The King's Players RPG

[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.

[Nerwen]

Naturally, Brinn and Rollan were both getting ready at a leisurely pace in their wagon and it was clear from their idle chatter that it had dawned on neither that anything was amiss.

Asta gritted her teeth. Often it seemed to her that she was the only member of the troupe who ever had her wits about her.

"...might work," Brinn was saying as she helped her husband into the long robe dyed and patched in many violent and clashing hues that he wore as Saruman, the Mad Magician, "if we can get Aldarion to agree to some more revisions–"

Rollan laughed and said that the problem with Aldarion was usually getting him to stop. He started to add something futher about Aldarion's endless "improvements" to the Boromir-and-Mary scene but broke off as he noticed Asta climbing in from the back step.

"It's the troupe– they're gone!" she announced. "I mean, they're still not back yet! No sign of them, and it's close-on nine bells already. Brinn, could something have happened to them? What if someone drugged their ale in the tavern and now they're being carted off to Rhûn to be sold as slaves! I've heard stories, you know... We have to do something!"

They both tried to calm her, Rollan quipping that a bit of slavery would do Branor a world of good, and Brinn pointing out how many of Asta's alarms had proved false in the past, adding that she was sure there was still plenty of time and that Asta was probably imagining it was later than it really was.

Brinn did not get very far with this argument, however, for even as she spoke the silvery clamour of bells began, chime after chime ringing in the ninth hour since dawn. The three of them looked at each other in dismay.

[Formendacil]

The bells started ringing for the ninth hour, and Amdír noted with mild alarm that they had not yet returned--indeed they were a few blocks away yet. Harrenon and Therian also noted the time, but Branor did not seem to grasp its significance.

"Do you think we can march at a faster pace?" asked Amdír, though Therian had already jerked Branor to move more speedily.

"We've already got the bad news that the play will need rewriting," he continued. "Let's not aggravate Brinn further by being later than need be."

"Bad newsh?" said Branor. "Rewriting the script is good! All Hail Elessaragorn Stridesalot, Spy-King of Arnor! Aldarion's going to love me!"

"So much for sobering him up," said Harrenon, even though Amdír thought they'd actually made progress since they left the Rohirric Unicorn. Branor's speech was hardly slurred anymore, though his walking was not yet steady.

As it turned out, they were only six minutes late when they finally reached the waggons... but Brinn already stood waiting.

[Mnemosyne]

Brinn flashed a brief "I told you so" look at Asta before turning on the latecomers. True, five minutes was not such a terrible thing, but when you had been given six hours you really ought to be able to show up at least a little early.

"What took you so long?" she said. "Where have you been?"

Branor swayed a little on the spot. Oh, not again...

"And what in the Enemy's name were you doing, drinking so early--and when we have work to do?"

"Brinn," said Branor. "Shumthing important I need to tell you--the King--"

Doesn't have enough lines, Brinn thought.

Brinn pinched the bridge of her nose. "We don't have time for that now," she said. "Therian, Harrenon, freshen him up a bit, if it can be managed. We start in a quarter of an hour."

Sighing, she walked over to greet Amdir and begin discussing with him the sets, and what exactly had happened.

[the phantom]

Aldarion glanced out of the window beside his writing desk, his attention swayed by the sound of crunching gravel and low murmuring.

"What took you so long?" he heard Brinn admonish. "Where have you been?"

Well finally they're back! Do they really have such little respect for rehearsals? Aldarion shoved aside his editing work and hopped out of the window to join the troop in the inn courtyard.

"Therian, Harrenon, freshen him up a bit, if it can be managed," ordered Brinn. "We start in a quarter of an hour."

Aldarion groaned, turned around, and walked back to his window and reached through it to grab the script on his desk. I may as well work on this travesty a bit while I wait. The dragon's death scene needs to be rewritten from the roots up I would say. I mean really- Fram throws a rock that knocks one of Scatha's teeth down his throat which then stabs through his stomach and causes him to bleed to death? Even if true, it's ridiculously anticlimactic.

