Story [Hamlet] To Thine Own Self (Hamlet/Ophelia "epic vignette") COMPLETED Author Note 5/16

Title: To Thine Own Self
Author: Idrelle_Miocovani
Genre: romance/drama
Timeframe: about two years before the start of Hamlet
Characters: Ophelia and Hamlet; appearances by Polonius and Gertrude.
Summary: A chance meeting between Polonius? daughter and the prince of Denmark develops into an affair that shapes their lives and their futures.
Notes: First book in the Hereafter Trilogy. Followed by In My Memory Locked.

Last year, during an indepth discussion on Shakespeare, Nat challenged me to write her an Ophelia/Hamlet vignette as we both support the interpretation that the characters were involved romantically. I?ve been wanting to write this story for a long time, and my Muse finally activated and set about writing it. So, this is for Nat: happy holidays, and finally here?s the story I promised you a very, very long time ago.

This is a multi-part story (or "epic vignette" as Jedi-Ant and I are calling them). As such, I will be posting Mondays and Thursdays. Many thanks to Jedi-Ant for betaing; you?re the best, Amber!

I?ve taken certain artistic liberties with coming up with character backgrounds from before the start of Hamlet. In this story, Ophelia spent her adolescent years in France. Hamlet has already been to Wittenberg and has started his studies there. This takes place before the murder of King Hamlet and the coronation of Claudius. I was also trying out a different writing style with this story. Since I did not want to write it in verse (as my verse is total and complete crap compared to Shakespeare ), I had to change the approach to dialogue but I still wanted to maintain a Shakespearean feel to the speech. I?m not sure if I succeeded or not, but there you go.

Much thanks to Tchaikovsky?s op. 67, which is his musical tribute to Hamlet. I listened to it non-stop while writing this and you should go check it out because it?s an awesome piece of orchestral music. The title is, of course, from Polonius? most famous line from Act I, Scene III: ?This above all: to thine own self be true.?

---

[b]To Thine Own Self[/b]

[blockquote][b][i]Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

Hamlet, II.ii.115-118.[/i][/b][/blockquote]

[blockquote][i]I. Frozen[/i][/blockquote]

Elsinore is deathly cold this time of year. Out of desire to avoid his disappointment, I will never tell my father that I miss Paris desperately. I long for the sprawling city, the bustling sounds of music and culture, and the winding rivers. Most of all, I want to see the bright greens that came after the thaws, signalling spring?s coming and the return of life after winter.

Yet here I am, returned to the land of my birth, on my father?s whim because he missed me. No doubt he has a marriage in mind and wanted to bring me back before I became too comfortable with romance-seeking Frenchmen. This appears to be a latent fear all fathers have about virtuous daughters, whether they want to admit it or not. How little faith he has in me: I would rather enter a nunnery than sacrifice my virtue to a man I barely know for the delights of one night of passion. Intriguing though they are, I am yet to meet a man who is either interesting or delightful to talk to. Learned men take no notice of me, for books and the rites of scholarship are far more interesting. A mere woman pales in comparison to the likes of parchment and ink.

Elsinore is a cold castle, high on the hills, over-looking the river. Though it is spring by the calendar, the weather says otherwise. This morning, as we travel by carriage up the craggy hillside to the castle, I can see the shimmer of frost on the stillborn grass, yellow and matted after months of snowy burial. I sigh. My eyes narrow in distaste at the sight of my silvery breath rising into the air. I pull my fur-lined cl

 

Firstly, I just want to say... Epic Vignettes FTW!!!

You've picked a lovely title, Idri, it fits so perfect with this tale (and the quote, too, perfect!). I fell in love with your beautiful prose throughout the epic viggie, but even more with this beginning here, the brilliant descriptions, the old-world feel to the text - even though you're not writing in Shakespearean form, it feels like Shakespeare to me and just fits like it's supposed to.

I was honestly going to take a sneak peek when I first read this, and beta it later in the day, but when I opened the file and got past the first couple of paragraphs, there was no way I could stop reading until I'd reached the end. You sucked me in with this beginning, so lovely, like floating along on a cloud!

One of my favourite sections of this first part is this:

Elsinore is a cold castle, high on the hills, over-looking the river. Though it is spring by the calendar, the weather says otherwise. This morning, as we travel by carriage up the craggy hillside to the castle, I can see the shimmer of frost on the stillborn grass, yellow and matted after months of snowy burial. I sigh. My eyes narrow in distaste at the sight of my silvery breath rising into the air. I pull my fur-lined cloak tighter around my shoulders.

