The King's Players RPG

[Anguirel]

Sador's conversation with the young Player, though it had begun in quite an amiable fashion, had not quite recovered that agreeable note since Harrenon's blunt, half-conscious answer to the nobleman's romantic conceits. Yet despite little obvious common ground - excepting, perhaps, that of their young age - the pair had remained together as the morning continued, talking with ever less enthusiasm and consequence. It was an odd state, Sador thought, this extended, purposeless courtesy; and he realised it was felt much the same on Harrenon's side, too, and yet, little as the fellow seemed in truth to like him, he never quite left his side.

Once or twice Sador tried to stray on decisively, to where Asta at the other side of the room was talking with peculiar enthusiasm to a mere child...a golden-headed girl, nobly accoutred, familiar in appearance; the daughter of some courtier, Sador felt sure, though which, he could not recall. Before he had made any precise connection, anyway, both had slipped out of the common room, leaving Sador closeted with the inevitable, awkward, looming presence of Harrenon...did the youth just not have anything better to do?

Piqued into wanting to say anything to alleviate the frustration and tedium in the stuffy tavern air, Sador began to grow a little spikily indiscreet with Harrenon, just as he had done with Aldarion the night before.

"I'm still thinking about what you said, sir Harrenon, about the joys of friendship, and so on. Certainly, if you feel so strongly about that, then you are the right fellow to play Legolas, that fearless comrade of the noble Lord of Aglarond. And that is all very splendid and reassuring. But I am still surprised that a...fine young lad like you, sirrah, has never felt the strains of the sweeter passion...?"

It was unlikely to be a promising line of enquiry on either side. But it was, at that point, interrupted, by the figure of the publican, old Ingold himself, puffing his way into their spiritless conference.

"M'lud," he muttered to Sador with a new and grudging tone of deference, "a fine carriage has called by, and some great ladies within have sent a steward in grand livery to ask for you."

"A carriage?" Sador replied in some alarm. And ladies? They - she - had sought him out, it seemed certain, though goodness knows how they had tracked him to here. It was necessary to make certain, though.

"What sort of carriage, Master Ingold?"

"Festooned with blazons and such, m'lud. Swans, in the main, as far as I can see."

Well, that removed all doubt. Sador turned to Harrenon with an extroardinary look of agitation, and some anticipation too, on his face.

"You must excuse me now, I'm afraid, friend Harrenon. This is the barouche of my sister and sister-in-..."

The law was never spoken, as a gale of wild laughter broke it off, and a tall, most beautiful lady cannoned into Sador's hesitant back, throwing her arms about him. Their resemblance was entire, but wherever the brother was merely elegant, the sister (that much was clearer than anything else in the room's murk) was brightly radiant. It had been her laugh that shattered the cautious courtesies, and her voice, strident in sweetness, was of a piece with it.

"Well, brother, we find you playing with the Players, eh! And you will introduce us, I hope, among your artistic acquaintance?"

Framed in the very entrance to the Inn was the pompous, heavily frog-laced steward whose appearance had impressed Ingold, and at his side was another damsel. Less dazzling, more fine than the first, she surveyed the room with a thin, quiet smile and an equable stare. It would be clear to Harrenon that while Sador returned his sister's embrace with reasonable fondness, the young lord's eyes were already hovering inexorably over to this second arrival...

[Mnemosyne]

Brinn took the noon-tide meal in the common room, cautiously relishing her mobility. Rollan had left the cart during her prolonged interview with Elanor to do start work on pulling out those parts of the set that would be integrated with the pieces that Amdir and Coldan were retrieving from storage. He popped back in at nuncheon to give a brief update and ask Brinn what the hobbit lass had wanted.

"I don't know what she wanted, but she was actually most helpful," said Brinn. "She's quite familiar with her father's story, and told me a good deal about what actually happened--and, better still, what our characters are like. In fact," she said, sighing, "we might have to rewrite Frodo on top of everyone else. I think it could do Seri good if she met with her."

"Seri?" said Rollan. "Is Elanor coming back?"

