The King's Players RPG

[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."

[Mnemosyne]

Trouble. Brinn bit back a curse. If it weren't for the ache in her foot she'd already have been on her feet, at least to learn what exactly was the matter. She breathed slowly, through her nose, and counted to ten in her mind. Then she smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Thiliel," she said. "If you don't mind, do you think you could return to the common room? If any sort of violence breaks out, get your uncle to stop it, and send the fighters to me, one at a time. Otherwise, just let me know what happens when you pick up this tray." She took a bite of the food and forced herself to taste it before swallowing. "This is quite good," she said.

Now, could she stay as calm as she sounded, without quite knowing what was going on? She hoped that Rollan--if indeed he was there--would make things better, if they really were a problem, and not worse.

[Mnemosyne]

Rollan, in the meantime, had gone to Smaug's cart in search of his sister-in-law. He'd remembered the nervousness of Coldan that morning, and wondered if he'd managed to get up the nerve to talk to Asta. There was only one way to find out, after all, and if he hadn't--well, at least Asta would be on the alert. Maybe he'd even be able to get his own thoughts on the matter in, though she could be remarkably stubborn in that sort of way. "Better two than one," he told himself, "especially when one, at least, has some experience in the matter."

He mounted the steps of the cart and knocked on the door. "Asta?" he said. "Are you there?"

[Anguirel]

Though physically rather alarmed (especially when he considered the uncontained and as yet uninvolved strength of the inebriated Branor yet to be added to the equation), in truth Sador could barely quantify his good luck. An emergent fight! And over just the right pretext...

He knew what his father would want him to do now; to take the sort of action which he had promised when he had persuaded Lord Cirdacil to leave him here; to crack down on the first hint of misbehaviour. He could slip out, gather a posse of Guards, have all the players in the common room arrested indiscriminately and held indefinitely for questioning. That would waste so much of their time that it would certainly imperil the production...

...but, of course, he wasn't going to do that. It wasn't his style. He was the clever one, the subtle one. It would be crass to dismantle all the connections, all the credibility he was only just beginning to amass, and it would work entirely counter to his own personal aims, quite separate from his doddery old sire's.

Besides, he was in much too good a mood to be a spoilsport now. What his line of questioning had failed to confirm (and in a way he worried Aldarion might have found intrusive, as well) had just been made quite crystalline in clarity. This spat might purport to be some absurd artistic difference, about "the role of Mary the Elf" (most definitely, in any case, a ludicrous historical solecism), but it was obviously really about the actress who played her. Aldarion - the sly dog - whatever the discretion of his answers, was regarded by at least one lovesick rival as seriously involved with the girl Asta. And as a matter of fact Sador was inclined to agree with that odd looking Easterling fellow here. "Added some drama and romance", my foot...

Anyway, whether or not these rumours were true - whether or not his suspicions about Aldarion's lovelife while a member of the Swan Players were misguided - this information would strengthen Sador's hand in his second-most deeply held desire - to wed the Lady Gloredhel of Dol Amroth, his brother-in-law Amlach's sister.

For now, he was happy to play the peacemaker. It was more likely to get him good words among the Players than kicking up a fuss; it might even persuade old Ingold to treat him with a little more respect and friendliness.

"Gentles, gentles," he cried out, getting to his shivering feet and stuttering from involuntary, if quite helpful, cowardice, "this is no time for harsh words. Nothing has been said against any man's honour here that cannot be speedily retracted. Think of the play; think of your art, your characters; think of the Fellowship of the Ring, and try to emulate them a little more closely..."

Even, perhaps, unto breaking...

***

Up at the Treasury

"That's an awful bad cough you've got there, my lord," a soft voice murmured in the gloom. "You shouldn't stay up working so late."

Cirdacil glanced up in surprise. It was Lady Elanor; she was certainly a sweet girl, more polite than the rest of her curious people as far as he had seen, and this was not the first time she had thought to come to see him on a mercy-visit. It was late now, yes; sometimes he allowed himself to be quite lost in his figures, especially since offloading all that distracting Revels business onto his boy. And his cough was becoming pretty atrocious.

"Look here," Elanor went on, "I've brought you a nice cup of cophir. You know, that funny drink the traders from Rhun sell."

"I know it well," Cirdacil replied ruefully. "I used to trade in it myself, my sweet demoiselle. In Pelargir, where I was born, they have a saying about it that goes just so...

Cophir, that makes the politician wise
And see all things thorough his half-closed eyes."

"Well, Lord Cirdacil, perhaps you ought to close your eyes fully a bit more often."

They laughed quietly together. When Cirdacil broke the ensuing comfortable silence, after gulping at his cophir, he looked thoughtful.

"Lady Elanor, this play is looking really very rocky, you know. It might not come together at all, from what I've learnt so far and from what my son tells me, too. Those rogues are causing no end of trouble down at the Inn of Ingold. Do you think your mother and father would mind terribly if we just hired the usual bard? He could sing of Samwise the Brave and all that, very easily, and so cheaply, too..."

"Oh," Elanor said sharply, then articulated, "I'm sure there's no need to worry, my lord. I'm certain mamma and papa will be quite happy with whatever the Players turn out."

"Maybe," the unwilling Master of the Revels commented doubtfully, before hacking out a gruesome cough.

