The King's Players RPG

[Pitchwife]

Coldan couldn't believe his luck. Not only had Brinn accepted his proposal without much discussion, she had indeed ordered him and Asta off to another private rehearsal, the second one within two days!

He hurried to collect his copy of the script from his room, dreading that Asta might disregard her sister's instruction and sneak away while he was gone, but to his relief she was still there on his return. He found them a quiet nook near the inn's stable, separated from Brinn and the others by the mass of the Players' wagons, sat down on a mounting block and looked at Asta, who was playing with a strand of her hair in a way that he didn't know whether to interpret as thoughtful or nervous, or both. Her expression wasn't half as angry anymore - rather, she looked puzzled, and not at all happy with this turn of things. Something was clearly bothering her.

"Vat's amiss now?" he asked softly. "I zought you vould be pleased if I got you another heroine role for ze one you hev lost. True, Éovyn's is not as large as Mary's vas, but who knows? After vat ve hev learned, and vat ve may still learn, much of ze play will hev to be rewritten. Maybe ve can convince Aldarion to give you more lines. And you get ze glory of slaying ze Vitch-King yourself instead of only assisting."

"Maybe", she nodded, without brightening up noticeably; but she let go of her hair and seemed to pull herself together. "All right, where do we start? In Edoras, where I meet the future King, isn't it?"

Only a day ago, he would have plunged into the rehearsal without further ado, but something in him had changed since then, beginning when he had talked to Rollan, for the first time openly admitting his feelings for Asta to anybody, and he wasn't going to be as easy and accomodating today.

"Eager to be done viz it?" he asked, looking at her face inquiringly. "Come on, it can't be zat bad to be alone viz me for a vile, can it? Or are you still cross viz me?" He couldn't keep a note of bitterness from seeping into his voice. "Did you enjoy Aldarion snogging you so much zat you von't forgive me for spoiling your fun? You two can still do zat offstage, if you vant to; but zen do me a favour and go someplace vere I von't hev to vatch."

Too late, he snapped his mouth shut. Judging from the heat he felt in his cheeks, his face was as red as a carrot, and he had a distinct feeling he shouldn't have said that.

[Nerwen]

If one of the cart-horses had suddenly started calling her names, Asta could hardly have been more astonished. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she found her voice.

"Why, how dare you! You...you..." she rifled her memory for the perfect insult, the one that would shrivel Coldan where he stood. Oh yes: that was it. "You Easterling!"

Coldan sprang to his feet as though the mounting block had just turned red-hot. They stood glaring at each other. From Coldan's expression, Asta might just as well have struck him across the face (which had in fact been her first impulse).

[the phantom]

But before Vëandur had taken more than a step, Aldarion said, "Before you leave, I wish to ask you a question... About your chosen profession. I always ask sailors this, and none of them have ever given me a satisfactory answer."

Vëandur stepped back towards Aldarion slowly, not certain what to expect.

"I'll be straight to the point," continued Aldarion. "What is the supposed attraction of the sea? To me, the sea is merely a bunch of water- an overgrown washing basin." Vëandur's jaw dropped, but Aldarion pressed on without pause.

"The primary difference between the two is that the sea can drown a man more easily, or get him eaten by one of the violent creatures contained within its depths. To go sailing about on it seems to be entirely pointless and serves only to tempt destruction. And please don't speak to me of the beauty of the sea. Water is formless, simply filling whatever hole it is tossed into. Only in union with rock and earth does water gain definition and become interesting, like the great Rauros. Out in the middle of the sea it is simply flat as far as the eye can see- so very dull and monotonous. The only logical reason for having ships is to counter enemy ships, or to gather food. This whole idea of sailing for the sake of it, and tales of the "allure of the sea".... It has always seemed rather absurd to me."

[Inziladun]

Vëandur looked at Aldarion, and his face was unusually thoughtful. He had never been asked, nor had he ever even considered the question he had just been asked.

