We've been reading Macbeth (or the Scottish Play, if you're an actor who believes) in English class, and this was actually an assignment. Yes, my teacher basically wanted us to write Macbeth fanfiction. Kudos to you if you find the Doctor Who references.

Also, I'm not a British male who's been dead for centuries. Nor am I the BBC. Pretty much, you can assume that I own nothing.

This is based off of Act 2, Scene 3, Lines 61—70, expanding on what Lennox may have experienced. In the beginning, Macduff doesn't appear as much, because I forgot that Lennox and Macduff made their way to Inverness together. My bad.

Also, apparently my teacher thought it was good, as I got a perfect score on it, so... *shrugs* And this will be published on my blog at some point along with all of my teacher's comments.


As Lennox races towards Macbeth's castle, Macduff beside him, strange apparitions appear in the air, all around him—people, dressed strangely, carrying odd boxes that flash like lightning, but hurt none; a carriage procession with men in red uniforms... There isn't anyone with a uniform that color! Lennox thinks.

And there's two people, running towards a blue box—the man, not in battle dress or anything Lennox has ever seen; and the woman, wearing hardly anything!

But the animals—oh, the animals, and the earth itself—that is what truly worries Lennox. What could have caused this but his king's death? But no, Duncan had to be okay, he had to be entirely healthy and ready to move on—

Voices all around him.

(the king is dead long live the king)

(all hail Macbeth hail to thee thane of glamis)

(all hail Macbeth hail to thee thane of cawdor)

(all hail Macbeth that shalt be king hereafter)

And he doesn't know which one bothers him the most. Macbeth, king? The other two are true enough, and he refuses to think about the first one the king isn't dead he can't be he can't be he can't be

And he's pushing his horse faster and faster, the miles slipping past him, on his way to Macbeth's home, Inverness, and he has to be sure that his king is there and safe.

He refuses to think about the other option.

(Lennox likes Malcolm and Donalbain well enough, but he wants his king to be safe. He chose to fight for Duncan, after all, and who wouldn't want to see the one they are loyal to in a position of power?)

More apparitions—

battles fought and won

a gigantic wolf, howling across the land

the Torchwood estate

a Queen Victoria

(who is this Queen?)

(there is no queen Duncan's wife died and he hasn't married again it hurts him too much)

strange boxes race past him (how red they are! and blue and silver and all sorts of colors and why do they produce light? how do they go? there are no horses)

And then there's a box flying at him and he screams in terror—

—and then it's going through him and... and it's not real. None of it is.

They're like ghosts, Lennox realizes. They're not there... They have also never existed on this land, he knows that. He's never thought of these strange things, with women dressed so scandalously, with lightning-boxes and strange boxes.

He sees things that he knows has never happened—Macbeth fighting Duncan on a plain while two armies massacre each other, then Macbeth slicing through Duncan's neck (his king is not dead, Macbeth wouldn't have killed him), and then a funeral.

This funeral, he knows, is his not-king's. The man who looks like Duncan, but unlike his king, was killed by Macbeth.

(Macbeth is loyal he is loyal to the king is loyal to Duncan is loyal is loyal is loyal)

And there are houses being blown to bits, catching on fire and he wants to help, but he must get to Duncan. "Get water on that!" he shouts to the panicking masses, passing them.

And then he's passing through a battle, galloping through men like he's the ghost

(and he can't be, he's alive, he's on a mission to get to King Duncan)

(...is he dead?)

(he doesn't know anymore)

(all he knows is that he has to protect his king)

and then he can see a castle in the distance, and it must be Inverness, it has to be.

He is almost there, and...

...the doors are closed.

The doors are bloody closed.

He turns to Macduff. "What do we do?" he whispers.

Macduff doesn't say anything, but knocks on the door, a quick beat—

onetwothreefour

No answer from within, and Macduff raises a hand. Another knock. After a few minutes, and much more knocking, the door finally opens, and Macbeth's porter peers out.

"I pray you, remember the porter," he says, at least attempting to sound polite and respectful of the two lords on the doorstep.

Why was he up so late? Lennox wonders, and Macduff speaks for the first time.

"Why are you still awake at this late hour?" Macduff asks.

"Sir, we were celebrating until 3 a.m., and liquor, sirs, does cause three things in a man..." the elderly porter says.

"And what would that be?" growls Macduff.

"Marry, sirs, one's nose turns red, it puts you to sleep, and invokes in one the intense desire to urinate. It makes one more easily provoked, and less easily provoked. It... it harms one, sir. You become less than what you are."

And yet you choose to ignore these things, which you yourself discovered as true... Lennox marvels at the stupidity of some people.

"I think you drank too much," Macduff says, more gently this time.

"Aye, sir," the porter says sheepishly.

"Is Lord Macbeth awake?" Macduff has hardly finished saying the words when Macbeth himself walks in. "We've woken him up, Lennox," Macduff murmurs.

"Good morning, Lord Macbeth," Lennox greets.

"Good morning to you both." Macbeth, Lennox notes, looks awful—like death warmed over.

"Is our King awake, Lord Macbeth?" Macduff wants to know.

"Not yet," Macbeth says quietly.

"He did tell us to come at this time, and I'm afraid we're a bit late," Macduff says, shifting his weight slightly. He isn't a fan of Macbeth, Lennox knows.

"I'll show you to his room," Macbeth says.

"I know it's a trouble to you, but it's only a small one, isn't it?" Macduff smiles a strange smile.

"The trouble is a delight and a relief. The king's room is just through here," Macbeth tells Macduff, pointing towards a door.

"I'll go wake him up, as he told me. I shall return." Macduff vanishes through the door.

"Does the king leave today?" Lennox asks Macbeth.

"Aye, he does. At least, he planned to." The unspoken the king does what he wants, and if he doesn't want to leave... Well, what can I do? lies unspoken in the air.

"The night was madness. I saw houses being blown to bits and catching fire, and people whispering in the air who weren't there... Odd prophecys, murmured by people with odd accents, and weird happenings. And rumors that the earth shook, and was hot to the touch." Lennox examines Macbeth, waiting for a reaction.

"It was a tough night." Macbeth doesn't offer any more information.

"Well, my memories can't compete with your memories of the event. Words cannot describe the happenings of tonight."

Macbeth opens his mouth to answer, but before he can make a syllable, Macduff runs in.

"Oh, horror of horrors!" he moans. "I can't—there aren't words!"

"What's happened?!" Lennox and Macbeth demand in unison.

"The room is destroyed, and there's been a murder! The king's murder! His life has been stolen in this castle!" Macduff rages.

"What? His life?!" Macbeth gasps, eyes wide.

"Do you mean His Majesty?" Lennox needs to clarify.

(can't be Duncan not now not now not after the battles and the fighting and all they've given up for him to be king it can't be)

(not to mention that his children aren't ready to be kings they're young and inexperienced)

(and he can't give his allegiance to them yet not after he had pledged his loyalty to Duncan)

"Go into the room and destroy your sight. It's the next Gorgon, straight out of mythology. Don't make me talk about it. Look and see your own thoughts," Macduff begs.

Lennox and Macbeth venture to the room hesitantly.

(can't go in can't go in)

(have to)

(oh, my King, if only I had been faster)

(Duncan, you might be still alive)

(Godspeed, my King)

(Godspeed)


If you'd tell me what you thought, I'd be grateful. = ) And I will say that this was my favorite thing to write for English. SO. MUCH. FUN. (And that's totally sincere.)

~Laveycee