The King's Players RPG

[Nerwen]

"In answer to your first question: we're from Dale– at least most of us are."

"I see," said Elanor, "so you're the King of Dale's Players!"

"Er– yes," said Asta, though she was rather hazy on that point. The troupe's name came from some long-ago, half-forgotten jest of Rollan's, which for all she could recall might have been about the King under the Mountain, or the King of the Wood Elves, or even wicked Butterbur's successor, the King of Bree. Brinn had cautioned them against saying too much of this in Minas Anor, where folk seemed to take these matters very seriously, and might ask awkward questions about their supposed royal patron. She moved on quickly, to a subject closer to her heart, "As for what I do– well, it's more a question of what don't I do– why, sometimes I think the whole company would fall to pieces if it weren't for me! Not that Bri– Celebrindal– doesn't work hard... but between acting roles and fixing everything and working the mechanicals– particularly the dragon–"

"The dragon...?" the halfling repeated. "But... isn't the play about the War of the Ring?"

"Yes, of course– so naturally we had to put in the Great Dragon of Mordor!"

"Oh," said Elanor, looking a little blank, "that dragon."

[Mnemosyne]

Rollan and Brinn took their breakfast together in the cart. Amdir had dropped the crutches off earlier, and after Brinn had done some test-stumping, she was reasonably confident that she could get around.

Still, there was something comforting about having breakfast in the comfort of one's own room (well, cart), and more comforting still being alone with her husband a little longer. Still, when Thiliel stopped by, she made sure to let her know that she would be dining in the common room, barring any further mishaps.

Thiliel was brimming with energy when she brought the food in, which was a blessing--Rollan was not much of a morning person, and Brinn's desire to discuss the subject of Coldan (and, when he wasn't proving particularly forthcoming, the mysterious Sador) was not mutual.

"You seem sunny today, miss," said Brinn. "Is there any good news from the inn?"

[Galadriel55]

"You seem sunny today, miss. Is there any good news from the inn?" Celebrindal enquired.

"It's a sunny day", was Thiliel's reply. She giggled. "Also," the lass added after a pause, "there's a girl in the common room who wanted to see you. She called herself Elanor, and she has a peculiar family name - what was it? Gam... Gamgee. Yes, Elanor Gamgee. She looks like a girl, but you know what I think? I think she's a hobbit!"

[Mnemosyne]

A hobbit? Brinn didn't know if that boded well or ill... That had to be Samwise's daughter, then, and who knew what she wanted. Hadn't someone said something about her being particularly interested in the performance? Of course, it might have been Lord Burlach who said it, in which case she could have come down to inform them of the royal party's cancellation of attendance, but that was just wishful thinking.

"Do you think, or do you know?" said Rollan. "We'd always heard hobbits looked distinct, and not just in height. Get a good look at her ears?"

"Rollan, be nice," said Brinn. "Did this Elanor ask for me by name, then, or just the King's Players? Either way, I guess you can send her here as soon as I--or she, if she is a hobbit, for they're said to have extraordinary appetites--is finished breakfasting."

[Galadriel55]

"To answer al the questions, I only think. I did not ask her. She has an Elven name, but "Gamgee" is just... queer. I didn't pay attention to her ears and her feet. That would be rude to do to a guest! And she didn't ask for you," Thiliel nodded at Celerindal, "just for the Lord or Lady that is in charge of the troop. I told her your name..." Thiliel didn't know if she has done something bad by giving out this information to Elanor. She was afraid that she made trouble for Celebrindal, and looked at her questioningly. Celebrindal didn't look as if she was mad, which greatly relieved Thiliel.

"Well, whichever way it goes, shuld I ask her to come in some fifteen minutes, when I pick up the tray? If she will be ready. I will bring her answer if she isn't."

Celebrindal nodded: "Thank you, dear. That would be great." Thiliel smiled and curtseyed before bouncing out of the cart and skipping all the way to the common room, full of the knowledge that this was an important task she just recieved. She found Elanor tucking another plate in.

"Good morning again, Miss Gamgee! I have delivered your request to Mistress Celebrindal - she is the one in charge of the troop. She will be happy to see you whenever you wish to come. But she still is having her breakfast, and she will be finished n fifteen minutes. I can show you the way when I go pick up her breakfast tray, or later, if you so wish. For now, can I do anything for you?"