"Why the Sea?" he said slowly. "Why does it call to me, and so many others? I know not the answer. I have heard it said that in its voice we hear the sound of far off ages, and indeed that it alone speaks with the same voice as it did when Númenor still rose above the waves, and even longer ago, when Men like Tuor and Túrin walked the world." He paused for a moment.

"All my life have I lived with the Sea, and by it, with the fish it gives us. I respect it, for such a man who does not is a fool. But I do not fear it. If the Sea wants my life, I shall freely give it, as the Sea has given to me and those of my kin for so long." He looked at Aldarion closely.

"I wonder that one who was born in Dol Amroth should speak so. I know not how one who hears the voice of the Sea can be unmoved and not enchanted by it. But if such is the case with you, perhaps you do well to avoid it". He turned again to go.

[Thinlómien]

The girl was on the floor, laughing so hard that she was crying. Sereth felt her annoyance at Asta flow away as it was replaced by helpless mirth. Thiliel's laugh was contagious. They laughed for what seemed like minutes until Thiliel finally got up. Sereth's eyes were moist too and she wiped them. She sighed. "I'm afraid I have to go now, though," she said. "Our rehearsals must be continuing soon. See you!"

She went out of the door, and found Branor and Therian, and of course Harrenon of all the actors, grouped around Brinn. "Brinn," she said, keeping her eyes steadily on the leader of their troupe. "What's up? Are we rehearsing? And I met the innkeeper's niece, her name is Thiliel and she said we should ask the innkeeper about the war because he has lots of stories about it."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Therian gaped at Branor and wondered if it would be imprudent at this juncture to kill him in his sleep. When had they discussed him quitting the role of Eowyn, his only role in the entirety of the show? They had not. When had Therian given Branor permission to convince their boss to reassign his part? He had not.

And so they stood there as others approached, and Therian now, instead of having a role he did not like, which may someday be promoted to a role of brilliance - because nobody denied he had the talent for a greater role... Now Therian had no role. No part. No lines to memorize, no scenes to rehearse.

He had known long enough that Brinn did not like him much and would look for any excuse to can him, and as he pondered traveling back to Bree alone and disgraced, he took a moment to seriously consider constructing a terrible accident by which Branor would be incapacitated. His friend, the idiot, seemed completely unaware he had just lost Therian the only job he had.

Therian could think of no way to broach the subject to Brinn without reminding her that she could now guiltlessly pretend the change in roles was Therian's official resignation. He knew that she would be well within her rights to send him off now without further ado, considering the situation done and final.

So instead of talking, instead of contributing to the discussion, he stood like a lump, considering myriad ways to seek revenge on his idiot best friend for possibly ruining his life and career.

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel was sorry that Sereth had to leave. She was a nice girl. But she needs to practice, Thiliel reminded herself, Frodo of the Nine Fingers is a big role, after all! I must not distract her too much while she stays. Or Frodo will by mistake burn Minas Anor instead of Barad-dur!

Thiliel giggled to herself. She walked aimlessly down the hall and back. Making a decision, she ran over to the stairs and climbed to the second floor. Her room was the last one in the hall. Its windors faced the back; it was the smallest room in the inn, but it was hardly ever occupied by anyone except for Thiliel.

Despite the bright sunshine and high noon, she felt very sleepy. She walked in, closing the door behind her. She pulled off her dress and climbed under the thin blanket. She yawned. Soon her eyes closed, and her breathing became level.

[Pitchwife]

Coldan stared at Asta, hardly believing he had heard right. He felt all blood drain from his face, and it took him all the restraint he could muster not to slap her.

"Is zis vat you zink of me?" His fist were clenched so hard his fingernails bit into his palms, but for all the storm raging inside him, his voice was cold as a blade. "Count yourself lucky zat I am not so. An Easterling vould beat you up and maybe rape you on the spot for such an insult." He shook his head with a bitter laugh. "How dare I! Yes indeed! How dare I speak to you like a man viz feelings zat can be hurt, not just some pet to be humoured, scorned or neglected at your vim!" All of a sudden a huge, grey hole gaped where his heart had been. "But as you vish. If I'm not good enough for you, flirt viz your pure-blooded Númenórean all you vant. I'm zrough viz you."

