The King's Players RPG

[Mnemosyne]

A hobbit? Brinn didn't know if that boded well or ill... That had to be Samwise's daughter, then, and who knew what she wanted. Hadn't someone said something about her being particularly interested in the performance? Of course, it might have been Lord Burlach who said it, in which case she could have come down to inform them of the royal party's cancellation of attendance, but that was just wishful thinking.

"Do you think, or do you know?" said Rollan. "We'd always heard hobbits looked distinct, and not just in height. Get a good look at her ears?"

"Rollan, be nice," said Brinn. "Did this Elanor ask for me by name, then, or just the King's Players? Either way, I guess you can send her here as soon as I--or she, if she is a hobbit, for they're said to have extraordinary appetites--is finished breakfasting."

[Galadriel55]

"To answer al the questions, I only think. I did not ask her. She has an Elven name, but "Gamgee" is just... queer. I didn't pay attention to her ears and her feet. That would be rude to do to a guest! And she didn't ask for you," Thiliel nodded at Celerindal, "just for the Lord or Lady that is in charge of the troop. I told her your name..." Thiliel didn't know if she has done something bad by giving out this information to Elanor. She was afraid that she made trouble for Celebrindal, and looked at her questioningly. Celebrindal didn't look as if she was mad, which greatly relieved Thiliel.

"Well, whichever way it goes, shuld I ask her to come in some fifteen minutes, when I pick up the tray? If she will be ready. I will bring her answer if she isn't."

Celebrindal nodded: "Thank you, dear. That would be great." Thiliel smiled and curtseyed before bouncing out of the cart and skipping all the way to the common room, full of the knowledge that this was an important task she just recieved. She found Elanor tucking another plate in.

"Good morning again, Miss Gamgee! I have delivered your request to Mistress Celebrindal - she is the one in charge of the troop. She will be happy to see you whenever you wish to come. But she still is having her breakfast, and she will be finished n fifteen minutes. I can show you the way when I go pick up her breakfast tray, or later, if you so wish. For now, can I do anything for you?"

"Some more of the biscuits please, if you don't mind it, Miss Thiliel," Elanor asked pleasantly. While getting the food, Thiliel snuck some glances at the feet of this guest. They were dangling above the ground, and were covered in hair! She is a hobbit! But what am I standing here, gaping at her - hobbits don't deserve their food to be deivered slower that other people! Thiliel brought the plate to Elanor.

[Mnemosyne]

At the fourth bell, there came a knock on the door to Brinn's cart. At her bidding, the door opened and in stepped Elanor. Brinn couldn't help take a look at her feet (unshod, though the golden hair that covered them was so thick she could not, in all justice, consider them "bare") before meeting her eyes and greeting her. She could already see why the Court would be charmed with her.

Elanor swept a curtsy in response. "Hullo, Mistress Celebrindal," she said. "I hope I'm not being too forward, nor too rude, in spending your time."

"Not at all," said Brinn, which was actually true--she was still not in a state to go out and research matters, and if Elanor was forthcoming, she might be able to do some research of her own. "Please, take a seat."

Elanor climbed up on one of the chairs. "Well, then, thank you for your time. It means a lot to me, you see--we don't have anything like this where I come from, but I'm so fond of the histories so I wanted to see what you were doing with them. How do you manage to fit the wealth of material into the time of a play? How long is your play, anyhow?"

"No longer than two hours," Brinn said cautiously, "though that's if everything goes well."

"Two hours?" Elanor was clearly trying her best not to look startled. "How do you choose what's important?"

That is a very good question, thought Brinn. "Well," she said. "Most of our material up to this point has come down to us by word of mouth, so we've assumed that what people thought was worth passing on was the most important. But," she added to Elanor's crestfallen look--what was worth passing on among the pheriannath, she wondered?--"since we're performing for such a different audience this year, we're right in the middle of researching more of the story. We're hoping that what we put on for Cormare is much more... balanced... than what we've done before, and we'll be asking that same question ourselves later on in the week."

"Oh," said Elanor. "Isn't that an awful lot of work in one week?"

Brinn bit her tongue. This Elanor seemed sweet enough, but she had a way of getting to the root of Brinn's problems, all unthinking, that was starting to set her teeth on edge. "The King's Players are very talented," she said.

"Ah," and the look the... child? Woman? gave her was so very knowing that images of the first night's rehearsal ran through her head all unbidden. "Well, if you need any help at all, I'd be glad to provide some. Who's playing my father?"

"We don't know yet," said Brinn. Considering that Coldan plays Gimli after Sam's been killed off, and now we can't kill Sam off... "But Frodo the Ring-bearer will probably still be played by Sereth, who has been acting all her life."

"That's good," said Elanor. "He is a very important fellow, after all, and it must take some great skill to bring out all the depths to him."

Brinn paused. "Did--do--" She hated all this uncertainty; legend said that Frodo had sailed away with the Elves, but legend had also said that Merry was an elf, and anyhow the whole incident had the tinges of myth to it. "Do you know him?" The question sounded stupid the instant it left her mouth.

Elanor just smiled sadly. "Only in books and the faintest memories. He left when I was not six months old. But I read his words all the time, and--" she looked down at her hands, where they lay nested in her lap. "I'd like to think I do."

"We still don't have much reliable information about him," said Brinn. "In fact, if there's anything you could tell us about him--or any of the other pheriannath--I'd much appreciate it."

Elanor's eyes lit up. "What would you like to know?"

[Pitchwife]

One by one, Amdír and Coldan heaved the set pieces out of the barn, carried them into the courtyard and stowed them on the wagon, packing them tightly in order to both make the best use of the space they had and secure them against damage during the transport. It wasn't that different from loading barrels of wine, and Coldan found he relished the work. He had never minded bodily labour in fresh air; working in the vineyards back at home had always been fun, much more so anyway than the endless dull lessons in book-keeping his father had tried to hammer into his head.

Nevertheless, when all was done and he wiped the sweat from his brow (for it was a fine, warm day and the bells of the City, faint in the distance, had already rung noon), he felt that he hadn't used some of those muscles for quite a while, and his stomach grumbled impatiently, reminding him of the lunch Amdír had promised him.

He wasn't disappointed. They took their meal with Hallas' men in the servants' quarters, but the food was good enough to satisfy a lord, and plenty - baked chicken and potatoes with fresh twigs of rosemary, apple pie, and sweet grapes and a rich, blue-veined cheese for dessert -, and furthermore seasoned with a lively conversation. Obviously rumours of the Players' forthcoming performance had spread far and wide around the City; their hosts were delighted to have two members of the troupe at their table and showered them with questions about the play, which Coldan tried to answer fully enough to avoid seeming impolite while leaving his listeners curious enough to entice one or the other into the City to pay for seeing it themselves. (It was a big help that he hardly knew anymore how the play would turn out in the end himself.)

When the servants went back to their work at last, Coldan and Amdír remained sitting for a short while, washing their lunch down with a light ale which made Coldan quite forget that he detested beer as a matter of principle. Now, while they enjoyed a little privacy, was the time for Coldan to remind his companion of his promise to tell him of his war memories.

"Well", Amdír began, a bit reluctantly as if it embarrassed him to talk about his own life, "I'm not sure I can tell you much that will be any help with the play, at least as far as concerns the deeds of the high and mighty. You must understand that war is quite a different thing for the common soldier than is told in heroic lays or shown on stage. Imagine yourself stuck in a seething mass of blades and bodies, hard enough pressed to distinguish friend from foe, your only concern to survive and deal more damage than you take, and most of all to avoid being struck down and trampled to death - such was the Battle of the Pelennor for me. The last thing I remember before that Easterling's axe hit me was somebody shouting The Corsairs of Umbar are coming! - and that would have been the last thing I ever heard, had not a comrade dragged me to safety at great danger to himself. Only later did I learn that it had been the King himself on those ships - or the Lord Aragorn, as he was then known - with reinforcements from Pelargir, and that both King Théoden of Rohan and the Witch-King had been slain even before that."

