Disclaimer: My last name still doesn't start with S.
(A/N: Well, here we go; this chapter has the most slash yet. And I'd like to thank all you reviewer-people, you rock! )
Ros awoke in the dark of night to find that something was resting on his head, namely an arm. He last remembered the room being dimly lit by a few candles as he listened to Guil chat with some of his courtier friends outside of their room (too long and in too friendly of a manner, in his opinion) and now it was dark and he was disoriented. When he entered their room alone that evening, he had originally considered sleeping in his own bed, but his partner's bed proved more familiar and inviting, and he was apparently joined later for similar reasons. Ros blinked at his surroundings for a moment, the dark shapes of the furniture and hazily illuminated curtains, until he finally comprehended. He moved his head out from under Guil's arm and watched the dark figure next to him stir for a moment and finally settle again. The man's serene features faced him and Ros watched the lowered eyelids and slightly turned down mouth, the lips parted just a bit. Slowly, he shifted closer to Guil and curled up with his hands closed against his own chest. He breathed in his lover's scent, though barely; it was becoming Ros's essence, too, and he could only just make it out. Coming closer, he touched his forehead to Guil's warm chest, feeling him take in slow, rhythmic breathes, until his calmed to match it.
Ros hated listening to Guil casually having conversations with others. Everyday at feast he seemed surrounded by friends; people Ros had never seen before would greet Guil like he was their best friend in the world. They were surrounded by many in the castle each day, but Ros had greeted few and actually had a conversation with fewer. His partner, on the other hand, discussed up a storm with anyone who would listen. "You should talk to people," Guil had told him, "Make some friends; I'm sure it's safe to now that we're back in a some what stable reality." Ros smiled and nodded that he'd try, but in truth he didn't really want to, and felt somewhat betrayed that Guil did.
He sighed, becoming uncomfortable in his position and shifted onto his back. Yes, he selfishly wanted Guil all to himself, and had a woman's jealousy when others fraternized with him. He shifted again. It bothered him, bothered him to no end to see Guil enjoying himself with others. And yet, when day was done, it was the room him and Ros shared that Guil still came back to, their bed he returned to. It was only Ros he gave sweet words to and sweeter kisses to; gentle looks and gentle touches. He spoke to many people, Guil admitted, but it was Ros alone who he really talked to, bared his feelings out to. Shouldn't that be enough?
"Cranz?" A hand smoothed his hair. "Are you alright?" Ros turned to see Guil's eyes awake and watching him.
"You were moving around a lot; did you have a nightmare?"
"No, I was awake," Ros breathed, hesitating to ask if he'd woken him; it was obvious he had.
"Is your leg bothering you again?"
A little more than a month earlier Ros had nearly fallen down one of the longer flights of stairs that snaked the outside of the castle. Guil was there to catch him before he got very far, but Ros still managed to do a number on his knee. It hurt almost too much to walk on for a week or so (Guil nursed him to no end), but it still gave him trouble once in a while, though not as much trouble as the near fatale experience gave Guil's mind. He was constantly disturbed by thoughts of what would have happened had he not been there to save him.
"No," Ros answered, "It's alright, I'm just… uncomfortable." Large, textured fingers streamed through his hair in response. They caressed his scalp up from the back of his neck, letting it feel the cool night air; dry, warm lips found his nose, then his cheek. Ros looked up, smiling with his eyes. He placed a hand at the base of Guil's jaw just under his ear and reached up to kiss his chin. The chin lowered and both pairs of lips met.
"Better now?" Guil breathed, softly brushing Ros's bangs his from face and behind his ear. Ros gave him a drowsy, squinty-eyed smile, and then curled up again to bury himself in Guil's arms. The fingers brushed through his hair a few more moments to make sure all was well, and then he adjusted the blanket around them and settled around Ros for the night.
Almost everyday, without fail, the very early morning watchmen managed to wake Ros up when they switched duties with the evening watchmen. This time it was a sentry who thought it was the perfect hour to whistle a merry tune (or, more appropriately, a merry off-tune) as he strolled down their corridor. He soon met up with others, who considered it a good place to chat. Ros hid his head under the blanket, trying to block the voices out, but they still rang clear. A traveling troupe of players had been invited to perform in court. Finally, some worthwhile entertainment. Laughter. During or after the show? More laughter… The voices faded and were forgotten.
GUIL: …I told you not to talk to them, didn't I? I said, 'Don't say a word to that queen," but you did anyway.
ROS: I couldn't help it! They spoke to us and the next thing I knew I was speaking in that gibberish again.
It's mid-Act 1 and ROS and GUIL are abandoned. ROS crosses the stage opposite GUIL and sits at the foot.
GUIL (picks himself up): Well, there has to be someway out of here. Yes, I'm quite sure.
GUIL cautiously investigates the wings as ROS lies down, covering himself with his cloak.
I mean, we know what's going to happen, don't we? They can't catch us by surprise this time; we're high and dry already. We just need a plan and… (Notices ROS's despondency.) And by we I thought perhaps you could help me out.
