View Single Post
Old 03-28-2011, 05:04 PM   #129
Byronic Brand
Anguirel's Avatar
Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: The 1590s
Posts: 2,825
Anguirel is a guest of Tom Bombadil.
Sador sat up on the broad but lumpy bed as he heard the none-too-distant noise of human collision and childish prattle, alerting him to the fact he'd left his new chamber's door open. At that moment a draught infiltrated too, disordering some of his papers; just as Sador was irritably raising himself up after them, the door clicked shut at last. Probably another breeze.

To his extreme annoyance, Sador couldn't find the note he'd been writing at all. He was a young fellow who thought a lot - perhaps even too much, and while talking to himself sometimes eased the incumbent pressure, he usually found writing to himself rather clearer. But of the latest scribbled instruction he found no sign, and frustrating though it was, he was forced to get another shred of spare parchment out of his pack, ink up his quill, and get it down again.

The original had wafted far beyond the doorframe, an unprepossessing scrap with a list of figures, expenses of some kind perhaps, mostly bedaubing it, but between them a single sentence, written at such speed as to be hardly comprehensible except for two clear capital As at the beginning of spidery names, and another, ordinal number interspersed among the words, Third. Sador had no thought for this lost marginalium and neither, most likely, would anybody else.

He opened the pack's last buckle and sprawled its contents upon his bed. There were no changes of clothes after all, just papers, papers, papers, some of them even full manuscript books without binding. Sador was interested in none of these for the present, and only ceased his rummage when he reached a curved wooden object; one of those very Eriador pipes, popular at court, which so irritated his father. When he'd retrieved a pouch of leaf, also, he filled and lit it. At least his temporary stay in this brutish hole would allow him to indulge the weakness and calm his nerves beyond that stern paternal gaze...

His father had, as was his wont, just made things a little bit harder. After the impetuous dismissal of the loyal company carpenter who would have, Sador suspected, answered to his official employer with some degree of reliability, the rest of the troupe, too, would be bound to feel bad feeling against him, Sador, as Cirdacil's son. Probably Aldarion would be intrigued enough to be reasonable, but the rest? Alas, Sador thought, if he was to be of any use to his father's plans, let alone his own, he would soon have to get up, walk about and be as, well, as damned winning as he could...

Whatever state things were in, for instance, by the next rehearsal, he would be absolutely obliged, he mused grimly, to enjoy it. After the respite of this pipe, he would have to set a smile on his face and energy in his limbs, and force them to stay where they were.
Anguirel is offline