He took a deep draught from his tankard. "And so it happened that I didn't go with the army to the last battle before the Morannon where the Dark Lord was overcome, but spent those days when the fate of all Middle-earth was on a knife's edge bedridden in the Houses of Healing, only a few rooms away from Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn, and the perian Meriadoc."

That last name almost made Coldan choke on his ale. "V-vait a moment", he cried out, sputtering, "did - did you say Meriadoc? Ze halfling? You knew him?"

"That would be saying too much", Amdír conceded, "but we did meet briefly while both of us were in the care of the Healers, and even talked a word or two between two wounded veterans. A brave young man he seemed to me, his courage far greater than his height."

Coldan stared at him with his mouth hanging open. It took him a while to regain his voice. "Zen - zen you knew all along zat he was male, and a halfling? Zat zere never vas such a person as Mary ze Elf-maid of Rivendell?" He hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. "Nienna's mercy, Amdír, vy didn't you ever say a vord?"

"Why would I?" Amdír replied. "For one thing, it never occurred to me that this Mary character was supposed to be him. You see, he was introduced to me as Master Meriadoc, a halfling warrior of King Théoden's household - never a word of Elves or Rivendell. How should I have guessed that the two were meant to be the same person? In good sooth, I never made the connection until we met Master Samwise.

But even if I had thought of it, I'm not sure I would have felt called to speak out. I'm a carpenter, Coldan, not a playwright. I wouldn't ask you or Mistress Brinn for advice on how to make a good cupboard, nor would I presume to teach you what works in a play and what does not. Mary the Elf has been in the play as long as I have been working with your company - as you should remember, having been with them almost as long as myself and spent more time traveling with them - , and I did not feel that it behoved me to criticize anybody for putting her there."

Coldan shook his head, laughing silently to himself. "If zat isn't ze best joke ever! Ve had ze truth vizin arm's reach all ze time, but just never bothered to ask for it." He had a feeling he should be mad at Amdír - to think that all those hateful kissing scenes he had been forced to witness could have been avoided with a few words from the man! - , but he couldn't; he had come to like the carpenter too much during their conversation on their way here. "You're not at fault, Amdír - ze blame is on us for never asking you vat you did in ze Var. But now I zink about it, all zis makes me realize zat I hev indeed done Aldarion wrong in one respect - zis play vas a mess before he ever touched it."

He took another draught, still shaking his head, when a sudden shadow passed over his mind. "Vich reminds me, I suppose Brinn vill still vant a vord viz me ven ve get back, and I doubt her mood vill get much better from being kept vaiting. Ve should get going."

[Anguirel]

Sador's conversation with the young Player, though it had begun in quite an amiable fashion, had not quite recovered that agreeable note since Harrenon's blunt, half-conscious answer to the nobleman's romantic conceits. Yet despite little obvious common ground - excepting, perhaps, that of their young age - the pair had remained together as the morning continued, talking with ever less enthusiasm and consequence. It was an odd state, Sador thought, this extended, purposeless courtesy; and he realised it was felt much the same on Harrenon's side, too, and yet, little as the fellow seemed in truth to like him, he never quite left his side.

Once or twice Sador tried to stray on decisively, to where Asta at the other side of the room was talking with peculiar enthusiasm to a mere child...a golden-headed girl, nobly accoutred, familiar in appearance; the daughter of some courtier, Sador felt sure, though which, he could not recall. Before he had made any precise connection, anyway, both had slipped out of the common room, leaving Sador closeted with the inevitable, awkward, looming presence of Harrenon...did the youth just not have anything better to do?

Piqued into wanting to say anything to alleviate the frustration and tedium in the stuffy tavern air, Sador began to grow a little spikily indiscreet with Harrenon, just as he had done with Aldarion the night before.

"I'm still thinking about what you said, sir Harrenon, about the joys of friendship, and so on. Certainly, if you feel so strongly about that, then you are the right fellow to play Legolas, that fearless comrade of the noble Lord of Aglarond. And that is all very splendid and reassuring. But I am still surprised that a...fine young lad like you, sirrah, has never felt the strains of the sweeter passion...?"

It was unlikely to be a promising line of enquiry on either side. But it was, at that point, interrupted, by the figure of the publican, old Ingold himself, puffing his way into their spiritless conference.

"M'lud," he muttered to Sador with a new and grudging tone of deference, "a fine carriage has called by, and some great ladies within have sent a steward in grand livery to ask for you."

"A carriage?" Sador replied in some alarm. And ladies? They - she - had sought him out, it seemed certain, though goodness knows how they had tracked him to here. It was necessary to make certain, though.

"What sort of carriage, Master Ingold?"

"Festooned with blazons and such, m'lud. Swans, in the main, as far as I can see."

Well, that removed all doubt. Sador turned to Harrenon with an extroardinary look of agitation, and some anticipation too, on his face.

"You must excuse me now, I'm afraid, friend Harrenon. This is the barouche of my sister and sister-in-..."

The law was never spoken, as a gale of wild laughter broke it off, and a tall, most beautiful lady cannoned into Sador's hesitant back, throwing her arms about him. Their resemblance was entire, but wherever the brother was merely elegant, the sister (that much was clearer than anything else in the room's murk) was brightly radiant. It had been her laugh that shattered the cautious courtesies, and her voice, strident in sweetness, was of a piece with it.

"Well, brother, we find you playing with the Players, eh! And you will introduce us, I hope, among your artistic acquaintance?"

Framed in the very entrance to the Inn was the pompous, heavily frog-laced steward whose appearance had impressed Ingold, and at his side was another damsel. Less dazzling, more fine than the first, she surveyed the room with a thin, quiet smile and an equable stare. It would be clear to Harrenon that while Sador returned his sister's embrace with reasonable fondness, the young lord's eyes were already hovering inexorably over to this second arrival...

[Mnemosyne]

Brinn took the noon-tide meal in the common room, cautiously relishing her mobility. Rollan had left the cart during her prolonged interview with Elanor to do start work on pulling out those parts of the set that would be integrated with the pieces that Amdir and Coldan were retrieving from storage. He popped back in at nuncheon to give a brief update and ask Brinn what the hobbit lass had wanted.

"I don't know what she wanted, but she was actually most helpful," said Brinn. "She's quite familiar with her father's story, and told me a good deal about what actually happened--and, better still, what our characters are like. In fact," she said, sighing, "we might have to rewrite Frodo on top of everyone else. I think it could do Seri good if she met with her."

"Seri?" said Rollan. "Is Elanor coming back?"

"Not today," said Brinn, "but I'm afraid we won't be able to keep her away for long. The more I tell her about what we're doing, the more... interested... she becomes."

"All right," he said slowly. "Just remember, it's not her play. Does she have anyone in mind for a comical role?"

"No," she said, "not even Merry and Pippin, who she said were rather jollier than the rest. But when I started suggesting some slapstick, she looked positively horrified. And of course, she doesn't know how a play works, but--she's Lord Samwise's daughter, Rollan! What am I supposed to do?"

"You're asking the wrong person for that," said Rollan. "I'm almost thinking we should just leave town while we have a chance. This is looking like more trouble than it's worth."

Brinn fixed her husband with a look and he quickly studied his stew.