"Some more of the biscuits please, if you don't mind it, Miss Thiliel," Elanor asked pleasantly. While getting the food, Thiliel snuck some glances at the feet of this guest. They were dangling above the ground, and were covered in hair! She is a hobbit! But what am I standing here, gaping at her - hobbits don't deserve their food to be deivered slower that other people! Thiliel brought the plate to Elanor.

[Mnemosyne]

At the fourth bell, there came a knock on the door to Brinn's cart. At her bidding, the door opened and in stepped Elanor. Brinn couldn't help take a look at her feet (unshod, though the golden hair that covered them was so thick she could not, in all justice, consider them "bare") before meeting her eyes and greeting her. She could already see why the Court would be charmed with her.

Elanor swept a curtsy in response. "Hullo, Mistress Celebrindal," she said. "I hope I'm not being too forward, nor too rude, in spending your time."

"Not at all," said Brinn, which was actually true--she was still not in a state to go out and research matters, and if Elanor was forthcoming, she might be able to do some research of her own. "Please, take a seat."

Elanor climbed up on one of the chairs. "Well, then, thank you for your time. It means a lot to me, you see--we don't have anything like this where I come from, but I'm so fond of the histories so I wanted to see what you were doing with them. How do you manage to fit the wealth of material into the time of a play? How long is your play, anyhow?"

"No longer than two hours," Brinn said cautiously, "though that's if everything goes well."

"Two hours?" Elanor was clearly trying her best not to look startled. "How do you choose what's important?"

That is a very good question, thought Brinn. "Well," she said. "Most of our material up to this point has come down to us by word of mouth, so we've assumed that what people thought was worth passing on was the most important. But," she added to Elanor's crestfallen look--what was worth passing on among the pheriannath, she wondered?--"since we're performing for such a different audience this year, we're right in the middle of researching more of the story. We're hoping that what we put on for Cormare is much more... balanced... than what we've done before, and we'll be asking that same question ourselves later on in the week."

"Oh," said Elanor. "Isn't that an awful lot of work in one week?"

Brinn bit her tongue. This Elanor seemed sweet enough, but she had a way of getting to the root of Brinn's problems, all unthinking, that was starting to set her teeth on edge. "The King's Players are very talented," she said.

"Ah," and the look the... child? Woman? gave her was so very knowing that images of the first night's rehearsal ran through her head all unbidden. "Well, if you need any help at all, I'd be glad to provide some. Who's playing my father?"

"We don't know yet," said Brinn. Considering that Coldan plays Gimli after Sam's been killed off, and now we can't kill Sam off... "But Frodo the Ring-bearer will probably still be played by Sereth, who has been acting all her life."

"That's good," said Elanor. "He is a very important fellow, after all, and it must take some great skill to bring out all the depths to him."

Brinn paused. "Did--do--" She hated all this uncertainty; legend said that Frodo had sailed away with the Elves, but legend had also said that Merry was an elf, and anyhow the whole incident had the tinges of myth to it. "Do you know him?" The question sounded stupid the instant it left her mouth.

Elanor just smiled sadly. "Only in books and the faintest memories. He left when I was not six months old. But I read his words all the time, and--" she looked down at her hands, where they lay nested in her lap. "I'd like to think I do."

"We still don't have much reliable information about him," said Brinn. "In fact, if there's anything you could tell us about him--or any of the other pheriannath--I'd much appreciate it."

Elanor's eyes lit up. "What would you like to know?"

[Pitchwife]

One by one, Amdír and Coldan heaved the set pieces out of the barn, carried them into the courtyard and stowed them on the wagon, packing them tightly in order to both make the best use of the space they had and secure them against damage during the transport. It wasn't that different from loading barrels of wine, and Coldan found he relished the work. He had never minded bodily labour in fresh air; working in the vineyards back at home had always been fun, much more so anyway than the endless dull lessons in book-keeping his father had tried to hammer into his head.

Nevertheless, when all was done and he wiped the sweat from his brow (for it was a fine, warm day and the bells of the City, faint in the distance, had already rung noon), he felt that he hadn't used some of those muscles for quite a while, and his stomach grumbled impatiently, reminding him of the lunch Amdír had promised him.

