The King's Players RPG

[Inziladun]

"Ha, you had days in the City on leave before I interrupted you, young Berenson; perhaps you can tell me some things frankly. Did you hear of the King's Players? And what did you hear?"

Vëandur heard the last questions the old man had asked, but his mind for the moment was still fixed on what had been said just before.

The Exchequer's office was investigating his ship? If one or others were involved in something illegal, that might at least explain all the late drama aboard that had become by degrees harder and harder to ignore. It could also be the reason for the captain's strange behaviour. Vëandur would not allow himself to yet believe the captain was guilty, at least not without evidence, but worry over the matter could have eating at the man's mind.

As those thoughts ran through his head, Vëandur knew Cirdacil was waiting for answers. Time enough for the rest later. Their steeds raced through the sleeping city streets. The dark sky revealed no stars, and now lightning began to flicker in the direction of the mountains to the east, though no sound of thunder was yet heard.

"The King's Players?" he asked. " I know little: merely that they are a traveling group of actors portraying the events of the War of the Ring. I did happen to meet one of them, though. A fellow who named himself 'Aldarion'. I thought him at first a noble soldier by his looks and speech, and was in truth disappointed to find myself mistaken."

Puzzled, Vëandur asked the question that rose to his mind.

"What trouble have these Players caused, my lord? I said I would aid you if I could, and that word I shall keep."

[Galadriel55]

"I don't think anyone in this Middle-earth leads a dull life, least of all you. And if you think you do, what's stopping you from making it a little more interesting yourself?"

Thiliel looked down, sighing slightly. Ingold's words rang in her ears: You are almost grown up, and you have to act as such. What is stopping her? You have to act like you are expected to, like your sires want you to. Are they the ones who always cut short the wings of glory, risk, excitement, - adventure? Have to. But are they? Do they not want every child to live a tale worth telling?

What tale? All the Great Tales are of the past. Would I that I have lived then! No, I do not wish for War to come again upon us, but rather to have a part in that War. Peace is for those who have done their work in battle - they truly enjoy the rightful peace. But for others, those like me, who only heard an echo of the War, and who have only seen its reflection in the eyes of the older and on the unused swords? If I was a part of that echo - as small as it would have been! How could Celebrindal think that something done now - today - this minute - could possibly compare with the deeds of the past?

Celebrindal. She was leaning forward, looking intently at Thiliel, her supper forgotten. Her eyes shone. A lock of hair fell on her check. She looked like a lass herself. No one told her to act her age… She travels with the troop, free from everything.

“Mistress Celebrindal, may I also journey with you and the others?” the question came out unexpectedly, but was not unwanted. Thiliel’s chest swelled with exhilaration at the idea, although reason told her what the answer will be.

[Anguirel]

Sador and Circilie led their sister-by-law, and their player guest, into a lower, but long room off the ball-room, Sador falling back as Aldarion and Gloredhel moved past him to swing the door to.

"There, good," he mumured, all off-hand, "for the moment I wanted to be certain of discretion."

The chamber might be less grand in its capacity, but there was still an impression of ornate, recently implemented luxury in Ecsichil's* Music Room. Walls and ceiling alike were festooned with airily gorgeous frescoes in gentle, light colours, illustrating birds, trees, and fantastical architectural caprices; interspersed everywhere with scenes of minstrelsy. In Dol Amroth the visitors would have seen purist, classical portraiture and sculpture on such themes, illustrating particular episodes; Maglor singing the Noldor's fall by the sea, or Daeron in his final flight. These images had no such ambition of conception; they were gaudily done lads and lasses, playing at lutes and zithers, yellow-haired as Circilie for the most part, and as carefree, too.

The room was actually rather sparing on musical instruments themselves; there was a harp, that looked too prettily and heavily decorated to be played with any harmony; there was a kind of Eastern drum that proved on closer inspection to be an exotic form of table; a flute hung on one wall beside several swords, but none looked very given to practicality, whether in battle or song. The Music Room's name was a conceit as insubstantial as music's own charm. Sador conceded no attention to any of it, moving swiftly into the middle of the room and securing his three companions' attention with several swift, eager glances.

"Right. Master Lameleg's latest drama is a tragicomedy - you are of course all aware of the genre..."

"It is not generally allowed as a genre at all, at Dol Amroth," Aldarion interposed in a quietly stern tone.

