The King's Players RPG

[Formendacil]

"Please tell us that is a different Samwise and not the servant Sam of the War of the Ring?" Branor asked.

Amdír paused. The brief silence was awkward, as Amdír tried to discern why the actor would not want to meet the very subject of their play, and then said slowly, "No... that must be Master Samwise, who was Frodo's loyal companion in the quest to Mount Doom. I hear he has been invited to watch your performance, along with his family."

Amdír was about to say something about how King Elessar had also allegedly been invited, but considering Branor's reaction, perhaps it was just as well that he didn't get that far. The actor was distraught, and pushed through the crowd to get at the Hobbit, with Therian and Harrenon following somewhat more timidly.

"Umm, shouldn't you be...dead?" As Therian elbowed Branor, Amdír figured out why the actor was so distraught. Clearly, the Players' script had a somewhat different ending than the veteran remembered. Fortunately, Master Samwise seemed to be taking it well--though Amdír was not listening to everything either he or the actors were saying.

"Eh, erm, the problem we have sir is...our script-writer, Aldarion has you dying when the ghastly Black Lords and their demonic King, attacked on Weathertop. I myself questioned our writer about the accuracy of the histories he had found, but he insisted you were Frodo's servant, and were trampled by the Black King's tusked and fell steed. That is why you see, Master Samwise, I thought you should be dead!"

The Hobbit seemed a little taken aback at Branor's somewhat frantic attempt at damage control, and Amdír decided to say something himself, before the actor decided that the Hobbit's pause was cause for further wild statements.

"I'm sure it will all reflect on you very well, Master Samwise," he said. "I was present in the crowd for King Elessar's return and coronation, and I well remember three other Hobbits standing with Lord Meriadoc. I'm sure it's well-known that you're... er... alive and well. Probably Branor is just misremembering the script--after all, the first rehearsal isn't until tonight."

Then Amdír had a stroke of genius.

"Perhaps you could give us your own account of events--just so that we can make sure there aren't any errors in the script. Little errors, I mean--I'm sure you don't actually die in it." The Players waited with baited breath for the Hobbit to make an answer.

"I reckon you have it right enough," said Master Samwise after a long draw on his pipe. "I was indeed Mr. Frodo's servant by all rights, what with tending his gardens with my gaffer from my tween years. We came to close enough to death in Mordor as it was. If Gandalf hadn't come and saved us on those giant eagles, the Black Rider probably would have had us, if the fires of Mt. Doom didn't get us first."

The hobbit drew on his pipe again.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Therian was relieved. "Our apologies for our friend Brandor's memory lapse, Master Samwise."

Sam took a sip from his pint, his small fist dwarfed by it. Was that the fist that brought down the Dark Lord? A fist so small that a pint of beer could crush it?

Sam smiled. "Well, I always said I was the simple one, really. Simple Sam, my gaffer always said, though Pip was the fool." He laughed to himself, and Therian wondered if there was some story there. "But far's I know, I didn't die."

"And," Therian added, "We are quite glad to learn it for ourselves first hand. It is not every day one meets a true hero."

"Ah, well," Sam said, "there were heroes of all shapes in those days. Any what stood against the big bad, that is, and that was not easy never mind how big or small or live or dead you might be. Dead was not so permanent then, you know. Even when King Elessar - he was Strider to us back then - came with the Dead Army, people ran with fear, but it turns out they were on our side, even if they were more on their own, if you follow me."

"I am sure we all do. Another drink?"

"Ah, yes, maybe just one more."

"A Dead Army? Ghosts? I had heard something of it," Therian lied, having never heard such a thing at all, "but I thought it must have been a mistake. Ghosts with swords? How could a ghost hold a sword?"

"Ah, well, you see, I never knew quite how that worked, but I think mostly folk saw them coming and just ran without staying to find it out themselves."

"I would fight gallantly!" Branor boasted.

"No doubt you would, Brandor," Sam said. "Some did. Princess Eowyn fought better'n most, and that Witch King was dead as they come!"

"Branor," Brandor corrected.