Love this.... "spring by the calendar," "stillborn grass," "snowy burial"... this just showcases your stellar writing ability. A fantastic job, Idri, I have all kinds of love for this tale. Can't wait til you post the rest.

Ant.

 

Jedi-Ant
LOL, epic vignettes indeed.

The old-word feel was definitely the most difficult part of writing everything. I'm not used to doing it (since I write mostly Star Wars fanfic, and old-world feel doesn't really suit Star Wars in my mind); as a result, half the time I write something with an old-world feel, I'm always double-crossing myself since I never think it sounds any good. I'm glad you like it. I was re-reading Hamlet while I edited it, so that probably helped a bit in sorting out the dialogue and the narrative.

You sucked me in with this beginning, so lovely, like floating along on a cloud!

Aww, you are too kind, dear!

In keeping with my posting schedule, the next part is going up tonight. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and enjoy!

---

[blockquote][i]II. Chance[/i][/blockquote]

Though I am indoors, the stone halls are chilled. As such, I keep my cloak about me for added warmth. Perhaps the king and queen have an obsession with cold? How difficult is it to keep a castle warm? I am having ridiculous thoughts. It is very difficult to keep a large, drafty castle warm when the weather is not agreeable. My footsteps echo eerily as I make my way through the halls and down staircases. I am struck by the strange splendour of a place as forlorn as this: though it lacks the warm beauty common in the palaces of the southern countries, the castle retains a feeling of cold magnificence that is awe-inspiring to behold.

The day is approaching sundown. There is a large window at the end of this hall; I can see golden light streaming through it. I run to the end of the hall and sit on the ledge, as if I am a seven year old girl once again. The land beyond is breathingtaking. It is a vast view of river and land and sea, stained red by the setting of the sun, stretching out for all eternity. I feel so small and insignificant in comparison to this natural beauty.

I am suddenly startled out of my reverie by the most unlikely of sounds. A male voice rises, clear as a bell, singing in a language that sounds like my own, yet I do not recognize the words. Intrigued, I follow the voice. It is the most gorgeous thing I have heard since I left France.

I turn a corner and see a set of large double doors. One of them is ajar. I grasp its edge and slowly pull it away, giving just enough room for me to slip through.

The door creaks. The voice stops.

I curse under my breath. Perhaps I should leave, before my attempted spying is discovered. I consider it. I try to slip out the way I came, but the hem of my gown snares on the edge of a flagstone. Trying to release it, I fall forwards, tripping unwontedly into the room. I catch sight of where I am and my breath leaves me.

I am in the library, a room that has been expressedly forbidden to me for much of my life. The only books that have passed through my hands are the Holy Bible and various psalm books. Never before have I seen so many books in one place. I know I should leave, but I am tempted to investigate further. After all, how much harm can a book do? The mysterious voice forgotten, I step forward, reaching out a hand. I pull the nearest book from its shelf, marvelling in the soft sturdiness of its binding and the scent of its pages. I lift the cover to turn it and see what written treasures are contained within.

?And what have we here??

I gasp in surprise, dropping the book. It falls to the floor with a thud as my instincts urge me to flee, to hide myself as though I have never come here. I dart behind the shelf.

I hear footsteps and the sliding sound of leather against wood as the book is returned to its proper place.

?Books ought to be treated kindly,? the man says. ?They are your friends. Trust them entirely and they will help you. Perhaps they will even save your life ? or destroy it.?

I do not answer, remaining absolutely still, barely daring to breath for fear its sound would be detected.

[i]I am a shadow. I am nothingness. I am not here. Leave me alone.[/i]

?I see that you, too, enjoy the inviting ca

 

Idri -- this is excellent. I enjoy this reinterpretation/expansion of Ophelia She and Hamlet's talk in the library -- fraught with all kinds of squeelicious things.

Lands, you could revisit any and all Shakespeare -- the comedies would be a hoot to do -- Comedy of Errors, Midsummer Night's Dream

I will eagerly be awaiting the next installment.

Hugs!!!!

 

Jade-eyes
Thank you! This version of Ophelia really started developing out of some directors' notes that I made a few weeks ago when I was contemplating how I would stage Hamlet. I've always got the impression that Ophelia is one of those characters who conceals a lot more than she reveals. I don't see her as a weak, submissive damsel-in-distress type female character, which is her traditional interpretation. This version kind of evolved as me going, "There's more to the story! HA! Now, what is it?!"