Later, when Amdir and Coldan came back with the wain full of set pieces, Coldan came straight up to Brinn and reminded her she had wanted to see him (Brinn hadn't forgotten). Rollan offered to help Amdir unload, and Brinn and Coldan retired to one of the carts so that Brinn could hear Coldan's side of the story--in private.

[Anguirel]

Some while since Sador at last evaded the vigilance of Harrenon, and departed from Ingold's Inn in the handsome barouche from Dol Amroth with a kinswoman on either side, the remaining noble lady of his family, Aerwen of Burlach, left the great royal library behind her with uncharacteristic pleasure.

A carriage, too, was at the service of her journey, though not such a grand, emblazoned affair as her married sister's vehicle; a lighter droshky, four wheeled and two-seated, decorated in much the same the sombre grey and dark blue in which Aerwen preferred to apparel herself, and without the flummery of a coat-of-arms. It was a fair-sized ride she had ahead of her now, from the Citadel to the Third Circle, but she was a sensible and careful lady and preferred a transport that, while fast enough for efficiency, was perfectly safe. As they left Minas Anor's castellar peak behind and began to negotiate between the tallest of the Sixth Circle merchant mansions - her elder brother Lord Ecsichil's not the least among them - Aerwen lowered a light grey muslin gause over half of her face to keep her large, overtired eyes from the dust. It was scarcely, the fairest observer would have admitted, a princess of beauty which this veil but slightly concealed.

The Healers, too, became long in their wake; with the Fifth Circle they left the school-houses and guild-halls, and through the Fourth little time was allowed for even the most cavalier evening glance among the bombast of the City's finest shops. Few of them, in any case, had ever boasted this generally reclusive and staid lady's custom.

At the Third Circle the droshky began to slow, its path more halting and deliberating; at last they paused altogether, behind a little crocodile of similar transports, in a crescent where several officers of the Guard were known to enjoy their residential pensions. Here the coachman got down to make a couple of enquiries; he was a devoted and skilful servant, and soon reattained his box with the knowledge his mistress had sent him out for at his command. With all its old verve, the manouevrable little carriage rounded the half-circle within the Circle and took a left and right; this left mistress and man in front of a modest lane to a respectable looking military billet. In this lane was pacing a lone man, young in looks but mature in bearing, serious-eyed, dark, as Numenorean to the spectacle, Aerwen thought a little unwillingly, as a lady of any breeding could wish to behold. At this point she herself, with dignity and precision, alighted on the cobbles.

"I believe," she asked with a caution that seemed really to be more about nerves than scepticism, "that you must be Galador's son, sir, late of the Swan Players? If you are he, then my younger brother has desired me to guide you. I am Aerwen, Lady of Burlach."

She really could not help the severity of the sound of her voice, and it had often caused her no little internal anguish...

[Pitchwife]

Back at the inn, Coldan lost no time waiting for Brinn to send for him but, having decided he had better get that talk done with, rather went to seek her out himself. He was pleasantly surprised to find her in the common room - a Brinn who was regaining her mobility thanks to Amdír's crutches might be a little more lenient and agreeable to deal with than a Brinn who was frustrated by being helplessly pent up in her wagon while her troupe ran amuck.

Moving on her crutches almost without need of support, she led him to the cart which had been her domicile and sickbed for the last two days. Once they were private, he thought it best to take the initiative and began to talk while Brinn was still lowering herself gingerly onto a chair.

"I - I suppose you vant to talk to me about vat happened in ze common room last night - and maybe other zings zat happened before zat, if Asta has spoken to you." Now he had begun it, explaining his behaviour was even harder than he had imagined it would be. "Rollan vill probably hev told you zat I asked him for advice on how to voo your sister yesterday. I vant you to know zat nothing of vat followed vas his fault. Ze only one to blame is myself."

He drew a deep breath and steeled himself for the reproach that would doubtlessly come. "I'm sorry to hev caused such an upheaval in ze company at a time ven ve all need to work together and can't really afford to quarrel. You don't deserve zat from me. I'll pull myself together from now on and von't let my feelings interfere viz ze play any more, zat's a promise."

[Thinlómien]

When Sereth woke up, she was horrified to find the sun already descending from her highest point. She jumped up from her bed and hurriedly dressed up. Surely, she told herself, somebody would have come for her if they had started rehearsing. Then again, Brinn is sick and Asta... well I don't know we seem to have some quarrell. The thought of Asta being mad at her did not make Sereth's morning any better.

Combing her hair Sereth admired the shadows under her eyes, visible even in the dim copper mirror of the room. It had not been such a good idea to rehearse lines until birds were singing and the pale hint of dawn was creeping to the horizon. Especially as the lines might still get changed, she told herself. She was vaguely aware that she was taking her newest role too seriously, but decided not to worry about it. What she should worry about though was coming up with some passable excuse for Brinn so that she wouldn't again scold her for straining her eyes in the dim candle light for hours and hours.

Sereth walked downstairs, hoping no one would notice it was the first time she appeared that day. On her way, she met the girl called Thiliel.

"Hi," she greeted the other girl with a smile. "Have they been looking for me?"

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel was planning of going upstairs to her room after lunch, when the inn was almost empty. The usual hubbub was strangely subdued at this time of day. Thiliel hop-skipped her way to the staircase, humming to herself, thinking of when she would go to the market to buy a new ribbon.

Halfway up the stairs Thiliel came across Sereth, the lass that she met yesterday. Thiliel noticed that Sereth looked as though she didn't sleep all night.

"Hi! Have they been looking for me?" Sereth asked. Her voice sounded cheerful enough, even if a little tired.

Assuming that "they" meant the rest of the troop, Thiliel didn't hesitate to give all the information that she knew. "No, I don't think they have. Two of them - two men - went away somewhere for the entire morning. I think they just came back - I saw one of them talk to Mistress Celebrindal. And she can walk on crutches now - she came to the common room for the meal! The other actors were somewhere around... I don't know much about what they were doing, but they weren't searching for anybody... Oh, I almost forgot! How silly of me! A perian came in today for breakfast - a rather large one, I should say. She called herself Elanor Gamgee, and she talked with Mistress Celebrindal for over half an hour.

"You've had a restless night, I see," Thiliel added after a pause, "Maybe I can help you with something? You didn't come down for breakfast or nuncheon; you'd like some food, won't you?" the girl smiled and winked.

[Nerwen]

Sereth, Asta noted, glancing up at the two girls chattering on the stairs, was looking distinctly peaky today. Unsurprising– the child seemed determined to spoil her looks and waste good candles by poring over the script at all hours.

Asta had still not quite sorted out how she felt about the events of the previous Day, or about Coldan himself, and so, although she had her own reasons for consulting Brinn, she hung back in the hall when she saw her sister hobbling out of the common room escorted by the prompter.

Fortunately Rollan, who would do just as well, had lingered over his meal.

Asta took a seat opposite her brother-in-law.

"Rollan, if I may ask your advice?"

Rollan's lips quirked, for some reason. "You too?"

Asta wondered what he meant by that, but decided not to ask. Rollan rarely passed up an opportunity to poke fun at her.

"I found this outside Lord Sador's door yesterday." Asta had to check an impulse to glance over her shoulder as she passed Rollan the crumpled scrap of paper. She knew the limping nobleman was gone, having watched him depart the Inn with those two ladies ("the drab one and the overdressed one", as she thought of them), but the situation still made her feel conspiratorial. "What do you make of it?"

[Mnemosyne]

Brinn listened patiently while Coldan explained as much as he cared. She decided that she'd been good not to press the issue last night, as today, at least he was reflecting on what had happened calmly.

