The King's Players RPG

[Dimturiel]

I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t…

The words were running through Harrenon’s mind like an obsessive refrain and however hard he tried to silence them, they were still there. Yes, perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed put and let Asta and Coldan handle it – whatever it was – by themselves. But it was far too late to turn back now, since they had already left the inn. He tried to imagine the look on Asta’s face if he suddenly announced that he had changed his mind and would like to go back. That was enough to make him want to take his chances with whoever had kidnapped Aldarion.

There were few people on the streets now and most were heading towards their homes, not having much time to spare for the three conspirators. Since Harrenon was actually Gondorian and so the least to rouse too many suspicions, he had been given the task of asking those they encountered about the carriage. A few were able give them an answer and so now at least they knew where they were going. Of course, he still was not too sure what would happen once they got there. He only hoped Coldan and Asta knew what they were doing.

[Nerwen]

Night had fallen by the time the trio found the place they sought, in the Sixth Circle, but the mansion was ablaze with light that spilled out across the road so that they had to watch from quite a distance as late-arriving carriages rattled up and their bejewelled and silk-clad occupants disembarked. No doubt most of these would take them for passers-by, stopped to gawp– but "Lord" Sador might be around, and others of his sinister crew who knew them by sight.

There were swarms of servants in swan-livery darting in and out, but it was the tall ones who kept the door who held Asta's attention. They were the ones she would have to draw away with her flaming powders– but not yet, not until all the guests were inside.

Nearer than the chatter of voices and the rumble of carriage-wheels, she could hear Harry muttering to himself, as he had been doing for half the journey, "I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be doing this..." He did not even seem to realise he was speaking aloud. Asta shook her head sadly. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to bring him after all.

She herself had a sense of elation. She felt like Lúthien Tinúviel, going forth to rescue Beren from the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. The sandstone facade did not look much like the dread Sorcerer's tower as depicted on the backdrops the Players had used for that production, but if Sador were under its roof, it harboured an evildoer equally foul. (Well, almost equally. She did not want to start exaggerating, now.)

Suddenly, thinking of Lúthien's subsequent career, Asta had another of her brilliant inspirations. The original plan had a serious flaw, in that it had no provision for how they would escape notice once inside the mansion. She had vaguely hoped they might pass as guests, but now, watching all these finely-dressed aristocrats sweeping in, she had to concede that all three of them would stick out like sore thumbs. But Lúthien and Beren had faced the same problem, and they had worn–

"Disguises! That's it, as soon as we're inside, we'll grab three of the servants, strip them, bind them, stuff them in a closest, and wear their livery. I'm sure none of these lords and ladies will look twice at us!"

"Asta," Harrenon protested, "do all your schemes involve tying people up?"

[the phantom]

"Aldarion, at last. You have been too long, and too much missed among the players of the Swan."

The sound of Gloredhel's voice instantly transported Aldarion back to Dol Amroth, and it was all he could do to keep himself from rushing forward to greet her. Smiling slightly, Aldarion responded. "So, in other words, 'You're late and you shouldn't have left us!' Hardly the reception I was hoping for."

"Aldarion..." said Gloredhel, shaking her head and smiling in return, "What do you expect me to say, leaving me behind in Valinor like that?"

Aldarion swiftly noted that she had twice led off with his name- a signal that something was not right. Then she referenced being left in Valinor, and Aldarion picked up the thread without missing a beat. "It was too confined for a spirit such as mine, in such close quarters with those seeking to smother my flame."

Gloredhel answered, "But without restraints you will perish in your own fire."

Her answer left him no doubt that she was indeed pointing to a disagreement between Feanor and Nerdanel, a lover's spat, something that should be discussed privately rather than publicly. From that it was clear to Aldarion that Gloredhel needed to speak with him away from prying ears. He would be on the lookout for such an opportunity.

"What has it been... six years since we used that as an audition piece?" he asked Gloredhel.

Gloredhel nodded. "Lord Imrazôr thought it was an excellent choice, I recall."

"Though that red wig looked a bit ridiculous," laughed Aldarion.

[Pitchwife]

"Asta," Harrenon protested, "do all your schemes involve tying people up?"

So it seemed, as of late; this time, however, Coldan couldn't help admiring the ingenuity of the idea.