"Well, I shall hope my, ah, direction can seduce you from your early training, then, friend. The play I wish to set before this gathering, Celebrindal, is set in Gondolin - ancient Gondoline the piece generally calls it, for ease of melody - long before her fall. The argument concerns the marriage of Princess Idril the Silverfoot, always referred to in the text as Celebrindal...like the leader of your fine troupe, Aldarion; a happy coincidence. Celebrindal loves and is loved by Tuor the Adan, but Maeglin, her cousin, also by untimely fate desires her. He tries to seduce her and present proof of her infidelity to Tuor; he initially succeeds, with the help of his rascally minstrel friend Salgant, but is uncovered as a liar in the resolution. We shall play only two extracts; the attempted seduction, and the gulling and grief of Tuor. Here are your parts. Read them well; ."

He handed screeds of parchment to each of them, keeping one himself. Gloredhel's read Celebrindal of old Gondoline, Circilie's Salgant of the Harp, Sador's own Tuor the Adan, and Aldarion's, Prince Maeglin of the Sharp Glance.

"A chance for our errant swan to unstretch his feathers," Sador joshed as he handed out this last part. "And it is he who shall begin our first reading..."

The top of Aldarion's part was a short enough speech:

Change you, cousin?
The worthy mortal Tuor is in safety,
And greets your highness dearly.**

Sador mouthed it as if he knew it by...more than heart, but soon swallowed back his too enthusiastic disposition...


*City records of the early Fourth Age refer to the minor noble Cirdacil Cirdacilion as both Ecsichil and Echsicil; this was a lesser title he held by marriage, by which he was generally called to distinguish him from his father, the more famous Cirdacil, Lord Warden of the Exchequer and briefly Master of the Revels.

**Seventh Age scholars might wish to compare this scene to Cymbeline, Act I scene 5, by Edward de Vere Earl of Oxford.

[the phantom]

"Right. Master Lameleg's latest drama is a tragicomedy - you are of course all aware of the genre..." said Sador.

"It is not generally allowed as a genre at all, at Dol Amroth," Aldarion interposed in a quietly stern tone.

Gloredhel shot Aldarion a puzzled glance as Sador went on to explain the setting. Why is he taking this angle? Since when has he had such a dislike for tragecomedies?

Gloredhel smiled politely as she was handed her part. She was actually a bit disappointed to be Idril, as she expected that roll to offer the least in the way of humor, and assumed her character would be that of a standard beautiful elf princess.

She looked sideways at Aldarion's part and was surprised to see that he had received the part of Maeglin rather than Tuor, assuming that his look and bearing would have spurred Sador to follow that route. But this change was probably to Aldarion's liking, as he had always enjoyed being a villain. She and Amlach had always joked that Aldarion was a bit too comfortable in such roles.

But Aldarion was already reading! Gloredhel scrambled to find her bearings. He had not even bothered to question Sador as to the specifics of the situations and the character overall within this particular work. Plus he wasn't bothering with a Noldorin accent, which was extremely strange, as Aldarion simply loved to disguise his voice.

"Change you, cousin?
The worthy mortal Tuor is in safety,
And greets your highness dearly...."

[Anguirel]

Sador seemed as surprised as Gloredhel by Aldarion's blunt, unadorned approach, and not a little dissatisfied, too.

"Hang on, friends, let's pause here, I feel that wasn't quite right. Do it again, Aldarion. Bring out the expression that made your Ar-Pharazon infamous, sir! You are the most notorious turncoat of the Elder Days now, and one of the slyest speakers. You are delivering an apparently innocuous greeting, but some of its words carry deeper meanings. Stress them:

"Cousin. Your knowledge of an incestuous draw burns at your heart day and night. Mortal. You know your rival is doomed to wither and die. Dearly. More dearly that the upstart can afford. These words drive you mad, and reveal your soul to each spectator...if not to Idril herself. Like this...if you'll allow me?"

And Sador, who seemed to be acting under a quite extra-rational impulse, took Aldarion's first leaf and read out the snatch of blank verse again. Like the player, he scorned to attempt any Quenyan lilt. This was no stylised imitation of an Elf from legend, but the heartfelt cry a man in pain. He was playing himself, intensified, simplified, purified. Most striking of all, he had slipped into addressing not the whole room, but one other, facing Gloredhel in the most naturalistic manner.

