Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grass tumbled away as far as the eye could see. Hills of farmer's gold unrolled themselves over the horizon. Saplings and evergreens rimmed the expanse of flora in the West. Flowers, of every colour, shape and size, sprung eagerly from the green sea. The meadow was filled to the brim with all kinds of miniature wonders - except for the willow.

Around its brawny base, tiny stems of grass sprouted. Its bark, intricate as the handiwork of a sewn shirt, stretched up and up and up, into the sky. Branches twirled and twisted and knotted together in a graceful dance before bending themselves in each and every direction. Left, right, up, down - racing for inches of sunlight. Their leaves were like the mysterious bamboo of the East; pivoting around in clumps, descending, until they left whispers on the river's surface. It was a natural pillow fort. Providing shelter from the wind that often wracked the pasture.

It was, also, a place for love.

"And this-" I paused for effect as I stood before the magnificent tree, spreading my arms wide as if presenting to an audience. "-is the willow."

My soon-to-be wife, Joan, wasn't far behind me. Her gaze was fixed on me, but upon sight of the tree, her mouth dropped open and her eyes were drawn away. She stared past me and wandered to the trunk of the willow, her fingers tracing the dips and curves in the bark. "Billy... This is beautiful."

I beamed with pride, coming over to sling an arm around hers, accompanying my woman. "Not as beautiful as you. But, 'ey. I thought you might like it here."

"You know me too well, dear."

Together, we plopped ourselves down beneath the canopy of leaves. Dirt softened into palms of resting hands. A tender summer breeze lifted our hair into the wind, Joan's dress flowing. Our backs relaxed against the trunk, heads close together, hands intertwined. Exchanging little words, easing into touches, we sat. Watching. As bees buzzed from bud to bud, and rabbits hopped happily on the rise, all the world seemed to fill up the time for her and I.

"My mother and father used to mark their names on the trees." Joan remarked after some time, eyes far away, as if she could see all she was thinking. "I used to think it was silly, but now I see that it showed how deep their love was."

I watched the smile pull at her lips softly. "Would you like to do that?" Joan grinned at me, nodding.

I set to work.

Using a boning knife I'd stolen from the kitchen of our castle at some point (I always brought it with me), I chipped away at the loose bits of bark until the cut was deep enough in the bole to begin our work. Sawdust burst out at us at any given moment, sending us into fits of laughter as our hair, skin and garments soon became littered with the pale specs. We paid no mind to my smudged scarf or her smeared soles.

I'd started to carve the 'a' of 'Banquo' into the wood when I felt a tug on my arm jank my hand away. "Hey! No fancy surnames. It should be our names. Billy. And Joan!" She laughed as she claimed my arm for a few more seconds before letting me return.

"What for? Anonymity?" I half-joked. "No one knows me by Billy."

"No, no, no. It just makes it… more special."

Soon enough, our mark was set. Amongst the natural beauty of the willow was the beauty of our love. The words Billy & Joan stood out, along with a deeply cut heart shape circling the names precisely. Joan's hand graced across the engraved initials, flicking away stray pieces of wood before she raised herself up off the ground to admire our work. The hands on her hips melted away to her sides, seeming to lose her strength in reaction to the carving. "My love?" I questioned, a tinge of concern in my voice.

"Perfect. It's perfect!" She cried, and sunk into the grass. I joined her. A grin spread across me, pleased.

My arm found its way around her shoulders and I pulled her close to me. She eased into the support. "I'm guessing this means you like it?"

"I love it. I love you."

With that, I placed a kiss on her cheek as we admired the willow once more. "I love you too, my dear."

I was falling.

Not falling in love, no. I already loved Joan. Everything around me was falling. Joan and I pressed our foreheads together, but everything was starting to come away, cave in, crumble. She smiled at me, but the image of her shattered, easier than glass, and plummeted into an abyss away from my view. I tried in vain to catch her in the slivers of glass. They only served to slice the skin of my fingers and, too, dropped into the all-consuming void. No use. Joan was gone.

I looked around. I watched the meadow swiftly darken, suffering the same fate as my lover. Disintegrating into nothing as their anchor to life was lost. Even the willow.

Even the willow became the most ghastly shade of black.

Chapter Text

Light. It filled my eyes, seeking out every corner of them, blinding me completely. Raising my hands to block it out, I noticed they were shaky, also that there was cold sweat snaking down my arms.

