The King's Players RPG

[Nerwen]

At first Asta had felt nothing but the glow of victory. Ha! She had shown him! He would never dare speak to her like that again!

As the moments passed, this feeling of satisfaction slowly ebbed, leaving behind it a strange feeling of emptiness.

Asta picked up the script Coldan had flung down in his fury. It seemed she would have to to learn her lines all by herself. Well, that should be easy enough: she practically knew the part already. Only, somehow she found it hard to concentrate. The image of Coldan's retreating back kept coming before her mind's eye. There was just too much noise and general distraction in the courtyard, that was the problem. She decided to go to her room.

Once there, however, Asta sat on her bed with the script on her lap, staring straight ahead and biting her lip.

It was not her fault, none of it was. Coldan had no business being insulted. Why, Dorwinion was practically in Rhûn! Asta had seen maps, and she knew. She had not meant to be cruel, not really. She had never meant to be cruel. True, it had always been fun to tease him by pretending to misunderstand his blushes and stammered compliments, or by getting him to run useless errands for her all the time, or... or by flirting with Aldarion right in front of him, but– it had been all just a game. Surely he knew that? Besides, who could blame her when Aldarion was so handsome and charming? Sometimes she thought she might actually be in love with him. Wasn't she?

With sudden cold clarity, Asta knew finally and definitely that she was not, and that it was just as well, for the man of Dol Amroth was surely just amusing himself with her, too. And now Coldan would never forgive her. Being called an Easterling was the one thing he would never forgive anyone.

Asta blinked, and sniffed, and blinked again, and to her own surprise gave way to a storm of weeping.

[Pitchwife]

Coldan sat in the common room, unseeing eyes staring into the dark ruby of his third cup of Emyn Arnen Southside, his mood darker than the wine. How could a few words, a few moments have shattered so easily everything he had cared for these last three years? Even his love for theatre, his dedication to the Players, his dreams of becoming a playwright himself had to a good extent been kindled by his falling in love with Asta, back when he had first seen the troupe perform in Dale. Without her, everything else was void and ashes.

You can't go around acting like you're terrified of her, he repeated to himself with a mirthless grimace. Show her she should respect you, and your intentions towards her. A bright success that had been. How could he have been such a fool as to hope that she might care for him, that he might ever be more to her than a useful member of the troupe, amusing to play with at times, but mostly a nuisance? Instead, it had turned out that he was little better than an Orc in her eyes. (He stubbornly ignored that little voice in his head that kept suggesting it need never have come to that if he hadn't let his pent-up jealousy run rampant, if he had been more explicit to her about his love much earlier instead of flying around her ears with nary a warning after three years of timidity and vague allusions.)

He took another gulp, but no amount of wine could fill the emptiness inside him.

[Anguirel]

In response to a steady nod from Rollan, Aldarion smiled his agreement, and together he and Sador left, heading back to the inn's main room. But soon the nobleman was in for a couple of surprises that complicated his friendly offer.

"Master Ingold, by your leave," he remarked suddenly, "did Mistress Celebrindal's husband not arrange a lower charge than what you have just demanded for this ale?"

But the innkeeper, surely remembering with little fondness the food and drink that had been requisitioned on credit that morning, stuck stubbornly to the bare terms of his agreement with Rollan - which was that the cheaper prices were for the King's Players themselves only, and not anyone, noble or not, who merely chose to mingle with them.

"Of course," Aldarion interjected, "if I bought you a drink, we could resolve this nonsense for the time being."

Sador's expression seemed complicated, as if he automatically wanted to protest, to claim his right as the true patron here even to buy Aldarion's drink, let alone be in the player's debt. But he was also of the blood of Burlach, and his financial good sense emerged strongest; he assented to the playwright's proposal without a precise word of protest. Soon they were well seated, with a generous pint each.

"Please don't apologise," Aldarion cut in before Sador could try to, in a tone of warning. "I owed you that politeness anyway, because I'm going to have to disappoint you again, Lord Sador...there is no way I can show the precise pages of the script to anyone outside of our troupe, at this stage. Brinn - Mistress Celebrindal, I mean - would certainly not approve."

This greater setback, coming from a man he was already regarding as a relatively helpful ally, stung Sador more sharply, but again he responded with a reasonable nod; though he could not resist a silky rejoinder,

"You are a man of nice manners, Master Aldarion, as to when you do, and when you do not, await Brinn's approval..."

