XI. Change
I am rosy when dawn wakes me with its gentle golden light. Knowing that I must return to my quarters before it is discovered that I am gone, I try to convince myself to rise from the bed, but I have an overpowered desire to lie there, content, for the time being.
No. I must go. There will be other mornings where I can stay where I am.
I sit up slowly, the sheets twisting around me. I look to my right and smile to myself. He remains asleep, his expression calmed by slumber. So peaceful, so tranquil… Why can it not always be so simple?
"Ophelia…" He murmurs my name but does not wake.
"I am here, dear one," I murmur gently, stroking his hair with my fingers. "As I always shall be. Say the word and I shall be there."
I kiss his forehead and slip quietly from the bed. I move about the room, collecting my garments and re-dressing myself. When I am finished, I return to the bed and sit quietly beside him.
"Good morrow, sweet prince," I murmur in his ear.
He stirs, but does not wake.
I laugh quietly to myself and rise from my spot. As I make to leave, I feel him gently catch my arm with his hand. I turn back to him and a breath of surprise escapes me as he presses his lips to mine.
"Good morrow, dearest one."
"I must go," I say softly.
He kisses me again. "I know."
"I should go," I say, but I do not leave.
"I know."
I kiss his cheek and slide off the bed. "Farewell, Hamlet."
He lies back in his pillows. "Farewell."
As I cross the room, I hear his voice call out to me.
"Ophelia!"
I turn.
"Thank you," he says.
"I must go."
He nods.
I burst into laughter, curtsey mockingly, and depart.
Once I am back in my own rooms, I hurriedly undress and throw myself into my own bed. When my maid Catherine comes to tell me it is time to rise, it is as if I had spent the night here instead of elsewhere. As I ready myself for the day, I remember my ways from the previous year. It is a difficult deception to maintain when there are so many eyes watching, but it is well worth the price.
That morning, I am accompanied by Adelaide and Fernanda. Gertrude has no need for us – she still has much business to attend to dealing with the affairs of state, especially since Hamlet has now returned. We sit in my rooms, working on our needlework to keep our fingers busy, enjoying each other's company as we have been absent from each other for many the day.
"You look positively cheerful, Ophelia," Fernanda says. "What has changed so suddenly?"
Adelaide looks at me eagerly. I smile to myself and shrug; I will not say. This has a predicted effect on Adelaide; she rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically.
"Again?" she pouts. "No information whatsoever—"
"There is nothing to tell," I say, but with good humour. I reach for new thread.
"Hmph." Adelaide puts her nose in the air. "I do believe the only reason she appears happy is because she is no longer wearing black. Everyone looks dreary in black. Without the black, she no longer looks dreary."
Fernanda and I exchange looks and burst into laughter. Adelaide says it as if it were a crime, but we are no longer required to wear mourning garments if we do not desire.
"I'll have you know that my father, the Lord Chamberlain himself," I say with emphasis, "ceased to wear his black garb some days ago. I am his daughter; I follow his example." That is not the reason I wear lighter clothing today, but they do not need to know I have taken the prince's comment to heart.
"You can be truly irritating some days," Adelaide says, jabbing her needle into the white material.
Fernanda merely rolls her eyes. "What is it that you are embroidering?" she asks.
I show her. "Violets."
Fernanda's eyebrows go up and she glances at Adelaide, who moves closer to see. Adelaide glances between the two of us, not comprehending the significance.
"The flower of faithfulness," Fernanda says in explanation to our younger friend. She eyes me suspiciously. "Are you hiding something, my lady?"
"Don't let your tongue wander ahead of your mind," I say reproachfully. "Violets are my favourite flower, that is all."
Adelaide chortles. "Roses are so much more romantic," she says. "They are my favourite."
"Yes, I do imagine they are."
"They're also adventurous!" Adelaide exclaims after a moment.
"Of course, Adelaide," I say placidly, stitching steadily.
Adelaide opens her mouth to argue loudly, but Catherine appears and interrupts her tirade before it can even begin.
"Lady Ophelia, your brother has arrived and wishes to speak with you."
I nearly drop my needlework in surprise. I had no idea Laertes would be arriving so soon. "Yes, of course!" I say, barely able to conceal my excitement. "Let him in."
I almost do not recognize the man who walks through the door as my brother. His time spent in France has much changed him in the past year and a half. When I last saw him, he was small and pale, not much taller than I am. He is now of a towering height, his skin tanned by a southern sun's rays and he has a beard.
"Sister," he says, breaking into a smile.
"Brother!" I exclaim, leaping up and embracing him. He is momentarily embarrassed, as Adelaide and Fernanda are in our company, but he relaxes and returns the embrace. I draw away, beaming, and indicate my friends.
"Brother," I say, "these are my friends, the Ladies Adelaide and Fernanda, also ladies-in-waiting to the queen."
He bows respectfully to each of them and they curtsey in return. Adelaide's eyes linger mischievously on my brother – I know immediately that she has taken a fancy to him.
"If you would excuse us, my ladies," Laertes says to them. "My sister and I have much to catch up on."
Adelaide giggles and curtseys again. Fernanda appears as though she will chortle, but she manages to control herself. "Of course, my lord," she says politely. She shoots a look at Adelaide and they leave my rooms, shaking with silent laughter.
When they are gone, Laertes lets out a breath of surprise. "I never thought that you would choose such frivolous companions, Ophelia."
I laugh. "I like them. Despite all their frivolities, we get along well. Be wary of Adelaide – she has her eye on any handsome young man who would serve as a suitable husband."