I was laying in bed, gazing at the ceiling. My body ached with fatigue and my head was groggy from the speed at which I'd woken. I focused on slowing my breathing to a steady rhythm; my heartbeat was faster than a racehorse after all.

I stared at the wall in silence for a while, pondering the dream - or rather, nightmare - I'd just had. I remembered clearly when Joan and I had found that tree. We'd carved our names. We'd cuddled underneath it too. It was all in the vision. But, everything fell away in the nightmare. That certainly hadn't happened - we walked back home. We were okay. Then, why did everything turn black? Why did she fall away from me?

I decided to not think of it any longer. Just a silly little nightmare, I told myself. I pushed myself up from the sheets, perhaps in retaliation to the vision that had kept me staying in bed for so long. Joan is alive and well. The- our meadow is still there. Although, I did wonder why Joan wasn't with me this morning. She must've had some business to attend to. I shouldn't worry.

I found some fresh clothes and slipped them on. I wasn't planning on doing much today. The weather wasn't great; shards of sunlight slinked through smoky clouds. It looked like an illusion, not hopeful at all. Yes, I'd stay indoors today.

Old wood creaked beneath as I padded down the stairs. I stopped in my tracks as I spotted a familiar brown-haired boy sitting at a king-sized table in the library. My mouth fell into a smile.

"Pine Martens and Foxes - The Hunters of Scotland. Interesting read, hm?" I remarked, settling my hands upon my son's shoulders.

The boy turned to look at me with curious bright eyes. "Mhm! I can see why you and mother love wildlife so much. It's so interesting, the way that they track their prey! I- erm, should be doing my scholarly assignments. Curses. Kenneth won't be impressed."

Fleance's eyes clouded. A despondency I couldn't put my finger on. He ducked his head and pushed the book away from him, dragging the papers from his tutor towards him. I watched. He looked tired, drained even. How hard had he been working? How hard had Kenneth been getting him to work? My son was too silent.

I put a hand on the papers, picking them up. I scanned over the pages and pages of work, of essays.

"How long have you been writing?"

"Since the sun's rise."

"Daily?" I pressed.

"Sunrise to sunset."

My brows furrowed. "How long are your breaks?"

A pause, almost of uncertainty.

"You don't get any." I said in disbelief, discarding the papers. Leaning my hand against a chair, I leered at the floor, as if it was that abhorrent Kenneth's face. Who did that tutor think he was? Did he not understand there's more to life than slaving away at the hands of words he didn't want to write? It was likely Fleance wouldn't even need half of the education. And it was too much. The boy needed a break sometimes! He was only twelve. Young and innocent, twelve.

I caught him observing me carefully. I cracked a soft smile at my boy and relaxed my tone of voice. "Come, Fleance."

"Why, father?"

"Bread pudding time." I grinned as his manners instantly altered. He scurried into the kitchen, me following suit. Fleance was already at the bowls when I ambled in, looking each one over with great care until he picked out a particularly shiny one.

"This one, Papa!"

"Great! Now, where do we store the bread?" I quizzed him, my back resting against a counter and my arms folded.

He skidded to a stop and pressed a finger to his chin, racking his brain. At last, he hastened to life again. He tripped over his own feet as he raced to a certain cupboard, wobbling on his tiptoes to reach up and draw it open. Surely enough, a loaf of bread rested at the highest shelf. I patted his back in reward and reached up for the loaf, for the boy was not tall enough yet. He took the bread from me gleefully, before frowning as he felt the loaf through the packaging. "It's cold."

"Yes. We let air into that cupboard so that the food remains somewhat fresh. Trust me son, it'll taste better if we start cold."

As Fleance zipped to and from every corner of the kitchen for ingredients, I began putting the mixture together. He watched me closely until at last asking if he could try for himself.

"Fleance!" I yelled, tinges of humour in my tone. "Not like that!" Wisps of batter flew from the bowl as he stirred, laughing as it splattered all in his hair and over the floor. I rolled my eyes. What was I to do with that boy?

I instructed Fleance to stand back as I loaded the readied mixture into the oven. Hell-hot flames lapped beneath where our batter settled - I was not letting him get burned. Together, we pushed the door shut and watched, as if it were a fireplace. He was positively fascinated. Perhaps I should bake with him more.

My mind whisked to Joan's hands in mine as we slid our first trial pudding into the oven. She had leapt back in astonishment of the sheer heat. I couldn't help a laugh. I quickly soothed her as she exclaimed: "That's as hot as hellfire!" I snapped back, remembering I hadn't seen my beloved wife yet.