Therian elbowed him in the side. "Eowyn? The Shieldmaiden? She was truly there at the battle, amongst all the men? And truly fought the Dread Fell Rider of the Demon Black Dragon Beast? Tell me, is it true a witch cast a spell to give her the body of a man so she could fight and actually win?"

[Thinlómien]

Sereth didn't really feel like eating, but she tried to. Brinn would think something was wrong if she didn't eat, and Brinn had too much in her hands already so Sereth didn't want to add to her concerns.

The chicken was well prepared and delicious, but Sereth could not bring herself to enjoy the taste. She told herself she must be going crazy. What was wrong with her? She had been acting all her life and suddenly she felt nervous about it.

Of course, she always cared about how people liked her and how her performance was received, but it had always been a more pleasant sensation of anticipation. This year was different though. She didn't feel so comfortable with the role of Frodo anymore. It was a crucial role, but she would have swapped places with Therian any day, or with Asta, or anything... You're not old enough, she told herself, although another part of her kept asking why not?

Still, she could live with the situation. Any role that would take her to the stage was something to be happy about, and something as big as she now had should make her grateful. She needed to rehearse more. She wanted to make Frodo perfect - as heroic and as strong-willed and brave as he was in all the legends. And that would not work if she had this silly anxiety inside her.

And she could not eat either, she was chewing the same piece of chicken for more than a minute now. With effort, Sereth swallowed it and turned to Brinn, who was sitting next to her. She blurted out the foolish question that had been on her mind ever since they entered the city:

"Brinn - the Lord Samwise is not surely the Samwise?"

[Mnemosyne]

Rollan was right--Brinn did need the food. She ate quickly, though neatly--there was still so much to be done!

Sereth, meanwhile, was only picking at her food--and she of such a growing age, too! She hoped the girl was not getting stagestruck, so odd in someone who had lived the theatrical life the way Sereth had. She looked up at Brinn, and suddenly said: ""Brinn - the Lord Samwise is not surely the Samwise?"

Brinn creased her brow. It had been something she was trying not to think on. "I do not know," she said. "Surely I had heard that Frodo was left to make the final stages of the journey alone, and the loss of his servant had heightened the tension so much more! You must admit it made the play much more dramatic!"

Rollan spoke up from his food--he had a bit of a belly and took especial care to furnish it at mealtimes. "But I don't think we have much to worry about from him. You heard the guard himself--he's a lord, and not likely to care so much about common entertainment, especially on the First Circle! He'll probably be too caught up in all the ceremony in the Citadel to give us any trouble."

"Even lords need to laugh, Rollan," said Brinn. "And Sereth has a point, anyhow. Everyone here knows that this Lord Samwise is a guest here, and his family. We may have to change things a little, just so they won't be confused, whether he is the same Samwise or not. Pay it little heed, Seri." She smiled, only a little more confidently than she felt. "We'll make it work, whatever it is that happens."

They finished their meal in silence--Sereth only half cleaning her plate. Brinn frowned, but didn't say anything. On their way back to the carts, Brinn took Rollan aside and said, "Do you think we should ask Aldarion to change the script?"

"Depends. Can we make him the comical sidekick? Ah, yes--the rustic, country lad, always quick to see the joy in a situation with his native wit!"

"You're too tall, love."

"I'll walk on my knees!" cried Rollan, and he immediately suited the action to the word, eliciting a laugh and a quick swipe on the head from Brinn.

That brought to mind another question, though--if the Samwise in the play was an esquire, how was it that he was now a lord?

[Boromir88]

Branor's teeth grinded when Therian told Master Samwise that his name was Brandor. However, causing a scene in front the Lord and in the Rohirric Unicorn would be most rude and unprofessional. Branor knew what Therian was getting at, because on more than one occassion Therian had taken delight in provoking him. If that's the game Therian wanted to play, Branor knew precisely how to get back at him.

But there seemed to be more than just Samwise being alive that the King's Players have gotten wrong. As the hobbit began telling the troupe about the real Lady Eowyn, and Meriadoc Brandybuck increased panic crept in Branor's face. Branor thought they needed to keep composure though, because Sam's curiousity about the play was growing, "I must say these are some of the strangest questions about the War of the Ring that I have ever been asked. Of course the Lady Eowyn, was a lady and Master Merry was a he..."