"No, Harry, she's right - ve fit among all zose posh Sixth Circle folk like hobbits in Mordor; short of elven cloaks, disguising ourselves as servants vill be ze best ve can do for secrecy. Even Frodo vent to Barad-dûr dressed as an orc, remember? - If you hev qualms about putting ze real servants out of action", he added, trying to appease his friend's conscience, "you can stand guard outside, just in case anyzing unforeseen happens."

That probably would be better anyway; on their way here, Harrenon had become more and more obviously nervous the closer they came to their destination, and Coldan doubted he would be able to keep a cool head in the moment of truth.

"We'll still have to find a way in first", Harrenon objected.

"Zat's right. As soon as all zis coming and going has stopped and it gets a little quieter out here, I'll try to get a look from all sides at zis fortress of criminal decadence and find out vether it has such a zing as a back door."

Silently they waited, pressed against a wall surrounding an adjacent estate, shadowed by a great plantain tree, while the river of newly arriving guests very gradually slowed down to a trickle. Through the open doors notes of music strayed out into the cooling night air.

"They're having a party in there!" Asta observed, gritting her teeth in outrage. "Sador celebrating the fruition of his foul plans, no doubt!"

"Don't vorry, dear", Coldan reassured her. "Ve'll frustrate his knavish tricks yet."

He wasn't quite sure himself what his confidence was founded on. Not entirely unlike Harrenon, he could hardly believe what he was doing here - and for Aldarion's sake, of all people! - , just like he still couldn't quite believe Asta had really kissed him. Cool reason and long experience with her mood swings told him not to hang his hopes too high - but all these doubts were washed away by the sheer excitement of sharing this adventure with her. He hadn't felt so good since they had come to this city, or indeed for a long, long time before, and cool reason be damned.

At long last, after maybe an hour or more, the great, heavy oaken doors were pulled shut from the inside, and the music was dimmed. Now. Coldan looked up at the sky, which was now completely overcast with low hanging clouds, so that the stars and the Moon were shut out and the only light illuminating the scene was that streaming out of the mansion's open windows. Good. He took Asta's hand and gave her a short squeeze.

"I'll be right back."

[Anguirel]

Beyond the little group huddled at the front atrium of Ecsichil's mansion, a throng of gaily garbed arrivals, somewhat over fifty in all, perhaps, neither an intimate nor an enormous gathering, lounged and conversed at their pleasure. Their hostess, Lady Ecsichil, was well known as the best-bred - that was to say, the silentest - in the city, and a knot of her closest friends emulated her excellent manners in identical torpor, moving their fans far more readily than their lips. For the majority of women, and all the men, who were not of this refined number, the real chatelaine tonight was Lady Circilie of Dol Amroth, whose laugh animated every conversation like a major note in an orchestra, as she scattered her attention about with immaculately fluid social acumen. Every man she exchanged a sentence with felt taller and braver, every woman as if taken into some special confidence; but she allotted more than this to no one.

Her elder brother, Ecsichil, the real if understated host, received Aerwen's and Aldarion's arrival with an air of equability and open boredom that did nothing to change his turgid aspect. As Aldarion and Gloredhel, it seemed, quoted lines from a career ago at each other with pointed specificity, Aerwen alone seemed to fully concentrate on them, frowning slightly, as if committing the poetry to memory, pondering its every implication, all at once, and judging it aesthetically also. Sador appeared genial but barely more absorbed than his brother.

This appearance was only partly deceptive, for in truth Sador thought Lord Imrazôr's verse so mannered and hackneyed that he indeed paid its content none of the respect of consideration. But his amateur interests had given him a keen interest and insight into the body's language, and he had a pretty clear idea that Gloredhel and Aldarion wanted to be alone. He had it in mind to let them be; it would be better if they talked now, probably harmlessly of the past, than later, when really controversial matters were in their minds.

"It is sweet always to see friends unsundered," he remarked in his light way, "and you, friend Aldarion, will have so much to remember with my sister in law, without interruption from our boorish family! For my own part, I would speak with you, sister," he added to Aerwen, "apart for a little; your company is so often claimed from me by your absurd course of study. Let's take a turn in the garden. Beautiful hedges as ever, by the way, Ecsichil. Now why don't you go and rejoin your guests?"