But he spoke laughingly, as if to insist there was no substantial rift between them at all. Soon they were speaking on much more friendly terms again. While Aldarion had made it clear he would not show his material directly, he was willing to talk about much of what it involved; and Sador for his part spoke openly, expansively and with interest about the received accounts he had learnt over many years of reading about the War of the Ring. Most of the official matter, it seemed, was composed of either chronicles of military action, or highly stylised lays of grand deeds, loves, laments. Humble though it might in some ways be, Sador emphasised, the play of this Cormare would be the first attempt in Minas Anor to combine both of these traditions.

All the same, as they talked, both men were conscious of leaving more delicate subjects for another time, when they would not be so easily overheard. At last, though, - perhaps aided by Aldarion's drink, for it was proverbial that nobles were but ill-used to ale, on the whole - Sador began to tread the line from the professional to the more personal.

"What do you think of them as a rule, then, Aldarion," he asked, "the troupe, I mean? Any particular friends, wits, folk of quality? What about that rather striking girl with her machinery...has she bewitched your fancy now and then...?"

[the phantom]

"What do you think of them as a rule, then, Aldarion," Sador asked, "the troupe, I mean? Any particular friends, wits, folk of quality? What about that rather striking girl with her machinery...has she bewitched your fancy now and then...?"

Aldarion paused to consider what sort of answer he should give. Complete honesty was out of the question- he hardly knew Sador. But the man was pleasant and appeared to have good tastes, and also seemed willing to help, and so Aldarion thought it would be an acceptable gamble to let out one or two little tidbits for Sador to think about.

"The King's Players... They are... a work in progress," began Aldarion. "I do not believe that any of the members are without talent. Our regular leading man Branor- though one could hardly tell from watching most of our performances, he is capable of playing about any sort of character. The problem is he nearly always gets a ridiculous idea of what a character is. I can tell the rest of the troop is often with me in thinking he is over the top, but for some reason they won't help me get him under control. I still do not understand the dynamics that exist between them, I think."

Sador made no sign of interrupting, so Aldarion continued. "The Therian situation is odd as well. I think he could flourish under the right circumstances, but his personality and attitudes don't help him at all. If you haven't noticed a particular flaw of his, rest assured you soon will." Aldarion sighed. "Therian has yet to learn that half of theater is politics behind the curtain." Aldarion had learned that lesson all too well.

"Now Sereth- I think she probably has more talent than anyone when it comes to playing roles. Some members of the troop are rather protective of her, so I have not had much opportunity to work with her one on one, but I've done what I can with her lines and roles. I am quite interested in her future."

"And the mechanically inclined girl?" prodded Sador.

Aldarion took a drink to gain a moment for thought. Why does Sador wish to learn my opinion of Asta so badly? His original question was directed at her to be certain, and I was getting there eventually, but it seems he couldn't wait? Hmmm... I ought to be guarded on this subject until I know more.

"Yes, Asta," said Aldarion. "She speaks of her father's technical brilliance, and credits him with much of the equipment that we use, but she sells herself short in doing so. Some of the things I have witnessed her rigging up- I can tell you that she would have been more than welcome in The Swan Players' company with her skills."

[Boromir88]

This was too much for Branor. Amdir had been fired, Brinn was appreciative of the information the troupe brought back but stressed about working in the new changes, and Asta and Coldan were in a torrid argument.

He tapped Therian on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper "Those two just need to release the tension...with eachother, already, don't you think?" Branor gave a wily grin. Therian grunted. Branor was taken aback, usually a suggestion like that one would get amusement from Therian. He must be overwhelmed by the drama too, thought Branor.

"So...Therian, I need a few drinks, before I lose my mind. What do you say we go see Ingold?" Branor went to wrap his arm around Therian's shoulders and lead him to the innkeeper, but Therian pushed him away.

"Get your hands off me!" Therian warned.

Branor was concerned for his friend, but his expression wasn't showing concern. It was the same blank and dumb look. The one he always gave when someone was obviously angry with him. Therian gave a disgusted sigh, shook his head furiously, and stormed away, making sure he rammed Branor with his shoulder on the way out.

"Fine! Go off then!" Branor was fuming, he did not know what he did to upset Therian, but he was sure he did not deserve it. "You spoiled, good for nothing, pompous - you know who you remind me of right now? My mother. That's right. When it was that time for her...so what, is it that time of the month for you!?" However Therian had vanished before Branor had finished the tirade, and he sincerely hoped Therian had not heard the last part. "I need a drink." He yelled back to Brinn and thundered into the common room.

"Inkeep! Your strongest mead, whatever will numb my senses!" he slumped onto one of the stools. Branor was not thinking about the reduced prices for the troupe players and left Ingold enough covering the regular costs. Normally Ingold would not cheat one of his lodgers, but he could sense he would have to carefully watch Branor's drinking.

