Seven Days of Spooky: day 3
Dark in the Moonlight
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing.
Summary: Berúthiel's white cat tells its story.
x-posted to sons_of_gondor
Some of the things said about my Queen are true. But it is a lie to say that she was cruel to us. She was not. She loves us, and we her.
She tells me that I came to her as a gift. “From him,” she says with a quiet, spiteful laugh. “A peace-offering.” I barely remember it. My eyes had only just opened, and they opened on her face. She smiled at me, and tucked me into her arms. She was young then.
She never told me what happened later. She, like my kind, keeps her secrets, and I was too small to make sense of it, the way her eyes flashed as she happened to see him, as if she had discerned something hateful. I do remember, though, two months later, how she told me to go to her gardens and bring her certain herbs. I carried them in my mouth when I crept back to her. She brewed them and burned them and drank them down, and then the blood came gushing, soaking her fine bed-linens. She sobbed softly into her pillow as it drained from her, and I nuzzled against her hair, her thick black hair that even now smells of bitter herbs and blood and ashes. It was the only time she wept, and after it her face wore a look of cold indifference.
He left soon after for his house by the sea, and never again visited her chambers. Over time I found the others for her, my fellows, cats of midnight black who could speak to her, and she to them. She would sit enthroned on her chair, and she would feed us tidbits from her hand, and whisper to us that we were her children. She would stare out the window at the city and the river, and I would entwine about her legs, and she would devise her schemes.
She played with the people like I do with mice. Her reason for it I do not know. Perhaps it had to do with what she saw in the King’s eyes. It may have been a sort of vengeance. Or perhaps she simply enjoyed it. Either way, she was good at it. She would send the black cats out all over Gondor to find secrets for her, and I made certain that they told her all they knew. What she would do with those secrets I will not tell, except to say that there were still some who served her loyally, or were perhaps too frightened of her to refuse.
The people feared her, feared us. They whispered hideous rumors of her to one another while my fellows lay hidden and listening, then stiffened and fell silent when they saw gleaming yellow eyes peering from the shadows. She laughed when we told her their words.
When at last they came for her, we knew of their plan, and we were ready. The black cats sat in a line before her, staring at the men as they entered her chambers, and I sat beside her. Her long fingers scratched behind my ears, and her other hand clutched a dagger. Her herbs burned on plates all about the room, filling the air with smoke that stung their eyes and caught in their throats. My fellows narrowed their eyes and hissed their warning. Their fur stood on end, and their sharp claws gleamed in the candlelight. But the men were too many. She stabbed two of them before she was dragged away, and my teeth found their bare skin in many places, but in the end I found myself stuffed into a thick sack. Trapped, I screamed piteously for her. I thought they would kill us all.
And now I sit beside her, and the deep black waves around our little boat glint under the sickle moon. But her eyes are dark in the moonlight, and she sheds no tears. I do not know where the waters will take us.
“Away,” she tells me silently. “Away, and that is enough.”
~end~
And a bonus story today, because my buddy Michael sicced this bunny on me after I was telling him about the last story. Hopefully the story is as funny as the idea seemed at the time.
The Madness of Queen Berúthiel
Disclaimer: Again, it ain't mine.
Summary: A more humorous take on Queen Berúthiel and her cats.
x-posted to sons_of_gondor
In a small seedy tavern in Osgiliath, gossip was fighting with ale for mouth-space. The topic of all the hubbub was the young Queen Berúthiel and her pets.
“They say she talks to them,” said one man.
“Nothing so strange about that, though, is there? My sister talks to her cats,” said another, sipping diffidently at his mug.
“Ah, but do they answer?”
The man who had spoken shrugged. “You have a point.”
“No, wait just a moment,” another man, who had been eavesdropping, said as he sidled into their group. “Cats can’t speak. How could they answer?”
Yet another man laughed heartily at this and scooted his chair closer. “Indeed! Do they tap it out in code?”
“No. Some animals speak. Huan did.”
“Yes, but that was an exception.”
“I’ve also heard of some ravens up North that can…”
“Ravens?”
“Oh, well, yes, a Northern raven maybe, but none in Gondor can talk, and anyway, ravens aren’t cats! So how do they talk to her?”
“Possibly telepathically,” said the first man. “And it is possible that she talks to them telepathically. Possibly.”
“Telepathically possibly!” the others laughed in a mocking tone, before heading on into the next subject of the evening.
* * *
In her study, Berúthiel felt she was going mad. From behind the closed door to her bedchamber came an incessant yowling. The cats that Tarannon had bought for her… she adored them, but she had come to the conclusion that there was something quite strange about them. For the first part, they seemed to be singing…
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOOOOWW!!!