Branor was sorely tempted to let Therian reply and hang himself by letting him boast to Master Samwise where he believed women truly belonged in society. However, since Amdir and Therian recovered for Branor's slip up well enough, Branor decided to in the very least, repay the favor.

"Yes, of course, we know that stuff. We have a firm grasp on the true events, but have met none of the real heroes we are to portray. So, we want to make sure we get their true personality and characters as close as possible. Why Harrenon is the dashing Elf Prince Legolas, as well as the dreadful Witch-King and my friend Therian, is interested in the Lady Eowyn, as he will be playing the Lady in our tale." But Branor, could not resist taking an underhanded swipe that he thought would get under Therian's skin. "Afterall, he is a strapping boy, is he not? I mean, with his youthful and adorable face, I thought he was perfect for the part. I, naturally, am to play the King Elessar." Branor proclaimed proudly.

"Is that so?" Sam replied. "Well, you may be interested to hear that the King has been invited to attend the performance too. I have no doubt, King Elessar would be most pleased to be portrayed by an actor as great and noble as yourself, Brandor." Branor ignored the mistake, mostly because it was clear to him, Sam had recognized his true gift. However, he did not catch the slightest of smirks that Sam gave Therian.

"Tell me about King Elessar some more, if you do not mind all these interruptions and questions. It would be the highest of honours if the King attended our humble play, and saw me in his role. I do not want to act as Branor would act, but truly want to transform into the wise and great King Elessar, on stage."

"I do not mind the interruption at all. It is not every day that you get to meet and talk with the actors who are playing as you, and your friends." Samwise raised his mug of ales and motioned for all four of them to sit. "Let me see, there is a lot I can say about King Elessar, or Aragorn as Mister Frodo and I called him, or Strider, as he was known in Bree.

'Indeed he did have many names, not as many as Gandalf, but still a handful. I do not want to keep you from your business too long, so I will tell you my first impression of the man. I will never forget that, at the Prancing Pony in Bree. He was the most dishevelled man I ever did see and was in desperate need of a bath." Wait, hold on? King Elessar, dirty? And smelly!? With all due respect, Master Samwise had to be wrong about the King.

'In fact, I told Mr. Frodo, that Strider had to be up to no good. He had done nothing but eye my master from a dark corner. I said he had to be a spy of the Enemy, and could not be trusted." Yes. Samwise, has to have someone confused with King Elessar. He was wrong and when Branor was just about to correct him..."I could not have been more wrong about him!" Ha, I knew it! "I am sure you know all the tales of his great and heroic deeds, so I will not go into all that, but Mr. Frodo and I owe him our lives. After Mr. Frodo defeated the Dark Lord, Gandalf had told us how Aragorn strove against the Dark Lord thru a palantir and then marched an army to Black Gates. It was all a diversion, to draw Sauron's Eye away from us, as you rightfully know."

That was it! It all made sense to Branor now. King Elessar's many names, his disgusting uncleanliness when the warrior Frodo, and his ignorant servant, first met him. Elessar was a secret double-spy! It was clear now, how Frodo was able to defeat the Dark Lord in single combat. No doubt, Frodo was a worthy champion, but that part of the tale always seemed fishy to Branor. Distracted Sauron by striving against him with the palantir. And Frodo obviously knew how to defeat the Dark Lord because Aragorn had given Frodo secret intel. Strider...no Aragorn! No Elessar! The secret double-spy-king, one of Sauron's most trusted spies, was really working for the greatest warrior in history, Master Frodo Baggins, and gave Frodo all the information he needed to defeat the Dark Lord in single combat! What this palantir thing the Master Samwise mentioned, Branor did not know, but he was sure to bring all of this new information to Aldarion's attention.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Therian liked this Samwise quite a lot. More than he had ever liked Branor, at any rate.

"Branor," he asked, "Can I buy you another drink?"

