"Cats will amusingly tolerate humans
only until someone comes up with a tin
opener that can be operated with a paw."

― Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

24. Kat's Suitor

Edoras was situated on a green hill, protected by a deep ditch and a fence made up of spiky bushes. In the morning sun, the roof of King Théoden's great hall shone like gold as the company slowly approached it.

Except for Shadowfax, the horses were weary to the bone, and so were the riders. They had journeyed at speed all through the day before, and only stopped for a quick nightly rest before continuing at dawn.

The road passed between a series of green burial mounds where white flowers blossomed, and in the budding trees, many birds sang cheerful songs.

Can you understand bird speech as well? Kat asked. She was not tired at all, seated comfortably in front of Legolas on Arod. Gimli rode with Gandalf on Shadowfax this time.

Aye. He gave her a rather cheeky grin.

I bet they say some naughty things.

They do. His grin widened. It is spring and they sing to attract mates. They are explaining why they are the best choice of partner, and are very creative about it, too.

Before she could ask him to translate, Kat's and Legolas' conversation was interrupted by Aragorn, who recited a poem about Eorl the Young, the Rohan lord of old who had founded this place. He had also made friends with Felaróf, ancestor of Shadowfax and the other Mearas, and ever since then they allowed the Rohan kings to ride them.

He spoke a bit more about that, but now Kat was more interested in the approaching town and did not pay attention. Many low buildings clung to the hill as if they had sprouted from it; most of them constructed of crudely hewn logs and thatched with graying straw. Their narrow windows sat high under the roof overhangs, and smoke poured out of sooty holes instead of chimneys. It looked like a Viking village, and the guards at the gate only added to the resemblance; they were tall and blond, grim and fierce. If they had worn horned helmets instead of chainmail hoods, the likeness would have been complete.

The guards seemed not at all happy to see Gandalf, and particularly not the Meara he rode. They exchanged a few angry words with him in a language Kat did not understand, and neither did Legolas. He said it probably was the tongue of the horse lords.

After a few minutes' discussion, one of the guards left. Gandalf said he had gone to ask permission of the king to let them enter, and since he had given his real identity as well of Aragorn's, he was certain the reply would be favorable.

Soon the man returned, and apparently the king had agreed to let them see him just like Gandalf had said. The horses must stay at the gates, so they walked on foot with the guard leading the way and Kat trotting last in line. She attracted a few surprised glances from the other guards when she jumped down from Legolas' horse, but nobody hindered her from entering the town.

The street was paved with gray bricks, made of dried clay by the look of it. Legolas bent down to examine one, and then exclaimed mentally: Clay and long straw! Of course!

What?

Humans mix them, and mold them into bricks for buildings; I have seen it done in Dale back home. That must be where your saying comes from.

Ha. I knew that, she lied.

Sure you did. He smirked.

As they came further into the town, Kat curiously sniffed the houses they passed, perceiving a whiff of something she believed could be tar – though in this form, nothing smelled like it did when she was human – and another scent she could not quite place. All she knew was that it was very alluring, in a tempting, sensual way, and it made her want to jump on Legolas and do naughty things with him. Whatever could it be? Catnip?

Figuring she could easily catch up with the others later, Kat could not resist following the trail into a narrow alley. Some crates were stacked outside an apparent warehouse, and behind them was a large barrel which smelled like it was full of salted meat. On top of the barrel she found the source of the bewitching aroma; large, handsome, and black as sin: a tomcat!

When he discovered her, the cat's ears pricked up with interest. Both were frayed at the edges, and his nose was crisscrossed with old scars.

Why, hello, sexy female! he said mentally, while verbally producing a moaning meow.

Uh, sorry, wrong alley! Nice to meet you. Bye, then! She started to back away.

Don't go! I wanna mate with you. His meowing grew louder, and from a nearby house a man shouted something in the Rohan language. Kat guessed it was 'shut up, bloody horny cat!'.

She broke into a run, but the tom was close on her heels.

I've got a headache so I can't right now. And I'm already with someone, she lied. Go away!

I'll kill him first, and then we mate, he suggested, easily keeping pace with her.

I happen to like him, and besides, he's too large for you, and can shoot you in the face!

Not true. I killed my last rival, so now I'm the largest male in the world.

You're not. You're just a stupid show-off!

Finally Kat caught sight of her friends and dashed the last meters before jumping up on Legolas' shoulder.

Ha. Try catching me up here. She childishly poked her tongue out.

Legolas looked down at her admirer and laughed. Oh my dear, I think he likes you.

No shit, Sherlock! Chase him away.

He was silent, and by his intense gaze at the black cat she realized he must be talking to it mentally, but she could not hear anything.

I agree; she's very pretty, it replied. Now put her down so we can mate.

This doesn't at all sound like you told him to bugger off! Kat's tail waved in annoyance.

Legolas smiled impishly, apparently still speaking with the tom.

Alright, I'll wait, it thought now. But after you've fed us, I mate her, yes?

What? WHAT? What are you saying to it?

Oh, a little bit of this, and a little bit of that, Legolas replied loftily.