"And this is Branor, our leading man I was telling you about." said a voice from behind him. Branor looked over his shoulder and saw Aldarion and another man standing behind him. His mood picked up slightly with Aldarion calling him the leading man. However, after Aldarion introduced him to Sador, he was still in no mood for idle conversation with anyone, and went back to drinking Ingold's ale.

"Something troubling you, Branor?" asked Aldarion. Conversation was now unavoidable and Branor's thoughts first went to Therian. What was his problem today? The entire morning he was acting queer and now he was fussing. No doubt about something petty and insignificant. But, he said nothing to Aldarion and Sador about Therian. "Coldan and Asta. Coldan's throwing fits about the script and your abilities to accurately retell a tale as large as this one. Something to do with Mary the Elf role. I did not hear the full tirade, but it was a firestorm."

[Mnemosyne]

Brinn was left alone again as Rollan and Aldarion stepped outside. She could hear the voice of Sador, and his recommendation for the leech--oh, that was good of him! Still can't quite be trusted, she reminded herself, but perhaps he could help

And now, if she could just speak to Sador and see if he could get them some information on the official celebrations, or even a way to get into wherever any official accounts were! Plenty of time for that, though, as there was much mulling and musing to be done on what they'd acquired already.

Branor and Therian's information was apocryphal at best, but had a peculiar sort of charm to it that would, if used properly, translate better onstage than a lot of the hard facts they had received so far... The King was the most important member of their audience come Cormare, but it would do little good to make him, and no one else, happy!

Harrenon and Coldan, in turn, had stumbled upon a gold mine in that Bergil, which was good. And Aldarion, ever the pragmatist, had eschewed immediate gains in favor of greater ones tomorrow.

She could think of ways to make the great changes in the battles, already. That was the easy part, really, for so many here had been present for it. But how to lead up to those times, and get the audience feeling for all those characters beforehand? The King, and this Samwise, had been there for all of it!

That, and the information that they needed most desperately--the hobbits--was still scanty at best. She would hate to have to talk to Master Samwise himself, especially after hearing those trickles of rumors of what the Players had actually said to him, but they might have no choice...

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Brinn said. Amdir stepped inside, carrying two shaped planks of wood. Brinn's face broke into a wide smile. "Are those my crutches?"

"I need to cut them to your height first," said Amdir. "But then, they will be."

"You're a marvel, Amdir; thank you so much." Abruptly she remembered that the man had lost his position. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"If you could stand up, I'll be able to mark the crutches."

That was not entirely what Brinn meant, but she took the point and--carefully--rose. Amdir held the crutches to her side, and with a piece of charcoal, made two precise marks where he would need to cut them. "Shouldn't take me much longer now," he said, and turned to leave.

[Anguirel]

Sador's easy and relaxed attendance on Aldarion's answers was, as so often, a disingenuous attitude, belying the frustration he really felt as he took them in.

Surely this (fairly) renowned player and writer could intuit that Sador had no real interest in the mechanistic side of the fair Asta's accomplishments? That he was merely enquiring, in as polite a manner as he could, whether or not there was any substantial attraction between this fine-featured hero of the stage and his relatively delicate looking colleague? Whether there were or not, it would seriously affect Sador's calculations, and quite soon he would have to call it either way. Aldarion's strait-laced, strictly artistic reply told him very little, for this player could be either concealing genuine and deeply-held feelings, or by his indifferent, cold answer inadvertently revealing, by omission, that Asta left him wholly unmoved. The only way to research this further within the bounds of good conduct would be to show that sort of interest in Asta himself, and that, he was sure, would involve its own problems.

But all he said was, "Ah, Aldarion, the Swan Players! Much have I grieved never to have seen them, though in our well beloved Amlach's accounts they live fresh and stark as the brightest of morns. You must, please, tell me much of them in the coming days...unless to recall such times bores or troubles you, of course..."

It was at this point that Branor made his peculiar, stulted entrance to their assembly. Curiously unresponsive, the lead actor fitted neither the positive nor the negative aspects of Aldarion's assessment; howbeit he had theatrical troubles on his mind, like the rest of the company. And if this Branor had drunk so heavily in the presence of the main guest from Eriador, Consul Samwise, Sador found himself thinking reluctantly, perhaps his father had been right to take some action, though it was still imprudent to punish Amdir merely because he was the easiest culprit to reach...

Still, it was as best to remain pleasant, and the dullard's information was at least consistent, and amusing. "Quite a damsel, this Asta," Sador persisted. "It seems her very glances and speeches leave turmoil in this company's wake...let us hope they are as impressive to the audience!"