Revisting Shakespeare is tons of fun.

Today is Monday, and I come bearing the next part.

---

[blockquote][i]III. Secret[/i][/blockquote]

Father is disappointed in me; he has made that abundantly clear. In his eyes, I have lied to him; I said I was tired when I was not. I have not acted like a well brought-up young lady and I proved to be an embarrassment to him here in Elsinore. As punishment, I am to be confined to my room for two weeks.

He did not say anything about my inability to recognize my prince.

I love my father dearly. He is my elder and despite his humble ways, he is an intelligent man. I am obliged to obey and listen to him. However, despite this, I am upset with Father for confining me to my room with nothing but my embroidery to keep me company, but I am also relieved for that means that I could avoid his Highness at all chances. I do not want to encounter him. Why did I not recognize him? He is the very image of his father the king, even though he has a very different disposition. Though I love King Hamlet, he can be cold and distant, much like his castle. I imagine those traits are necessary when you are the governor of so many lives. In Prince Hamlet, I have seen a fleeting glimpse of another side of royalty, one that is kind and considerate and lives beyond the realms of distance and order.

My life for these weeks is scheduled to be mundane. I sit by my fire with the goal of completing a picture of the willow by the creek?s edge I saw on my journey to Elsinore, but I change my mind part-way. As I begin unstitching my work, another image forms vividly in my mind: one of the library. Selecting new thread, I begin my new work with fervour.

On the third day of my confinement, my maid delivers a letter. I thank her and set it aside, insistent that I finish my embroidery before attending to anything else. I imagine that the letter is from my father (who else would write to me?) and I do not want to give him any satisfaction while he keeps me locked in confinement. The letter sits on a table by my bed for two days until I finally pick it up and break the seal.

It is not from my father. That much is abundantly clear from the very first words of slanted, elegant script meet my eyes:

[i]My dearest Lady Ophelia[/i]

I tremble, my heart pounding. I sit on my bed, afraid that my shaking legs will give way from under me.

[i]Word has reached me that you have been sentenced to solitary confinement for your digressions against the forbidden room. Please accept my most sincere condolences. I fear your father may be in the wrong for sentencing you so unjustly. Fourteen days in complete solitude was never a fair treatment to one?s imagination.

Have faith, dear one. I am undertaking a quest of most dire importance: by means of letter writing, I shall be your company for the days you have left to serve in your high prison. If it is any consolation, I am serving my own sentence, even though I am free to walk where I please. My father would have me observe his dealings with the nobility. I watch him govern his land, wasting valuable time that could be spent with the company of better people than squabbling minor lords ? perhaps a book.

I told you that day in the forbidden room that we could, perhaps, talk again. Would you do me the honour, lady? I grow tired of the simple-mindedness that saturates my current surroundings, just as much as you must grow tired of the solitariness of your small room.

Hamlet[/i]

I lower the letter. My throat tightens; I f

 

Excellent update. I like the balance between Ophelia's initial reluctance and her eventual warming to Hamlet. I like the gentle natural way they're moving into a friendship.

Hamlet's character is also well portrayed. He has the sharp perceptiveness needed of a ruler but he has no patience for sycophants or squabbling fools. He appreciates Ophelia's intelligence besides just her outer attractions. Ophelia must be pleased as well to find Hamlet is not the usual shallow suitor.

 

Jade_eyes
Thanks for reading!

I like the gentle natural way they're moving into a friendship.

It's something I try for when I write romance. Friendship, then romance... seems more natural and realistic to me, anyway.

He has the sharp perceptiveness needed of a ruler but he has no patience for sycophants or squabbling fools.

Nope. He sees right through the hypocrisy of the nobility, which I think it is an important part of his character.


And it's Thursday. Time for the next update, I suppose.

---

[blockquote][i]IV. Falter [/i][/blockquote]

On the day my father is to release me from my confinement, I receive the last letter of our correspondence.

[i]My Lady Ophelia,

Today your father, the Lord Polonius, is to release you from your sentence. Shall I add my congratulations in fairing so well in prison?

And now to a serious note. I believe our halted conversation from that is long overdue to be continued. Perhaps the time has come for us to meet. If you agree, meet me in the forbidden room tonight.

