So, Macbeth isn't mine. It's good Will Shakespeare's. I wrote this for my AP English class - feedback is appreciated. Enjoy! :)
"Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly!"
He told me to fly, and I am nothing, if not obedient. Adrenaline pumping, I rushed from my father's side, not daring to look back at the chaos behind me. Father had warned me this would happen, and despite my mind reeling from absolute despair, my body seemed to follow my father's orders. Not even Boreas could hinder me as I dashed across rocks, rivulets, and foliage. I wanted to stop, to go back and fight for my father, yet I knew three armed men against a teenager with a dagger was a bleak outlook. The battle was already lost.
Lost…
Orphaned. I was alone in the world now. My mother had past many years ago and I had no siblings. Who could I possibly trust, now that my country was in the hands of Macbeth, my father's best friend and now…murderer? Home was no longer safe. Friend was now foe. Each passing thought made my blood run cold. I made my way up the craggy hillside and overlooked the glen, roughly a mile or so away from Macbeth's castle. I propped myself up against a tree and gazed toward the sky. Nightfall was swift and the hour was unknown. The moon, visible only an hour before, was hidden by thick onyx clouds. Thunder rumbled in the distance announcing the onset of a storm.
It seemed as if there was nowhere to go, no one to offer me even a fleeting moment of comfort or compassion. With no shelter, no one to trust, and no glimmer of hope, I hung my head and let out a sob.
To my right, I heard a twig snap. I whipped my head around, frantically looking for any signs of movement. It was difficult to discern anything now that the wind had picked up. Each leaf rustled, causing the landscape to appear in constant motion.
"Who's there?" I bellowed, standing firm.
Snap. Something is breathing heavily. Is it…panting?
Suddenly, a figure flew out of the trees, knocking me to the ground. I pulled my sword from its sheath and raised my arm, ready to smite whatever beast was upon me. Much to my confusion, the shape barked and leaned its head down to give me a slobbery lick.
The ferocious beast I was afraid of was a dog. Scruffy and slender, the dog gave me a thorough sniff before glancing over its shoulder and letting out a confident woof. I heard another rustle from the brush, and a figure came out from the trees.
"Alrigh' Astor, we've got 'em," rumbled a burly man, his face hidden by the shadows. The dog spun around, smacked his tail in my face, and trotted past me to his master. Just then the man lit a lantern so that I could study his features. He was late middle-aged with strikingly red hair. His nose was bulbous and he had a ruddy complexion as if he was constantly embarrassed. The amount of hair the man had was astonishing. Bushy eyebrows hid his small, beady brown eyes. His beard was thick and overpowering and I imagined it covered a firm jaw. He reached out a hand to lift me off the ground. Instead of accepting it, I gave him a hard stare.
"Hold on! You haven't gotten anyone yet…who are you?"
The man's solemn face lightened a little and he raised an eyebrow, "Well, am aboot tae take ye hame before ye git drookit fro' bad weather." He smirked, as if to challenge me. I had to concentrate to understand him through his thick accent.
"What do you mean take me home? I don't have a home…and I can survive a bit of rain." As much as I wanted to take him up on his offer, I was confused. Who was this man who just happened to stumble upon me in the woods? Besides, he could just as well be another pawn of Macbeth's, sent to come after me in case I had escaped.
He squinted at me and his eyebrows came together to form one long fiery caterpillar, "Yer aff yer heid, wee bairn." He crouched down to look into my eyes. "Ye hae some gumption tae know tha' ye willnae stay oot in these woods wit' Macbeth after ye. Sides…I never hae seen nae King o' th' Scots jist hide fro' his problems." I blinked.
"King of the Scots? What do you mean, I'm not—"
"Le's hae a blether back a' th' hoose," with nowhere to go and so many questions, I followed him against a nagging doubt in the back of my head.
We mostly walked through trees and brush to get to the man's cabin which was an hour walk away. I still did know anything about him—even his name.
"It's Dom," he responded when I asked, but didn't answer any further questions. "Haud yer wheesht!" He kept me quiet because he wasn't sure if we were completely alone. Was anywhere safe anymore?
Soon we arrived at Dom's hut which could only be described as ramshackle. Some of the roof's shingles had fallen off which left a few holes where the rain was bound to seep through. Excess bricks that were left over from the original building were left strewn in the grass. Random tools were here and there. It was a melancholy sight…everything forgotten and alone. We got inside, and sure enough, there were buckets at the ready, placed exactly beneath the holes. Dom told me to stay away from them otherwise I was bound to be 'drookit.' He grabbed a few logs from outside and got to work lighting the fireplace just in the nick of time. The rain had started to pour. I had never been so thankful to have a roof—more or less—over my head as I did now.
