The King's Players RPG

[Nerwen]

It took a moment for Asta to register what the "child" was saying.

"Oh! Then you're– Forgive me, I– I thought..." she stammered. The woman smiled, as if to say: it happens. Asta recovered her dignity as best she could. "I'm Asta of the King's Players."

Asta had never seen a real, in-the-flesh halfling before. She could not help darting a glance at Elanor's feet, which sure enough were bare of shoes but thickly covered with fur. So that part was true. She was a great deal smaller than Sereth, however, and though her complexion was much the same delicate brown, her curling hair was a deep golden colour. Either she was an exception then, or somebody back in the dim mists of the company's beginnings had been very wrong about what halflings were supposed to look like.

The tiny hand still clasped her own. Asta wondered what she was supposed to do with it.

[Anguirel]

"I know not which grandsire you mean, my lord. My mother's father is Ardamir, a fisherman. Of my father's sire, I knew him not at all, only that his name was Beren."

The old lord listened soberly to Vëandur's faltering, puzzled answer. At the last word, that short, evocative, high name, he made a firm, rapid, nod; but in words he did not reply for some further moments, as he turned away from the younger man, and began to look out upon the morning skyline. He stared into that part of the distance where the shine of the Anduin river was flowing, and seemed to murmur words addressed only to himself, or perhaps to an entity that heard with ears other than material ones. Almost, Vëandur and the guard would suspect in that moment, he was praying; not for something, surely, but for someone. But at last he turned again back to the sailor.

"I knew your grandsire - Beren - well enough," he said. "He was lost at sea, though I never heard any more exactly of the manner of his death. I hope he went peacefully to Osse's locker, and not by the harsher steel of some craven and misbegotten pirate."

He gave another of his brusque, business-like nods, this time to the guard, and abruptly remounted the mule. It seemed for far longer than an instant as if both were going to ride off (for the guard mounted his sturdy gelding too, now) and leave the seaman to wonder alone. But then the lord held up his wrinkled and slightly palsied, shaking hand in a halting gesture.

"Stay, my man. I must impart another word, after all, to the mariner."

It was with shining tears that threatened the timbre of his voice - that voice, too, on a sudden regaining the singsong Pelargir resonance - that he admitted to Vëandur, as if it cost him much, "He was my brother."

And he alighted to his feet again, and held out quivering arms in the most awkward looking of proffered embraces.

[Inziladun]

Vëandur had stood listening to the man named "Cirdacil" with increasing astonishment.
The name itself had stirred something within him when he had first heard it from the guard, but why that should be he did not know. He could not remember ever seeing this old man before, even in passing during previous excursions to the City.

At the words "He was my brother," it became clear. Vëandur had heard the name before, from his father long years ago, when Vëandur was only a small boy of five summers or so.

His father and he had been at the shore sitting upon the quay. Both had been in a fine mood, smelling the salt in the air and hearing the musical cries of the gulls. Falastur had been telling him a tale of his first time at sea with his own father.

"When can I go?" Vëandur had asked.

"Soon I shall take you with me, but your mother thinks your years are yet too few. Fear not, if the Sea runs in your blood you shall not be kept from it."

"I'll bet the Sea runs in the blood of all our family!" Vëandur had said, looking at his father with admiration.

"Not all," said Falastur. "My uncle Cirdacil felt not the call. He turned away from the Sea and went north long ago. It is many years since I have seen him."

"I don't understand why he would turn away from the Sea," said Vëandur.

"Neither do I, my son. You must remember though that it needs many men to serve the needs of Gondor, not sailors only. Judge him not."

The memory passed through Vëandur's mind in seconds. Now, seeing the name made into a living man in Minas Anor far from the Sea, Vëandur could tell the resemblance to his father in the old man's face, especially in the nose and mouth.

"It is joyous to find kin, especially where one does not look for it," said Vëandur.

He struggled for other words, but instead grasped the old man's arms and accepted his embrace.

After several moments, they parted, looking at one another.

"Alas, I can tell you little of Beren that you do not know," said Vëandur. "My father said that he set out on a voyage to the Anfalas one Spring day and never returned. It happened ere I was born."

[Anguirel]

"Vëandur, son of Falastur, of the Fleets," Cirdacil repeated now, in simple wonderment. "My old cheeks blush to admit it, but I had forgotten even the sound of my little nephew's name, till I saw those eyes of yours...and now I see I have a grand-nephew, and grown a brave pilot for his country! Well..."

He shook his head in simple disbelief. Even now, he did not look like a kindly old man, more like a difficult curmudgeon who had been hit on the head with a mattock and was just coming round.

"Well," he said again, "I intend to make it as glad a discovery as I can arrange, though my time is always short, and I'm sure in your active path of life, yours is, well, as much so. But I shall tell you now that you have four fine young cousins, and that we are a family of no small importance, by the grace of the late lamented Steward, and the favours, too, of the King now ruling. Yonder," he pointed further down the fine, broad street, to a long mansion of yellowish limestone, "stands the house of my elder son, Ecsichil, to where I was on my way...and I am sure he would be delighted..."

But Cirdacil cut himself off half way through his sentence, still gazing penetratingly at his new nephew; his eyes might be smaller and browner, but they had, after all, a similar force of will.

