A House Divided RPG

[piosenniel]

Sophia’s post

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Gelion's post

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

elven maiden Earwen's post

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


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

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

[piosenniel]

Phervasion's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

The X Phial's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Belin's post

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Beruthiel's post

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

alaklondewen's post

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Envinyatar's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Orual's post

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Lyra Greenleaf's post

“My lady Morwen, a letter from your son”

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Aylwen Dreamsong's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A mouse!

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gelion]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lyra Greenleaf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

The previous night - Eärnil

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alaklondewen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Orual]

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

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

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

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

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

[Beruthiel]

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

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[elven maiden Earwen]

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

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

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

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

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

-Elamir, Captain of the King's Guards

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

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

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________________________

alaklondewen's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The X Phial]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were you talking about when I came in?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

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

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

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

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

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

[Phervasaion]

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

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

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

[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed pretty preoccupied now. Just go get Lassra!

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

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

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

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

[Belin]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gelion]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huine snarled in response, but held back her words.

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

Beruthiel's post for Shumita

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________________________

Sophia's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[alaklondewen]

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

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

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

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

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

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lyra Greenleaf]

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

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

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

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

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

[Belin]

Envinyatar's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Look, papa! There it is!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Heir in Osgiliath

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

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

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

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

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


__________________________________________________ ______________________________________


Lyra's post

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

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

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

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

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

__________________________________________________ _______________________________________


Belin's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[elven maiden Earwen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Envinyatar]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The X Phial]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell us what you know, Huine, Miaama commanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Lyra Greenleaf]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

[elven maiden Earwen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.

[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 ]