"Well," she said, "I trust that you've learned your lesson: don't try to introduce any earth-shattering changes to the Players when the show's a week away. Not," she added, "that I think that is what you were trying to do. Best just to let it lie for now, though. But I don't think Aldarion means you any harm. I don't know what, if anything, is going on between him and Asta, but I assure you that if it is, it's nothing serious. And--lest you accuse him of treating her poorly as a consequence--I assure you that nothing anyone does with my sister happens without her consent."

She sighed. "She probably likes the attention, is all. I wish you luck, if you decide to continue your suit. Just please don't try to push things until the show is over."

[Mnemosyne]

Rollan only briefly felt regret that Asta had not given him the opportunity to play matchmaker again. He squinted at the note she had placed before him. "I--well, I can hardly read it! Is that... 'Aldarion'?"

"Yes," said Asta, "and 'third,' and 'tomorrow.' Whatever could it mean?"

"You said you found it yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Then I expect we can find out from Aldarion when he gets back, if he doesn't feel like being cagey." He nodded. "Lovely night last night, wasn't it? Care to tell me what went on?"

[Nerwen]

Asta had expected Rollan to be more impressed by the scrap, with its evidence of some scheme involving Aldarion, and was quite put out. Also, having keyed herself up for dramatic revelation, it took her a moment to adjust to this new and somewhat embarrassing subject.

True, there was a corner of Asta's mind that found it most gratifying that Coldan and Aldarion had been about to fight a duel over her– well, practically a duel, anyway. But she was not about to let Rollan guess this corner existed, and she knew he would, if she had to describe the fight in any detail. For all his easy-going ways, the comedian never missed much.

"Last night? Ah... you must mean what happened in the Common Room? I'm not sure. It seems Coldan and Aldarion had words... but you see it was all over by the time I got there. Of course," she added, as the manner of her own entrance was another thing she preferred to forget, "I don't know what other people may have been telling you. People do exaggerate so, don't they?"

[the phantom]

Aldarion was quite surprised to see the lady that emerged from the droshky. Sador was nowhere to be seen, and this lady was obviously no servant, and Aldarion certainly did not know her. Why of all people did Sador choose this particular lady to fetch me? What's his angle?

Aldarion had spent the previous few hours in talks with Bregolas, and as a result was much more wary of Sador than he had been initially. Aldarion had already received a letter from his good friend Amlach warning him to be on guard, and Bregolas confirmed this, adding to it that he had gotten a peek at some of the communications Sador was sending and that they had been less than complimentary about the King's Players. There was mischief afoot! But what precisely, Aldarion did not know.

"I believe," asked the lady, "that you must be Galador's son, sir, late of the Swan Players? If you are he, then my younger brother has desired me to guide you. I am Aerwen, Lady of Burlach."

So, Sador sent his sister. Perhaps it was an honest choice then, as a member of the host family had as good a claim to fetch guests as anyone.

Aldarion thought it unwise to show any open suspicion, and so, actor born and raised as he was, he kept his thoughts securely locked in the back of his mind. Aldarion looked Aerwen straight in the eyes, smiled slightly, and inclined his head. "Well met, Lady of Burlach. I am indeed Aldarion, son of Galador." Now walking forward, he continued. "I would say 'at your service' or something similar, but I am afraid my services are entirely overstretched at the moment, as you may have heard from your brother. It is most kind that your family has allowed me an opportunity to forget my cares for a little while and be your guest."

[Anguirel]

Aerwen nodded when the player pronounced his first name; she had left it unspoken initially quite on purpose, partly as a test, partly because the fellow was rather celebrated, and she didn't want to let any obvious realisation of this compromise her dignity. She approved of his response, though it might seem weary and strictly speaking not even very courteous. The man seemed as straightly forged as the sword at his belt, and that, too, was more reassuring, than what part of her mind had pictured; a fluent youth with a quip and a glance everything, perhaps, a handsomer version of her brother Sador; instead of which, the resemblance to her brother-in-law, Amlach, was particularly decided.

Without further conversation, she mounted the little jig again, beckoning Aldarion to come up with her. The small solidity of this carriage left a strange architectural effect, as if they were hiding in the stone alcove of some great hall in the citadel; and yet every ring and jolt of the droshsky bouncing on the cobbles reminded them of quite the reverse.

"I know something more of you," Aerwen began again with hesitant decision, "than you might expect, Master Aldarion, though I have never seen you play; I have purchased every script of the Swan Players' productions for a number of years, to read in my hours of leisure. Assuredly, alas, such scripts are pirated, partial, gravely defective, but they have always given me great satisfaction; especially 'The Golden King'. It is a shame our much-loved Amlach had to be away rehearsing, but I cannot deny that 'Tar-Ancalime' much excites me in prospect..."

Her speech trailed off into a note of tentative questioning, as they left the Third Circle and entered the main traffic of the Fourth.

[the phantom]

Aldarion considered Aerwen's apparent knowledge of his work and her positive attitude towards it, and wondered if it was spoken in good faith. After what he had learned from Bregolas, he had little trust in Sador's words of praise, and wondered if Aerwen was an extension of whatever scheme Sador was involved in.

Determined to, at the least, test Aerwen's true awareness of his career, Aldarion feigned surprised interest at her pronouncement and spoke. "Yes, 'Rise and Fall of the Golden King' was quite a masterful work. I believe Lord Imrazôr to be a writer and director equal to any that has ever lived, and I am immensely fortunate to have worked with him for so many years." Then looking straight at her, wishing to have a good look at her eyes as she answered his question, he asked, "What sections in particular did you find riveting?"

[Anguirel]

Slightly misinterpreting Aldarion's probe, Aerwen felt less pleased with him than before. Could this apparently proud and composed man really be fishing for compliments in this direct manner?

"I am aware," said she rather guardedly, repaying his frank gaze with a narrower one, "that your own performance, sir, was the most highly regarded by those who witnessed it. But all I can say is that reading is a rather different experience to viewing. The reader's power - be the script be ever so diluted - is more absolute; when I read a play I am its director, nay, almost its writer too.

"It is probably, then, unsurprising that I felt nearest to, and most thrilled by, the speeches of Miriel - especially her apostrophe to her father's spirit. I lost my mother when I was young, master player, and often whispered to her in a long, chilly night's mist."

She drew herself up a little, quite embarrassed by her own involuntary confidence in the stranger, paused, and spoke again in a quite different tone.

"I suppose she was played by your friend, my sister-in-law, Lady Gloredhel? No matter; it is all the same when it lives only in spilt ink. Do you like reading plays, sir, even when you are not working upon them? If you do not," she began to laugh with a sudden and surprising lightness, "I fear you may be in for a dull evening after all..."

[the phantom]

As Aldarion took in Aerwen's reply, he noted that she certainly seemed to know the play. If she is false then at least she has done the legwork to support her designs. I suppose I can respect that.

"Ah yes," he said aloud, "My performance did come off rather well, but since you have read the play for yourself I think we can agree that with Lord Imrazôr's writing I was bound to shine. And no- I do not find reading plays to be the least bit dull! I spend most of my time reading and writing plays, in fact. I'd be most miserable if I did not enjoy it."

Aldarion considered the question regarding Gloredhel's role, and wondered why Aerwen would not know whether or not her own sister-in-law had played the part she claimed to connect with so much. It was possible they had seen little of each other, or that Aerwen just did not care for actors much, content to direct the play in her head, as she spoke of previously. Or perhaps this was a sign that she was less than truthful...

