Celebwen Telcontar: Here's the new chapter. As always, I do not own anything here.
Balrog: What about Tarichar, Silence, and Mariah?
Celebwen Telcontar: You're right, Balrog. Anything here that is not owned by the Tolkien Estates or the movie business is mine.
Balrog: Understood, I suppose. Can I drop this gentlemanly way now?
Celebwen Telcontar: I suppose. Just don't burn anything I need. No! Not the manuscript for the next chapter! Stop! Balrog, stop! Ahhh, too late. This cliffhanger will need to go longer due to Balrog's clumsiness. Please enjoy, and please review. As always, "Sindarin," Thought, Divine Speech.
Derek sighed. This was getting old! Ian would eat a few bites, barely chewing them, and his sleep was short and fitful. More than once this week Derek had shot a murderous glare across the table, and he had eaten a few more bites. Then, after this last meal had begun, when Ian ignored Derek's glare, a low, deadly snarl came down from the rafters followed by a furious hiss, and Nicole, the Healer, looked up, as did Derek, to see Tarichar's lamp-like eyes gleaming from the shadows. Ian hastily ate his food, lest he raise her wrath further. All at the table watched every food-laden fork closely as it went from Ian's plate to his mouth.
Another reason for Derek's exasperation was Ben's adamant belief that the only way to heal his knee was to use it as little as possible. He had purloined linen bandages and wrapped his knee as if it had been mummified, limping as if he had lost the leg entirely. Now he limped in, and Derek was furious. He stood up so fast his chair clattered to the floor.
"Care to help me, Queens' Heir?" Derek called to the roof in Sindarin. The twin pinpricks of light went out then on again, as the medium-sized gold-brown-and-black marbled female cat leapt lightly to the floor. Her entire body shuddered as she bent her legs to absorb the shock of landing. Tarichar chirped and trotted to Ben, leapt to his "wounded" and most likely stiff knee, and made short work of the bandages. She amazingly, didn't touch his flesh, but the shredded linen fell to the floor. Derek left, looking for Elen, found by the water pump, covered in flowing carnation garlands like a triumphant racehorse. The mare looked pissed, and Derek laughed. He collected several blossoms, and Elen shook herself off, the flowers going every which way as the delicate stems holding the wreath together snapped. She bent her head and began to eat one of them, and then spat the blossom into the well. "Think you can bear Ben for a bit to get his knee in working order again?" Derek asked her. The mare looked thoroughly disgusted, snorted, and made an odd growling sound, but she bobbed her head in a semblance of a nod. Derek left for Nicole's home, Elen following dejectedly.
At the door, he met with Ben. Derek's nephew was standing in the sun, using the wall as a prop, and Tarichar was in the doorway, hissing furiously.
"Ben, get on Elen. You need more exercise to loosen up the muscles, this is the best way you can get it." Ben mounted, and grumbled, and then Elen began a very rocky trot, each of the bounces making Ben look a shade paler.
The moon rode high in the skies as Tarichar stood on the windowsill. Her mind was on the past, on the stories of Shadowpaw Rechtel and Snowdancer Tren, the god and goddess of cats. The time was near, when Rechtel and Tren would come to help humans. That had only happened once to some Egyptian Pharaoh. That was the reason the ancient Egyptians worshiped cats. She looked to the bedroom door, past Ian who was not even trying to sleep. He was lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling as words, indiscernible and soft, floated past his lips in a song. His voice, unlike Ben's, had a beauty in it that she had never heard in the human voice. It was melodious and charming, and threatening to put Tarichar to sleep. The door opened and Derek came in, carrying a mug of an odd-smelling tea. The cat recognized the smells as mint with a slight scent of datura. Ah, Tarichar thought, He must not be sleeping well now. Only Derek would dare to make datura tea for Ian. I do wish Silence would get her memory back. It's infuriating that she does not like Ian any longer. Their kittens would be charming, though very intelligent for humans. The same can be said for Derek and Mariah's kittens. What a pair of tag-alongs they would be for Silence and Ian's kittens though.
"Ian, here. Drink, the mint will help you with your blasted stomach-ache."
"I don't have one."
"Ian, we had a supper with a lot of sheep's milk cheese in it. I know how you don't handle sheep's milk well. Drink." Ian took the mug and sipped it while staring at the moon and stars. Derek began to softly chant an old ballad about Eärendil the Mariner, who went to find the Valar and ask for help in defeating Morgoth. Eventually, Tarichar leapt down and curled up, purring, on Ian's chest. The datura began to work, and she felt Ian drift off into sleep.
"Thank you, Queen's Heir," Derek said, softly stroking her head. She looked up at him and meowed slightly, pawing Derek's hand. "What?" he asked. She looked to Ian, and Derek smiled. "Yes, I know. He's finally asleep for once. I hate it when he's not eating and sleeping." She gave a low growl, and Derek laughed and left.
Mariah sat in the chair, a pot of oil with relaxing herbs in it by her side. The door opened, and Derek stepped in. Dark circles were beneath his eyes, and he looked as if he had been worn ragged.
"Derek, lay facedown on the bed." Mariah stated in Sindarin. "Now. And remove your shirt.
