Written as a birthday gift for Lindahoyland.

The Cats of the Citadel

Gandalf was standing in the Courtyard of the White Tree, gazing with pleasure at the eager and beautiful blooms, when he heard a rather loud “Meow!” behind him. He turned to see a well-fed ginger cat sitting on the nearest bench. The cat was staring at him.

“Sir Cat, I have seen you about the Citadel,” Gandalf said, bowing his head slightly.

“Is it true that you understand our speech?” the cat meowed, getting right to the point. “The white horse says that you are versed in many tongues.”

“It is true,” Gandalf said. “May I be of service to you?”

“It is a matter of names. Would you ask the King to use my proper one?”

“Are you displeased with the name the King has chosen for you?” Gandalf asked.

“Of course,” said the cat. “My name is Reuben, not 'Halmir'. Nor is it ‘Sir Cat’, ‘Puss Puss’, ‘Mr. Whiskers’, as Cook is fond of saying, or ‘Noble One’, even if it is the Queen who addresses me as such.”

Gandalf thought for a moment.

“The King is a good and noble man,” he said, “who fought tirelessly for the freedom of all, including you and your family. Can you not please him by permitting him to use the name he chose for you?”

Reuben was so shocked by this suggestion, he stalked back and forth across the bench in an agitated manner.

“Please him? I beg your pardon, but if the King is that insecure, perhaps he should instead fill the Citadel with more of those unimaginative, fawning hounds rather than appreciate the company of creatures as dignified as himself.”

“Very well, Reuben,” Gandalf conceded. “I shall bring your request to the King, and advise him that this matter is of great concern to you.”

“Excellent. I will call in the others.” Reuben meowed twice, rather loudly.

“The others?” Gandalf asked, then watched, a bit nervously, as a very long line of cats filed into the Courtyard and arranged themselves about his feet.

“The wizard will take all of our names to the King!” Reuben announced, whereupon the air filled with joyous mews and prrrups and meows, and insistence from an elder matriarch on precise pronunciation.

When Faramir entered the Courtyard sometime later, he was surprised to see Gandalf standing there quietly, surrounded by a rather loud clowder of cats -- all of which seemed to be vying rather noisily for his attention. The wizard appeared to be counting the cats and muttering to himself. With a gasp, Faramir spotted a cat peeking out from one of the sacred branches of the White Tree! As he stepped forward, about to speak, a large ginger cat draped comfortably across the wizard's shoulders turned his head to stare at him. As the cat's tail began to twitch in an irritated sort of way, Faramir got the distinct, uncomfortable impression that his presence was not welcome. As he slowly backed away, shaking his head, Gandalf resumed speaking.

“... Ora, Ryllan, Alcarinquë. Do I have everyone now? Kelvarin, do stay still a moment, would you? Nénar, that Tree is not for climbing! Wait, who is that in the back row? Let us start again...”    

** END **