Making a mental note of it, Aldarion continued as if nothing was wrong. "No, Gloredhel didn't play the part. That play was performed about three years ago, and at the time that the roles were being selected she had not yet secured her place as a true lead. She wasn't much more than a year removed from her teens, after all." Aldarion's mind swept him back to the day that he had been awarded the part, and he could not help but turn in his seat so that he could look away southward towards his home. "I wasn't expecting it," he said, gazing away down the Anduin valley, which was falling swiftly into shadows. "I thought I was going to be cast as Sauron, actually. It was a great part, and when Lord Imrazôr announced that Halcantar would be Sauron I was disappointed- and shocked, as I expected Halcantar to be Ar Pharazon. But Lord Imrazôr had a different idea...."

Aldarion's thoughts became a whirl of his old home, his family, his friends, the applause of huge crowds...

[Thinlómien]

"Elanor Gamgee?" Sereth had turned rather pale, and looked even more unhealthy. "Then I must speak to Brinn right now!"

"She just left the common room," Thiliel offered helpfully. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

But Sereth was already running down the stairs and through the common room. Once she was out of the inn she didn't hesitate - she knew Brinn would be found in the cart if she was not in the common room. Sereth suspected Brinn liked to be findable by her players if they needed her, and Sereth definitely did need her right now.

Slightly out of breath, Sereth burst to the wagon just to hear Brinn say to Coldan in a rather resigned voice: "...the show is over."

"What?" Sereth shrieked, forgetting to try to sound as mature as possible. "Why? What happened?"

But it all made sense now, that was what Miss Elanor Gamgee had come to say, that their rendition of the War of the Ring was so disgraceful that Mister Samwise Gamgee and the King himself had decided not to have it performed at all. Horrified, she leaned against the wall of the cart.

"That's what she came to say, right? That her father and the King don't... want us?" she clarified, since Brinn and Coldan were still looking at her, looks of incomprehension on their faces. Sereth tried very hard not to cry. It was such a disaster.

[Anguirel]

Aerwen watched the player, who seemed to have fallen into something of a daze, with a curious look, of which concern was the main, but not the only, component. Certainly any credit he had lost with her earlier he had just recouped by the genuineness of his reverie.

She decided not to disturb him for a moment, instead giving quiet instructions to the coachman to turn aside, then pause. They were still in the Fourth Circle, but only just; the droshsky had spun into the avenue where the few most distinguished merchant-houses now stood. The cobbles were almost bare of feet and but sparcely interspersed with horses and carriages; few came to shop at the Course of the Old Steward's Lady, and of those who did, nearly all rode there. It was a silver street to look at, even by the greyly beautiful standards of the former Tower of the Guard; through Aerwen's open panel window heavy musk would strike the senses, heavy enough perhaps to disorder Aldarion's private thoughts, even if he had not already noticed that the little transport had come to a stop.

When she was quite certain she had Aldarion's attention, Aerwen spoke gently to him, "Just a little while ago, you described Lord Imrazôr to be a writer and director equal to any that has ever lived. It is an ambitious statement, but I think you were right about it. Were. We have some time yet, an hour, perhaps, I believe, before we will be missed at my elder brother's table; would you care to follow me into the bookshop hard by us here? If you wish, I shall try to show you a better playwright even than your old master."

[Pitchwife]

"I wish you luck, if you decide to continue your suit", Brinn said with a sigh. "Just please don't try to push things until the show is over."

Before Coldan had so much as a moment's time to digest these words, Sereth came bursting into the wagon and shrieked with a voice like a pubescent Nazgûl, "What? Why? What happened?"

Startled that Sereth, of all people, should get into such a seizure about the matter of him and Asta, he stared at her in incomprehension as she collapsed against the wall in what seemed like an unconscious imitation of her portrayal of the Ringbearer pierced by the Witch-King on Weathertop and went on: "That's what she came to say, right? That her father and the King don't... want us?"

Vait a moment", he said, suddenly realizing that Sereth had to be talking about something completely unrelated to their previous conversation. "Vat do you mean, zey don't want us? Who is she, and vat does she hev to do viz ze King?"

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel was very surprised at Sereth's reaction to Elanor's name. She was brought up to avoid naming the Dark Lord and his land, after the customs of parents and grandparents. She understood that. But a perian? Why does this name bring such worry to Sereth's face?

Judging by how fast Sereth ran outside to Celebrindal's wagon, something has gone seriously wrong. Thiliel followed her - though much more slowly - to see what was causing so much trouble that a girl has to go hungry.

She was half way there when she heard Sereth's voice, unnervingly shrill, coming from Celebrindal's wagon. Thiliel ran the rest of the way. She came in time to hear the foreign man, who she recognized as one of the quarrelers from the day before, say "Who is she, and what does she have to do with the King?"

Thiliel rushed in without knocking, forgetting that it is disrespectful. "What happened? Why?..." She cut herself off, noticing that the two adults, who were previously staring at Sereth, were now staring at her.

[Thinlómien]

Sereth burst in tears. Not out of grief, or shock, or even humiliation but sheer exasperation. Why were the adults always so difficult? They refused to believe she was all grown-up, that she could deal with the truth. Coldan here, his acting was less convincing than on stage. Sereth's hands curled into fists. She didn't waste time on Thiliel, who she now noticed had followed her, but fixed her blurry eyes at Coldan.

"I know you are just trying to shield me from the truth, but you don't have to, I know it already!" she declared in a quavering voice. "The play has been cancelled, hasn't it?" There. Now they couldn't avoid the topic any longer.

[Galadriel55]

The attention was turned back to Sereth when she suddenly burst out crying. Thiliel did not know why the tears rolled off the girl's cheeks in such abundance, nor could she do anything to calm them. Sereth looked hysterical.

"I know you are just trying to shield me from the truth, but you don't have to, I know it already!" Sereth choked in defiance between sobs, apparantly talking to the room at large. However, it seemed to Thiliel that the remark has been directed specifically at the man. "The play has been cancelled, hasn't it?" With this out of her mouth Sereth's sobs subsided abruptly. The entire room was very quiet, maybe in shock, or in disbelief, or perhaps some other unknown feeling. Sereth's eyes burned, looking from one person to another.

"But... surely not!" Thiliel cried, in an attempt to break the silence. She stepped towards Sereth and put a tentative arm around her shoulder. The girl didn't shake it off. "Surely they did not cancel it! All of Minas Anor yearns to see it!"

Thiliel felt empty inside. She has been looking forwrd to the play ever since she heard about it. She was proud to serve the very actors that would preform. And now... She almost cried herself from disappointment, but with a sniff held back the tears.

[Nerwen]

"Exaggerate? Why yes, they do, don't they?" Rollan was saying, when a treble wail from the courtyard made everyone in the Common Room jump.

"That was Sereth!" Asta whispered. "What can have happened now?"

Rollan briefly held his hand over his eyes. "I don't know, Asta, but I'm starting to think this play will be the death of me..." He sighed. "Come on, then, I suppose we'd better find out who's got into a mess this time, and how bad it is."

Master Ingold caught them in the doorway. "If I may make so bold as to speak to you, Master Rollan? This doesn't come easy, what with you customers of long-standing and never a breath of scandal before and always paying your bill on the hour– but I can't have much more of it. Brawling in my Common Room and my niece trailing after your actors all day and no mind for her work, and now–"

"Master Ingold," Asta cut in crisply, "what you just heard was merely one of our players rehearsing her part as a Ringwraith. I'll let her know it's having the desired effect."

She swept into the hall before the innkeeper had a chance to reply.

"Good thinking," was Rollan's only comment, but Asta could see he was impressed at her presence of mind. She could hardly blame him, as she was quite impressed with it herself.

Not that she had much time for self-congratulation, for as they hurried across the courtyard they could hear bitter sobbing coming from Brinn's waggon, broken by voices raised in anger or fright.