He threw the script down before her feet and strode off, only turning back to toss over his shoulder: "Find someone else to rehearse viz. You can ask Therian, he should know ze lines. Or, vell, you know who."

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel took the tray from Ingold in her usual flamboyant mood. The nap had restored all her former energy, and then some. She took care to concertrate while going around the tables, so that she woudn't spill anything.

Everything went fine, until she was almost past the last table, where three men were engaged in a conversation. All of a sudden, one of them started shouting at the other two. It made Thiliel jump, so that she almost knocked the tray over. She carefully backed away from the table set out to the wagons at a fast pace. Ingold would be able to sort it out.

Just as she reached the wagons, Thiliel saw another man coming out of one, holding two wooden crutches. She nodded to him with a "Good evening, sir!" and proceeded inside. She found Mistress Celebrindal carefully lowering herself down on a chair. Thiliel put the tray down on the floor and ran over to help. When Celebrindal was seated, she picked up the food and handed in over to the woman.

"Good evening, Mistress Celebrindal! I've brought your supper! How do you like it here, in Minas Anor?" Thiliel added after a pause, "I think it is the best place in all of Middle Earth, except for my home in Lebennin, that is. I do enjoy helping my Uncle, even though it means that I have less time than other lasses to play. There usually isn't any trouble in the inn greater than a broken pot, and I can clean that up quick. Today, though, there seems to be something queer. There was a man yelling at someone. I don't know why; I left quickly. I think he was talking about theatre, though. What do you think?"

Too late did Thiliel realise her blunder. I'm saying all this about a man who is probably Mistress Celebrindal's employee!

[Pitchwife]

Coldan stirred from his dejection, irritated by he knew not what that chafed his senses like some annoying insect buzzing around his head on a hot summer day. It took him a while to recognize Aldarion's voice reaching him from a few tables away - the very last thing he would have wanted to hear now. Looking up, he saw the playwright sitting and talking with a fair-haired young man in fine clothes whom he hadn't seen around the inn before; probably some aquaintance from the city - or, the thought shot through his head, could that be the chaperon Lord Whatsisname had installed to supervise the Players? If so, Aldarion had surely been quick to cotton up to the powers that be. Just as was to be expected.

Neither of them was looking his way, and it seemed they hadn't noticed him yet, which was just as well; he wasn't in the mood for any conversation, least of all with Aldarion. He turned his attention back to his cup of wine, only glancing up briefly from time to time with a glowering look. But after a while, the duo was joined by Branor, and their talk became a little more lively. It was evening by now, and the common room was rapidly filling, so he didn't understand much of what was said, but he thought he heard his own name mentioned, and 'Mary the Elf', and Asta's. Then Aldarion suddenly became quite agitated and shouted: "I'M THE ONE THAT SAID FROM THE BEGINNING THAT IT IS CONSIDERED SUICIDAL IN THEATER CIRCLES TO PERFORM RECENT HISTORY UNLESS YOUR WRITER WAS AN IMPORTANT FIRST-HAND WITNESS!!!!!"

Some heads turned at that unexpected outburst, and Coldan saw the young serving-maid who seemed to be Ingold's niece or something start up and hurry away. Most of Aldarion's following words were drowned in the buzz of other voices, but he clearly caught "that idiot-boy Coldan" and "too thick to understand".

Maybe it was the wine that did it, maybe the grudge of jealousy that had boiled under a closed lid for too long; probably both, but at any rate he decided at this point that he had had about as much of this man as he could stand. He rose up, stepped over to the other table and stood defiantly in front of Aldarion.

"So you zink I'm too zick to see zrough vat you've been up to viz zat Mary role? Maybe you should explain zen. But keep it simple, so I understand."