"Husband?" Laertes shakes his head. "Surely she is too young for such an alliance."
"Perhaps, perhaps not," I say. "She is now fifteen and sees everything as a romanticized fairy tale."
Laertes laughs and embraces me again. "I have missed you, sister."
"And I, you." I pause. "Shall we take a walk?" I suggest.
"It is cold out," he warns.
"And that is the purpose for which cloaks were made," I counter.
"Very well," Laertes agrees.
We tread the familiar paths of the garden once we reach the outdoors. It is bitterly cold and frost lines the ground. We are the only ones present – which suits us well as it enables us to talk freely and treat each other as siblings without the formality.
I inquire about his life in France. He is very happy there, and tells me that he will insist to Father that he remain in that fair, green country.
"I have an affection for Denmark," he says, "but my heart belongs to France. It is too cold up here amongst the rocks and snow and sea."
"It is not at all like that in the summer," I say. "It is fairer than France, I believe. Do you not remember when we were small children and ran about the grounds in the summer warmth?"
"I do," he admits, "but it is a far distant memory. I fear I belong to France now."
I sigh. "A loss, dear brother, for I belong solely to Denmark now."
"Indeed." He stares off into the distance for a moment before he returns to the conversation. "And how are your days amongst the court?"
"Pleasant," I answer.
"Father says that apart from those two ladies, you have few friends," Laertes says. His tone is neutral; I cannot tell if this concerns him or not.
"I do not enjoy the company of most courtiers," I say truthfully. "Nobles have an irredeemable pig-like quality to them and no matter how hard I try, I cannot stand it."
Laertes stares at me in shock. "Ophelia!"
I spread my hands. "Stay a while and observe. They are power-hungry and greedy and care for nothing but themselves."
"I cannot believe I hear such things from your lips!" he exclaims. "But I will very well consider it. Most courts resemble each other in some way. If I can survive France's court, Denmark's should have no effect on me."
I laugh. "How quaint, brother mine. Give it a few days and you will see why I prefer the company of intellectuals' dusty manuscripts."
"You have taken up scholarship?" he asks, wondrous and disapproving at the same time.
"I read from time to time. I enjoy it. That is all."
"Well," he says. "Well, well. That is interesting."
"There is no harm in it."
"And what brought on this eager scholarship?" he asks.
"A meeting with the prince some year and several months ago," I say honestly.
"Ah, yes," Laertes says. "Denmark's famed intellectual Prince Hamlet. They say in the country that he would teach the peasants to read if he could."
"Do they?" I have never heard of that before.
"Have you re-acquainted yourself with the prince now that he is returned from Wittenberg?"
My brother's question causes me to blush. I turn my face away so my flushed cheeks will be less noticeable.
"Yes," I say shortly.
"I see." He looks pensive, but I do not wish to inquire as to what he is thinking. To stave off his next question, I speak hurriedly.
"I am chilled, Brother. Let us return indoors."
He looks at me with concern. "Of course, Sister," he says and escorts me towards the castle steps.
Once inside, we are greeted by our father's servant Reynaldo who tells my brother that Father wishes to see him immediately. I bid Laertes farewell and seek out Adelaide and Fernanda. When I find them, they demand information of me, inquiring whether or not Laertes spoke of either of them to me and chastising me for not mentioning that I had a brother.
My response, though a bit cruel, is simple. "My brother's heart belongs in France."
That ceases their endless storm of questions and we continue our needlework in moderate silence.
This evening, we are all called to court. The time is unusual, but every courtier responds. It usually takes hours to dress in finery, but we all manage at short notice. Adelaide complains under her breath as we go to assist the queen, but no one ever pays attention to her complaints these days. There is nothing we can do about it, after all.
It takes time to assemble the court, but we all know that tonight's message will be important. After Adelaide, Fernanda and I aid the queen, she dismisses us and we rush to take our places amongst the court. I find my seat beside Laertes.
"Do you know what is happening?" I ask.
"This country is in the process of great change," he answers solemnly.
The queen steps forward, resplendent in her silver-trimmed black gown. Prince Claudius is at her side. A few paces behind them is Hamlet, also garbed in black. His expression is one of stone. I purse my lips; he does not look content, not as he did this morning. I am concerned for him.
My father appears. At Queen Gertrude's approval, he addresses the court.
"My lords, my ladies. The electoral council has spoken. It is time to elect the next king, and they have chosen Prince Claudius as the king's successor. May the king rest in peace. Long live the king!"
There is applause all around, but I am sitting as still as stone. I cannot believe what I have just heard. Prince Claudius is king? King Hamlet's brother succeeds the throne?
I frown, even as Prince – King – Claudius steps forward with Gertrude on his arm. He begins to speak to the court, but I do not hear his words. My hearing has faded again. I am lost in thought and have no time for flowery language.
It is my understanding that members of the royal family can lay claim to the throne, but the electoral council has final decision as to who is monarch. Normally, the monarch's first-born son's claim is validated before all others. But here, the king's brother has laid claim.
I look up. King Claudius is speaking still. I catch Hamlet's eye – there is a blaze of fury there that only I see. He lowers his head and refuses to look at me.
Did he refuse the throne? I have to wonder. And why was the council's decision made the day after he returned?
I lean over to Laertes just as King Claudius finishes his speech and the court bursts into more applause.
"Why would the prince throw away his birthright?" I whisper, the storm of sound covering my words.
"It is not for you to understand the workings of politics, sister," he replies.
I sit back in my seat, my hands marionetted to join the applause. I am fully unsatisfied with my brother's answer.