The middle-aged Burlach shambled off in his usual, imperturbable ennui. Sador and Aerwen for their part wove off to the garden gate beyond the Fornost window, leaving Aldarion and Gloredhel comparatively solitary in the front hall.

"Well?" the younger brother asked Aerwen, when they looked to be alone under a quiet eave.

"I showed him Rumillo," the lady-scholar replied cautiously, "and he offered it modest praise. But I think it was not to his taste."

"His taste! That matters not. In any case, it is quite another piece I intend to display tonight, the new tragicomedy, of Celebrindal."

"Is that entirely wise, brother?" Aerwen said with a surprisingly tough note entering her voice. "The...collaborator...had no part in that one...as I recall; the playwright alone is responsible for its content..."

"And I accept that responsibility. I don't need your approval any more, Aerwen, to be certain when a play is great or a scene exquisite. This one is perfect. It is calculated to make her feel sharp repugnance for him..."

"You are confident indeed in your art's power - "

"And then, afterwards, he will not refuse my offer. Think what I will extend, then. A triumphant place in his old company."

"He may prefer his duty to the new."

Sador laughed then, not his usual, fair if insubstantial mirth but a harder note of cruel celebration. "I have seen enough during my visit to be sure he shall not. The King's Players mean less than nothing to this man. He tried to flee when he thought they would be arrested; he trifled with the heart of their most adequate looking actress, and came to blows over her with another player, his rival; but when he was moved to strong emotion, his mind alighted on the company of the Swan; and I will wager my good leg it has stayed there."

He ignored, or did not notice, the pained expression of dissent his words appeared to provoke in his sister, as he summed up his conclusion, "Aldarion may have a true man's face, a fine man's leg, but his heart is only a shadow's - pumping a player's stream of petty pride..."

[the phantom]

Aldarion stared after Sador and Aerwen as they wove through the guests towards the garden. Sador had pointedly left him free to speak with Gloredhel, and Aldarion wondered whether this was intentional or merely an excuse to have his own private conversation with Aerwen. But either way, he was now free to discover what Gloredhel knew or suspected.

"You know this place much better than I, no doubt."

Gloredhel nodded and immediately turned to her right, followed closely by Aldarion. After walking the length of a hall she turned left and Aldarion found himself emerging from the front of the house. A swath of grass and a couple low hedges stood between them and the main entrance and the drive where several coaches sat unhorsed and unmanned. In the opposite direction towered a wing of the house, jutting out towards the wall surrounding the estate.

Gloredhel continued her stride along the side of the wing, and finally she turned right so as to place them on a narrow walk between the wall and the wing. The walk took them to the corner and then back away from the road again, this time on the wing's opposite side. Quite soon there loomed ahead a tall iron gate. It was unlocked, and Aldarion found himself entering a dimly lit garden.

Gloredhel stopped, glanced around, and then leaped at Aldarion arms flung wide. Aldarion laughed aloud and twirled her in circles as they embraced. "You're still freakishly strong," commented Aldarion as he set her back upon her feet and rubbed his neck. "My head nearly came off there."

"Poor you," said Gloredhel. "Do you realize how boring the theater has been for Amlach and I since you left? In order to stay sane we started bringing an imaginary Aldarion along with us each day." Gloredhel laughed. "You know Amlach- he's an excellent mimic. In rehearsals he's always changing his voice and saying the sorts of things you'd mumble to us."

A blur of amusing rehearsal moments flashed through Aldarion's mind and again he laughed. Only now that he was happy did he realize how long it had been since he had felt genuinely light-hearted. "Well, I suppose it's good to know that in some fashion I'm still involved in the Swan Players. Will Amlach be able to come and see me soon?"

"He'll try," answered Gloredhel. "If he does make it, I assume you'll want us to sneak out at night and fetch you, and we can get into some sort of mischief?" she asked mischeviously. "Minas Tirith is a large place."

"Remember at that inn where we kept replacing everyone's beer with tea, ha ha!"

"Or when you impersonated the Prince and those guards... ha ha... let you in and you... *cough* stole all of his pants, ha ha!"