"The waggon must be on fire!" Asta gasped. "Or maybe Branor and Therian have really been arrested this time! That must be it, no-one's seen hide nor hair of them since last night. Or maybe..."

The scene that met their eyes in the cramped interior of the waggon was a dramatic one. Sereth was bawling her eyes out, held by the little maid, whatever her name was, who also looked to be on the brink of tears, while Coldan and Brinn were staring at them helplessly.

"Asta, they're... they're cancelling the plaaaay," Sereth sobbed. "Our lovely, lovely play that we've worked so hard on!"

"It's true," Ingold's niece confirmed, between sniffs. "She told me. Elanor the perian made them!"

"Why, I don't believe it! That scheming little– I wish I'd wrung her neck! Brinn–" Asta turned to her sister, who was opening and shutting her mouth, almost as if she were trying to speak, "how could you let this happen? Are you blind? Couldn't you see the scheming little monster was up to no good?" In her mind's eye the remembered face of Elanor acquired shifty eyes and a knowing smirk. Asta was sure, now, that she had never trusted the halfling for an instant.

[Pitchwife]

Coldan had never been good at handling children, and it was even worse with girls. If there was one kind of creature in Middle-earth he felt even more awkward around than Asta, it was young girls in the age between twelve and fifteen; it had been that way when he was in the same age, and it hadn't changed a bit in the ten years since. All he could do while Sereth worked herself into a downright nervous breakdown was stand there like a wooden post and wonder what in the name of the One Allmighty this was all about.

It didn't help when the other girl, Ingold's niece - what was her name? Thilwen or some such, if he had heard right - came crashing in on Sereth's heels and tried to comfort her friend, while Seri accused him of hiding the truth from her and blubbered something about the play being cancelled.

That took him completely aback. It couldn't be, could it? Had that Sador character, Lord Cirdacil's son and minion, gone so far in his machinations as to persuade the King to call the play off altogether? But Sereth had mentioned some female person. What had happened in his absence that Brinn hadn't told him? But Brinn seemed just as flabbergasted by Sereth's outburst as he was, and her last words to him made no sense if she had known anything about this.

He was still at a loss for words when the door was flung up again and Asta squeezed in, a concerned looking Rollan peeping over her shoulder because he couldn't fit into the cart's already overcrowded interior.

"Asta, they're... they're cancelling the plaaaay," Sereth blubbered, and her serving-maid friend, who was about to start crying herself, threw more fuel into the fire: ""It's true! She told me. Elanor the perian made them!"

"Why, I don't believe it!" Asta exclaimed and started to berate her sister for letting this happen.

This was enough for Coldan. He threw up his hands, narrowly avoiding by sheer luck to hit Asta in the face, and cried out: "Has everybody in zis company gone stark raving mad? Vill you all please stop zis and somebody tell me vat ze Udûn has happened here?"

At this outburst, Brinn finally awoke to life. "Please, Coldan, you're not helping", she sighed, pinching her nose, "and mind your language in front of the girls." She reached out to Sereth, who had now collapsed into a sobbing bundle, and drew the two girls to herself. "Seri, who told you this? Who said that the play was going to be cancelled?"

[Thinlómien]

First Asta had dashed in and screamed a list of insults which were unusually mean even for her, and now Coldan and Brinn were still acting as if nothing had happened. This much was what Sereth was able to gather even though she was sobbing very hard by now. Amidst all her suffering she still couldn't help feeling some satisfaction Brinn and Coldan were treating Asta just as stupidly as her.

"Seri, who told you this?" Brinn asked, wrapping her arm around the girl. "Who said that the play was going to be cancelled?"

Sereth wiped her face to her sleeve. She looked at Brinn with a mixed look of incomprehension and accusation. "This is a trick question, isn't it? You said it yourself, I heard you. You said to Coldan 'the show is over'."

[Mnemosyne]

"Seri," said Brinn, "I said until the show is over, not just 'the show is over.' Why, if it were over now, we should be packing up and going, shouldn't we? Everything's still going as according to plan as could be expected"--given our tendency to bungle even the simplest plans--"and, if anything, Miss Elanor Gamgee has been an unexpected boon to us in all of this as now we have received a visit from one of the people we need most to reach. She has proven most willing to help out with the play, as can be seen from this." She held up a few scattered pages of notes. "Not only does she know what happened, she knows the people who did these very things, how they would act, and the like. In fact, Seri, she's quite interested in speaking with you about the Ring-bearer; she's quite... taken with him.

"Asta, please desist from wringing anyone's neck, here or elsewhere. I assure you that I sensed no evil intentions from Elanor, and even if she is scheming and conniving, we already have enough schemers to deal with who are a little more open with their intentions. I suggest we focus on them first." She blinked. Maybe that was not such a good thing to tell Asta.

"Who, Sador?" said Asta. "I found this most fascinating note last night--"

Unsure whether it was worse to have Asta give them all away to Sador, whatever he was up to (if anything!), or to have her in a dreadful state of paranoia all the way up to the show, Brinn decided on the response that would allow herself temporary safety."Anyone. I'd appreciate whatever information you could give me, in fact."

Rollan, from behind, nervously jerked his hand underneath his neck, in the traditional cutoff from their days in Dale when that particular year's Bard the Bowman had thought it a good idea to drink a yard of ale before coming on stage. Brinn gave him an exasperated shrug.

"But, just so everyone is utterly clear, the show is not cancelled, and we have not been run out of town, and Elanor has not, as of yet, proved herself to be evil. Any questions?"

[Galadriel55]

Thiliel almost jumped with joy when Celebrindal clarified that the play is still going on. She was also glad to hear that Elanor was helping; she was a very nice and polite maiden, - woman, Thiliel corrected herself, - and it would be a hard blow to Thiliel if she found out that she befriended and helped someone who caused so much damage.

The girl was very confused, but at least one thing was clear: the play is still happening. Unable to contain her emotions, she clapped her hands and jumpedon the spot. Thiliel noticed that the quite crowded adults did not appreciate this behaviour, and stopped.

"Hurray! The play is not cancelled!" She said in explanation to the questioning looks the actors gave her.

[Nerwen]

"But, just so everyone is utterly clear, the show is not cancelled, and we have not been run out of town, and Elanor has not, as of yet, proved herself to be evil. Any questions?"

"Yes! What do you think of this?" Asta was not about to lose this second chance at revealing the note, not when the first time had been so anticlimatic. She would have liked to be able to move around a bit more, and make some appropriate dramatic gestures, but the near-miss she had just received from Coldan (which she would not let him forget in a hurry) was a reminder of how close the quarters were.

"I found this outside Lord Sador's door– if he really is a lord– yesterday. It's mostly indecipherable– you'd think a real lord would write a fairer hand, wouldn't you?– but it most definitely says "Aldarion", "third" and "tomorrow"– which is to say, today. And you remember that business with the letters? There's something going on, that's for sure– in fact," she added, as a startling new thought occurred to her, "if you ask me they've kidnapped him!"

It all made sense now. She could not imagine why it had taken her so long to work it out.

[Anguirel]

None other than the fraudulent kidnapper of Asta's speculation, dapper little Sador of Burlach, was in fact by this time comfortably settled lengthways on a chaise-longue in the fine and fashionable mansion of his elder brother. A wide pair of Fornost windows had been cast open to let the breeze ventilate properly, which was quite necessary as both brothers, contrary to their father's habits and, had he been there, to his certain disapproval, were smoking pipes full of the herb of Eriador. They were not exactly each other's preferred company, and the presence of the three women was in truth a great relief; the silent Lady Ecsichil in her peculiar sectary full body gauze veil, lolling like her husband and brother-in-law but partaking neither of smoke nor speech; golden Circilie roaming about the room, making emendations and conversation; Gloredhel sitting straight and supple in a chair more aesthetic than comfortable, by her own preference.