…the Meow Mix song? She thought, then suddenly realized that she had no notion where that idea had come from, as she had never heard of a “Meow Mix song.” It had seemed to pop into her head out of nowhere. But the strangeness of this occurrence was nothing compared to what she heard next.
“No, you fool! You’re OFF KEY! And it’s ‘MEOW’ -like that!-not ‘Mee-ow’! Can’t you hear the difference? Then do it right! Now, once more from the top,” an unfamiliar voice said loudly and clearly.
She jumped in startlement. Who could have gotten into her bedchamber, and why were they talking to her cats?
Stealthily, she got up from her desk and crept towards her chamber. Taking great pains not to let the hinges creak, she turned the knob and opened the door just far enough for her to peek through.
She saw no one there, except the cats. But they… the black cats were lined up in two rows, facing the white one. The black cats were again yowling their song, and the white cat’s tail was switching from side to side in time with their meowing, exactly like a conductor’s wand. This was ridiculous behavior for cats, wasn’t it? She wasn’t even sure she was really seeing it, and the white cat seemed to agree as it glanced over at her with a completely innocent expression. She slid the door shut again, returned to her desk, and covered her head with her arms in despair.
Some time later, and after having endured their yowling and the inexplicable voices during the whole of that time, she called for one of her handmaids. The girl, who she trusted implicitly, was not only one of the most level-headed people she knew, but also had quite a bit of experience at the healing arts, and would most likely know it if she happened to be coming down with some sort of strange fever.
“Do you hear that?” Berúthiel asked casually when the girl arrived moments later.
“The cats? Aye, and what a ruckus! Have they been fed recently?” the girl said in reply. “Or perhaps are they in…”
Berúthiel cut her off and waved away the question. “I didn’t just mean the cats.”
“Is there something else you’re hearing, my lady?”
“Well, it is just… I keep thinking I’m hearing someone talking,” the Queen said, leaning close to her handmaid and nearly whispering her words. “But it’s not someone out in the hallway. It’s definitely coming from right in there!”
“All right, now we have it together, let’s work on our volume, people! It needs to be LOUD! They need to hear you clear across the River. Sing from your diaphragms!”
She stiffened. “You didn’t hear that?”
“I don’t know how you can hear anything over those cats. Here, lie down for a bit and I’ll get you a cool moist cloth for your head, my lady. Such noise could make anyone doubt their senses,” the girl said before bustling off.
Obediently, Berúthiel reclined on the little couch. I think I really am going mad, she thought.
But a lie-down with a cool cloth on her head did nothing. Neither did going for a stroll in the gardens later that afternoon. The noise and the voices followed her.
In a rage, she burst into her own bedchamber, ready to shoo the cats out any way she had to. But in that instant, the cats stopped their song, and the voices also stopped. Ten furry faces looked up at her expectantly. Dazed and deflated, she sank down onto the floor next to them. The white cat climbed into her lap. Two of the black cats butted their heads lovingly against her hands, begging to be stroked. The others waited their turns. She indulged them for many hours, long past suppertime, until she climbed into her bed, exhausted.
The next day went just about the same way, as did the one after that. It was impossible for her to get any work done with the constant meowing going on, and the only way to get it to cease was to go and be with the cats.
By the end of the week, Tarannon had finally noticed that his wife had not dined with him in days, and he demanded her presence.
Unable to refuse her King’s command, she left her cats alone in her bedchamber, and went.
She sat across from him, toying with her food. Her fork shuffled a bit of stewed lamb around her plate-
“Meow meow meow meow!”
-and she took a hesitant nibble at it-
“You’re off the beat! Pay attention!”
-and then had a large gulp of her wine. For a moment it seemed to help, but-
“Meow meow MEOWWWW!”
She frowned ferociously in frustration, and noticed that her husband was speaking, but she couldn’t hear his words over all the noise.
Unable to take it anymore, she stood up, her goblet still in her hand, and shrieked, “Would you please be QUIET?” She brought the glass down hard against the edge of the table, sending wine and shards flying across the room.
Tarannon couldn’t decide whether to be taken aback, concerned for her, or furious. In a fit of indecision he pushed his chair out from the table, blinked at her, and walked out of the room.
Berúthiel stared at his retreating back. She looked down at the broken stem in her hand and the wine dripping off the corner of the table. She hadn’t meant to do that. Well, she thought with a sniffle. If that’s how he’s going to treat me, it can all be his fault.
A wicked smile spread across her face at the next thought: maybe I can get the cats to…
And thus it was that Queen Berúthiel went quite mad.
