The King's Players RPG

[Pitchwife]

"Zat ve shall, Amdír, zat ve shall", Coldan assured the carpenter. "Zat conceited old niggard isn't vorthy of your service. A pox on him and ze horse he rode in on! Ve'll show him, never fear. Harrenon and I made good progress zis morning and found out a lot about ze King and ze ozer lords and ladies zat should help us get our script right, if zat chaperon Lord Vatsisname has encumbered us viz doesn't meddle too much."

Just at this moment he caught a glimpse of Asta suddenly appearing in the doorway only to shoot a look at him that, had it been an arrow, would have gone straight through him and nailed him to the back of his chair, and then just as suddenly she was gone again. Well, that had been predictable, and no use telling her again he had only reported the truth (she probably knew that well enough and just couldn't help herself blaming him anyway). He briefly considered going after her and talking to her, but right then his wine and potatoes arrived, and he decided to first let the matter cool down a little before he approached her again.

"To tell you ze truth", he continued, "zat was largely Harry's merit." He raised his cup of wine to the younger man. "You did very vell at ze armourer's. I don't know how I vould hev got out of zat smithy viz my hide whole if not for you, never mind I vouldn't hev zought of asking Bergil to tell us all zat stuff. Zat man was a gold mine!"

Over the meal, he briefly told Amdír and Rollan how they had come to meet Bergil and the gist of what they had gathered from him, while they in turn filled him in on the details of Lord Cirdacil's visit; but every now and then, his mind strayed away from the conversation. The image of Asta's brief appearance and the look she had given him kept popping up again and again before his inner eye, distracting him, nagging at him.

This had to stop. He had thought that before, but this time he felt he had to act on it.

Except he had no clue how to go about it.

Only when they had all scraped clean their plates did he remember that Brinn was still waiting for his and Harrenon's comprehensive report on their findings; and at the same time he suddenly had an idea.

"Harry", he said, "Brinn still vants us to report to her in full vat ve found out. Tell you vat, vy don't you go and give her all ze details? You deserve to reap ze glory. Take my notes along to help your memory. Besides, I'd like to hev a word viz Rollan and Amdir about a matter of no relevance to ze play zat would only bore you."

[Boromir88]

Branor and Therian found Brinn and she was not pleased with their dishevelled appearances. No doubt, whatever they had been up to was part of the reason for Amdir's firing.

"I know you told us to go out in the morning, but Therian and I figured we would do better if we went out at night." Branor said.

Brinn crossed her arms, it looked like she was searching for words to confront them over how they have done nothing but blatantly sabotage the play and get Amdir fired. Her expression relaxed slightly though when she discovered the boys had listened to her instructions, aside from the sneaking out business. Also, Branor has seemed to completely drop the notion that Aragorn was a double agent, another relief.

Therian first remembered to tell Brinn about the riddle their wisened informant gave about the four hobbits: Smials! Naked walk and naked lie, clothesless hobbits under sky.

Branor cut in because he had still not been able to figure out that riddle, and thought it was therefor inconsequential. "The Lord Samwise is definitely Frodo's servant Sam. He and his family are planning to attend the performance so Aldarion needs to begin a major re-write. Aldarion's got Mary the Elf all wrong. Mary the Elf should be Merry the Hobbit, as no records of an Elf Mary in the Fellowship exists.

Although, we may not have to scrap this completely. The Lord Samwise talked in detail on the quest, Sauron's servants had mistaken both he and Frodo as great elf warriors. In fact, Samwise was enamoured by the Elves, and blushed at the thought of being an elf warrior. My suggestion would be to make Samwise, Frodo's loyal elf-warrior as a tribute to the old Master, but scrap the whole idea of Mary the Elf. Make Merry the Hobbit instead. The Hobbit who slew the evil demon king."

Branor was trying to throw whatever wrenches he could into Aldarion's script. Therian elbowed him, reminding Branor that he had forgotten one thing. "Oh yes, since Merry is most definitely a hobbit, and like the other hobbits he was a strong champion, Therian is more than suitable for the part."

[Mnemosyne]

Rollan often played the bumbling fool, but he was rather shrewd. He'd seen looks like that before, on many a man's face (and, once a long time ago, his own!). Leave the beloved wife to handle all the play nonsense; this is real work! He ordered another round of drinks as Harrenon left--not enough, he hoped, to recreate last night's situation, but just enough to loosen Coldan's tongue a little more.

"Now," he said smoothly, "what's this matter of no relevance, Coldan?"

[Pitchwife]

Coldan blushed. That happened to him all too easily; he hated it, but he just couldn't stop it.