And he absolutely had not intended to. As he reached the third line he reddened in abashment. "Of course, I lack your experience, Master Aldarion, and you must forgive the liberty I have taken. Your Maeglin must be your own, not mine, and...I shall be interested to see it." He passed back the sheet of vellum with a slight but palpable shudder...

[the phantom]

Aldarion received his script back wordlessly. Sador obviously wished to truly enjoy this reading, and cared about the artistry of everyone's performance. Aldarion almost felt a bit badly about his lack of effort, but then remembered that Sador was a schemer that had spoken ill of him and his companions, and felt a little rush of pleasure in having made things difficult for the man.

And even as he thought this, Gloredhel rapped him upon the head with her rolled up script. "Do not worry about this one, sir!" she said to Sador. "I expect he's merely getting into character," she continued. "Years ago he played the part of Daeron in The Greatest King, and he would not cease his singing!"

Aldarion grinned despite himself, recalling how he had annoyed his family during the month of performance. "He even sang at the table, when simply requesting the salt!" Gloredhel laughed.

And then she turned to Aldarion, half grinning half glaring. "I expect he's being an *** now simply because Maeglin was an ***."

Now this was quite false but Aldarion was not certain if Gloredhel believed it or not. As he considered the possibility that it was true from her perspective, a sinister grin began to creep over his features. He did love playing villains, and he did enjoy getting into character....

"Change you, cousin?
The worthy mortal Tuor is in safety,
And greets your highness dearly"

The change in Aldarion's voice and posture was striking. He leaned towards Gloredhel and stared at her as a starving wolf would look upon a securely fenced lamb, and his accent was, to anyone who recognized, nearly indistinguishable from a born and bred Noldorin Elf.

Gloredhel smiled. But not her usual smile- for it was Celebrindal, not Gloredhel, that occupied her chair.

"You are as welcome, cousin dear, as I
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so
In all that I can do."

As she spoke, occasionally glancing at him with an unfamiliarity that further cemented his sense of character, a deep and true sense of enjoyment trickled through him, and older traits were awakened from slumber. He was going to act out a failed seduction, and he found the thought extremely amusing. How they would laugh later! No doubt Gloredhel would point out that Maeglin was far more charming than Aldarion.

And quite suddenly Aldarion was back- the old one, who didn't mind comedy so much, and lived to entertain by any means available. And just as swiftly he became Maeglin- really Maeglin this time. His mind clicked into place effortlessly, for he had been Maeglin twice before with the Swan Players. His eyes not only changed their shape slightly, but somehow they nearly shined in a way that shouted the meaning of his name- "sharp glance". He also abandoned his classic Noldorin, and instead added a flavor of Sindarin which testified to Maeglin's upbringing in the forest of Nan Elmoth before his flight to Gondolin.

"Thanks, fairest lady.
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of mountained land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach, and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul?"

[Anguirel]

Cirdacil

"What trouble have these Players caused, my lord? I said I would aid you if I could, and that word I shall keep."

"The suspicion that has driven me from my desk," the old man muttered, "is that the cause of the trouble...was I myself."

As the sailor and the treasurer wound up the City's high road together, great-uncle imparted the whole story, as quickly as possible, to great-nephew.

Cirdacil began with his original, unlooked for and inexplicable, appointment as Master of the Revels; he explained that his younger son, Sador, had proposed the matter was an intentional test of his mettle and sincerity; detailed the process of engaging as chaotic a company as could be found, his tearaway son-in-law's runagate friend's bravos; ran through the first misadventures of the King's Player's, and the stern measures he had begun to take against them...and at last came to the troubling visit, so recent, of King Elessar himself.

"So it would appear," he finished, "that Sador was wrong in detail, if not in drift; the King was trusting me to make a success of the play, not a failure, after all; and it seems likely he may relieve me of the Treasury if the performance misfires! The Treasury, where I could still be of so much use to him!

"What must I do, nevvy," he gasped out, the Pelargir twang reasserting itself emotionally. "Do I truly have a duty to help this nonsensical operation come to fruition? And if so...Sador's latest report portrayed the troupe as in total disarray. What in Arda can I do to turn this fiasco round...?"

Their hastened journey had whirled them now into the merchant manses; the longest, largest, and yellowest stone among them lay some way further down the cobbles; pillars of smoke seemed to furl behind it, disturbingly, almost as if it was, or had just been on fire...