"Where has your mother been today, Fleance?"

"Oh, Mama? She's been helping Aunt Macduff! I think my cousins are being a bit of a handful." He snorted, likely imagining the chaos of the Macduff family's three children.

It suddenly hit me that Joan had told me this. Ah. Maybe I was getting older, with my memory losing out and all. I nodded to my son and smiled back; I had wished for the biggest family I could get in my youth, but after experiencing first hand the effects it had on one of my closest friends - Macduff - I had second thoughts.

Fleance cut through my daydream

"This was so fun, Papa! Thank you." He breathed a sigh of contentment.

"My pleasure. Oh, and Fleance? If Kenneth ever gives you any grief, come to me, alright?"

I felt two tiny arms envelop me. I embraced it, leaning down to complete Fleance's hug. He giggled into my chest and I beamed. My son and I were living happily.

Chapter Text

"Good morning, my dear."

My wife's voice was muffled as I started to wake from my slumber, but I recognised it immediately as her's. My eyes fluttered open, and softened as they took in her beauty. Her hair was a fountain, pooling over her shoulders. She smiled at me wearily with a gaze full of the sweetest hazel. I reached up to kiss her gently. A kiss that I had waited too long for.

"Mornin', beautiful. Where were you yesterday?" I prompted softly. She giggled as if the words were spoken with a whine. Maybe they were. I felt a longing in each waking moment we were not together.

Blonde curls were tucked lovingly behind my ear as she answered. "Sorry, darling. I thought I had told you - Emilia needed someone a little more qualified than her servants to watch the children while she and Alastair were preparing for their little girl's birthday. Three children… definitely a handful."

"Ah, yeah. The Duffs: always tripping over their own children's feet." I chuckled inwardly, amused as I thought of my friend and his wife. How lucky I was to not be as stressed! Albeit, they opted for their own lifestyle. I was happy with the family I had.

A knocking disturbed our comfort. Joan lifted herself from where she was cuddled next to me and padded to the door. She cracked it open to find one of our servants. "Lord and Lady Banquo." He announced, just loud enough for me to hear. "The Lords Macbeth, Ross, Lennox and Macduff - with Lady Macduff and their babes - have arrived."

Joan muttered a few words of kind acknowledgement to the young boy and closed the door. She let out a sigh as she returned to my side and sat, a stretch rippling through her delicate frame before she stood once more. "Time to get ready."

I smirked, my gaze at nothing. "It'll be a long day."

Getting dressed was swift (it had to be, we had guests to attend to!). I was decorated with an older, matching suit and jacket passed down from my father, with their unusually light sky-blue pattern, while my wife wore an expensive yellow dress that seemed to whisk around her. I beamed as I remembered the day I had bought it for her.

We were true hosts - apart from being late to the party. Literally.

The light of the house was definitely Macduff's daughter, Summer. It was her birthday after all. The sunflowers that were intricately printed onto her dress were the most vibrant hue of yellow I had ever laid my eyes upon - it was as if the brightness was stolen from the sun itself. I didn't doubt Macduff would go to those lengths for his little girl. I watched him suppress a grin as she skipped and pranced and danced around in it while Fleance and Summer's older brother, Chait, chased one another under our legs.

Macduff and I both had decorations prepared - he had brought them under the assumption that using someone else's home for the party was kind enough, while I had spent my precious time making sure the event would be as beautiful as I could make it, since I had the honour of hosting. After some bickering, we decided to combine our plans and take advantage of both supplies. Joan and I set to work perfecting the dining room, where the party would be held. Macbeth pinned up the highest decorations. Macduff organised the food. Ross and Lady Macduff kept the children away from the setup until we were finished. And Lennox, he would have liked to help, but was too distracted with the children.

By the time all was complete, the Banquo family dining room looked more like a throne hall, royal enough to have been taken right out of the finest piece in an art gallery - if it was entirely pink, of course. Unfortunately, Emilia and Claude weren't fast enough to stop the three misfits breaking into the room before we could announce we were finished, but Summer was overjoyed nonetheless.

"All… all this? All for me?" She'd said with wide, shining eyes, looking at her father.

He chuckled and patted her shoulder. "The children of the Thanes deserve only the most royal of things. That includes birthdays."

"Why only children?" She pouted, tipping her head to one side in confusion.

"Doesn't 'ave to be."