"Not today," said Brinn, "but I'm afraid we won't be able to keep her away for long. The more I tell her about what we're doing, the more... interested... she becomes."

"All right," he said slowly. "Just remember, it's not her play. Does she have anyone in mind for a comical role?"

"No," she said, "not even Merry and Pippin, who she said were rather jollier than the rest. But when I started suggesting some slapstick, she looked positively horrified. And of course, she doesn't know how a play works, but--she's Lord Samwise's daughter, Rollan! What am I supposed to do?"

"You're asking the wrong person for that," said Rollan. "I'm almost thinking we should just leave town while we have a chance. This is looking like more trouble than it's worth."

Brinn fixed her husband with a look and he quickly studied his stew.

Later, when Amdir and Coldan came back with the wain full of set pieces, Coldan came straight up to Brinn and reminded her she had wanted to see him (Brinn hadn't forgotten). Rollan offered to help Amdir unload, and Brinn and Coldan retired to one of the carts so that Brinn could hear Coldan's side of the story--in private.

[Anguirel]

Some while since Sador at last evaded the vigilance of Harrenon, and departed from Ingold's Inn in the handsome barouche from Dol Amroth with a kinswoman on either side, the remaining noble lady of his family, Aerwen of Burlach, left the great royal library behind her with uncharacteristic pleasure.

A carriage, too, was at the service of her journey, though not such a grand, emblazoned affair as her married sister's vehicle; a lighter droshky, four wheeled and two-seated, decorated in much the same the sombre grey and dark blue in which Aerwen preferred to apparel herself, and without the flummery of a coat-of-arms. It was a fair-sized ride she had ahead of her now, from the Citadel to the Third Circle, but she was a sensible and careful lady and preferred a transport that, while fast enough for efficiency, was perfectly safe. As they left Minas Anor's castellar peak behind and began to negotiate between the tallest of the Sixth Circle merchant mansions - her elder brother Lord Ecsichil's not the least among them - Aerwen lowered a light grey muslin gause over half of her face to keep her large, overtired eyes from the dust. It was scarcely, the fairest observer would have admitted, a princess of beauty which this veil but slightly concealed.

The Healers, too, became long in their wake; with the Fifth Circle they left the school-houses and guild-halls, and through the Fourth little time was allowed for even the most cavalier evening glance among the bombast of the City's finest shops. Few of them, in any case, had ever boasted this generally reclusive and staid lady's custom.

At the Third Circle the droshky began to slow, its path more halting and deliberating; at last they paused altogether, behind a little crocodile of similar transports, in a crescent where several officers of the Guard were known to enjoy their residential pensions. Here the coachman got down to make a couple of enquiries; he was a devoted and skilful servant, and soon reattained his box with the knowledge his mistress had sent him out for at his command. With all its old verve, the manouevrable little carriage rounded the half-circle within the Circle and took a left and right; this left mistress and man in front of a modest lane to a respectable looking military billet. In this lane was pacing a lone man, young in looks but mature in bearing, serious-eyed, dark, as Numenorean to the spectacle, Aerwen thought a little unwillingly, as a lady of any breeding could wish to behold. At this point she herself, with dignity and precision, alighted on the cobbles.

"I believe," she asked with a caution that seemed really to be more about nerves than scepticism, "that you must be Galador's son, sir, late of the Swan Players? If you are he, then my younger brother has desired me to guide you. I am Aerwen, Lady of Burlach."

She really could not help the severity of the sound of her voice, and it had often caused her no little internal anguish...

[Pitchwife]

Back at the inn, Coldan lost no time waiting for Brinn to send for him but, having decided he had better get that talk done with, rather went to seek her out himself. He was pleasantly surprised to find her in the common room - a Brinn who was regaining her mobility thanks to Amdír's crutches might be a little more lenient and agreeable to deal with than a Brinn who was frustrated by being helplessly pent up in her wagon while her troupe ran amuck.

Moving on her crutches almost without need of support, she led him to the cart which had been her domicile and sickbed for the last two days. Once they were private, he thought it best to take the initiative and began to talk while Brinn was still lowering herself gingerly onto a chair.

