Queen? She would have as much to lose from having no heir as Tarannon and the rest of Gondor would, and she was not a stupid woman; she would have to realise this. But if not Beruthiel, who? He turned from the window and strode toward the door. He would go and talk to Cook in the kitchen. Someone down there poisoned the food, and if anyone would have more definite info, she would. As he exited his office, he nearly tripped over one of the Queen's accursed black cats. How many did she have now? He seemed to see them everywhere these days. He watched it scamper down the hall and around a corner and shook his head in disgust. Such useless beasts; all they did was get in the way.

As he neared the kitchen wing, he encountered scurrying maids and furtive glances. Apparently the news had spread quickly, and everyone seemed to be wary of blame from the King. After attempting to catch eyes for several minutes with no success, he finally had to grab someone's arm and forcibly restrain her from leaving. After ensuring she wouldn't run away, he let go of her arm and looked her in the eyes, making sure to keep his expression mild, as she seemed quite terrified.

Keeping his voice low, he asked her where he could find Cook. Trembling slightly, she pointed into the bowels of the kitchen, to Cook's private office door, which was closed. With a nod of thanks, he let the girl go. He noticed she departed with somewhat undue haste.

He entered Cook's office, to find her standing in the middle of the floor staring at the ceiling, hands at her sides. She seemed to be thinking hard. Her head jerked toward the door when it opened and whatever recrimination she had been about to voice for being interrupted was stopped as she swept into a low curtsey and a murmer of, "Your Majesty, this is unexpected."

Startled that she would think him so callous that he wouldn't investigate his own nephew and heir's attempted assasination, he stared at her, inviting her to continue speaking. After a few moments of awkward silence, she did so.

"I only meant, Gaeradan has just been to see me. I thought you had sent him to investigate the...what happened to Earnil."

"No, I have not spoken to Gaeradan. I heard the news from the boy's guard, who witnessed the dog's death."

She nodded in understanding. "I can only tell you what I told Gaeradan then: I don't know who prepared his luncheon this afternoon, but I shall investigate and find out. When I find the culprit, I will send word to you. Would you like me to inform Gaeradan of my findings as well?"

"No, that will be fine. I will tell Gaeradan myself." He was mildly annoyed at Gaeradan's independant actions in such a grave matter, but this is neither the time nor the person to speak of it to. She nodded and curtsied again, knowing the interview was at an end.

As he made his way back out of the kitchens, he considered what to do next. He ought to visit Tarciryan and Miriel. They would need to know, and if they had already been told, then they might appreciate his concern for the welfare of their son.

He was beset by another of those ill-begotten cats on his way to his brother's apartment and was sorely tempted to kick it as he passed, however, it sidled away too quickly and was gone before he reached it. Ah, well. He would have to do something about the beasts, and soon.

[ October 02, 2003: Message edited by: Susan Delgado ]

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Her attendant made a small sound. Beruthiel's attention fell on her with all the confusion and anger she was struggling to contain. "Are you still here? Out with you!" She barked. The servants must not see her react. Her calm must be maintained. Habeth nodded her head slowly, but lingered. The queen's brows drew together as she flapped her hand at the woman. Why couldn't she go? Beruthiel dropped her eyes back into her lap.

The sound of the door closing echoed through the austere sitting room. The queen rose slowly from her chair. For once, all her cats were absent from her room and there was nobody around to see her cry. A few tears slithered out of her eyes, so bloodshot as they stared back at her from the silver framed mirror hanging above her fireplace. The queen touched her face gently with the fingers of her right hand. Her cheeks, always pale, were no longer those of the beautiful girl who'd come to Gondor as the bride of the Lord of Coasts. She rubbed the tears from her eyes quickly. Who was this boy that she should cry over him. His coming made not one bit of difference to her life. Not one. She was still childless. Still alone. Nothing would change that... ever.

Snatching a small black glass globe from its place on the mantel she flung it against the wall and watched it shatter into slivers on the stone floor. Disturbed by the sound, a lithe black form crept around the corner, her tail tip twitching nervously. Lome. Beruthiel watched her sniff around the shards of glass, stepping carefully in between them, setting the hollow pieces tinkling with her tail.

Crossing the room quickly she picked the cat up and carried it with her into the bedroom. Flinging herself on the bed she pulled the heavy curtains closed and clutched the black form close. What was happening? This boy, this child, this brat... he was taking something from her that she never even had. "My children would have been kings..." she whispered to the cat in her arms. Lome curled more tightly in her embrace, her pointed chin resting on her tail. But who dared kill the heir to a kingdom... Beruthiel's shoulders shook with rage.

If only I could have done it. Better no king at all than that spoiled brat. I wish they had killed him.

Her eyes snapped open in the semi-dark of her curtained bed. Lome tensed against her body. Somebody had tried to kill him. They had nearly succeeded. Beruthiel felt her breath catch in her throat as the news began to finally sink in. How easy life would be without him. Without that persistent reminder of her failure. Without hearing his voice and seeing his eager face across the dinner table.

She clutched Lome to her chest, rocking her back and forth until the cat began to struggle. Straightening her spine, Beruthiel released the indignant cat, watching her stalk across the pillow, her tail held high as she settled on the pillow and licked her rumpled fur back into place. This was ridiculous, the queen chided herself. Murder was not an option she could take. All she had was dignity, and when that failed her there was always death. She glanced across the room toward her dresser where she kept a tiny silver dagger... there would always be death.

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

[Beruthiel]

Shumita nearly cried out with shock. The king had grabbed her by the arm and was forcing her to look him in the eye. She was terrified and looked at the floor. 'What if he found out? What if he knows that you were the one preparing the meal?' The thoughts raced through her mind as she slowly looked the king straight in the eye. To Shumita's relief he asked her where the cook was and she pointed towards the other section of the kitchen. The king nodded a thank you and left. 'He wouldn't be thanking me if he'd known who I was...' She thought.

No one knew that she had been the one who had prepared the meal even though cook was asking around. No one had thought to ask Shumita yet. Shumita was terrified about what she would do when someone finally asked her what she had been doing that afternoon. She didn't want to lie but if she told the truth she knew she would be accused and punished and the thought made her tremble.

[ October 06, 2003: Message edited by: Beruthiel ]