"Hey, you know what? Banquo's is next. We can create our own little tradition!" Macbeth smiled innocently down at the little girl as her gleaming grin returned. I rolled my eyes and jabbed my best friend in the shoulder. He chuckled along with the rest.

Seeing Macbeth and the rest of our friends was the best part. Being Thanes meant we couldn't be the most typical of friend groups. How could we when we had such important duties, protecting our land for our majesty, King Duncan? That was of utmost importance, above all else. Regrettably, even above our family members, our friends. It wasn't all bad. We still got away with little moments like this, when our children could play and we could share a toast of our devotion. When the warmth of laughter melted winters into summers.

In a blink of an eye, the fun was already over.

I brushed a bead of sweat from my forehead as I eyeballed a persistent little wine stain. It must've been spilled during the party, and was now infecting the wood of the dining table as if it was some sort of purple fungus. I'd scrubbed and scrubbed until my arms grew sore and my eyes weary to remove it, alas, in vain.

I leaned into two arms that enveloped my stomach, shuffling me away from the table. "Still at that wine stain, are we?" Joan let go of me and stifled a laugh, until she couldn't. I huffed and opened my arms for another hug.

"Everything is back to normal."

"Apart from the stain." I grumbled.

She snickered. "Everything else, though."

"Even the confetti?"

"Even the confetti."

"Huh." I murmured in genuine astoundment. My mind dwindled back to earlier, when Andy had opened a party popper above his head. The confetti had settled all over him, sticking like feathers. It reminded me of the dough in Fleance's hair. The people I love have a tendency to do that, it seems.

"Joanne? Sorry for interrupting." One of the housemaids peeked into the entrance of the dining hall, gesturing at Joan to follow her. Probably just some lady business, I thought.

Joan rubbed my shoulders and smiled at me. That stunning smile. Lord, I could have evaporated. Right then and there. Her beauty was beyond me. "Head to bed, dear. I won't be a minute." She encouraged me quietly. A kiss was left on my cheek before she hurried away.

I hauled myself up the stairs to the bedroom, left with a winter-like cold.

Chapter Text

Joan was away and my eyes could not rest, despite how soft the silk of the pillowcase beneath my head. My body, laden with the weight of today, desired nothing more than the soothing of rest. But my mind still whirled like a giddy adolescent, caught up in the thrill of the celebration, almost as if I was one of the attending children and not the host. A smile formed on my lips as I thought of my younger years; I may be old in body, but I am young at heart. I always loved being a young Thane.

Comforting myself in knowing that Joan would soon return to me, I turned over to face the fireplace. The fire glowed and its heat tickled my face lovingly. I appreciated the warmth, but I wished it was Joan's that provided me with it.

I must have drifted off. My eyes blinked open as the soft thud of the door stirred me. I felt two hands envelop my torso from behind. “Sorry, my darling, I didn't mean to wake you. Back to sleep, back to sleep.” Joan soothed, caressing my cheek and pecking it with her soft lips.

“What did Adelaide want?” I asked, referring to the housemaid that had taken my Joan away. My grumble was muffled by the thick bed sheets.

“Oh, she was just checking the food supplies.”

“Adelaide doesn't run the food supplies.” I said, confused. “She's the doctor's assistant.”

Joan cleared her throat, her voice remaining silky soft. “The message was passed on to her by one of the kitchen maids. Nothing to worry about, dear.” I shrugged, my yawn spurring a chuckle from her. “Get some sleep, darling. We need it. We deserved it.”

“‘Course we deserved it. We have an infinite wine stain in the dining table — which was more expensive than the portrait of your father, might I add.”

She laughed again, that beautiful laugh. “You always have had a taste for interior design. You couldn't be poor, Billy.”

I huffed defiantly. “If I was poor, I'd make my own furniture. Right from scratch. Chop down the wood myself and all. Once our own house was done, I'd make a damn good business.”

“Of course you would.” She smiled at me with more love than the universe could ever hold. “I love you.”

“I 'ove you, too.”

I held my Billy as sleep carried him away, his gentle, never-ceasing heartbeat a solace in the dark. Sleep would not take me yet, it couldn't. Right now my mind was too resistant.

My gaze was stuck to the fireplace like that wine stain. The embers of the once tender flame were twinkling, thinning out slowly until they turned into nothingness before us. I held him closer and rested my head on his shoulder. I let the warmth of the man I loved carry me someplace else.