"I - I suppose you vant to talk to me about vat happened in ze common room last night - and maybe other zings zat happened before zat, if Asta has spoken to you." Now he had begun it, explaining his behaviour was even harder than he had imagined it would be. "Rollan vill probably hev told you zat I asked him for advice on how to voo your sister yesterday. I vant you to know zat nothing of vat followed vas his fault. Ze only one to blame is myself."

He drew a deep breath and steeled himself for the reproach that would doubtlessly come. "I'm sorry to hev caused such an upheaval in ze company at a time ven ve all need to work together and can't really afford to quarrel. You don't deserve zat from me. I'll pull myself together from now on and von't let my feelings interfere viz ze play any more, zat's a promise."

[Thinlómien]

When Sereth woke up, she was horrified to find the sun already descending from her highest point. She jumped up from her bed and hurriedly dressed up. Surely, she told herself, somebody would have come for her if they had started rehearsing. Then again, Brinn is sick and Asta... well I don't know we seem to have some quarrell. The thought of Asta being mad at her did not make Sereth's morning any better.

Combing her hair Sereth admired the shadows under her eyes, visible even in the dim copper mirror of the room. It had not been such a good idea to rehearse lines until birds were singing and the pale hint of dawn was creeping to the horizon. Especially as the lines might still get changed, she told herself. She was vaguely aware that she was taking her newest role too seriously, but decided not to worry about it. What she should worry about though was coming up with some passable excuse for Brinn so that she wouldn't again scold her for straining her eyes in the dim candle light for hours and hours.

Sereth walked downstairs, hoping no one would notice it was the first time she appeared that day. On her way, she met the girl called Thiliel.

"Hi," she greeted the other girl with a smile. "Have they been looking for me?"

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel was planning of going upstairs to her room after lunch, when the inn was almost empty. The usual hubbub was strangely subdued at this time of day. Thiliel hop-skipped her way to the staircase, humming to herself, thinking of when she would go to the market to buy a new ribbon.

Halfway up the stairs Thiliel came across Sereth, the lass that she met yesterday. Thiliel noticed that Sereth looked as though she didn't sleep all night.

"Hi! Have they been looking for me?" Sereth asked. Her voice sounded cheerful enough, even if a little tired.

Assuming that "they" meant the rest of the troop, Thiliel didn't hesitate to give all the information that she knew. "No, I don't think they have. Two of them - two men - went away somewhere for the entire morning. I think they just came back - I saw one of them talk to Mistress Celebrindal. And she can walk on crutches now - she came to the common room for the meal! The other actors were somewhere around... I don't know much about what they were doing, but they weren't searching for anybody... Oh, I almost forgot! How silly of me! A perian came in today for breakfast - a rather large one, I should say. She called herself Elanor Gamgee, and she talked with Mistress Celebrindal for over half an hour.

"You've had a restless night, I see," Thiliel added after a pause, "Maybe I can help you with something? You didn't come down for breakfast or nuncheon; you'd like some food, won't you?" the girl smiled and winked.

[Nerwen]

Sereth, Asta noted, glancing up at the two girls chattering on the stairs, was looking distinctly peaky today. Unsurprising– the child seemed determined to spoil her looks and waste good candles by poring over the script at all hours.

Asta had still not quite sorted out how she felt about the events of the previous Day, or about Coldan himself, and so, although she had her own reasons for consulting Brinn, she hung back in the hall when she saw her sister hobbling out of the common room escorted by the prompter.

Fortunately Rollan, who would do just as well, had lingered over his meal.

Asta took a seat opposite her brother-in-law.

"Rollan, if I may ask your advice?"

Rollan's lips quirked, for some reason. "You too?"

Asta wondered what he meant by that, but decided not to ask. Rollan rarely passed up an opportunity to poke fun at her.

"I found this outside Lord Sador's door yesterday." Asta had to check an impulse to glance over her shoulder as she passed Rollan the crumpled scrap of paper. She knew the limping nobleman was gone, having watched him depart the Inn with those two ladies ("the drab one and the overdressed one", as she thought of them), but the situation still made her feel conspiratorial. "What do you make of it?"