Hamlet[/i]

My heart, once again, pounds. I press a hand to my mouth; I feel strangely excited. Hastily hiding the letter, I sweep to the fireside chair where my embroidery lies, not yet complete. I pick up my thread and resume my work, determined to finish it. This is how Father finds me when he comes to my chambers in the late afternoon.

?I see you are hard at work,? he says as he enters.

?I am,? I answer, not looking up.

?Daughter.? He draws up a chair and sits down beside me. His voice is heavy. ?I hope you have learned something of value. I do not want to punish you, Ophelia ? in fact, it grieves me to do so ? but that is a father?s duty when their children stray. Solitude can be quite helpful to educate the mind.?

I smile. I do not show that it is a half-hearted gesture. ?Yes, Father,? I say. I am quiet and obedient once again, to his eyes. I know it is the easiest way to get him to leave.

?Thank you, my child.? He rises to his feet and sweeps away, leaving me alone.

I watch him go, smiling slightly, until the door is shut behind him. A glorious feeling rises within me. Triumph.

This evening, my embroidery is finished. I slip quietly out of my room, hoisting my cloak?s hood over my head to cover my face in shadow as I make my way quickly and quietly through the cold halls towards the library. I do not encounter a soul.

When I push the door open, he is waiting for me by the window. It is a clear night. Silver moonlight shines through the window, illuminating his profile. He looks pensive? and sad. I step forward, not wanting to rush in and take him out of his reverie.

?Ophelia.? He breathes my name. He does not have to turn to know I am here.

?Your Highness.?

This time, he turns, giving me a small smile. ?Come, join me,? he says, offering me a hand. ?The night is beautiful.?

I do. I stand beside him as we gaze out the window at the bright stars pinned in the black sky, the silver moonlight washing over us.

?I brought you something,? I begin to say, but he speaks before I can finish.

?I want to thank you, my lady,? he says. ?It was by a selfish act that I wrote to you. Your letters helped sustain me through a most difficult time in my life. You gave me a little happiness each day with your words.?

?Sir,? I answer slowly, ?I am the one who needs to thank you.?

?No,? he says. ?Please do not thank me. I will have enough nobles fawning over me, thanking me for my gratitude and mercy when I become king. This is a shallow world, Ophelia. We are all but small parts within it, but most do not like to contend with that reasoning.?

?My lord??

?Forget I said anything.? He pauses. ?All my thoughts of politics are hurting my head.?

A long, uncomfortable silence falls between us. I can sense his distress. I want to soothe him, to comfort him as he had done me through his written word during my long confinement. I summon my courage to speak.

?Your Highness,? I begin.

?Please don?t call me that.?

I swallow hard. ?Hamlet?? I falter. It is not correct to

 

insightful, honest update/conversation. Squee! Kisses in the moonlight. Nummy!



Looking forward to more!

 

Idri!! First of all, this is an AMAZING fic-gift - I do have a thing for Hamlet/Ophelia Though how you got me to admit I like anything to do with Shakespeare . . .

And second, it's awesome!! I love seeing things from Ophelia's POV, and Hamlet acting not crazy The ttwo of them are so sweet together!! Interesting what Hamlet says abotu Claudius being a better choice for king. And i liked the two nunnery mentions - I keep thinking, "Get thee to a nunnery!"

I also really like the style - nicely old-fashioned without being unbearable

Lovely, lovely epic vignette!! Thank you sooo much!! It's perfect

 

Oh, how very happy I am that I wandered into this forum! This is absolutely beautiful. This is the Ophelia that must have existed, the woman who Hamlet loved. I absolutely adore the details from the play - her embroidery, the library.

And this: There is a babbling brook that runs down the hill, falling through cracked ice in happy rapids towards the river. At its edge is a great willow, still asleep, waiting nature?s call. This is a good place to visit in the summer, I decide. Perhaps I will journey here.

Oh, this doth foreshadow too much!

I love your words, words, words. Looking forward to more.

 

Jade_eyes
Kisses in the moonlight... the best kind? Thanks for reading!


Nat
YAY! *does a happy dance* I'm so glad you like your present! Wooo! I can die a happy fanfic death now.

Though how you got me to admit I like anything to do with Shakespeare . . .

I is a drama student!

Yes, there are no antic dispositions in this story. No craziness, pretend or otherwise. I like writing Ophelia's POV... possibly because I do want to play her at some point in my theatrical career.