Dom kept glancing over his shoulder as if he was sure I would run away whenever I had the slightest chance. If I had any thoughts of doing so, it wouldn't have mattered—Astor plopped down in my lap, refusing to leave until his behind had been thoroughly scratched.
"Dom?"
"Aye, laddie?" He wiped his sooty hands on his breeches and turned his head in my direction. He looked weary.
"I have so many questions," he gave me a nod, which I took as a means to continue. "For instance, how do you know me?"
"Alas, an easy question. I am yer dah's friend. Me dah was yer grandah's groun'skeeper. I grew up playin' wit' Banquo as a bairn."
"So you've been friends all along?" He nodded. "Then he told you about how he suspected that Macbeth murdered King Duncan?"
"Yer dah's told me a lot o' things…I reckon mair than ye know." His look turned dark.
"Dom…will you tell me what you meant by calling me the King of the Scots? It doesn't make any sense. Macbeth is king. I'm not related to him. My family is dead. I don't even know if my title still matters with Macbeth alive to take it from me…that's if he hasn't already signed my death warrant." I looked down at the floor, knowing that I would see the pity on his face. I didn't want to accept the truth in my own words. He didn't say anything so I added, "You're the only one I can trust to tell me the truth. My father is dead." I raised my chin, and looked him dead in the eye, willing him to tell me anything—to help me in anyway.
He let out a long, deep sigh, "Aye, lad. I know aboot yer dah. Tha's why I'm here."
"Did he send you to watch over me?"
"Aye…yer important," he said, being cryptic.
"Dom…please," Please tell me why. Please help me. My lips trembled, unsure of how to make sense of anything.
With a deep sigh and a pinch to the bridge of his nose, he started to speak, "Laddie…yer dah sent me tae watch ye 'cos yer in trouble. Macbeth's nae jus' after yer dah. He's after ye." He frowned and searched for a way to continue, "Macbeth is th' king…but ye….ye are th' yin bound to hae bonnie bairns tae take th' throne!" He finished with a glimmer in his eye. His beard twitched as he looked at me. He was proud—hopeful for my destiny to be the patriarch of a long line of kings. I, on the other hand, was mortified.
"Dom…you actually believe this? My father believed this? This is ridiculous! Preposterous! I don't want to be King!"
"Nae matter. So long as Macbeth thinks ye will be…yer in danger. Both heard it fro' Hecate herself."
Furious, I advanced on Dom, shaking my fists. Astor skidded out of the way, his tail between his legs, "Hecate? They listened to the witch! No wonder Father is dead! Idiot!"
"Keep the heid! Yer dah din nae know what tae believe! He protected ye! Yer alive ain't ye?" Now Dom was rearing himself up, pointing at me. "Ye may not want tae be King…but whit's fur ye'll no by ye! It's yer destiny! Nae denyin' tha'. Noo…are ye willing to come with me?"
"Are you going to make me a king, Dom?" I sneered. Now I was just being rude. I couldn't help it…Was that Dom's plan? To make me the King? "Are you and I going to take on Macbeth's army alone?"
He pursed his lips, 'The opposite. We're leavin' Scotland."
"Wh-what?" I was speechless. Dom just nodded.
I continued, "I thought you wanted me to follow my destiny?"
"Well tha's nae gonna happen if yer righ' under Macbeth's nose. We leave as soon as th' weather clears up." He put his hand on my shoulder, "I just want tae protect ye, laddie. Leas' ah can dae fer yer dah." I grabbed on to his arm and looked into his eyes. That's when I knew I could trust Dom. When he touched me, it felt as though my father was there, willing me to believe in Dom. If I was to be honest…I really didn't have any other options at this point.
"All right Dom. Let's go."
So we left.
It was in the still of the morning. As soon as the pitter-patter of rain drops ceased, we were off. Even Astor came along with us, happy to explore the countryside. We arrived in a nearby costal village. Dom was obviously familiar with the area, as he weaved through back streets with little pause or doubt. The few passerbys we saw paid us no attention. It was only when we reached the shipping docks that we spotted a crew hard at work loading a schooner with various barrels and crates. A man was hanging from a shroud, barking orders at the mariners. His pale skin contrasted with his shaggy raven hair. He spotted us and I was captured by his steely grey eyes that looked anything except friendly. He jumped off the shroud and made his way over to us with a careful swagger over the cobblestone street.
He raised his arms and drawled, "Dom…my good friend." He had a tinge of a Welsh accent. He gave a contained smile to Dom and turned to appraise me. "Is this our precious cargo?"
Dom gave a thin smile, "Aye, Captain…can we board noo? In a hurry…"
"Of course, of course…" He gave a curt nod, and led us to the gangplank to board the ship. He grabbed my arm, "If I were you, I'd keep to myself on the ship. Our mariners can seem…unfriendly to strangers." Dom pulled me away, though I couldn't help but hold on to his gaze. It was as if the longer I looked, the firmer the grasp I had on his intentions. Astor gave a deep rumbling growl.
