The King's Players RPG

[Nerwen]

"Will you do it, Asta? I know it's awful have to learn a new part at the last minute, but you must already know most of Lady Éowyn's lines."

Asta opened her mouth to say exactly what she thought about having to take on Therian's cast-off rôle, but Brinn's pleading look stopped her short.

"All right," she agreed reluctantly, realising she had no business making things any more difficult for her sister. "I suppose I can do it. It's not as if," she allowed a trace of bitterness back into her voice, "she has that many lines to learn, after all."

Unlike Mary, the Shieldmaiden only appeared in a few scenes; yet, now that she thought about it, Asta could dimly remember that Éowyn had once been a somewhat larger rôle, and Mary a smaller: they had changed places, somehow, over time. She frowned. That was really quite odd, wasn't it? How had it happened, exactly?

Brinn's sigh of relief was quite audible. "Oh, good. You'd better go and rehearse with Coldan. It was all his idea, by the way," she added, giving the prompter a grateful smile.

Avoiding Coldan's gaze, Asta concentrated on winding a tawny tendril of hair around her index finger. She was not at all pleased by this development, as she had planned to let Coldan stew in his own juice a little while longer– especially after the way he had spoken to her just now.

[Inziladun]

As Vëandur made his way down from the Sixth Circle of the City to the Fifth, he found himself hearing various snatches of conversations from townsfolk as they teemed through the streets.

".....so the King wouldn't let them...."

"......Revels is up to something....."

"......started a row in that inn, they did...."

".......King's Player's here! Let's hope this time they....."

Frowning slightly, Vëandur wondered, not for the first time, what those "King's Players" were. Some traveling group of clowns, from what he could gather.
Anyway, it mattered little to him, since his time in the City looked to be as brief as usual. The Captain was as anxious as the rest of the crew to be off and away from this place of tame townsmen and their wives and children.

Vëandur knew he should not be so quick to judge these people and their quiet lives full of small troubles and joys; it was not so long ago that great events had happened here: the armies of Mordor had besieged Minas Anor, then called Minas Tirith, and had been rescued (as usual, he thought with a grin), by the coming of the fleets of Pelargir.

That much he knew, anyway, from the tales of those who had returned to Pelargir itself and had brought what news they could. And the rest? He didn't know anything but wild rumors, but he was certain the true events had been just as glorious as the coming of King Elessar to Pelargir and the defeat of the Corsairs and the south-men.

As he approached the entrance to the Fifth Circle, he slackened his pace. A breeze was blowing, the beloved south-wind on which he could almost taste the salt. He had some bread in his pocket, and he sat down upon a stone bench in sight of the gate to eat it.

[Inziladun]

As Vëandur sat, a youngish-looking man came through the gate.

He looked to be near Vëandur's own age, and was girt with a sword. The man looked at Vëandur as he walked nearer.

"May I sit here?" he said.

"Of course, friend", said Vënadur. He stood and held out his right hand in salute. "Vëandur son of Falastur."

"Aldarion son of Galador", said the other, doing the same.

"Well, friend Aladrion", said Vëandur. "I know not your errand. But if time does not press you, perhaps we can take our ease for a moment."

Smiling, Aldarion said "I may spare a few minutes."

Both then sat.

"Well, you are from the coast-lands, I am thinking? I come from Pelargir, myself."

"Why do you think that?" asked Aldarion.

"I spoke no secret, I hope", said Vëandur. "Your speech betrays you. One on my ship is of the Anfalas, and the sound of your words is like to his."

"Your ship?" You are a sailor?"

"I am", said Vëandur, and the pride in his voice was unmistakable. "Like my father, who died in the action at Pelargir, I serve in the fleets."

"As the captain?", asked Aldarion, thinking of things he'd heard about sailors before. Few of them were especially pleasant.

"Captain? Nay", said Vëandur with a laugh. "The helmsman am I, and I consider it a great honor. Captain I may yet be though, one day, when I am proven. My errand I have just completed was to my captain in the circles above. He is at council with others of his rank. Do you come from the coast, as I thought, Aldarion? A soldier you are, I deem. Though, as I, I think you are too young to have fought in the War".

"I am from Dol Amroth. My father fought, in the conflict", Aldarion said guardedly.

"And with valour and prowess I doubt not. In these days of peace, I wonder if we shall have such a chance to prove ourselves in battle."

"I'm not a soldier", said Aldarion. "I act with the King's Players."

Vëandur gaped at him with astonishment. "Your pardon!" he said. "I meant no offense. It's just that....well....you have the look of a valiant man, and with the blood or warriors in your veins, I thought you must be a fighter in the service of the King."

"Sorry to disappoint you," said Aldarion, and Vëandur thought he struggled to conceal some emotion.

"No, forgive me, friend Aladrion. But tell me then what manner of folk are the King's Players?"

Aldarion began to speak, and Vëandur did not interrupt him.

When he had finished, Vëandur said slowly "Ah! Well, I had that wrong too! So you are re-enacting the events of the war. I can see the good of it, I guess; people need to be reminded. Still, though...." and he hesitated. "it seems a waste. Great service you could give to the Crown, as did your father. You have also the noble blood of Dol Amroth, which works in you. Why choose you a life such as this?"

"Because I wanted to," said Aldarion with a shrug. I have loved acting as you have loved the ships. Each man must choose his own calling."

"That is true," said Vëandur. Still, though. I think on what my own father said to me when I was young: 'Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for Gondor,' is what he would say. I have lived my life with that in my heart."

Aldarion said nothing, but looked as if he wanted to leave. Vëandur stood, and bowed before him.

"Your pardon, for my forward words," he said. "My blood runs hot at whiles, and my tongue is freer than it should be. I will leave you now to your errand. I would very much like to see your play and your version of the great events of the War, but I fear my ship shall leave soon. If I see you not again, may you fare well, and free".

Bowing again, Vëandur began to walk away.

[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."

[the phantom]

Within half an hour of arriving Aldarion was already leaving the house of Bregolas. It turned out that Bregolas was up in the seventh circle doing some sort of important soldiering. His wife had beamed as she informed Aldarion of Bregolas's most recent promotion, but Aldarion was not surprised- Bregolas was a fine experienced campaigner and roughly ten years his senior, perfectly poised to be moving up.

After saying a brief hello to the three children that were in the house, Aldarion departed with an invitation to return the following afternoon to dine with the entire family, Bregolas included.

Quite soon Aldarion was through to the fourth level and heading for the fifth. His destination- the fine house of Lord Borondir.

Aldarion was not certain as to the specifics of Borondir's relation to the various families of Gondor, but knew that he was somehow connected with Hurin the Tall, Warden of the Keys, the Lord that had ruled Minas Tirith for a short time when the army marched against the Black Gate. Aldarion was also certain Borondor was some sort of relation to Prince Imrahil.

Aldarion's father had served under Borondir for a few years after the Ring War, assisting in mopping up the remaining hostiles in Harad. Also serving with them had been Borondir's only remaining son, Cirion, and he was great friends with Aldarion's father. Unfortunately the friendship was cut short thanks to a Haradrim arrow, and Borondir was left without family, having previously lost his wife and only daughter to an illness, and his two other sons in the siege of Minas Tirith.

Lord Borondir was getting old now and retired from any serious work, though he was open with counsel any time someone came seeking it. His passion these days was visiting children in the Houses of Healing, entertaining them with stories and the like. He was a kindly old man and missed his family very much, and Aldarion would not think of passing through Minas Tirith without seeing him. Borondir had always been enthusiastic about Aldarion's career, pointing out to Aldarion, "You are doing the closest thing possible to living the tales that I so love to tell!"