Kat felt like clawing his smirk off. Had it been like this for Haldir and the others in Lothlórien? No wonder they had been frustrated. But there was no time to punish the elf, because they had arrived at Meduseld, the great hall where the king lived.

The guards greeted Gandalf in the Rohan language, and then one of them stepped forward. He had flaxen hair like the rest of them, but with a bushy, reddish beard, and his eyes were kind.

"I am Háma, doorward of Théoden King," he said in Westron. "Pets are not allowed inside." He indicated Kat and the yowling tom.

I'm not a pet!

"The tabby must stay with me," said Gandalf ominously. "So says Námo, Lord of Mandos."

Háma blanched. "Hum! I guess, in that case, we could make an exception." He straightened up, regaining his composure. "But before you enter, you must leave your weapons with me."

Legolas reluctantly gave up his bow and knife, sternly instructing the other to keep them safe and not touch them, and Aragorn likewise handed over Andúril with obvious unwillingness. Gandalf gave him his sword Glamdring, and then finally Gimli trusted him with his axe, for, as he said, now it had Aragorn's sword as a companion it would not be ashamed to stay there.

"Your staff, too," said Háma to Gandalf.

Indignantly, the wizard huffed that if he could not take his stick to lean on, he would sit there until Théoden himself came out to speak with him.

Laughing at his antics, Aragorn asked the guard to allow the old man his support. "Come. Will you not let us enter?"

Kat was impressed with their acting talent; she knew what a powerful weapon Gandalf's staff was.

Judging by Háma's expression, he realized this as well and saw through their ruse. He looked thoughtfully at them for a while, but then said he believed they were good, honest men. Stepping aside, he allowed them entrance to the king's hall without further ado.

Where's my food? You tricked me! the tomcat called after them, but to Kat's relief his wails were abruptly cut off when the double doors slammed shut.

Poor thing. I will feed him when we are done here, thought Legolas.

Poor thing? Yikes. He's a black demon!

They had come into a long and dark room, with only slivers of sunlight entering through the windows high above. Intricately carved wooden pillars held up the ceiling, and from a huge, central fireplace came a pleasant warmth.

There were woven tapestries on the walls, with motifs that reminded Kat of medieval art she had seen in churches and history books. Aragorn went over to one of them. "Behold, Eorl the Young!" he exclaimed dramatically, and touched an embroidered man riding a white horse through water.

Further inside, steps led to a platform where the king sat in a golden chair. He looked extremely old, bent and wizened, with deep shadows under his eyes, and a beard spilling over his knees which Santa Claus himself would envy. A thin crown rested on his long, white hair. Behind him stood a young woman, and at his feet sat a pale, ratlike man.

Gandalf hobbled forward, still keeping up his old man act. He greeted the king politely, but the reply he received was far less courteous. The old man wondered in a tired voice why Gandalf had come back, forever bringing ill news to Rohan. Troubles followed him like crows, and when Éomer recently told the news that the wizard had fallen, Théoden had not at all been sad – but regrettably, his nephew had been wrong. "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" he ended his speech.

"You speak justly, lord," said the pale man. They had lots of problems of their own here; the king's son Théodred had been killed just the other day, and Éomer would be a terrible ruler if the kingdom was left to him, and in the east the Dark Lord was preparing for war. Why should they welcome Gandalf here? "Ill news should be your name, and ill news is an ill guest." The man showed his teeth in a slippery smile. Kat would have expected them to be yellow and crooked, but to her surprise they were white and straight like they belonged to a dentist's child.

"I am sure you are a great support to your master, dear Wormtongue," said Gandalf with mock gallantry. He added that ill news could be brought in two ways: you could be the cause of them yourself, or you could be one who came to bring aid against them.

Is his name Wormtongue? And the king trusts him?

Probably only a nickname. Legolas shrugged.

It's still super weird.

"What aid have you ever brought?" said Wormtongue. "And what are you bringing now? Men? Horses? Swords? Spears? That would be useful. Instead you have brought three ragged, gray wanderers, and a gray cat, and you yourself are the grayest of them all! Do you think the Dark Lord is a mouse that can be caught by your little kitty?" He chuckled in glee, but his toothpaste-advert smile did not reach his heavy eyes.

Kat hissed warningly at him. Kitty, indeed!

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late," said Gandalf. Had Théoden not been told the names of his companions? They were important guests whose weapons were worth a fortune, and had been given their gray garb by the elves.

"Then is it true, as Éomer reported, that you are in league with the Sorceress of the Golden Wood?" sneered Wormtongue.

"The what?" Gimli took a step forward, but was restrained by Gandalf before he could beat the pale man into a pulp.

Instead, the wizard straightened up and began to sing, and while he did so he threw off his gray cloak and stood there white and tall, full of power and might. Speaking in a cold and commanding voice, he addressed Wormtongue with his real name; Gríma son of Gálmód, and said he was truly a snake with his forked tongue. With his staff raised, Gandalf made darkness fill the room, and a boom like thunder sounded.

"I said you should forbid his staff, my lord!" Wormtongue had become even paler than before, however that was possible. "Háma has betrayed us!"