Dom pulled me to the side, "He's righ' ye know…ye should keep tae yerself…espec'lly around th' likes o' him."
"Who was that?" I inquired.
"Bane. I dinae trust him much, but I trust him more than me other options." This worried me, but like he said, we had too few options to act picky.
The trip was rough, to say the least. Although the morning of our trip was clear sailing, Mother Nature had a different idea. Choppy seas threw the ship about, this way and that. Seasickness became an epidemic. I remember walking past a mariner leaned over the side of the ship retching. A wave came and knocked the side of the boat, strewing loose barrels all over the deck. One of the barrels knocked into the mariner causing him to slip forward. I threw myself at him and caught him by the arm. With a tug I pulled him forward and we sprawled out on the of the deck of the ship, gasping for breath. He mumbled a quick 'thanks.'
I grabbed his hand, "Whoa, let's at least have a shake, then? You're still one step away from God." The mariner still seemed hesitant, but he extended a hand. I grasped it and was surprised to feel not a single callus or scratch. It was silken and pale. I turned it in my hand and moved my eyes to his face, which to my chagrin, was hidden beneath a wide brimmed cap. Whoever she was, she ran away below deck, leaving me dumbstruck on deck.
That night, I stayed up in bed, thinking of the woman on the ship. Why was she here? I didn't have long to ponder this when my thoughts were interrupted by yelling. I grabbed the sheath with my father's sword and I ran from my room to the deck, Dom hastily followed me.
Bain was tossing about one of the mariners while the others looked on and jeered, getting nothing but mirth from their comrade's taunting. I budged my way closer. Astor came up from behind, growling at anyone nearby. Bain grabbed the mariner by the waist and knocked off the mariner's hat to reveal the girl I had seen earlier. She was a pretty girl. Her features were small, petite and soft, much like her hands.
"Look what we have here gentleman…a stow-away! Whatever shall we do with our sweet little…? Ah, what's your name, dear?" She gazed at him defiantly and said nothing.
He shook her, "I can't hear you…please speak up for us." He had a dangerous glint in his eye. She lifted her chin.
"Nesta."
"Ah, lovely Nesta…do you know what we do to stow-aways? Especially the pretty young women like you? If you did, I don't think you'd risk it." She didn't even tremble. She just stared into his eyes, willing him to continue. He gripped her arms tighter and she squirmed. "But now you are here with us…and a debt is to be repaid." He smirked while the other men whistled and jeered. Disgusted and frightened for the girl's safety, I reared up besides Bane.
"There is no debt. She is with us."
"Ah…our 'precious cargo' has something to say? Please add your two-pence to my entertainment." The girl looked up, confused and concerned. Dom moved forward and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Aye…we know it's bad luck to hae a wummin aboard, Captain…but th' lad insisted. She is a servin' lass. But the boy is fond o' her, so we brough' her along. We told her to stay outta yer way but as ye see…" Dom motioned to the commotion around us. Astor pranced to my side, nudging my hand to encourage me.
"She's mine. Any consequence of hers falls on my shoulders alone." I felt her eyes on me, but bored my own eyes into Bane's silver ones. He raised an eyebrow.
"In that case, I require a payment for this inconvenience. I've noticed your sword," he took a step towards me and grabbed the sheath, embroidered with my family crest. "I'm fond of it. You're fond of the girl. It's a fair trade, I would think."
I touched my sheath thinking of my father. It was a gift on my fourteenth birthday…the day I became a man. It was my fondest possession. I looked to the girl before me. Her face seemed to reveal a sadness that reminded me of my own. She was lost too.
Just because she's lost, doesn't mean she has to be alone.
I handed over my sheath and reached out my hand to grasp hers. Shaking, she took it. I felt her acceptance the same way that Dom must have felt my own. It was a sigh that extracted all doubt and allowed us both to succumb to fate.
I later discovered that my beautiful Nesta had been on the run for months, moving from ship to ship, seaport to seaport, all in the name of escaping destiny. Her father, the Prince of Wales, had wanted her to marry a Lord Such-and-Such, a man whose lack of morals was made up for in riches. By the time Nesta, Dom, Astor and I had reached Wales, her lord had already found another viral young woman and her father had grown weary. By that time, her father had, to my complete fortune, considered me an 'adequate suitor' and we were married within a fortnight. Like me, she had run away, scared of what was to become of her life. It's amazing how those of us who fly the coop find home in the most backhanded ways possible. Macbeth had died and I could breathe a sigh of relief now that we were finally out of harm's way. We soon returned to Scotland, where I became the Royal Steward to King Malcolm, and Nesta bore a child named Walter, who eventually married Malcolm's daughter. My family tree has been long and healthy and Hecate's prophecy of a line descending from Banquo came true. If only Father could see us now…