Chapter 4)
Tredorian took a deep breath as he left the Rose. The theatre was located on the edge of Suzail's seedier waterfront area and at times the wind blew a pleasantly cool breeze off of the lake. Fortunately this was one of those times and the playwright did not choke on the pungent odor of the docks.
Shoving his hands in his trouser pockets again the young man wandered towards the better area of town hoping for inspiration from the sight of the young nobility and their homes.
He was nearly upon the palace gates before he realized it and shook his head at himself before turning towards the marketplace. He had nothing to do with royalty anymore, not his own family or the Cormyrean Obarskyrs.
Gazing about the marketplace he pictured the scene he'd left with Henslowe, rival families, feuding so fiercely even the servants fought in the streets. Until…
It was not a jolt of inspiration that struck him, but a person as he walked right into someone. Automatically he reached out to steady the poor soul and looked into an exquisite pair of bright green eyes. They laughed and twinkled up at him.
"I…I beg your pardon my lady." Tredorian stuttered out the words.
"I am quite unoffended and unharmed as well good sir." She replied with a dimpling smile of ruby lips. "But you should take care where you walk, other Courtiers are not so forgiving of mishaps."
"You are a Courtier then?" Tredorian asked in bewilderment. "I had believed none of the Court ever came to the market. Not without suitable escort."
The green eyes sparkled with pride and a bit of temper. "I am part of the Court, but I have always done as I pleased. I have my nurse, and no one would dare to harm me."
Tredorian blinked at her, nearly struck dumb by her beauty. She was nearly his height and possessed of mink brown hair coiled sleekly atop her head. The expensive and elegant gown she wore complimented her curving figure perfectly.
"I am Tredorian, playwright of the Rose." He got the words out finally, offering her his arm. "May I offer you my escort milady?"
She nodded to an older servant woman who stood just behind her and took his arm. Her lovely face beamed up at him and a gleam touched her eyes. "Tredorian…" She mused aloud. "Are you Tredorian of Silverymoon? The Poet?"
"No longer of Silverymoon." Tredorian countered with a shy smile, "But still a poet."
"Say me some then?" The lady demanded charmingly. "As you walk me home."
Tredorian wracked his brain and in an effort to delay asked desperately. "Where is home?"
"For now, there." With her free hand she gestured elegantly to the palace. When Tredorian regarded her in amazement she dimpled at him again. "I am Lady In Waiting to the Queen." She said proudly. "A 'Court Rose' as she calls us."
Tredorian found himself stuttering again almost as he asked. "May I call upon you my lady?"
A gay little laugh trickled over her lips as they arrived at the palace gate. "You may if you wish, should you procure an invitation to Court." She offered her hand and smiled a bit triumphantly as he kissed it. "My master Poet of no words."
Tredorian stared after her in numb silence as the gate shut with a metallic clang. Morosely he turned away and began the trek back to the theatre.
"Madam, why do you giggle so at what is so deathly a scene?" Ned turned to Asrai sternly. The actors upon the stage, busy rehearsing the opening of the play stopped as he spoke.
"It's the way they handle the blades." Asrai shrugged, still smiling over it. Ned was about to demand further explanation when Tredorian trudged in. "Nights Tears! What happened to you?"
"It seems fitting that Romeo is about to begin wailing over Rosaline." Tredorian said gloomily. "He but echoes my own despair."
"With whom have you fallen in love now?" Ned asked without even turning from his contemplation of the stage. "What nameless, unattainable beauty is to be your new muse?"
"One who truly fits your description." Tredorian retorted. "A lady, of the Court, in Waiting to the Queen."
"One of the Roses?" Asrai wondered aloud. "How in the world did you meet her?" She stared at him curiously.
"That's what she said the Queen called them yes." Tredorian answered. "She was in the marketplace and I bumped into her." He sighed in helpless admiration. "I've never seen such a beauty. I thought I was a poet until I met her, but then I lost all my words when I gazed into her eyes."
"Well what is the problem?" The girl held a fistful of her rippling locks out of her face. "Call upon her."
"I cannot." Tredorian groaned. "I'm a lowly player, a penny a page rogue, ne'er do well actor." He derided himself. "I'm no fit caller for a lady in waiting. And I do not know her name. She did not give it."