"You sent Aerwen to go and catch this new player acquaintance of yours?" Ecsichil was asking, not for the first time. Unlike his wife, he did possess the apparent faculty of speech, though he avoided any topics of dangerous freshness. Sador sometimes, at moments such as this, found his brother surprisingly restful to be around after all. Ecsichil was an unsympathetic boor, and his existence, combined with his wife's predictable efficiency at producing straight, soldierly young sons, ensured that Sador would never inherit a scrap of land or a substantive rank; but, on the other hand, the elder son of Burlach did tend to emphasise by his style of 'thought' and behaviour the unusual wit and aptitude of the younger one.

"I didn't send her," Sador answered languidly, "father wouldn't like me arbitrarily to interrupt my elder sister's education on a whim about the theatre, would he now? But I told her my friend would be waiting, asked her if she was interested, and she expressed herself positively."

"Alright," Ecsichil said boredly, still following the old furrow for lack of anything else to say to Sador. "But is it all quite decent? This player, is he of at least presentable rank? Is there a chaperone?"

"A coachman, I think, Aerwen's usual one, but I mean, come on, brother dear. Aldarion is perfectly respectable, an old friend of Gloredhel's, no less." Sador looked automatically towards the object of his esteem and fear, but could not long maintain the gaze. "Anyway, we're talking about Aerwen here, one of the most famous scholars in the City and one of the shyest. I don't think she's going to conclude the ride pregnant with twins."

Circilie, a few months with child herself, and Ecsichil laughed at their brother's quip. No one saw Gloredhel's faintly narrowing glance except Lady Ecsichil through her veil, and she did not note it as any sign of emotion, a capacity, rather like speech, she had long since dropped, out of pure torpidity.

"Now then," Circilie remarked, bustling herself into the middle of the little party on a comfy chair by the Fornost window, "tell us about this play then, little Sador."

"That shambles? Why?"

"Oh, don't be so modest, kidling brother, I don't mean that funny affair being scraped out at the inn. I mean the play you want Master Aldarion and darling Gloredhel to help you read out after supper. And yes, I definitely want a part this time. Give me something funny."

Circilie's dimpled dollish looks were very good for moulding, and she made one of her famous silly faces, faces that had briefly amused even her husband, Amlach. Even Gloredhel laughed a little at this one, though it might have been, for all any of the rest of the family knew or cared, only the mirth of courtesy.

[the phantom]

"If you wish," said Aerwen to Aldarion, "I shall try to show you a better playwright even than your old master."

Not entirely certain how to respond, Aldarion shrugged and nodded. He was anxious to get to the party, but did not wish to be discourteous and rush Aerwen. He doubted very much that she would show him anything new anyway.

What's it going to be? A collection of those ridiculous Gondolin works? No action or intrigue whatsoever- just philosophy and praising the Valar. Or perhaps some obscure Numenorean playwright? Ha- I seriously doubt there is a single play ever written in Numenor that I have not come across in my studies. I've covered all the writers of Gondor and Arnor as well, and even the few Harad turned out. But I suppose I should humor her.

[Anguirel]

In which the star-cross'd passion of Rumillo and Írildë is first laid before a discerning, and limited, public (Aldarion by name)

"I have to move fast and visit regularly to catch the newest scripts here," Aerwen explained to her new acquaintance, as they passed through the threshold of the establishment, under a hanging sign depicting an ibis.

"If they fall to obscurity, a few copies are bought up by collectors - among whom I have sometimes myself bidded - and the rest tend to be burnt. But if they catch any attention - either noble patronage, or the esteem of some city scholar or poet, or even become performed by some touring company - they are in danger of suppression by the Revels office if they get too successful; and in any case, Lindir of the Ibis doesn't like books that get too popular; he thinks it prejudices the tone of his merchandise..."

The shop was a great deal more extensive, and less comfortable, than it had looked from the Course outside. It was impossible to get a straight or diagonal view in any direction, so contorted were the L-shapes of its dustily clustered shelves; Aerwen looked tentatively in one direction in particular whence they saw a cold, absorbed man with a shaven pate, presumably the Lindir Aerwen had mentioned. But she took Aldarion off down another path, wriggling through the impromptu corridors with all a bookworm's hunger and facility.

"Of course, many of the best scripts - the back catalogue of the Swan Players, for example - have been performed already, and this presents a lesser problem; they already have a reputation, and a market, and sponsors to back them; you find them handsomely bound in folios with gilded edges. What I'm going to show you is a bit odder; a playwright whom, ah, rumour has it has been performed somewhere; but no one knows under quite what circumstances; ah, yes..."

They were immediately under a silver plaque that informed them Theatricals, L. Aerwen impatiently shifted the initial volume, the anonymous and long Lamentable Trago-History of the Laiquendi, obviously looking for something not far off from the start, and last settled on a small, dark quarto, neatly but unspectacularly bound in a blue that was almost but not quite black. Silver impressions on the spine read Lameleg, Beren, Arvedui part 1.

"Right author," Aerwen was muttering, half to herself, "wrong plays; rough prentice pieces only..." Her long white hand with its bitten nails whipped out a volume only a little bit further along, identical in appearance except that it read Lameleg, Beren, The Tragedy of Romillo and Írildë. She passed it to Aldarion with a gentle smile, open at this Prologue:

Two shipholds, alike in antiquity,
In Vinyalondë, where we lay our scene
From ancient to first mate in mutiny
Have risen, spilling blood and rum unclean:
From forth the bilges, midst these fatal crews
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their chance:
Whose misadventures and untimely news
Be interspersed with duelling and with dance.
The fearful passage of grim Anfalas
And the continuance of the boatswain's rage
Whom, but the vinous leaf, naught may relax,
Is now the bare hour's traffic in our page:
The which, if you (when wearied) yet forebear
To slumber on't, we'll venture good repair.

"Romance, pirates, and a fairly harmonious measure of versification," Aerwen murmured with an intonation between scepticism and admiration, "but my, the poetry has barely warmed up here...do flick on..."

[Nerwen]

"Kidnapped? For pity's sake, Asta, now you're just being absurd," Brinn told her with uncharacteristic sharpness, though she was still absently stroking Sereth's dark hair.

"Your zister zpeaks zense, Asta," said Coldan reluctantly. "I hardly zink Aldarion could be overpowered by Lord Zador, of all men."

"As if I hadn't thought of that! He'd have a gang, wouldn't he?" Ideas were springing up like weeds in the fertile soil of Asta's imagination. "These so-called guardsmen are probably in it, and that dreadful old man, and of course those two "ladies" who invaded the Common Room this morning.

'Besides, Sador can't be his real name– now that would be absurd." She had remembered, now, where it was that she had first encountered the name: attached to the maimed servant character in that deplorable, but supposedly factual, historical play Aldarion had tried to foist on them. "In fact, I'll tell you what, I don't believe there's anything the matter with his leg at all. I'm sure he's just pretending to be lame, to put us all off our guard– and– and make it easier for him to vanish once his schemes are complete. Why it's just's the sort of thing a master criminal would do."

[Pitchwife]

"Vait, you're losing me", Coldan interjected as soon as Asta paused to breathe. Apparently the morning had been anything but eventless at the inn, and he was getting more and more confused by all those references to things which had happened in his absence. "Vy are you talking about two ladies now? Vas zere another one besides zat perian woman - vat did you say her name vas? Elanor?" The name sounded much too grandiose for a halfling; if he had come across her as a character in a play, he would have thought her a fitting counterpiece to 'Mary the Elf'.