Aldarion doubled over, remembering how they had barely maintained a straight face the following day upon hearing a messanger crying the official proclamation- "His highness's pants have been removed by parties unknown. Please inform a palace guard if you know anything of this outrageous crime."

As the two of them slowly controlled their breathing, Gloredhel sighed. "But I suppose you'll be too busy with your show to have any fun?"

This reality brought Aldarion's mood crashing down instantly. "Yes," he answered slowly. "I can't recall ever having so much to do in so little time, with such high stakes."

"No matter," said Gloredhel. "We'll celebrate after your play is a success!"

Aldarion nodded his head. "I hope so."

"They'll miss us inside soon, so I'd better hurry and say this," said Gloredhel, now speaking very quietly. "Amlach and I aren't entirely certain what is going on, but we have a suspicion that my father and members of Sador's family are trying to push Sador and I together, and that this is tied to gaining Father a position- perhaps master of revels. Also, Sador fancies himself a playwright, and I imagine he has some scheme or another to foist some work of his upon your troop, or perhaps the Swan Players in exchange for his father giving my father the royal title."

Aldarion opened his mouth to ask a question, but Gloredhel waved him aside and kept speaking. "Finally, I know that Sador wants you around for some reason or another, and so you need to be wary of his manipulation. And I can't really answer any questions, because this is all I know. Frankly, I'm not even certain if their ends are good or bad. All I can really say is to be on guard."

[Pitchwife]

The unmanned coaches parked on the drive between the street and the oaken doors gave Coldan good cover as he whisked through the main entrance in the outer wall surrounding the premises. Once in, he threw himself down on the ground behind a low hedge that shielded him from the house and crawled on his hands and knees towards the right-hand corner of the western wing. Rounding it, he found himself on a narrow walk between the outer wall and the mansion itself. Fortunately the windows were set high enough that he could avoid beeing seen by pressing himself closely against the house wall and ducking under the ledges.

Grateful for the music inside that drowned the crunching of gravel under his feet, he made his way along the wing. It wasn't long until he found what he was looking for: an unconspicuous, modest door near the end of the wing (probably for the use of servants and suppliers); further ahead a small gate in the far side of the outer wall opened on a lane parallel to the front street where Asta and Harrenon were waiting - the perfect way of escape when all was done.

Heart pounding, he grabbed the door knob and tried to turn it, but he wasn't surprised to find the door locked. Well, anything else would have been too much to ask; luckily they had come well prepared. Breaking the door open would make noise, but Asta's dragon fire would take care of that.

He might have stopped and gone back there, but having got so far, he decided to go all the way and explore the other sides of the house as well. Between the end of the western wing and the back gate, a man-high, ornamented lattice of cast iron closed off a broad space on the backside of the house - a garden, judging from the looming treetops. Climbing across was risky, because many windows looked out on the garden, but quickly done, and on the other side there were enough trees, bushes and hedges to provide ample cover.

Suddenly a gush of light, music and voices spilled out through a Fornost window on a portico-shadowed terrace protruding between the ends of the two wings, and two figures emerged - one male, one female. Coldan wouldn't have recognized the woman even if he had seen her before, but the man's identity was made evident even from a distance by an unmistakable limp.

Coldan's heartbeat quickened. No matter how high the risk, he couldn't pass by a chance to eavesdrop on Sador and maybe catch a hint about the villain's plans - maybe even a hint where to find Aldarion! Reminding himself to be careful, he got down on his belly and crawled as close to the terrace as he dared without being seen by the couple - close enough to hear Sador saying: "...make her feel sharp repugnance for him."

"You are confident indeed in your art's power - " That was the woman's voice.

" - not refuse my offer." Sador again. Silently Coldan cursed the music and chatter from inside that allowed him to understand only snippets of the conversation. Who were they talking about? Who was he, and who was she? " - triumphant place in his old company." Could that be Aldarion and the Swan Players? But still, who was she?

The woman's next words were lost again, but then the music stopped just long enough to let him hear clearly: "The King's Players mean less than nothing to this man." More wretched music. " - trifled with the heart - another player, his rival - strong emotion ... on the company of the Swan - only a shadow's ... pumping petty pride." If anything more was said before Sador and his companion returned inside, the music drowned it out completely.