Asrai pushed her hair out of her face impatiently and pulled her hat over her head to hold it in place. Dark violet eyes gleamed at him from beneath the brim as she shook her head. "Tredorian, you may be the greatest playwright that ever lived but you are dumb as a post sometimes."
Ned turned with a laugh at that. "She's got you there Tredorian." He sat down on the edge of the stage with a grin for the writer.
Tredorian looked at her in irritated gloom. "And what am I missing that is so obvious to you, Miss Asrai?" He snapped.
"You're not just a playwright." She rolled her eyes. "You are also Tredorian of Silverymoon, you're part of the nobility there, by Cormyr's standards even if you can't do magic."
"I won't trade on my relatives." Tredorian's words were clipped as a barbers shears. "I'm nothing to them, and they to me."
"All right." Asrai said slowly. "If you refuse to don the cloak of hypocrisy…" She stroked her chin thoughtfully. "There is another way to Court, if you truly wish to go."
"Really?" Tredorian was regaining his sarcasm. "Shall I borrow a page's uniform?"
"Of course not." Asrai looked at him as if he was an idiot. "That's absurd, a page is a little boy, any fool knows that, it wouldn't fit. Besides, you'd never get past the guard, and she'd ignore you if you were in servants garb. No, you need to enter as a Courtier."
"And just how am I supposed to do that?" Tredorian snapped, more than a little annoyed by her attitude.
"Tredorian, you make friends." Asrai told him in a tone of exaggerated patience. At his look she held up a finger, "Hear me out." When he sighed and relaxed in his seat she continued, "The younger Obarskyr prince, Sebastian, has a love of music. He also is known for his enjoyment of pub crawling and wenching."
"And what has that to do with Tredorian." Ned interrupted.
"Ned do I bother you when you are directing?" Asrai shot him an annoyed look. The actor stared back at her unrepentantly and she rolled her eyes. "Prince Sebastian will certainly take an interest in you if you make an effort to make his acquaintance. He'll most likely invite you to Court or some party where you'll be able to meet your Lady. All you'll need is one invitation. If you capture her interest she will be able to invite you to return with the Queen's permission. And she probably would tell you her name, if not Prince Sebastian will introduce you to her properly."
Ned stared at her curiously. "How in the world do you know all of this?" He asked. "You sound as if you actually know what you're talking about."
"You doubt me?" Asrai blinked. That had never occurred to her, that they might not believe her. "Why would I lie?"
"That's what I don't understand. You have no reason for deception that I can see, but I can't determine where you've learned this either."
"Ned, I speak like a noblewoman don't I?" Asrai asked dryly. "Where do you think I learned? From a noblewoman. Anyone who has worked in the palace knows how the Court is run. Any servant at the Castle knows the habits of the Royal Family." She kept her voice sardonic, and stuck to the truth. She wasn't much at lying, but if she told the truth in a way that concealed who she was…well that wasn't lying exactly.
Tredorian came out of the haze of contemplation he'd fallen into. "I'll be back…I've a sonnet to write." He jumped out of his seat as if his pants were on fire running for the stairs.
"You mean a scene don't you?" Henslowe called anxiously. He and Ned looked at each other and then at Asrai.
So intense was this regard that the girl shifted uncomfortably. "What?" She asked.
"Uhmmm…" Henslowe nervously wrung his hands. "That reminds me." He looked at Ned. "Now that Tredorian is safely out of earshot, perhaps we should explain about the Curtain."
"And the Chamberlain's Men," Ned agreed. "Don't go near them," He told Asrai firmly. "Not even on a bet." Henslowe nodded fervently.
"Why?" Asrai looked at them. "And why are you both so…worried about me going there?"
"Number one, The Curtain is rival to the Rose in the theatre business," Ned held up one finger. "Number two, The Chamberlain's Men are the troupe of the Curtain, led by one Richard Burbage," He held up a second finger. "And number three, the competition between the theatre's is the closest thing to a feud as makes no never mind."
"But no one knows me, why should you be worried about me going there?" Asrai blinked. "They wouldn't do anything to me…would they?" She asked uncertainly.
"Wouldn't they?" Henslowe retorted. "The Chamberlain's Men consider themselves the best. They've lured many an actor starved for glory away from The Rose."
Ned nodded soberly. "And there's many in Suzail who consider them the more respectable of the two theatres." He rolled his eyes.
"Well they wouldn't want me." Asrai made a face. "I don't think I'm really all that respectable."
