[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.”