Interesting what Hamlet says abotu Claudius being a better choice for king.

I somehow always get the feeling that Hamlet never really wanted to be a king -- or a prince, for that matter -- until his father's death and Claudius taking the throne from right under his nose kind of shocked him back into thinking about it. Hamlet talks about the hypocrisy of the court and nobles enough (I love how he calls Rosencrantz a "sponge" later in the play; really excellent metaphor).

And i liked the two nunnery mentions - I keep thinking, "Get thee to a nunnery!"

I absolutely love/hate that scene in the play. It makes me so sad, because their entire relationship basically unravels so quickly and all because (well, IMO anyway) Hamlet knows that Polonius and Claudius are spying on him and Ophelia is helping them... "Where is your father?" ... He sees it as a betrayal. Anyway, BACK on topic, foreshadowing and mentions to/of the play seem to slip in, possibly because my subconciousness finds them amusing to point out.

I also really like the style - nicely old-fashioned without being unbearable

Which, indeed, was the intention.

I hope you continue to enjoy, Nat!


divapilot
Whenever I read a play, I'm always trying to figure out where the characters came from before the start of the play. I cannot believe that the lines "I loved Ophelia! Forty thousand brothers / Could not, with all their quantity of love, / Make up my sum" meant nothing.

Oh, this doth foreshadow too much!

Indeed. It seemed appropriate.

I love your words, words, words.

Oh, this totally made my day!


Thank you so much for reading, all! It means a lot that you've taken the time to see my little fanfic experiment.

 

V. Flame

Throughout the following weeks, I am tormented by my very own thoughts, ones that I long to have dispersed but will not abandon my mind. He has not spoken or written to me since he walked from the library. Though I see him at a distance in the castle, he never catches my eye. I do not need for us to speak to sense his embarrassment and his disappointment in himself. It is plain as day. Part of me rejoices that he avoids me so, but there is a deeper part of me that resists this feeling and longs for something out of reach. Day by day, this is the part that grows more powerful and persuasive. It challenges my thoughts, confusing me.

I continually question what happened between the prince and I. I have been embraced by royalty, but I myself am not royal. I am not married. He is not my husband. It is not correct. I desperately want to abandon these thoughts, but I cannot abandon the morals of my upbringing so easily. My heart longs for him. I miss his humorous turns of speech. I wish we could return to the way we were in our correspondences.

My mood appears to be linked to the weather. The thaws have finally commenced this far in the north, and with them come the showers of thunder and lightning. Father notes my depression and anxiety. He attributes it to two causes: the weather and Laertes? continued absence. In an attempt to make me happy, he sends a letter to my brother, pleading for him to write. A few weeks later, he returns the favour and sends me a detailed listing of the heroic acts of decency he has been involved in at France. His letter only makes me miss Paris even more. If I were in Paris, these troubles would not have come upon me.

Have faith, little one, my brother writes. I will return to you soon.

I try to take comfort in his words, but I find that I cannot.

The evening sees in a lightning shower. The sky is aflame as rain pours down like a celestial waterfall. I lie curled in my bed. The thunder hurts my head, but soothes the panic in my mind by way of distraction. The loud rolls of thunder cannot allow me to focus. Yet somehow I do reach a conclusion, a certain finality of actions. I must do this. I must tell him. I rise from my bed and sit at my table, pen in hand.

It was a song that lured me to the forbidden room that day. Please do not deny me the music my heart longs to hear.

I roll up the parchment and call for my maid. I tell her that the message is urgent and she leaves immediately. I have nothing to do but wait.

When my maid returns, she has no letter in her hand. My heart falls with disappointment. I am about to return to my bed when she stops me.

?The prince waits outside, my lady,? she whispers.

I stare at her, certain that I misheard. When it is clear that I did not, I grab my cloak and walk to my door. He waits for me in the hall. He appears tired; there is a forlorn look in his eye.

?What is it?? I ask.

?Come with me,? he says quietly. ?I have something I wish to say to you, and I do not want to be overheard.?

?Very well.?

He leads me through the halls. It is soon evident that he is familiar with all passages within it, both used and secret. It is not long before I have lost my bearings and am uncertain of where I am.