"Asrai, you're an actress. You're easily equal to playing a scene with anyone of them, and holding your own, which is more than some can say." Ned told her quietly. "If Burbage saw what you could do, he'd be beside himself trying to tempt you away from the Admiral's Men."
"Tredorian doesn't quite understand the rivalry, he has to write for whomever pays him." Henslowe explained. "Which is why we don't talk of it before him. He only wants to see his plays performed, so it doesn't matter as much to him as it does to us."
"Burbage has a preference for Marlowe but he's not above stealing one of Tredorian's plays if he likes it enough." Ned said dourly.
"Well he's not stealing this one." Asrai said stubbornly. "And he's not stealing me either." She gave such a decisive nod of her head that her hat fell off, prompting laughter from both men as her curls once again fell into her eyes.
Tredorian entered the pub with a skeptical glance. The Curious Cat was not exactly the sort of tavern he would expect a prince to enjoy. It was dim inside, with dark wood and few windows. The tables though were crowded with folk, many of whom were dressed in the doublet and hose of the middle class.
Someone pushed past him and the playwright nearly stumbled as he moved to the side. Finding the bar he leant against it in relief, not entirely enjoying the press of people. "Why so crowded tonight?" He asked the bartender as he put a silver piece down for a mug of wine.
The bartender looked at him as if he were insane. "Well for one thing, Silverwing is singing tonight." He gestured to the corner by the fireplace. A man with silver hair and a strange tattoo spreading out from his eyes like dragon wings sat there, carefully tuning an instrument under the noise of the crowd. "And Prince Sebastian is here, he always brings a crowd with him."
"The prince? Really?" Tredorian turned as if to look and the bartender took pity, discreetly pointing the Obarskyr out to the actor.
"That's him there, in the back corner. If you get closer enough to speak mind you don't insult he or his uncle, Prince Sebastian has a sharp tongue." The bartender grinned. "Looks like you'll get to say hello personally, he's coming to fetch a drink himself."
"Nob!" The prince called merrily. "Anakin is about to climb the walls, do you have any Elverquist stashed away? I'm hoping it will calm him down."
"I managed to 'acquire' a bottle after the last time." The man rolled his eyes. "I'll bring it to you myself. Meantime, this young man hasn't ever had the pleasure of seeing you before. I'll leave you to introduce yourselves whilst I fetch the wine." He disappeared into the wineceller beneath the bar and Tredorian flushed faintly as the prince turned an appraising gaze upon him.
"You're Tredorian." The prince said after a moment and grinned. "I have a sister who lives to see your plays." He nodded his head politely and introduced himself. "I am Sebastian Valmont Drakkar Obarskyr." Tredorian's eyes widened in spite of himself and the prince grinned more widely. "Yes I know, it's a mouthful, but my parents thought I was to be their last child and they had two people they wished to have a namesake."
"An honorable name then." Tredorian said quietly. "I wish I could say as much." He studied the prince. For some reason the young royal looked familiar to him though he was sure he'd never seen the prince before. Golden hair curled tightly cropped close to his skull and tipped ears shouted his elven heritage. Sapphire blue eyes that seemed to be perpetually laughing looked into his. Easily as tall as Tredorian and slim the younger prince moved with the grace and power of a swordsman and a dancer both.
Sebastian for his part found the young playwright to be an interestingly aspected man, slim as most bards tended to be, with olive skin and dark hair trimmed very short. Along his angular jaw the beginnings of a beard grew. It gave him a look of age that his uncertain posture lacked. His fingers were spotted with ink and his eyes seemed to burn with intensity. If he wrote with the passion burning in his eyes he could see why Asrai was so taken with his plays.
"You write plays that capture the attention of my sister and my parents, as well as my grandparents." Sebastian commented. "Unlike me, you will no doubt be honored for your own name, not for those you were named for." He grinned as the bartender reappeared. "Ah, thank you Nob!" He took the bottle with an exaggerated air of relief. Turning to Tredorian again he gestured to the corner. "Why not sit with Anakin and I? You can answer all his questions about the Silver Marches since his father refuses to ever take him there."
Tredorian grinned. "So long as he doesn't talk through the music. I have the feeling we'd be thrown out, heir to the Cormanthor Throne or not."
Sebastian laughed and clapped the actor on the shoulder companionably.