Coldan ground his teeth in exasperation. He had heard enough, but yet not enough. Part of that had obviously been about Asta and himself, part about Aldarion's ambition and his yearning for the Swan Players, of that he was sure; but who was the female person Sador had referred to earlier? Asta again, or some other woman - maybe the mysterious lady of Dol Amroth? And most of all, was the man trying to blackmail Aldarion somehow, or counting on him to play along with his ignominous machinations willingly? There was only one way to find that out - get Aldarion out of there, the sooner the better.

Listening to Sador and his companion had cost precious time, and Coldan feared that Asta might do something rash if he took too long. Neglecting caution in favour of speed, he scurried towards the eastern end of the garden -

- and dropped behind a bush just in time to avoid running into another man and woman. Fortune favoured him tonight, because the two were too busy embracing enthusiastically to notice him. He froze with surprise when the man spoke and he recognized Aldarion's voice.

It took every bit of willpower he could muster to force himself to lie still while the couple reveled in fond memories and boasted of pranks that Rollan would have been proud of acting on stage, but he pricked his ears when their talk turned to the Cormare play, and when the woman began to talk about Sador's schemes, she had his full attention. It was plain by now that Aldarion was far from being a captive, but his companion at least obviously thought him innocent of complicity with the lameleg's plans and indeed saw fit to warn him: "All I can really say is to be on guard."

Having heard so much, Coldan could keep still no longer. He had to have a word with Aldarion himself - preferably alone. Groping around in the grass for something to throw, his hand found a fallen nut from a nearby tree; he picked it up and flung it at Aldarion's skull precisely and hard enough to make the playwright cry "Ouch!" and turn in indignation towards him.

[Galadriel55]

The common room was packed. Thiliel saw many familiar faces among the guests - many customers came every day, or almost every day. Rollan was sitting near the bar, looking grim. Sereth went by once or twice. Thiliel thought she saw another actor come in, but she could not remember his name.

It seems that everyone is served, Thiliel thought tiredly. She packed a supper tray for Celebrindal, like Rollan asked her to. Looking around for Ingold, she saw him coming out of the hallway. She came over to him.

"Uncle, I am going to the wagons for a short while, I need to bring Mistress Celebrindal her supper," she said.

"Go, then, lass," he replied. "But why? I thought she could walk with her crutches," he continued with a slight frown.

"I know not, but she did not come here, and Master Rollan - her husband - asked me to bring her some food."

"That is curious. But it is not one of my cares, and I shouldn't be prying. Go now. I just want you to be careful. One of the troop's men does not look good to me. The one who looks like an Easterling."

"He seems nice enough, uncle," Thiliel objected. She was greatful to that man for not tying her up in a wagon.

"He seems to be nice and goodwilling, lass, but that does not mean he is. Not all men are honest. Did you not see him yesterday with that other actor, the one with the blade? It was lucky that they did not come to using their weapons inside. I know those Easterlings," said Ingold, pointing to a battle scar on his forearm.

"As you say, Uncle. I'll be careful," Thiliel agreed, though half-heartedly. She took the tray from where she left it and went outside. She smiled slightly to herself, knowing that by this time Coldan would be gone to save the playwright from the double-faced Lord Sador, and that she has no one to be wary about.

Was Coldan double-faced as well? Was he trying to befriend, while secretly aiming at another purpose? Yet he was so sincere, so truthful, when Thiliel heard him talk. So was Lord Sador. He was as charming as one could be to all around him, but he is in a plot against the Players. But how can one speak so sincerely, and lie? He is an actor. He acts. He acts on stage, but he is like any other person the rest of the time. He is also an Easterling. No good can come from this people. But he only looks like one. Inside he is as good as any man of Gondor.

Thiliel was coming close to the carts. If it wasn't for Coldan, she would probably be lying in a dark corner of one of them, unable to move or make a sound. Wasn't Asta's solution the surest way to make her keep her ilence? She shivered. No, he is a friend. A true friend.

Thiliel only found her way because she has been to Celebrindal's wagon a few times before. Clouds, threatening to rain, blocked the stars and the moonlight. It was so dark that she could hardly see the outlines of the carts, forget about telling one from another. She knocked tentatively and said, "Mistress Celebrindal? It is Thiliel. I have supper for you."