He wasn't disappointed. They took their meal with Hallas' men in the servants' quarters, but the food was good enough to satisfy a lord, and plenty - baked chicken and potatoes with fresh twigs of rosemary, apple pie, and sweet grapes and a rich, blue-veined cheese for dessert -, and furthermore seasoned with a lively conversation. Obviously rumours of the Players' forthcoming performance had spread far and wide around the City; their hosts were delighted to have two members of the troupe at their table and showered them with questions about the play, which Coldan tried to answer fully enough to avoid seeming impolite while leaving his listeners curious enough to entice one or the other into the City to pay for seeing it themselves. (It was a big help that he hardly knew anymore how the play would turn out in the end himself.)

When the servants went back to their work at last, Coldan and Amdír remained sitting for a short while, washing their lunch down with a light ale which made Coldan quite forget that he detested beer as a matter of principle. Now, while they enjoyed a little privacy, was the time for Coldan to remind his companion of his promise to tell him of his war memories.

"Well", Amdír began, a bit reluctantly as if it embarrassed him to talk about his own life, "I'm not sure I can tell you much that will be any help with the play, at least as far as concerns the deeds of the high and mighty. You must understand that war is quite a different thing for the common soldier than is told in heroic lays or shown on stage. Imagine yourself stuck in a seething mass of blades and bodies, hard enough pressed to distinguish friend from foe, your only concern to survive and deal more damage than you take, and most of all to avoid being struck down and trampled to death - such was the Battle of the Pelennor for me. The last thing I remember before that Easterling's axe hit me was somebody shouting The Corsairs of Umbar are coming! - and that would have been the last thing I ever heard, had not a comrade dragged me to safety at great danger to himself. Only later did I learn that it had been the King himself on those ships - or the Lord Aragorn, as he was then known - with reinforcements from Pelargir, and that both King Théoden of Rohan and the Witch-King had been slain even before that."

He took a deep draught from his tankard. "And so it happened that I didn't go with the army to the last battle before the Morannon where the Dark Lord was overcome, but spent those days when the fate of all Middle-earth was on a knife's edge bedridden in the Houses of Healing, only a few rooms away from Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn, and the perian Meriadoc."

That last name almost made Coldan choke on his ale. "V-vait a moment", he cried out, sputtering, "did - did you say Meriadoc? Ze halfling? You knew him?"

"That would be saying too much", Amdír conceded, "but we did meet briefly while both of us were in the care of the Healers, and even talked a word or two between two wounded veterans. A brave young man he seemed to me, his courage far greater than his height."

Coldan stared at him with his mouth hanging open. It took him a while to regain his voice. "Zen - zen you knew all along zat he was male, and a halfling? Zat zere never vas such a person as Mary ze Elf-maid of Rivendell?" He hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. "Nienna's mercy, Amdír, vy didn't you ever say a vord?"

"Why would I?" Amdír replied. "For one thing, it never occurred to me that this Mary character was supposed to be him. You see, he was introduced to me as Master Meriadoc, a halfling warrior of King Théoden's household - never a word of Elves or Rivendell. How should I have guessed that the two were meant to be the same person? In good sooth, I never made the connection until we met Master Samwise.

But even if I had thought of it, I'm not sure I would have felt called to speak out. I'm a carpenter, Coldan, not a playwright. I wouldn't ask you or Mistress Brinn for advice on how to make a good cupboard, nor would I presume to teach you what works in a play and what does not. Mary the Elf has been in the play as long as I have been working with your company - as you should remember, having been with them almost as long as myself and spent more time traveling with them - , and I did not feel that it behoved me to criticize anybody for putting her there."

Coldan shook his head, laughing silently to himself. "If zat isn't ze best joke ever! Ve had ze truth vizin arm's reach all ze time, but just never bothered to ask for it." He had a feeling he should be mad at Amdír - to think that all those hateful kissing scenes he had been forced to witness could have been avoided with a few words from the man! - , but he couldn't; he had come to like the carpenter too much during their conversation on their way here. "You're not at fault, Amdír - ze blame is on us for never asking you vat you did in ze Var. But now I zink about it, all zis makes me realize zat I hev indeed done Aldarion wrong in one respect - zis play vas a mess before he ever touched it."

He took another draught, still shaking his head, when a sudden shadow passed over his mind. "Vich reminds me, I suppose Brinn vill still vant a vord viz me ven ve get back, and I doubt her mood vill get much better from being kept vaiting. Ve should get going."