He has brought me to a small chamber. There are two entrances; the one we have come through and one at the opposite end. Where it leads, I do not know. Rain lashes at the windows, but it is lit with candles, which give it a warming glow. Among the shelves overflowing with books and hand-written documents, there is a table, swamped with scraps of parchment and stained with ink. Lying on the edge is my embroidered picture of the library. My throat tightens. With curiosity getting the better of me, I venture over to the table. Picking up the nearest page, my eyes scan the heavily blotted text: it is a poem. There are only three visible lines on it; the rest is crossed out. I set the page down, knowing that it is his work.

?You write??

?A favoured pastime,? he answers, ?when there is a desire

 

Awww!!! Best post yet - they're so sweet together!!

 

Squee! Lovely lovely poetic -- when Hamlet speaks as a poet, it's not trite or antying but SWEET! Melts!

 

Thank you, you two!

I kind of missed the Thursday posting because I was busy, so here it is now.

---

[blockquote][i]VI. Blessed[/i][/blockquote]

[i]Dear brother,

Spring in Elsinore is lovely. It has taken me a long time to adjust, but now that I have, I am certain that I never want to leave. The flowers are finally blooming; if you were here, I would pick you a bunch on one of my walks. I am finally happy here; I feel that the castle can become my home. Ignore whatever Father has written to you about me in the past; I am not ill nor gripped by sadness. There is no need to be concerned for me, dear brother.

If you see that you have the time, perhaps you could travel to Elsinore for the summer. I realize that you are hard at work in France, but it would be a thing to consider. I would very much like to see you again and I will put in all of my sisterly efforts to bring you back to the place of our upbringing. I would very much like to see you again. Correspondences are a wonderful invention, but I do grow weary of them. I would like to see you in person some day.

I hope that this most recent letter finds you in good health.

Your loving sister,
Ophelia[/i]

Laertes and I have been writing to each other constantly since I returned to Elsinore. He can always see through me, even my own writing. I have never known anyone who is as good at reading me as my brother. His letters are a dear comfort as I cannot see him in person, but I do wish for the day when he could come to the castle. Laertes will then certainly know just how happy I am as of now. The storm has passed; the light has come out. I am a new woman.

My brother is not the only one who has picked up on my changes of mood. Father has recently told me that there is a certain air about me. He is glad that I have had a change of heart and that I am working to make Elsinore my new home, but he is also cast into suspicion. I do not know if he suspects that I have a lover ? knowing him, it is both unlikely and likely that it would cross his mind. My father enjoys gossip too much; it is his greatest weakness. He is very knowledgeable of the affairs of others, but this is the one time I wish that he would keep his eyes and ears far away from [i]my[/i] affairs.

It is known throughout the castle that the prince and I are acquainted, but no one knows the full extent of our relationship. We are no longer embarrassed to appear together while in the company of others. We are fortunate, as keeping a fully secret relationship would add pressures that neither of us desire.

The queen has made it known that she approves of my friendship with her son. It was not long ago when she called on me to share her opinion.

?It lightens my heart to see him happy for once,? she said. ?For many a week it was as if he longed for nothing else but to return to Wittenberg. Your friendship has done many a thing for him and I thank you for it, dearest Ophelia.?

It was not long after that the queen continued to call me more frequently to stay with her and keep her company. Father approves; a good relationship with the royals is never wrong, in his eyes.

?My mother enjoys your company, I see,? the prince tells me. It is a clear spring afternoon; the weather is uncommonly mild. We are amongst a party of courtiers taking a daily ride out on to the hills beyond the castle. Many are so ingrained in their own conversations that we are left to our own devices: we can speak freely here.

?The queen is very kind to me,? I tell him. ?I enjoy her company very much.?

?She speaks of you fondly.?

?She does??

He laughs. ?You do not understand the affect you have on the members of my family, Ophelia!? He grins at me and I have no option but to laugh along with him. ?You are dearly loved by all. Happy was the hour that Lord Polonius saw fit to retrieve you from your abode in France.?

?And I would not return for all the treasures of this world,? I answer.

?Not even for your brother?? he asks.

I fall silent. It is a question that has sprung to mind many a time in the past month. I

 

Marvelous! Ophelia is articulate, sincere, and open-hearted. It is no wonder she draws everyone into her orbit With each update, hamlet is showing himself more and more a keeper romance wise.

 

Lovely updates. I like how the weather is lightening with her spirit.

I've often wondered if Gertrude was a substitute maternal figure for Ophelia; Gertrude saw a girl in need and took her in like a daughter, while Ophelia was the innocent, uncorrupted "daughter" for Gertrude, who was surrounded by scheming men.