But a bright light shone from the wizard's staff, and the man fell on his face, stiff with terror.

"Do you want my help?" Gandalf asked the king. Dispelling the shadows with his staff, he bid the king to stand and come with him, out into the sunlight. Too long had he been sitting in the dark, listening to Wormtongue's lies.

Slowly Théoden rose, and the young woman hurried forward to support him when he began limping through the hall.

Gandalf struck the doors open and called in a ponderous voice: "The Lord of the Mark comes forth!"

"Meow!" yowled the tom, ruining the dramatic moment somewhat. Kat wisely climbed on top of Legolas again and hissed at the obnoxious creature.

Gandalf paid no attention to the cat, and turned to the woman, instructing her to leave them alone. He would take care of her uncle.

"Go, Éowyn, sister-daughter," Théoden agreed.

She nodded, and was about to turn away when she caught sight of Aragorn. Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned pink when she stared at the tall Gondorian.

Aww. Poor girl, thought Kat. He's taken already.

She reminds me of someone I know, thought Legolas teasingly. The way she cannot take her eyes off a handsome male, and... What was that word? Fangirling over him.

Pfft! I've never looked at Aragorn like that.

Nay, you seem to prefer elves. Ouch! Take your claw off my ear. It is very sensitive.

When can we mate? thought the tom.

When Éowyn had left, after a final long look at Aragorn, Gandalf put an arm around Théoden's shoulders and instructed him to behold his lands, and breathe fresh air again.

"It is not so dark here." The king sounded surprised.

"And you are not so old," said the wizard encouragingly.

As if released from a spell, Théoden suddenly straightened his back and gazed with clear eyes at the billowing hills and greenery below. "Dark have been my dreams of late," he said, and bent down to absent-mindedly pet the black cat.

It buffed his hand. Feed me?

Ignoring it, the king continued speaking. He regretted that Gandalf had come so late, for war was upon him and what could he do about it?

Gandalf said there was still much they could do, but first he must summon Éomer, his nephew. Apparently the king had imprisoned him for threatening Wormtongue, which he now realized was another bad piece of advice from that man.

While waiting for Háma to release the prisoner, Gandalf talked more with Théoden. The old king still seemed frail, and the wizard said he needed to hold a sword again to find his strength.

Éomer, who just arrived, bowed deeply and gave his sword to the king. "Take this, dear lord."

The king gingerly took it, and when he swung it over his head he seemed to lose another score of years. In a strong, clear voice he called out in his own language. In answer to his summons, several men came running from below the steps. At the sight of their master they stopped, staring at him with gaping mouths, baffled and overjoyed to see him as they remembered him.

"Westu Théoden hal!" Éomer cried, and looked ready to hug Gandalf in gratitude.

Théoden returned the sword to his nephew, and commanded Háma to fetch Wormtongue. He suspected he had hidden his own sword somewhere, and in addition he wanted to speak with his so-called advisor.

Now that the king was restored to his old self, Gandalf became businesslike and to the point. They had to fight Isengard, and they must do it now. To his surprise, Théoden said he would come too, and lead his people to war for the first time in ages. This awarded him an expectant cheer from his men, and from Aragorn as well.

When Háma returned with Wormtongue, the pale man cringed and cowered before the king, and whined that he had done nothing wrong. Would not the king come back inside? His breakfast was ready.

"I will eat, and so shall my guests. But before noon every man and strong lad must be at the gate, with their horses and weapons ready!"

"The wizard has bewitched you!" wailed Wormtongue, and argued that the king needed to stay here where he and his fathers' hall could be kept safe.

The king acidly replied that if this was an enchantment, it felt a lot better than Gríma's whisperings. No, he would ride to war, and so would Gríma!

This apparently came as a shock to the pale man, who whined even worse, acting much like a child around the age of two. He begged his master to have pity and not be so cruel.

The other calmly replied he was not cruel; he would fight himself, and now Gríma had a chance to prove his worth.

Gandalf lost patience. "Down snake!" he growled. How long had he been bought by Saruman? Wormtongue had been feeding Théoden bad advice for years – in return, had he been promised wealth? Or perhaps the woman he desired?

Éomer grimly confirmed that the man had indeed been lusting after his sister Éowyn, and this was the reason he had wanted to kill the disgusting old fellow. He seemed to want to do that still, but Gandalf held him back. Éowyn was safe now, but Théoden must get rid of this snake at once.

"These are your choices," said the king firmly. "Ride with me to war, and show in battle that you are true – or go away. But if you do that, and I meet you again, I shall not be merciful!"

Wormtongue's face twisted in rage and malice, and he spat at the king's feet before scurrying away like a scalded rat.

"Now, my guests, come," exclaimed Théoden, ignoring him. "First we eat, and then we ride to battle!"

"Meow," the tomcat agreed. Feed me first, and then I mate Kitty.

A/N:

Will Tom follow Kat to Helm's Deep? Will she be pregnant with kittens?

OK, that was gross. Sorry. :D

Image Credits:
Public Domain