"Elanor Gamgee", Brinn repeated impatiently. "She's Lord Samwise's daughter. - Now listen, Asta - "

"Samvise Gamgee's daughter?" Coldan interrupted her. "You mean, the daughter of ze one I'm playing, ze one who didn't die on Veathertop after all, whom Branor and ze others met ze other day? And she's going to help us viz ze play?" This was more luck than they could ever have hoped for. "Zat's vonderful! Vat did she tell you, Brinn?" He couldn't wait to have a look at the notes she had just shown them.

"Oh stop it, Coldan!" Asta cried out, bumping against his ribs in an aborted gesture of exasperation. "We don't have time for this now! There won't be a play as long as our playwright is being held in some dungeon the Valar know where!"

Coldan almost made a sarcastic remark about her passionate concern for Aldarion's safety, but having learnt a lesson or two since yesterday, he bit on his tongue just in time.

"But vat reason would Sador hev to - ", he started to object, when something clicked in his mind and the pieces came together. There wouldn't be a play without Aldarion; much as he hated to admit it, Asta was right about that - and perhaps this was just the point.

"Actually", he corrected himself, "zis may not be as crazy as it sounds, Brinn. Zat Lord Cirdacil who left Sador here viz us isn't too fond of us, is he? Judging from vat Rollan told me, he'd be glad for any excuse to run us out of town vizout heving to pay us. Sador vas left viz us under ze pretense of working on ze script viz Aldarion and helping him iron out the mistakes ve hev made, but has anybody seen him doing anyzing of ze kind? To tell ze truth, I heven't trusted zat sweet-tongued clubfoot from ze moment I first saw him. Vat if his true orders are to sabotage our play - and vat better vay to achieve zis zan by kidnapping our playwright?"

[Galadriel55]

Things were finally beginning to come together. The grown-ups went on arguing, ignoring the girls' presense, and they've said enough for Thiliel to grasp the situation. Apparantly the Lord Sador who they were talking about was the handsome young man who was also staying at the inn. She couldn't believe it! Not him as well!

Thiliel made a small attempt at speaking up after Asta finished, but fer faint voice was interrupted by the man's. She told herself that it is a sign for her to keep her mouth shut and not stick her head in things where she is not wanted. But she couldn't, just couldn't keep silent! Not after what she had just heard.

"No!" the shout came out uncontrollably, "No, it cannot be true! They cannot all come down at the you like crows on dead meat, just because you are playing on Comrare. First Lady Elanor, now Lord Sador. Who will be next? King Elessar? Impossible! Why do they all stay in your way? You want no harm, you just want the people of Minas Anor to be happy."

Thiliel swallowed hard, hardly holding back the tears now. Looking directly at Ceebrindal, she said in a soft voice, hardly more than a whisper, "You will still preform the play, won't you?"

[the phantom]

Aldarion flipped quickly through the pages. There was no time to give it a proper look, but he thought he had the basic shape of things. Aware of the fact that Aerwen was hovering quite close, Aldarion allowed himself to mumble a few of his thoughts aloud so that she could hear.

"Not the form usually employed for dramas.... the adherence to rhyme and meter... I tend to find that sort of thing distracting in serious works... more common in comedies, and I don't care for many of those... though this does flow better than most... pleasing to the ear... yes- the writing is certainly a step up from other productions I've done in this style... and the subject of course is an excellent choice if this is THE Írildë, the descendant of Vardamir's youngest child I believe, and the aunt of Hallacar... I love plays set in Numenor... no time to judge the plot really, but I'm interested to see where it goes..."

[Mnemosyne]

"Thiliel," said Brinn, "let me remind you that Elanor means us no harm, and, so far, has done nothing to obstruct our play--in fact, she has been most helpful. Lord Sador, doubtless, has his own reasons for being with us in the first place, and since we do not know them, we cannot know if he means good or ill." Truth be told, she did suspect him, but she had been around people long enough to know that this wasn't the sort of thing you ought to make known, and if she told anyone except Rollan, Sador would probably find out. "It's impossible to make a full guarantee, Thiliel. But I assure you, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure that we perform this play, and that we perform it well, and so far, none of the accidental complications we have run into have proven enough to stop us. But, unfortunately, doing everything in our power means that we need to drop this idle speculation and get back to work."

"I'll tell you what, Asta," she said. "If Aldarion isn't back by tomorrow morning, you have my permission to conduct a full-scale investigation into the matter. For now, though, we wait--and more importantly, we figure out, with what information we have, how we're going to rework the casting for the play. Remember, we did write plays before Aldarion joined us." She drew out a sheet of paper, reworked from Elanor's notes, with the list of the Nine Walkers and an attempted sketch of their relative importance.

"We'll start with the Halflings, since they're now the folk I have the most reliable information on. I see no reason for Frodo to change at all, though we'll almost certainly have to change the way we write him. Sam, however, is going to have to be on stage the same time as Frodo, through the end. He's going to have to..." she peered at her notes "...slowly become more and more of a hero as Frodo continues to fade in the presence of the Ring." What exactly had they gotten themselves into?

"Merry and Pippin are very dear friends of one another, and both related to Frodo. Merry is the older one of the two and tends to plan things out more, while Pippin is more impulsive. They get split up, though, and Merry gets to help the Shield-Maiden defeat the Witch-King and Pippin saves the Steward Faramir's life."

Elanor had told her a good deal more, of course, but she wasn't entirely sure how to go about implementing it. Most worrisome was the lack of any firebreathing dragons... but they couldn't not put Smaug in!

[Pitchwife]

Coldan wasn't sure Brinn was taking this matter seriously enough. They had but three days left to get the play into shape and rehearse it thoroughly enough not to blunder too badly on Cormare. If they didn't begin investigating Aldarion's fate until tomorrow, another day would most likely be wasted. True, they had written plays without Aldarion before; and not so long ago he would have been zealous for a chance to take the Gondorian's place and confident he could deliver a better script anytime. But never before had the stakes been so high, the deadline so close; and knowing his own tendency to procrastination, Coldan had to admit to himself that he wouldn't be able to pull it off.

No, this would never do. As far as his personal feelings were concerned, he would blithely have left Aldarion to rot in whatever dungeon Cirdacil and Sador had thrown him in till Dagor Dagorath, but for the play's sake, the man would have to be found - if indeed he wanted to be found; Coldan was far from buying into Asta's kidnapping theory wholesale, and he wouldn't have been surprised to find out Aldarion had jumped ship and gone over to the enemy. He had been friendly enough with Sador at the common room last night, or so it had seemed. Sure, he had been quite passionate about his desire for the play to succeed and elevate him back to his former glory among the playwrights of Gondor - but what if the other side offered him an easier road to fulfilling his ambition? Either way, they would have to find out.

But it was clearly no use to pursue the matter further with Brinn, especially as she was now sharing what Elanor had told her about the halflings and he was eager to hear that. He gently nudged Asta in order to catch her attention and silently mouthed the word 'later', hoping thereby to appease her long enough to allow him to concentrate on what Brinn was saying.

"They get split up, though, and Merry gets to help the Shield-Maiden defeat the Witch-King and Pippin saves the Steward Faramir's life."

"But, Brinn", he hazarded to object, "if Sam remains alive all zrough ze play and even becomes a sort of hero figure, I can't play him and Gimli at ze same time. It's all vell once the Fellowship splits up, but between Rivendell and Parth Galen zey would hev to be on stage together. And who else is short enough for either part?" Casting these two characters had been one of the rare cases where his squat stature had worked to his advantage. "And did she tell you anyzing about Frodo's and Sam's adventures in Mordor? Like, you know, the part where zey fight ze great dragon?"