"Talking of which, I ought to be getting back to them now. Good night, my lord. Have a good sleep soon." Cirdacil's eyes had already returned to the Gondor Pipe Rolls, so he did not see the extraordinarily sly expression on Elanor's face as she departed...

[Pitchwife]

Coldan barely raised an eyebrow at the young nobleman's intervention. He couldn't have cared less for play, art or Fellowship right now.

"You mind your own business", he growled, then added as an afterthought, "my lord. Aldarion, I'm listening."

[Boromir88]

Think of your art, think of your characters. Branor did not fully understand why this person was with the Kings' Players, but the young man was right. Aragorn carried a big sword, but he also walked with peaceful words. Now was the time for stern and swift justice, truths only a King could bring.

Branor got up from his stool and walked towards Coldan and Aldarion, slowly (so he did not get light headed), but confidently.

"Fellas," in typical fashion, Branor was puffing out his chest. "You are making all of this trouble because you, Coldan, fancy the Lady Asta? And you, Aldarion, have had your pride wounded? Coldan, fighting Aldarion is not going to make Asta fancy you. Aldarion, knocking out Coldan is not going to fix the script and prove your undoubted writing talents." He caught Thiliel in the room out of the corner of his eye. "However, if both of you insist your honors have been questioned, than take it outside the City walls. For if you come back this matter better be resolved, or I will see to it you are both gone. Brinn started this troupe without either of you, we can get by without either of you."

Branor did not wait for a response from Coldan or Aldarion, nor wait to see how they would react. Frankly, he did not care if they put eachother in the Houses of Healing. He was just hoping they did not start fighting in front of the young Thiliel. Her uncle owns the Inn, and Ingold can easily decide to throw the players out. Then who in the City would take them? Branor would be dead before he let two knuckleheads ruin this chance.

Once Branor was sure he was out of the common room, and out of everyone's sight, he exhaled and relaxed. He needed to talk to Brinn and hopefully she was alone.

[Dimturiel]

Harrenon had retired for a while, having left Brinn the notes Coldan had made of Bergil’s account and telling her that he would probably be in his cart, if he was needed for anything. He doubted he would be soon. There would have to be decisions taken soon concerning the changes that had to be made in the play and Harrenon was by now familiar with the style of his fellow Players. First they were going to argue for what would seem like hours on end at which point they would finally grow tired of sniping at each other and start trying to find a solution. Harrenon was not one to snipe much, so he thought that he might as well skip that part.

He stood for some time trying to relax, enjoying the time spent alone. It was not that he did not like the company of the other Players. Yet sometimes being constantly on the road at close quarters with a small group of people could be very trying. There was little time to oneself and no chance of much proper rest.

In the end, however, Harrenon grew restless. He was curious to see how the other Players were dealing with all that had happened. Perhaps he judged them wrongly and they were actually not going to have a long and wearisome argument after all this time. He thought that there would be no harm in going to the inn’s common room, at least to have a look at how things were proceeding. If he stumbled over something he did not like, he could always go back to the wagons.

As he was about to enter the common room, he spotted Brannor getting out and by the look on the other’s face, Harrenon judged that something was not exactly quite right. Harrenon sighed. So much for no arguments.

Harrenon walked in and saw that Aldarion and Coldan were staring daggers at each other. The man Cirdacil had saddled them with – Sador, his name was, if Harrenon remembered correctly – was looking quite uncomfortable. So there had been sniping then, and by the looks of it, it had been quite serious.

Not wanting to interfere– what would have been the point anyway, since he had no idea what had actually transpired there? – Harrenon found a table at a safe distance and sat down. He told himself to steer clear of whatever trouble was brewing. Unless, of course, Coldan and Aldarion did not decide to try and kill each other, that was.

Looking around Harrenon spotted the young inkeeper’s niece – Thiliel, that was her name, and turned to her:

“I say,” he asked, “Do you have any idea what went on here? These two look like they're about to jump at each other’s throats.”

[the phantom]

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

Aldarion glared at Coldan. Of course Coldan had brought up Mary the Elf- Asta. It had always been a bit too obvious that Coldan had some sort of crush on her, and so naturally he would dislike Aldarion's scenes with her (which were admittedly quite enjoyable), but that ought not to have any bearing on the issue at hand- Coldan blaming Aldarion for all of the inaccuracies in the play.

But just as he was about to reply, Branor stepped in to play peacemaker. Though Aldarion was no less frustrated and angry after the speech, it did at the least keep him from shouting when he turned to address Coldan, and the idea of punching the Easterling also subsided into a colder sort of fury.

"Asta has nothing to do with my complaint, Coldan," began Aldarion. Coldan showed every sign of interrupting, but Aldarion held up a hand and continued. "I was informed that you essentially placed the blame for the script and story problems at my feet while I was away, and I will not stand for that. I did not invent these roles, nor did I invent the overall plot, and if you'll recall I am the one that suggested we do an entirely different drama before it was evident that we were stuck."

"I was a great actor once, working with the greatest company in the history of Gondor!" exclaimed Aldarion, suddenly becoming more passionate. "I had it all, and by the Valar I will rise again! But how can I impress the nobles and royals of Minas Tirith if our production is laughable?! No, Coldan, no! If it is this play that we must perform, I want it fixed- more badly than anyone! And I'll not let you lumber about behind my back saying that I am the cause of its flaws!"