Chapter Text
Leaves crunched under my feet as I stepped through the gates of the graveyard and walked past the tombstones that have gone ignored for decades. The courtesy Fortinbras showed with Hamlet’s military burial was not extended to the past nobles of Denmark, moss crawled across the cracks of the plaques here. Autumn paraded around Elsinore in her gown sewn with the most brilliant of reds and yellows, but she hid the blades of Winter beneath the thick woolen layers. It could just be me who thought so, of course, the cold that ran deep in my bones has since never left with the coming and going of the seasons.
I paused at the center of the cemetery to admire the imposing oak tree that sprang from a sapling I laid into the ground forty some years ago. Its strength only grew with age, unlike the frailty that came mine.
In a few more steps, I stood before Hamlet’s grave.
“Forgive me for my long absence, my lord. But there were duties that I needed to attend to on foreign soil.” I referred to Hamlet by his past title for my loyalty would always lie with him, though I serve in Fortinbras’ name. It was dishonest of me to refer to the decades since my feet last strode these castle grounds as a mere absence, but who was there to call my bluff?
I reached into my satchel to pull out a wine bottle and goblet. The bottle was already unsealed in my chamber, so I did not struggle to pull off the cork and fill the goblet halfway with liquor. I then raised the goblet to the sky.
“I drink now in punishment to ask for your forgiveness and express my gratitude for your leniency.” The bitter wine sloshed down my throat as I drained the goblet in one breath. Holding the stem of the cup, I turned it upside down to show Heaven that I had emptied it of liquor before I filled it once more. Again, I raised the wine-laden goblet to the sky, this time in a toast.
“I pour another cup for you, to wish for your peace.” Gently, I placed the goblet in front of his gravestone and sat in the grass beside it, my back resting against the cold granite. I took out a book from my satchel, its pages yellow with age.
“I carried out your command, dear Hamlet, I told your story to all who cared to listen. Though I am confident in my skill with a quill, the task proved itself difficult when I could not turn to you for assistance.”
The first to know was Fortinbras who summoned me to the throne room after Hamlet’s funeral. He showed more patience to me than I rightfully deserved, for I must have been such a pitiful sight. Words choked in my throat as I felt the walls close in on me and nausea gripped my middle. But the new king listened to my words and one more person knew of Hamlet’s story.
Yet I knew that Fortune could not act in my favor forever. That day I asked for parchment, ink and quills to be sent to my chamber and locked the door after myself. It was not until three days later that I unlocked the door with bloodshot eyes and records of a life that was not my own. Hamlet’s story was spread to anyone willing to learn it. Undoubtedly there was disbelief and skepticism, it would be impossible to demand that everyone would accept his tale with open minds. But I believe there were people that flipped through the pages and took the words to heart.
The words that I feverishly wrote through dusks and dawns were not the ones that I sent off to be copied, too many of my own feelings were scrawled into its margins. But, long after the story that I scrubbed clean of emotion was publicized, I personally bound the original manuscript.
Now those words lay in my hands. The amount of love laced into every letter of my writing scared me. It was a secret that I kept hidden at the bottom of my luggage and heart.
The sight of the castle brought back memories of my misery in the days after the bloodbath. I carried out the orders of Fortinbras until the sun was down, then I paced the corridors chasing sleep that never came. Ghostly whispers followed my every step but I had no way of escape while Denmark’s court remained in disarray. I did not wish to discover the consequences of my failure to carry out my duties.
It was a year later that all of the paintings of past rulers were stripped from the walls and the statue of Old Hamlet was torn down. Fortinbras’ grasp over Denmark stood firm, and the king finally gave me permission to leave the country. I was no longer anchored to this place filled with sorrow. I no longer had someone to follow.
I returned to Wittenberg to complete my studies in classrooms missing his witty remarks and brilliant ideas, but that town no longer held the same warmth it used to. So I collected my belongings and moved wherever Fortinbras appointed me.
Through my travels, I witnessed the many changes brought about by time even as I felt like I remained stagnant at the scene of the tragedy.
Tell me, sweet prince. How could a ship advance with no wind to guide its sails?
Countless proclamations of love were dedicated to me yet none from the one I love. Rejection came easier with practice; it would be cruel of me to burden someone with the task of filling the void that Hamlet left in his passing. Though I lived every day of the last forty some years with a shattered heart and the better half of myself gone, I would not call it ‘living’. There was an anguish that only grew stronger on these castle grounds that I avoided, but I was now back to confront it. Just as I wished peace for Hamlet’s spirit, I asked that Heaven would do the same for me.
Before my fingers could lose all its sensation to the bite of autumn breeze, I flipped open the book. As I read aloud one line after another, my eyelids grew heavy and I gave in to the haze that settled over my mind. A single oak leaf had drifted onto my head, so I plucked it out of my hair and placed it between the pages crammed with my own handwriting.
I closed my eyes while the wind combed through my hair and caressed my cheeks.
I opened my eyes to see a pair of irises that were blue like the sea and bright with a hunger for everything the world had to offer. The man held out a hand to me, his palm was callused and stained with stubborn specks of ink.
“I heard locals boasting about the theater of this town, care to inquire about their showings together?"
The oak leaf found its place between the pages of the Iliad and I grasped Hamlet’s hand with my own, the wrinkles on my hand had been smoothed over. His smile grew wider as he pulled me to my feet and turned towards the direction of the town. There were no burdens that held Hamlet down but there was a whole world for him to explore.
As long as you will have me, I will choose to follow you time and time again.