 

Aww, so sweet!! It's great to see her so happy

 

Jade_eyes
I'm enjoying writing her immensely. Who knew that Hamlet was such a romantic?


divapilot
The weather thing was entirely unplanned, it just kind of happened as I was writing. I've always seen Gertrude as a kind of substitute mother for Ophelia, too; I think Shakespeare does give us a few hints towards that interpretation where possible.


Nat
If only, eh?


I seem to be getting behind my posting schedule. Thank you, school.

 

VII. Rapture

The sheets are tangled around me as I lie on my stomach, reading the page that has been handed to me. As my eyes re-read the elegant, slanted script, my fingers play with the edge of the parchment. I have developed a love for the feel of parchment and the scent of ink. Though I may not be a studied scholar, there is something addictive about the tools of the written word that make my readings all the more special. However, even without these things, these specific words would still be special for me, as they were written for my eyes and my eyes only.

This is the third edition of a poem he has been writing. He still cannot see to declare it perfect, but I have induced through my talks with him that there is no such thing as ?perfect.? There is always something more than can be done. Art is a continuing process, and woe to the craftsman who cannot recognize that. Though I have not the knowledge to critique art of the written word properly, I can tell him whether I like it or not and, more importantly, if it has meaning for me.

This poem in particular has strong meaning for me. It describes our own meeting and the start of our relationship, but the course of these events is hidden within the words. One must know where to search to find it. I have loved the poem since he completed the very first version, under my own watchful eye, here in this very room. Usually, he cannot write in the presence of others: I am the only exception to that rule.

I push myself up on my elbows, glancing over to the edge of the bed where he sits, waiting for my critique. His back is to me, and although I cannot see his face, I can sense that he is in a pensive mood this evening. He is humming a strand of music of his own composition; it is a habit he has when he is lost in thought. I do not know if he even realizes he sings when he is thinking. I sit up and move towards him, my hand touching his shoulder; his skin is warm beneath my fingers. He turns and looks at me, a question in his eyes. I do not give him an answer; instead, I kiss him deeply. When our lips part, I hand the page back to him.

?I don?t believe that there is anything else I can say about it.?

?Not one word?? he asks in mock seriousness.

I kiss him again. ?Not one,? I answer. ?It means everything to me.?

?I believe that is five words.?

I raise my eyebrows. ?Very well,? I say. I snatch the page from his hand and get up, walking across the room. I set the page down on the ink-stained desk that is illuminated by moonlight. I glance at the window ? the sky is very dark, and the moon high. The candles that we lit earlier are very low. It must be late in the night.

One by one, I blow the candles out, plunging the room into a near-darkness. With the lack of candlelight, the warm golden glow that had previously has been replaced with the quiet, cold silver light of the moon.

I hear him get up and he stands behind me. His hands fold over mine and he kisses my cheek. ?Shall I name the reasons I love thee?? he says, murmuring into my ear.

I feel a surge of affection for him. ?Thou hast no need,? I answer, mockingly copying his archaic form of speech.

?However, I would like to and shall not proceed without my lady?s permission.?

?Shall I grant that permission, then?? I ask.

We are both on the verge of laughter. He kisses me again. ?Kind, compassionate soul,? he says quietly. ?You have a way of understanding this world that I have encountered in no other. You see things for what they are without being asked to do so. Your opinions are honest; honesty is difficult to find in this savage world that we live in.?

My cheeks are flushing red. I am not used to being complimented ? and surely not in this way.

?You have a love for language and song,? he continues, ?and an appreciation for the arts. And you are beautiful??

I begin to say his name, but he silences me with a kiss. ?You do not need to answer,? he says. ?I said what I wished to say, no more, no less.?

?You have left me speechless,? I say after a long pause. ?No?? I turn

 

Idri -- take it from this lover and exclusive author of mush LOL You're very excellent at it I've totally melted.

 

I capture his lips with mine, kissing him fervently, and embrace him. I can feel him shaking. Drawing away, I look at him, puzzled.

?You are trembling.?

?It is nothing.? He kisses me before I can protest. ?Thank you, Ophelia.?

?Why??

He ran a hand through my hair. ?You have done more for me than you could possibly know.? The music returns; he sings the song to me softly as he embraces me. We lie together, his arms wrapped around me, as we slowly drift off into the realm of dreams and sleep.