"Mariah-"
"Derek, 'now' does not mean 'at the end of our current age'! Take off your shirt and lay down! Now!" Derek sighed and did so as Mariah began warming some of the oil between her palms, smelling the relaxing herbs and feeling them threaten to remove the measure of control she had over herself and tumble Derek there and then. She began to massage his shoulders, undoing knots that felt like they had been formed from granite. Every muscle seemed to have at least one Gordian knot tied up in it, most likely from the shock and stress of the last three years. From what she understood, Derek had been running around the entire American East Coast, up to Greenland, to England, and who knew where else, found a long-lost niece and nephew, and found a treasure worthy of the Templar Knights. Gasps and groans of shock and pleasant pain were heard from Derek, as he lay prone of the bed. Mariah's massage worked down below the shoulder blades, and soon the massage rendered Derek fully incapable of protest. She licked her lips, wishing she dared to kiss the skin she was massaging, wishing that she dared to tell him she loved him. The skin of his back was as pliable now as she could wish, and she let her long ebony hair brush against his back, the feeling of his flesh beneath her hands sending shivers of delight up her spine. The candle's light made Derek's oiled skin gleam golden, and she wanted more than ever to take him in her arms and make love to him.
The smell of the oil and Derek's own smell sent erotic visions coursing through Mariah's mind. She began flushing; her cheeks a brilliant scarlet, and she kept on stroking and massaging the pliant skin and muscle. She let loose a primal moan of desire, and Derek rolled over and pulled Mariah down with him.
"Mariah?" he asked, his voice unusually husky.
"Yes, Derek?" she replied, just as huskily, seeing his eyes filled with an unknown emotion. He traced her jaw line with his finger, and she let him, his touch sending her to another dimension of pleasure.
"I am not apt at words of romance…" he began.
"Nor I," she replied. He kissed her mouth, making her seem to melt with joy. Swiftly, their kisses grew more passionate, and then the night grew more eventful for both of them as Derek slowly and gently made love to Mariah.
Ian woke swiftly, yet didn't move. Something heavy was on his chest, a band of warm weight across his ribs. It shifted when he tried to get comfortable, and then it chirped sleepily. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a feline on him, sprawled like a thoroughly content child. She was taking up more space than he would have thought possible for such a small creature. She yawned, sticking her tongue out, and began washing herself. After she finished, she pulled herself lazily to her feet, stretched both sets of legs, yawned again, curled up into a ball, and went back to sleep, purring, fully contented. Ian chuckled and decided to follow her example, lying lethargically in bed.
The door opened after a knock, and Derek came in, bearing a breakfast tray. The Bardréd man looked… odd, not like his usual self. For one, his eyes had a new sparkle, and his cheeks were flushed. He practically glowed. Tarichar looked at him and chirped in a questioning way, then looked passed Derek and into the hallway, where Mariah was getting ready for a morning bath. She snorted, and Ian suspected that it was in mirth, and Mariah looked blearily at the feline, then grumbled. Apparently she was not a morning person.
"Good morning, Ian. I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough."
"Good. I'm glad you're getting some sleep now." He looked at Tarichar who subtly looked at him. Derek nodded and set the tray on the bedside table. "I need you to get more sleep and eat more."
Tarichar looked up and at Ian. Her gaze was almost angry, and she jumped off of the bed and ran out the door.
"Yes, mother."
"Ian," Derek said warningly. Ian could hear the light chuckle in his voice that he was trying to hold back. The sparkling eyes didn't help any. Tarichar ran back in, her jaws closed about a large hank of beef, which she placed on Ian's bedspread. She began gnawing pieces off and placing them on Ian's lips, as if she were his mother. Derek laughed. "She obviously agrees with me. Tarichar, make sure he doesn't get up until he's slept at least another hour, and finished the entire tray. He doesn't have to eat what you gave him." She looked at him as if he had just sprouted wings and horns, then pushed the meat off of the bed and pawed Ian's mouth open, dropping a small bit of biscuit in it after biting it off. Ian spat it out, then Tarichar growled at him.
"Alright, alright!" Ian cried, sitting up and taking the tray on his lap. He began to eat the large breakfast, hearing Derek chuckle. Then Tarichar jumped onto the windowsill, looking at him and watching every single bite that Ian took.
Ian saw the cat on the windowsill before Derek.
It was as black as sheer nothingness, its eyes more brilliant than gold. As if it were made of pure obsidian, it did not move a hair, its eyes riveted to Tarichar's slumbering form. He chirruped once, and Tarichar leapt up, then trotted over to the black.
"Whose cat is that?" Ian asked.
I am no one's cat, Son of Anarion. I am Shadowpaw Rechtel, the cat god.
"What…?" Shadowpaw Rechtel touched Tarichar's mouth with his tongue. Then he was gone, literally, as if he had never been there in the first place. Even the never-surprised Tarichar looked startled at the turn of events. She looked like she was off-balance, then regained her internal serenity and looked at the two humans with the cool gaze of a monarch who will not divulge any information for her subjects.
Suddenly, the door was thrown open by Silence.
"Ian, Uncle Derek, Nicole needs to talk to all of us. The East Lorienese are arming up against us. Something about us finding the treasure. They will kill us all if they get hold of us." Tarichar looked utterly furious at herself, and jumped down. She raced from the room followed by the three humans, fur raised and her tail fluffed. Apparently, she was as frightened of this prospect as the humans were.
Balrog: Well, how was that?
Celebwen Telcontar: I'm supposed to ask you that, fireball!
Balrog: If my annalysys of the… uhm… What's the cat doing here? Oh dear… uh-oh… see you at the next update!
Celebwen Telcontar: Balrog? Balrog? It's just Tarichar! Oh, no. She's scared him off. Please review people, I've got to find my scared Balrog before he sets off the smoke alarm. Sorry about the cliffhanger. More on that subject will be broached next time. Balrog? Balrog! Bye, folks!