[Anguirel]

Sador's conversation with the young Player, though it had begun in quite an amiable fashion, had not quite recovered that agreeable note since Harrenon's blunt, half-conscious answer to the nobleman's romantic conceits. Yet despite little obvious common ground - excepting, perhaps, that of their young age - the pair had remained together as the morning continued, talking with ever less enthusiasm and consequence. It was an odd state, Sador thought, this extended, purposeless courtesy; and he realised it was felt much the same on Harrenon's side, too, and yet, little as the fellow seemed in truth to like him, he never quite left his side.

Once or twice Sador tried to stray on decisively, to where Asta at the other side of the room was talking with peculiar enthusiasm to a mere child...a golden-headed girl, nobly accoutred, familiar in appearance; the daughter of some courtier, Sador felt sure, though which, he could not recall. Before he had made any precise connection, anyway, both had slipped out of the common room, leaving Sador closeted with the inevitable, awkward, looming presence of Harrenon...did the youth just not have anything better to do?

Piqued into wanting to say anything to alleviate the frustration and tedium in the stuffy tavern air, Sador began to grow a little spikily indiscreet with Harrenon, just as he had done with Aldarion the night before.

"I'm still thinking about what you said, sir Harrenon, about the joys of friendship, and so on. Certainly, if you feel so strongly about that, then you are the right fellow to play Legolas, that fearless comrade of the noble Lord of Aglarond. And that is all very splendid and reassuring. But I am still surprised that a...fine young lad like you, sirrah, has never felt the strains of the sweeter passion...?"

It was unlikely to be a promising line of enquiry on either side. But it was, at that point, interrupted, by the figure of the publican, old Ingold himself, puffing his way into their spiritless conference.

"M'lud," he muttered to Sador with a new and grudging tone of deference, "a fine carriage has called by, and some great ladies within have sent a steward in grand livery to ask for you."

"A carriage?" Sador replied in some alarm. And ladies? They - she - had sought him out, it seemed certain, though goodness knows how they had tracked him to here. It was necessary to make certain, though.

"What sort of carriage, Master Ingold?"

"Festooned with blazons and such, m'lud. Swans, in the main, as far as I can see."

Well, that removed all doubt. Sador turned to Harrenon with an extroardinary look of agitation, and some anticipation too, on his face.

"You must excuse me now, I'm afraid, friend Harrenon. This is the barouche of my sister and sister-in-..."

The law was never spoken, as a gale of wild laughter broke it off, and a tall, most beautiful lady cannoned into Sador's hesitant back, throwing her arms about him. Their resemblance was entire, but wherever the brother was merely elegant, the sister (that much was clearer than anything else in the room's murk) was brightly radiant. It had been her laugh that shattered the cautious courtesies, and her voice, strident in sweetness, was of a piece with it.

"Well, brother, we find you playing with the Players, eh! And you will introduce us, I hope, among your artistic acquaintance?"

Framed in the very entrance to the Inn was the pompous, heavily frog-laced steward whose appearance had impressed Ingold, and at his side was another damsel. Less dazzling, more fine than the first, she surveyed the room with a thin, quiet smile and an equable stare. It would be clear to Harrenon that while Sador returned his sister's embrace with reasonable fondness, the young lord's eyes were already hovering inexorably over to this second arrival...

[Galadriel55]

The attention was turned back to Sereth when she suddenly burst out crying. Thiliel did not know why the tears rolled off the girl's cheeks in such abundance, nor could she do anything to calm them. Sereth looked hysterical.

"I know you are just trying to shield me from the truth, but you don't have to, I know it already!" Sereth choked in defiance between sobs, apparantly talking to the room at large. However, it seemed to Thiliel that the remark has been directed specifically at the man. "The play has been cancelled, hasn't it?" With this out of her mouth Sereth's sobs subsided abruptly. The entire room was very quiet, maybe in shock, or in disbelief, or perhaps some other unknown feeling. Sereth's eyes burned, looking from one person to another.

"But... surely not!" Thiliel cried, in an attempt to break the silence. She stepped towards Sereth and put a tentative arm around her shoulder. The girl didn't shake it off. "Surely they did not cancel it! All of Minas Anor yearns to see it!"

Thiliel felt empty inside. She has been looking forwrd to the play ever since she heard about it. She was proud to serve the very actors that would preform. And now... She almost cried herself from disappointment, but with a sniff held back the tears.