Get him drunk, was the idea. Drunk enough that later, at rehearsal, he would flub his lines. I am the Thing, and I have returned! The King, I mean, I am the King, and I... it... Brinn, yer so pretty, did I ever tell you yer so pretty?

Therian snickered into his mug. "So, Master Samwise, if you do not mind me asking, how..." Therian considered his phrasing carefully. Meriadoc might still be a girl, after all, but it did not seem quite right, somehow. "How would you describe Mary? As... manly?"

"Ah," Sam swigged. "More like hobbity, though taller'n most."

That was unhelpful. "But... Mary... was Mary... at times in touch... with a gentler side?"

Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Always got on well with the wee ones. My own girl Elanor is a favorite of Merry's. Always going on about playing Nine and Riders with Merry and Pip..."

Therian was at a loss, and the others seemed equally perturbed. It would not do to admit to Master Sam that they had no idea at all who this Meriadoc person was. Therian changed the subject. "Prince Peregrin, we know quite a deal about, since he is so well famed hereabouts, but Gimli... would you say he and Legolas... Well, were they quite close? With each other, I mean?"

[Pitchwife]

For all that Coldan had meant to spend his precious time with Asta somewhat differently, he did not regret missing out on the taverns of Minas Anor for now. Rehearsing her part with her was one of the few occasions when he didn't have to worry what to say to her but could simply sit there, listen to her voice and watch her, and for once, he didn't mind her forgetting about his presence while his eyes drank the peculiar northern charm of her sharp-cut features in rapt admiration.

Right now, she was in the middle of her romantic dialogue with Boromir at Rauros, which wasn't exactly Coldan's favourite part of the play. Truth to be told, it was largely responsible for the silently smoldering grudge he harboured against Aldarion. He could forgive the playwright for being wildly more successful as a writer than himself, even though his plays, in Coldan's opinion, were routine hack work entirely devoid of poetic genius; but to write a love story between his own character and Asta's into the play and get to kiss her on stage every night! How dare he! The worst thing was, for all Coldan could tell, she might even enjoy it.

Fool, he scolded himself, you have only yourself to blame. He should have declared his feelings to her long ago; the Valar knew there had been occasions enough. Not that he had much hope of her reciprocating - not with men like Aldarion or Branor around - , but to simply let the state of things continue like that was intolerable. If only her mere presence had not that strange power to scatter the carefully chosen words in his head like so much chaff and reduce him to incoherent stammering!

Noticing a brief hesitation in her voice, he snapped out of his miserable thoughts and offered, "I vill cleave - "

"I will cleave to you, Boromir, and turn from the Twilight", she continued, and he sighed with relief as they came to the end of the love scene and Boromir's death. On they went through the rest of her part - Mary's brief captivity with the Orcs, her escape and meeting with the Walking Trees of Fangorn Forest, her ride with the Rohirrim, and finally her valiant fight against the Witch-King and her tragic self-sacrifice, which Asta mimed with gusto. Coldan relished that scene especially. Although his love didn't blind him to the limits of her talent as an actress in general, it was unmistakable that this was her favourite scene and she put her whole soul into it. Not for the first time he found himself thinking that she would make a far better shieldmaiden than that pathetic Therian.

When she had finished impaling herself on an imaginary Witch-King's imaginary sword, he applauded enthusiastically. "Splendid! You're almost perfect. Only one very minor zing - ze scene vere you convince ze Valking Trees to plant zemselves in Isengard could perhaps do viz a little more fine-tuning. Maybe ve should go zrough zat once more?"

"Thank you", she replied curtly, "but it must be nearing nine bells. Isn't it about time for Branor and the others to come back? They'll be late for the group rehearsal!"

[Boromir88]

Branor briefly contemplated Therian's offer. This was odd, Branor thought the whole time Therian was sincerely trying to provoke him. Maybe the elbow jabs and telling Master Samwise his name was Brandor were simple misunderstandings, and Therian was now trying to apologize. "I think I will, my boy, I am glad to see you have learned a lesson in apologies today."