"Vell, you see... you're a married man, Rollan, and you, Amdír, have been, so both of you should have some experience viz, er, viz vomen." He sighed deeply, exasperated with himself. "Oh, whom do I zink I'm fooling! It's about Asta, of course. I guess you've noticed how I feel about her. Manwë's teeth, I bet zere's nobody in the whole company who hasn't figured it out by now, including herself! But I heven't ze faintest how she feels about me. Most of ze time she barely seems to tolerate me, zen again she can be quite nice at times. Right now she's angry with me - vich is at least unambiguous, if not vat I'd vish for. I just don't know vat to make of her.

Yes, I know, you'll probably say I should just ask her. I've tried to, but somehow I never get around to it. It's a crying shame, really - I zought nothing of picking a fight with a veteran soldier who probably could have tied me into a knot, and boy, you should hev heard the speech I gave him! But ven it comes to Asta, my tongue is tied, my palms sweat, and I blush like a little girl. It's intolerable.

You know her quite vell, Rollan - after all, she's your sister-in-law. What do you zink, is zere a ghost of a chance that she might, you know, take a liking to me? Vat vould a man hev to be like for her to vant him?"

[Thinlómien]

"Why, it's very simple," Sereth said, smiling. She was feeling more and more comfortable with this discussion, enjoying it, even. "It is a play, you see. A woman can be a man and a man can be woman, it's all about the skill of the actress or actor, but costumes and make-up of course help too.

You see, the periannath are small. I'm the smallest of our group. So I play the perian. See?" She drew and imaginary sword from her belt and pointed it at Thiliel while gripping something invisible in her left hand: "I challenge thee, Sauron the Lord of All Evil! Let thee draw they sword and not hide behind thy black walls any longer! For the day has come when thou shall answer for all thy misdeeds against the Free Peoples - behold the One Ring in the hand of your enemy!"

[Nerwen]

"'When thou shalt answer', Sereth, and 'in the hand of thine enemy'!" Asta snapped. "Really, is it too much to ask that you get your lines– not to mention your grammar– right?" She swept past the girls without waiting for Sereth's response.

Obviously the child should have been practising, instead of gossiping with the other girl– but then, how much of the play was left intact by now anyway?

"Drat that Coldan!" Asta muttered. "Why did he have to be so good at asking questions?"

It was too dark there to read the lettering she could faintly see on the scrap of paper, so she went out into the courtyard. Therian and Branor had returned at last and were over at the wagons, busy making an excited report to her sister. Therian looked quite happy, for once. No doubt, Asta thought sourly, he had bribed someone-or-other to swear the Lady Éowyn was really a man.

She turned her attention to the writing on the paper– which quickly added to her frustration. Lord Sador might have been a noted scholar and thinker, but– if it was indeed his hand that had scrawled this– he was anything but an accomplished calligrapher. Only a single word, "Third" was at all clear, though there was one that looked very much like the name "Aldarion" and another that also began with "A", but then trailed off into a meaningless scribble. After some puzzling, Asta decided that she could make out the word "tomorrow" near the end of the sentence. The rest she had to give up as indecipherable.

It was maddening indeed, for if she had been correct in her reading of the name, it must have something to do with them. "Aldarion, Third, tomorrow," she repeated to herself, softly but aloud. "Whatever can it mean?"

[the phantom]

Aldarion strolled casually through the streets of the third circle. Though he had business to attend to, he could not help but allow himself an easier pace so as to enjoy the people and places of the great city. He had clothed himself in some of his finest and most martial looking attire, capped off by his beloved sword, a gift from his father, upon his hip.

He gripped the hilt fondly as he bent to inspect the wares of yet another street vendor. Though he seldom wore it, Aldarion cared for the blade regularly, and as often as he could find absolute privacy in his travels he would get it out and go through various routines with it. While doing so he often spoke aloud as if his father were there, for it had always been their tradition to spar whilst discussing all matters great and small. Though his father was no longer around to lend his voice to the conversation, Aldarion nonetheless left his solitary sessions feeling as if he had received fresh perspective on his current questions and concerns.

As he approached the gate to the fourth level Aldarion turned up a lane leading towards the towering inner wall. As he neared the end of the narrow way a young boy stood up quickly from the steps of a house ahead and dashed inside, calling excitedly to the occupants of the home.

"My, he's grown in the past year," thought Aldarion. "He may end up as tall as his father."

The boy's father was a soldier of Gondor named Bregolas. Bregolas and Aldarion's father had both saved the life of the other during the siege of Minas Tirith, and later they recovered together in the Houses of Healing, during which time they became good friends. Aldarion always visited when he had the chance, and today he not only had opportunity but additional motivation as well. Bregolas was likely to be helpful in working a few kinks out of the script.