~end~
Author: illwynd
Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing.
Summary: Berúthiel's white cat tells its story.
x-posted to sons_of_gondor
Some of the things said about my Queen are true. But it is a lie to say that she was cruel to us. She was not. She loves us, and we her.
She tells me that I came to her as a gift. “From him,” she says with a quiet, spiteful laugh. “A peace-offering.” I barely remember it. My eyes had only just opened, and they opened on her face. She smiled at me, and tucked me into her arms. She was young then.
She never told me what happened later. She, like my kind, keeps her secrets, and I was too small to make sense of it, the way her eyes flashed as she happened to see him, as if she had discerned something hateful. I do remember, though, two months later, how she told me to go to her gardens and bring her certain herbs. I carried them in my mouth when I crept back to her. She brewed them and burned them and drank them down, and then the blood came gushing, soaking her fine bed-linens. She sobbed softly into her pillow as it drained from her, and I nuzzled against her hair, her thick black hair that even now smells of bitter herbs and blood and ashes. It was the only time she wept, and after it her face wore a look of cold indifference.
He left soon after for his house by the sea, and never again visited her chambers. Over time I found the others for her, my fellows, cats of midnight black who could speak to her, and she to them. She would sit enthroned on her chair, and she would feed us tidbits from her hand, and whisper to us that we were her children. She would stare out the window at the city and the river, and I would entwine about her legs, and she would devise her schemes.
She played with the people like I do with mice. Her reason for it I do not know. Perhaps it had to do with what she saw in the King’s eyes. It may have been a sort of vengeance. Or perhaps she simply enjoyed it. Either way, she was good at it. She would send the black cats out all over Gondor to find secrets for her, and I made certain that they told her all they knew. What she would do with those secrets I will not tell, except to say that there were still some who served her loyally, or were perhaps too frightened of her to refuse.
The people feared her, feared us. They whispered hideous rumors of her to one another while my fellows lay hidden and listening, then stiffened and fell silent when they saw gleaming yellow eyes peering from the shadows. She laughed when we told her their words.
When at last they came for her, we knew of their plan, and we were ready. The black cats sat in a line before her, staring at the men as they entered her chambers, and I sat beside her. Her long fingers scratched behind my ears, and her other hand clutched a dagger. Her herbs burned on plates all about the room, filling the air with smoke that stung their eyes and caught in their throats. My fellows narrowed their eyes and hissed their warning. Their fur stood on end, and their sharp claws gleamed in the candlelight. But the men were too many. She stabbed two of them before she was dragged away, and my teeth found their bare skin in many places, but in the end I found myself stuffed into a thick sack. Trapped, I screamed piteously for her. I thought they would kill us all.
And now I sit beside her, and the deep black waves around our little boat glint under the sickle moon. But her eyes are dark in the moonlight, and she sheds no tears. I do not know where the waters will take us.
“Away,” she tells me silently. “Away, and that is enough.”
~end~
And a bonus story today, because my buddy Michael sicced this bunny on me after I was telling him about the last story. Hopefully the story is as funny as the idea seemed at the time.
The Madness of Queen Berúthiel
Disclaimer: Again, it ain't mine.
Summary: A more humorous take on Queen Berúthiel and her cats.
x-posted to sons_of_gondor
In a small seedy tavern in Osgiliath, gossip was fighting with ale for mouth-space. The topic of all the hubbub was the young Queen Berúthiel and her pets.
“They say she talks to them,” said one man.
“Nothing so strange about that, though, is there? My sister talks to her cats,” said another, sipping diffidently at his mug.
“Ah, but do they answer?”
The man who had spoken shrugged. “You have a point.”
“No, wait just a moment,” another man, who had been eavesdropping, said as he sidled into their group. “Cats can’t speak. How could they answer?”
Yet another man laughed heartily at this and scooted his chair closer. “Indeed! Do they tap it out in code?”
“No. Some animals speak. Huan did.”
“Yes, but that was an exception.”
“I’ve also heard of some ravens up North that can…”
“Ravens?”
“Oh, well, yes, a Northern raven maybe, but none in Gondor can talk, and anyway, ravens aren’t cats! So how do they talk to her?”
“Possibly telepathically,” said the first man. “And it is possible that she talks to them telepathically. Possibly.”
“Telepathically possibly!” the others laughed in a mocking tone, before heading on into the next subject of the evening.
* * *
In her study, Berúthiel felt she was going mad. From behind the closed door to her bedchamber came an incessant yowling. The cats that Tarannon had bought for her… she adored them, but she had come to the conclusion that there was something quite strange about them. For the first part, they seemed to be singing…
Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOW MEOOOOWW!!!