[Formendacil]

For an older man to a younger woman of roughly the same social status, Amdír tended to be extremely deferential to Brinn. Whether it was because she was head of the company his master had assigned him to assist, or out of some reverence for her stage name and vast travel experience, the fact was that Brinn slightly awed the old carpenter. Consequently, since he had never before been involved in something that displeased her, being a reliable and punctual man, and not generally involved with Brinn except where the setpieces were concerned, and thus it was with a gulp in his throat that he responded when she called him over.

"We should probably discuss the sets tonight," she said, "since I remember it took a good week last year to get the old pieces out of storage, and back into the city, and that was without having to modify them drastically. First, though, what happened to Branor? He can be too heavy with his drinking, but he rarely gets like this before nightfall."

"He was, ah, overcome," said Amdír, fumbling for a precise way to put it. "Overcome by good fortune, I suppose you could say. Master Samwise Gamgee was at the Rohirric Unicorn, and let us speak with him for quite some time about his life and our play."

"Samwise Gamgee... the Halfling?" said Brinn. "Surely you don't mean the one in our play?"

"Yes," said Amdír, "Branor made the mistake of telling him he's dead, and the drinking started, I think, as an attempt to win Master Samwise's goodwill. I think that Branor had some idea of getting him to recount his memories of the War, so that he'd have material to give Aldarion, so that he could rework the play to not offend Master Samwise."

"Offend Master Samwise? Why should he care?"

"Apparently Master Samwise and his family are planning to attend the play," explained Amdír. "He said that his daughter has spoken of it frequently."

"So Branor drank too much because he was afraid because a Hobbit servant and his family might watch a play where he doesn't really appear?" Brinn was still confused, and Amdír realised that she did not know that the King was being invited.

"Well, he might have drank too much because Therian was encouraging him," admitted Amdír, wondering a second later if he should have said it, "but we were all anxious. Master Samwise isn't just some Hobbit servant--he and his family are the guests of King Elessar."

The dawn of comprehension appeared in Brinn's eyes.

"I should also mention that Lord Cirdacil--he's the new Master of Revels--mentioned to me that he was inviting King Elessar to this play, since he is so prominently figured in the tale it recounts."

Amdír let the import of his news sink in rather than press on with a further list of his own concerns about Master Samwise dying in the First Act--if he appeared at all.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"So then he says, he says 'Of course she was a lady the whole time! That was the point, wasn' it?' and I says to him, 'In her heart, sure, but I mean in her armor. There wasn' any witchery or anything? Are you sure?' and he says he cannot be sure because he wasn' there hisself, what with being in Mordor at the time and all, but he was pretty downright sure that she was always a woman the whole time, even when she got hit with the mace and had her arm broke."

"I was there too," Branor groaned, his head wobbling a little. He looked down to double check that he was, in fact, sitting on the edge of a wagon. "I know what the halfling said. He said the King was a secret spy!"

"Really, Bran, he said no such thing."

"He did!"

Therian considered this. At first he had been inclined to keep his drunken associate from making a fool of himself to the Boss. But as Brinn glanced toward them, Therian thought better of it. Let Branor tell her that King Elessar was mucking around with allegiances during the War. Let him tell her he needed new lines written. You thought I was on your side, Dark Lord, but who is the lord now, huh? Who is the lord now!

Yes, let him tell her that...

[the phantom]

Aldarion watched the exchange intently. Branor was obviously drunk, so his account could not be trusted. Was the whole thing a joke or a misunderstanding? The primary point thus far seemed to be that Samwise was not a simple servant but an important Hobbit that now ruled the Shire- AND Samwise and the King himself would be attending the performance! If these things were true, some serious rewriting was in order, and perhaps some recasting.

Aldarion quietly moved forward towards the conversation, not wanting to miss a word.