Therian practically jumped out of his seat and quickly came back with a pint for Branor, and Master Samwise began telling the troupe about Legolas and Gimli. "Yes, I would say they were very close with eachother. They were as close as two people could get, I'd say just as close as Mr. Frodo and I. In those days, it was unheard of for an elf and a dwarf to have the friendship those two had."

When Branor finished his first pint, he saw Therian had taken the empty mug away and gave him a second. After the second one, Therian was still offering to buy him another drink. Only this time he asked if Branor could foot the bill and now being as drunk as he was, Branor had no problem doing, "Of course, my boy, of course" Branor emptied all the coins from one of his pockets and looked at the amount. "I will tell you....bring me 'nother pint right back, to this spot. Right in fron' of me. And how about you get another one for my new friend Masser Samwise. Tell you what too, since you..." he grabbed Therian's shoulder firmly, but in a friendly manner "yes you, have been such a kind friend lately...treat yourself to somethin'." Branor looked at the lump of coins in his hand again, as he slowly handed one coin at a time to Therian, until Branor had handed him all the coins. "Ther ya go, my boy, that shuld do it." He had handed Therian more than enough for three pints.

Soon it became clear to Amdir that it was nearing the hour when the players had to make it back to dress rehearsals. It was also clear, the trip might take a bit longer, as Branor was going to need to be half-carried back. "Thank you kindly for everything, Master Samwise. You have given us good details, that I do believe will make this a play to remember."

Branor managed to make it out of the tavern on his own, but it was soon clear he would need help walking back to the inn. Branor was hanging with one of his arms draped around Harrenon's shoulder, who seemed to be struggling keeping him up straight. Therian came over to lend his shoulder.

"I think I will take you all back with a different way, and hope the slower route will sober Branor up some." said Amdir, and Therian sniggered.

[Dimturiel]

Harrenon wondered whether he had ever had the misfortune to be in a more uncomfortable situation before and decided that it surely was not possible. Nothing could have been worse than what was happening now. They had been in Minas Anor for less than an hour and Branor had already insulted someone who appeared to be a very important person in the city– despite everything they had heard of him. He stepped on Branor’s foot quickly, but did not dare to admonish him in front of Lord Samwise. He told himself that he should be thankful; that at least Branor had had enough tact to tell Samwise “We thought you were dead” than “We thought you were nothing more than Frodo’s halfwit servant”. Why had they been lead to believe that anyway? What else had they got wrong?

Harrenon was grateful that Amdir had the presence of spirit to ask Samwise for an account of what had actually happened. It was better that they knew soon what other false knowledge they had than to present an erroneous version in front of Lord Samwise and his family and who knew what other important personages. He listened apprehensively to the conversation.

Harrenon had to roll his eyes at Therian’s question about Lady Eowyn. It sounded ridiculous even to him and he was not so sure where Therian had heard that one. He turned his attention to Samwise to hear what he had to say.

“Now really,” Samwise said slightly uncertainly. “I haven’t heard any of the sort. There were no witches then – unless you count Lady Galadriel and she was in Lorien at the time. I’m sure Lady Eowyn was very much herself when she felled the Nazgul. But I wasn’t there, of course. Master Merry would know more.”

“Master Mary?” Harrenon asked puzzled, wondering why Samwise was calling an elf-maiden master. An elf-maiden who, moreover, should have been dead long before the battle of Pelennor Fields.

“Yes, of course,” Sam replied fixing Harrenon with a questioning stare. “ Master Meriadoc Brandybuck. Surely he too is in your play, isn’t he?”

“He…” Harrenon repeated, his voice dry, desperately attempting to compose himself and not give away another blunder the Players had apparently made. “Why…yes…yes, of course he is…”

He could see panic in Branor and Therian’s eyes and he could not blame them. Harrenon tried not to imagine how the others would react when he told them that particular piece of news.

“If I tell them Mary the elf-maiden of Rivendell is actually Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire,” Harrenon thought, swallowing uncomfortably. “Brinn and Aldarion are going to kill me. as for Asta…well, Asta will surely feed my body to the mechanical dragon if I tell her she’s actually supposed to be playing Meriadoc the Hobbit who doesn’t even die when we thought she…well, he did.”