Aww... this is still one of my favourite parts of this entire piece. Hamlet & Ophelia are so, so beautiful together in this epic vignette of yours. I love every interaction they have. Reading this always brings me such joy. I cannot wait til you write some more in this genre.

I realise this is short, but time is of the essense here (the manuscript wrestles with me, it does not want to be written so fast ) but I just wanted to drop in and remind you how much I simply adore this EPIC vignette of yours.

Ant.

 

Jade_eyes
Aww, thank you! This really is my first fic concentrating on romance, rather than romance being interspaced through an action or drama story, so it does mean a lot (especially considering I am far from a romance expert, haha )!


Jedi-Ant
Well, thank you very much for betaing it in the first place. You are too kind, Amber!

---

[blockquote][i]VIII. Crossroads[/i][/blockquote]

I am with the queen in her quarters. The summer months have been warm, and as such we do not require a fire. She has asked me here, as she often does, to keep her company as she relaxes after a long day of politics. As per our custom, we are both embroidering; a needle and thread is a good way to keep one?s hands busy and their mouths free.

Today is different than the others. The queen has sent away the other ladies who are often found in her company. This afternoon, it is just her and me sitting in her large, comfortable chairs by the window, letting the sun?s golden summer rays light our work.

?Ophelia,? the queen says presently, ?there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.?

?Yes, your Majesty?? I say modestly.

?It concerns my son.?

My throat tightens. Does the queen suspect? We never did discuss the course of action we would take if we were found out.

?How so, my lady?? I ask cautiously.

The queen lowers her embroidery. ?I am trying to put this as delicately as I can, Ophelia,? she says. ?I have seen the way you two interact. My son loves you dearly, possibly more than you know. I must know ? and answer me honestly ? how well do you know him? Have you returned this affection he has for you??

I swallow. I am not sure how I can step around this. ?I do not know what your Majesty means,? I say.

The queen smiles gently. ?Dearest Ophelia,? she says. ?How pure and virtuous you are.?

I do not wish to correct her, so I remain silent, hoping that this topic will be set aside soon.

?You do not share those feelings?? the queen asks.

?I love the prince the way I must, your Majesty,? I answer.

?Then I must ask you to do something for me,? she says.

?Whatever it is, I will do it.? I have no choice but to be obedient.

?Speak to him for me,? she tells me. ?I fear for my son, Ophelia. I fear that he hides sadness behind that façade of happiness. He is apt in the ways of saying one thing and meaning another. I know of his desire to return to Wittenberg. He will depart of his own volition if he merely had the audacity to speak to his father, the king. His father would not deny our son anything, if he but asks for it. However, it would disappoint me to see him return to a place so far away for reasons that may be valid, but are also frivolous.?

I have accidentally stabbed myself with my own needle. My finger stings and I see a pinprick of red blood where the skin has been broken. ?What? what shall I say to him, my queen?? I ask.

?Urge him to stay here,? she says. ?I cannot bear to part with him again. It is time that he thought about marriage; already, his father and I are considering the daughters of our allies. He must learn the trade of politics and ruling; it is his birthright, whether he wants it or not. Politics is something not learned from books, but in practice and for that he must stay here.?

My throat has gone raw. I am uncertain if I am able to speak clearly. ?I? understand,? I say.

The queen notices. ?Is there something wrong, Ophelia?? she asks.

I nearly choke on my next word, but it comes out nonetheless.

?No,? I lie.

The queen does not look convinced, but she says nothing more on the subject.

When I am dismissed, I hurry to find the prince. He is in the gardens, one of his more favourite locations in the castle. As is his custom, he is reading on one of the many benches scattered around the place. I approach quietly, waiting for him to acknowledge my presence for I fear that I do not know how to speak to him of his mother?s wishes.

?Ophelia,? he says, closing the book and looking up. ?What is it??

?The queen,? I say.

He stands up quickly. ?What

 

That was so sad!! And after such a lovely previous post (sorry I missed that! It was lovely and romantic).

 

Ah, so now the disparity shows itself ... either in quality or quantity between she and he. She puts no other above him ... her love is untainted by other conflicts of desire ... if he's where she is, she's happy to be there. He, on the other hand, can only be *so* contented away from Wittenberg And if the thought of marriage is daunting, this is surprising, if it is Ophelia he is to marry?

Of course, if it is some other alliance, no wonder he balks.