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Old 06-07-2011, 06:42 PM   #313
Anguirel
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Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: The 1590s
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Beyond the little group huddled at the front atrium of Ecsichil's mansion, a throng of gaily garbed arrivals, somewhat over fifty in all, perhaps, neither an intimate nor an enormous gathering, lounged and conversed at their pleasure. Their hostess, Lady Ecsichil, was well known as the best-bred - that was to say, the silentest - in the city, and a knot of her closest friends emulated her excellent manners in identical torpor, moving their fans far more readily than their lips. For the majority of women, and all the men, who were not of this refined number, the real chatelaine tonight was Lady Circilie of Dol Amroth, whose laugh animated every conversation like a major note in an orchestra, as she scattered her attention about with immaculately fluid social acumen. Every man she exchanged a sentence with felt taller and braver, every woman as if taken into some special confidence; but she allotted more than this to no one.

Her elder brother, Ecsichil, the real if understated host, received Aerwen's and Aldarion's arrival with an air of equability and open boredom that did nothing to change his turgid aspect. As Aldarion and Gloredhel, it seemed, quoted lines from a career ago at each other with pointed specificity, Aerwen alone seemed to fully concentrate on them, frowning slightly, as if committing the poetry to memory, pondering its every implication, all at once, and judging it aesthetically also. Sador appeared genial but barely more absorbed than his brother.

This appearance was only partly deceptive, for in truth Sador thought Lord Imrazôr's verse so mannered and hackneyed that he indeed paid its content none of the respect of consideration. But his amateur interests had given him a keen interest and insight into the body's language, and he had a pretty clear idea that Gloredhel and Aldarion wanted to be alone. He had it in mind to let them be; it would be better if they talked now, probably harmlessly of the past, than later, when really controversial matters were in their minds.

"It is sweet always to see friends unsundered," he remarked in his light way, "and you, friend Aldarion, will have so much to remember with my sister in law, without interruption from our boorish family! For my own part, I would speak with you, sister," he added to Aerwen, "apart for a little; your company is so often claimed from me by your absurd course of study. Let's take a turn in the garden. Beautiful hedges as ever, by the way, Ecsichil. Now why don't you go and rejoin your guests?"

The middle-aged Burlach shambled off in his usual, imperturbable ennui. Sador and Aerwen for their part wove off to the garden gate beyond the Fornost window, leaving Aldarion and Gloredhel comparatively solitary in the front hall.

"Well?" the younger brother asked Aerwen, when they looked to be alone under a quiet eave.

"I showed him Rumillo," the lady-scholar replied cautiously, "and he offered it modest praise. But I think it was not to his taste."

"His taste! That matters not. In any case, it is quite another piece I intend to display tonight, the new tragicomedy, of Celebrindal."

"Is that entirely wise, brother?" Aerwen said with a surprisingly tough note entering her voice. "The...collaborator...had no part in that one...as I recall; the playwright alone is responsible for its content..."

"And I accept that responsibility. I don't need your approval any more, Aerwen, to be certain when a play is great or a scene exquisite. This one is perfect. It is calculated to make her feel sharp repugnance for him..."

"You are confident indeed in your art's power - "

"And then, afterwards, he will not refuse my offer. Think what I will extend, then. A triumphant place in his old company."

"He may prefer his duty to the new."

Sador laughed then, not his usual, fair if insubstantial mirth but a harder note of cruel celebration. "I have seen enough during my visit to be sure he shall not. The King's Players mean less than nothing to this man. He tried to flee when he thought they would be arrested; he trifled with the heart of their most adequate looking actress, and came to blows over her with another player, his rival; but when he was moved to strong emotion, his mind alighted on the company of the Swan; and I will wager my good leg it has stayed there."

He ignored, or did not notice, the pained expression of dissent his words appeared to provoke in his sister, as he summed up his conclusion, "Aldarion may have a true man's face, a fine man's leg, but his heart is only a shadow's - pumping a player's stream of petty pride..."

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