[Nerwen]

"Exaggerate? Why yes, they do, don't they?" Rollan was saying, when a treble wail from the courtyard made everyone in the Common Room jump.

"That was Sereth!" Asta whispered. "What can have happened now?"

Rollan briefly held his hand over his eyes. "I don't know, Asta, but I'm starting to think this play will be the death of me..." He sighed. "Come on, then, I suppose we'd better find out who's got into a mess this time, and how bad it is."

Master Ingold caught them in the doorway. "If I may make so bold as to speak to you, Master Rollan? This doesn't come easy, what with you customers of long-standing and never a breath of scandal before and always paying your bill on the hour– but I can't have much more of it. Brawling in my Common Room and my niece trailing after your actors all day and no mind for her work, and now–"

"Master Ingold," Asta cut in crisply, "what you just heard was merely one of our players rehearsing her part as a Ringwraith. I'll let her know it's having the desired effect."

She swept into the hall before the innkeeper had a chance to reply.

"Good thinking," was Rollan's only comment, but Asta could see he was impressed at her presence of mind. She could hardly blame him, as she was quite impressed with it herself.

Not that she had much time for self-congratulation, for as they hurried across the courtyard they could hear bitter sobbing coming from Brinn's waggon, broken by voices raised in anger or fright.

"The waggon must be on fire!" Asta gasped. "Or maybe Branor and Therian have really been arrested this time! That must be it, no-one's seen hide nor hair of them since last night. Or maybe..."

The scene that met their eyes in the cramped interior of the waggon was a dramatic one. Sereth was bawling her eyes out, held by the little maid, whatever her name was, who also looked to be on the brink of tears, while Coldan and Brinn were staring at them helplessly.

"Asta, they're... they're cancelling the plaaaay," Sereth sobbed. "Our lovely, lovely play that we've worked so hard on!"

"It's true," Ingold's niece confirmed, between sniffs. "She told me. Elanor the perian made them!"

"Why, I don't believe it! That scheming little– I wish I'd wrung her neck! Brinn–" Asta turned to her sister, who was opening and shutting her mouth, almost as if she were trying to speak, "how could you let this happen? Are you blind? Couldn't you see the scheming little monster was up to no good?" In her mind's eye the remembered face of Elanor acquired shifty eyes and a knowing smirk. Asta was sure, now, that she had never trusted the halfling for an instant.

[Pitchwife]

Coldan had never been good at handling children, and it was even worse with girls. If there was one kind of creature in Middle-earth he felt even more awkward around than Asta, it was young girls in the age between twelve and fifteen; it had been that way when he was in the same age, and it hadn't changed a bit in the ten years since. All he could do while Sereth worked herself into a downright nervous breakdown was stand there like a wooden post and wonder what in the name of the One Allmighty this was all about.

It didn't help when the other girl, Ingold's niece - what was her name? Thilwen or some such, if he had heard right - came crashing in on Sereth's heels and tried to comfort her friend, while Seri accused him of hiding the truth from her and blubbered something about the play being cancelled.

That took him completely aback. It couldn't be, could it? Had that Sador character, Lord Cirdacil's son and minion, gone so far in his machinations as to persuade the King to call the play off altogether? But Sereth had mentioned some female person. What had happened in his absence that Brinn hadn't told him? But Brinn seemed just as flabbergasted by Sereth's outburst as he was, and her last words to him made no sense if she had known anything about this.

He was still at a loss for words when the door was flung up again and Asta squeezed in, a concerned looking Rollan peeping over her shoulder because he couldn't fit into the cart's already overcrowded interior.

"Asta, they're... they're cancelling the plaaaay," Sereth blubbered, and her serving-maid friend, who was about to start crying herself, threw more fuel into the fire: ""It's true! She told me. Elanor the perian made them!"

"Why, I don't believe it!" Asta exclaimed and started to berate her sister for letting this happen.

This was enough for Coldan. He threw up his hands, narrowly avoiding by sheer luck to hit Asta in the face, and cried out: "Has everybody in zis company gone stark raving mad? Vill you all please stop zis and somebody tell me vat ze Udûn has happened here?"

At this outburst, Brinn finally awoke to life. "Please, Coldan, you're not helping", she sighed, pinching her nose, "and mind your language in front of the girls." She reached out to Sereth, who had now collapsed into a sobbing bundle, and drew the two girls to herself. "Seri, who told you this? Who said that the play was going to be cancelled?"