…the Meow Mix song? She thought, then suddenly realized that she had no notion where that idea had come from, as she had never heard of a “Meow Mix song.” It had seemed to pop into her head out of nowhere. But the strangeness of this occurrence was nothing compared to what she heard next.
“No, you fool! You’re OFF KEY! And it’s ‘MEOW’ -like that!-not ‘Mee-ow’! Can’t you hear the difference? Then do it right! Now, once more from the top,” an unfamiliar voice said loudly and clearly.
She jumped in startlement. Who could have gotten into her bedchamber, and why were they talking to her cats?
Stealthily, she got up from her desk and crept towards her chamber. Taking great pains not to let the hinges creak, she turned the knob and opened the door just far enough for her to peek through.
She saw no one there, except the cats. But they… the black cats were lined up in two rows, facing the white one. The black cats were again yowling their song, and the white cat’s tail was switching from side to side in time with their meowing, exactly like a conductor’s wand. This was ridiculous behavior for cats, wasn’t it? She wasn’t even sure she was really seeing it, and the white cat seemed to agree as it glanced over at her with a completely innocent expression. She slid the door shut again, returned to her desk, and covered her head with her arms in despair.
Some time later, and after having endured their yowling and the inexplicable voices during the whole of that time, she called for one of her handmaids. The girl, who she trusted implicitly, was not only one of the most level-headed people she knew, but also had quite a bit of experience at the healing arts, and would most likely know it if she happened to be coming down with some sort of strange fever.
“Do you hear that?” Berúthiel asked casually when the girl arrived moments later.
“The cats? Aye, and what a ruckus! Have they been fed recently?” the girl said in reply. “Or perhaps are they in…”
Berúthiel cut her off and waved away the question. “I didn’t just mean the cats.”
“Is there something else you’re hearing, my lady?”
“Well, it is just… I keep thinking I’m hearing someone talking,” the Queen said, leaning close to her handmaid and nearly whispering her words. “But it’s not someone out in the hallway. It’s definitely coming from right in there!”
“All right, now we have it together, let’s work on our volume, people! It needs to be LOUD! They need to hear you clear across the River. Sing from your diaphragms!”
She stiffened. “You didn’t hear that?”
“I don’t know how you can hear anything over those cats. Here, lie down for a bit and I’ll get you a cool moist cloth for your head, my lady. Such noise could make anyone doubt their senses,” the girl said before bustling off.
Obediently, Berúthiel reclined on the little couch. I think I really am going mad, she thought.
But a lie-down with a cool cloth on her head did nothing. Neither did going for a stroll in the gardens later that afternoon. The noise and the voices followed her.
In a rage, she burst into her own bedchamber, ready to shoo the cats out any way she had to. But in that instant, the cats stopped their song, and the voices also stopped. Ten furry faces looked up at her expectantly. Dazed and deflated, she sank down onto the floor next to them. The white cat climbed into her lap. Two of the black cats butted their heads lovingly against her hands, begging to be stroked. The others waited their turns. She indulged them for many hours, long past suppertime, until she climbed into her bed, exhausted.
The next day went just about the same way, as did the one after that. It was impossible for her to get any work done with the constant meowing going on, and the only way to get it to cease was to go and be with the cats.
By the end of the week, Tarannon had finally noticed that his wife had not dined with him in days, and he demanded her presence.
Unable to refuse her King’s command, she left her cats alone in her bedchamber, and went.
She sat across from him, toying with her food. Her fork shuffled a bit of stewed lamb around her plate-
“Meow meow meow meow!”
-and she took a hesitant nibble at it-
“You’re off the beat! Pay attention!”
-and then had a large gulp of her wine. For a moment it seemed to help, but-
“Meow meow MEOWWWW!”
She frowned ferociously in frustration, and noticed that her husband was speaking, but she couldn’t hear his words over all the noise.
Unable to take it anymore, she stood up, her goblet still in her hand, and shrieked, “Would you please be QUIET?” She brought the glass down hard against the edge of the table, sending wine and shards flying across the room.
Tarannon couldn’t decide whether to be taken aback, concerned for her, or furious. In a fit of indecision he pushed his chair out from the table, blinked at her, and walked out of the room.
Berúthiel stared at his retreating back. She looked down at the broken stem in her hand and the wine dripping off the corner of the table. She hadn’t meant to do that. Well, she thought with a sniffle. If that’s how he’s going to treat me, it can all be his fault.
A wicked smile spread across her face at the next thought: maybe I can get the cats to…
And thus it was that Queen Berúthiel went quite mad.
~end~