"Actually, a better plan has occurred to me. I must tell you, then, though as my near blood you need observe no more courtesies than you think fit, that I am more widely known as Cirdacil, Lord of Burlach, Lord Warden of the Exchequer, and...unfortunately...Master of the Revels, too, at the moment. My younger daughter is married to a lord from Dol Amroth, but I know she is visiting her brother at this house, this evening, for a party of which they think I know nothing. More fool them!

"All my children, your cousins, two boys and two girls," the old man's pride here seemed at the point of overweening, "will be gathered at once. Now, I shall be free from the toils of the Exchequer at midnight; if you too are at liberty then, shall we meet here shortly after that, and surprise the rest of the family together? Then I can introduce you properly."

Cirdacil waited for Vëandur's answer, simultaneously looking him up and down with such exactitude that the mariner might wonder if his distinguished uncle had genuinely proposed his scheme out of affection, if he wished to see this country cousin brought before his noble children only when he was in finer array, or if another reason altogether worked somehow upon the old man...

[Inziladun]

A party? With family he had never before seen, who did not know him? The thought made Vëandur smile nervously. Intruding on parties was something he had done a time or two before (mostly with friends from his ship, all drunk), but this was different. Yet, he did not see how he could refuse Cirdacil's offer. Anyway, the old man knew his own family better than Vëandur did, at any rate. And there was really no reason he could not go. As long as he left word with someone in the Second Circle quarters his crew had been allotted saying where he was going, it should be no problem.

Thinking of the crew brought crashing back the trouble with the captain, temporarily banished by the unexpected meeting.

Perhaps Cirdacil might have some influence that would help, he thought. And acceding to the old man's desire in what looked to be a minor matter surely would not hurt that chance. Also, Vëandur was curious about the unseen relatives, and wanted to meet them. He made up his mind.

"Lord Warden of the Exchequer and Master of Revels? How pressing your duties must be, my uncle. I would hear more of them, and of your life here when you have time. I am here in the City while my captain takes counsel, and know not when I shall have to leave." He paused, and bowed.

"Very well, Lord of Burlach (for so it seems fitting to call you in the public ear), I shall meet you in this place at midnight. I would have the chance to speak more with you, and meet those kin long sundered. May this be the beginning of new bonds between us!"

[Dimturiel]

“You're great. The people love you, and so will we...just the way you are."

Well, that was a relief, Harrenon thought. It could, of course, have been told only out of politeness, but right now Harrenon did not care whether Sador’s words were really honest or not. Any validation was good enough, at the moment. And, he had to admit that Sador had style and a way of making what he said seem very believable. No doubt a very useful talent.

Harrenon looked at his new acquaintance thoughtfully. There was something else Sador had said, something about the Master of the Revels not exactly having good intentions concerning them. Of course, he had heard those rumours many times, and the fact that Sador had now mentioned them to him confirmed in a way that there could be some truth there. How much, Harrenon still did not know, but he could of course try finding out.

“You know,” he said musingly, “I kind of think that even though your father might want to stew us in boiling oil as you so vividly put it – well, I believe that you would not exactly agree with him, would you?”

Now that’s dangerous ground you’re treading, Harry my lad, Harrenon told himself warningly. But he could not exactly take it back. And maybe, if he watched Sador carefully, he might learn from his reaction what exactly he had been put to do there. Then he would maybe find out whether he was really up to no good or not and perhaps he would no longer need to make a fool of himself by tailing Sador all over the place just to pacify Coldan.

[the phantom]

Aldarion's mind was racing as he made his way through the streets of the third circle. Lord Borondir had given him much to think about, and had promised much more the following day. During his service in the war Borondir had actually met several important characters central to the drama- King Eomer, Prince Faramir, and King Elessar himself. But while mere meetings were not a great help, Borondir had in fact spoken at length to Eomer while laying siege to a city in Near Harad, and Borondir had from him a first-hand account of quite a few important events, including quite a bit about the Lady Eowyn and Meriadoc the Halfling.

The next day it was promised that Aldarion would hear a great deal about King Elessar, and from Borondir's hints it seemed that perhaps Branor's spy-king ideas were not entirely without legs.

As Aldarion turned up the side lane towards the house of Bregolas, he was uncertain which feeling was the strongest at this point- fear or excitement. There was a fire burning within- the incredible opportunity, the prospect of doing something great! But at the same time the task was a bit overwhelming, even if he gathered all the necessary information. So much could still go wrong.

He was shaken from his thoughts by shouted greetings from Bregolas's youngest son, Arminas, who had evidently been keeping watch for him. "Aldarion!" the boy shouted, running forward to meet him. "Father and Mother are nearly done preparing for you! It's such a nice day they said we'd eat out behind the house." Arminas grasped Aldarion's hand and pulled him exuberantly towards the left side of the house where it bordered against the wall separating the third and fourth circles. "We can go around this way!" he said, grinning back at Aldarion. "We probably have enough time for me to show you father's new horse! He got him when he was promoted to captain this past spring."

Aldarion hastened to a jog to match the pace of Arminas. Though they could be an annoyance in the theater business, Aldarion generally liked children. They were so enthusiastic, imaginative, and full of promise, and worries did not seem so oppressing when happy children were around. It was easy to be optimistic.

As they rounded the back corner of the home they emerged into a small area behind the house enclosed by a stone wall and paved with large stones. Against the back wall there was a little pad of dirt-covered ground fenced in with well crafted wood. Within the enclosure stood a fine roan horse. "Father let me pick his name," said Arminas as they approached. "I called him Nahar. My friends said it wasn't very original, but I thought that it was the best name for a horse."