The King's Players RPG

[Mnemosyne]

Yavannie 24, F.A. 21

A sudden gust of wind brought the sound of two faint bell-strokes to Brinn's ears, as she walked alongside the painted waggon. That was good, then--she was a terrible judge of distance when it came to big cities nestled in the mountains, but surely they were close if they could hear the bells of Minas Anor. The lands of the Pelennor smelled ripe with harvest--fruit from the orchards, bleached barleycorn, punctuated with whiffs of the Anduin itself. Behind and before them were the carts of merchants and farmers for the markets in the first few circles of the City, laden with casks of wine and oil from the Emyn Arnen. Every so often they were passed by one of these, for they were in no real hurry, and the mules that pulled their carts were not meant for speed. A few of the folk stared at the lettering on the sides, recently repainted in the style of letters that Gondor seemed to favor--

The King's Players!

Tales of Joy!

Tales of Woe!

Tales of Derring-Do!

feat. the Finest Dwarven-made Mechanicals you ever did see, so true-to-life you'll jump out of your seat

Not that that last bit was entirely true, but Father wasn't there to see it and Asta hadn't complained yet. It drew more people, anyhow.

"Hear that, Rollan?" she called up to the man driving the first cart.

"Loud and clear, my love," Rollan called back. "Maybe we'll actually have time to settle before we rehearse tonight!"

"Ah, wouldn't that be a lovely change of pace?"

"'Course, now that I've said something, and knowing our luck--"

"Don't say anything further, then!" said Brinn, laughing. "I'd like this to be a peaceful run, thanks, maybe pull in enough money that we can take a holiday for a couple of weeks."

"Well, Cormare always brings in plenty, from all over. Don't reckon those merchants that just passed us could make a profit on silk otherwise. Have you got everything ready to get in the city?"

"I think so," said Brinn. She looked down at her dress, which was rather more respectable than most of their costumes--just right to make the first impression. And she had run over in her mind the exact location of the inn-yard where they would be staying, and the innkeeper's name, and the official she always spoke to when they needed that particular market square that was right along one of the main streets, and she had the papers...

The papers.

They were still in the cart. "Half a minute!" she cried, and climbed up the steps in back of the cart to get inside. There, sitting on the trunk where the papers were, squished among racks of costumes and crates of props, was a maiden of about twelve years, reading over a script.

"Seri, dear," said Brinn, "why don't you come outside? The light's much better out there."

It took the child a moment to realize she was being spoken to. She put down the script and looked up. "Do you think I'll make a good Frodo the Warrior Halfling?"

"Well, the audience loved you last year--I don't see why not."

"I'm taller this year."

"The better to charge the gates of the Dark Tower with, then. Do stand up; I need to get our papers out of that chest."

Sereth complied, and Brinn opened the chest. On top were the papers they had procured last year, authorizing and easing their return to the White City to perform for the Ring-Day festival. "Thank you," said Brinn. "Now, come outside and take the air with me."

Sereth did so, leaving the script behind, and immediately began launching into a dramatic recitation of her cues and lines. So passed the next half-hour, until they reached the great and majestic mithril gates of Minas Anor.

Brinn made a full courtesy to the guard on duty and presented her papers. "I am Mistress Celebrindal," she said, "of the King's Players, requesting admittance to the City to prepare and perform our annual play for the Cormare celebration."

The guard looked through the papers, and nodded. "You may enter," he said.

"Thank you." Brinn nodded and waved at Rollan, who started the line of carts on their way into the city.

"You should have a fine attendance this year," said the guard, as the waggons passed through. "The preparations for Cormare this year have been twice as splendid as any year I can recall, on account of the King's special guests."

"I am sorry," said Brinn, "but we are a travelling group and were not aware of any special guests. Who might these be?"

"Why, the pheriannath, of course! I am certain you'll see them some time while you are here, for the people love to see them--the lord Samwise, and his wife, and his daughter, who is a lady in waiting to our beloved Queen. And since it has been many years since we have had those people to whom we owe so much in our midst, everyone wants to make the celebration this year especially grand. Your show, no doubt, will be a boon to our City."

Brinn thanked him for his kind words--he was a younger sort and not half as dour as so many of Gondor's men were--but she could not help but feel a little troubled. Halflings belonged in the Breelands, or beyond, in the Shire, not in Gondor! What in heaven's name could they be doing here?