Still no response. GUIL approaches ROS's silent lump of cloak and kneels next to it. Gently, he folds the cloth from his head.
ROS: I was helpless. I vowed to not let myself get caught up in this play, but I had no control. My actions were independent of my will.
GUIL (pulling ROS up): Don't let it get to you; we'll be all right. We just… need to understand the rules around here. They obviously know something that we don't.
ROS (clinging to GUIL): Rules? But, it's written.
GUIL: Words are words, and scripts are merely suggestions to the experienced actor.
ROS: Are we experienced?
GUIL: I should think so.
Pause.
ROS: Well, what are we going to do?
GUIL: We shall… go off stage. That way, when they come on to exchange lines with us, we won't be here, and they'll either be unable to continue or go on without us. We're not all that necessary anyway.
ROS pauses to ponder this, but then alarm grows in his eyes.
ROS: But what if, perhaps, if we no longer exist in the play, we no longer exist at all?
GUIL: Don't be silly; we're living people of flesh and blood. We can't not exist just because others think we don't. If that were true, every time someone left our sight they would cease to exist until the next time we saw them. And, as we speak, many people can't see us or even know we existed in the first place, but we continue to, don't we? Although there is some truth in this "written" theory, don't let it go to your head too much. (Takes a second look at ROS.) It's making you pale.
ROS stands and crosses the stage again. His left leg gives him trouble as he walks on it.
ROS (growing frantic): This is all the same, Guil, all the same! Nothing's changed. We haven't altered our fate at all. (GUIL stands and approaches ROS as he continues without notice.) All we do is sit and talk, and the play will continue as it always does and it will all end the same!
GUIL (in front of him, quietly): Your leg's bothering you.
ROS: We have no free will or control. We're going to die, Guil, and we know it and can't do a thing about it, because we're just Rosencrantz and Guildenstern…
As ROS turns away, his knee gives out and he falls backwards into GUIL's arms, who were expecting him.
GUIL (helping ROS sit): Just rest for now. If we know what's going to happen, why should we be worried about it?
GUIL begins to stretch ROS's troubled leg; it's obviously a routine they go through every time this happens. ROS hisses a bit in pain, but it lasts only for the first few moments.
ROS (a voice on the wind): Do you think… that maybe…
GUIL: Hm?
ROS: That maybe… we're already dead, and we just keep re-experiencing the events that led up to our deaths in hope that we can change them?
The thought makes GUIL pause.
GUIL: What makes you think that?
ROS: Because this whole thing's just so damn bizarre!
GUIL: Blunt. (Small pause.) But, we managed to get back to reality, didn't we? If only for a short time.
ROS: And what if that was just a… a dream?
GUIL: That our spirits recessed into our subconscious for a short while to rest, you mean? Cranz, I've never known you to lose hope so easily.
Pause.
ROS: I don't think I'm well.
GUIL: You don't have to completely doubt your well-being just because of a few skeptic thoughts.
ROS: I mean I feel ill.
GUIL: Oh. You're right, you look feverish. (Feels ROS's forehead.) Cranz, you are feverish!
ROS: I thought so.
GUIL: Why didn't you tell me?
ROS: I didn't want to worry you.
GUIL: Were you going to go through the whole play like this? (He looks around, downheartedly.) Not that I have anything to aid you with.
ROS leans against GUIL's shoulder, practically falling asleep on the spot.
Here. (He gently shifts ROS to lay down with his head resting on GUIL's lap.) Just sleep for now, all right? I'll figure out a way to get us out of this. (He watches his love with sympathy, then begins using his sleeve to dab the sweat from ROS's forehead.) I'll figure out a way…
Surprisingly, the PLAYER followed by the rest of his troupe, enters the scene. GUIL looks ready to jump up and yell, "YOU!" but can't and only stares at them.
PLAYER: I've reconsidered.
GUIL: On which scene to make your entrance? It's only Act 1, you know.
PLAYER (acidly): I wasn't speaking to you. (Back to TRAGEDIANS.) I want you to… No, that won't work.
As the PLAYER begins to pace, the other TRAGEDIANS set down their gear and settle on the stage. GUIL contemplates silently, then looks up at the PLAYER.
GUIL: How is it that you were able to enter now, anyway?
PLAYER: We haven't entered at all; we're just as abandoned as you are.
GUIL: Not in Hamlet, in our play.
The PLAYER pauses as though he heard a noise. He then notices the still sleeping ROS.
PLAYER (avoiding the question): He doesn't look well.
GUIL: He isn't.
Thoughtfully, the PLAYER kneels next to ROS and GUIL. He regards ROS with a sort of wonder.
PLAYER: Something he ate?
GUIL: Fever.
PLAYER: Really?
He makes to feel ROS's forehead, but GUIL slaps him away.
GUIL: Yes, really. I'd be much obliged if you had anything to aid him with, but otherwise I'd rather you stay away from him.
PLAYER (offended): Sorry, but in what little we have we don't carry much in the way of medical aid. It doesn't happen much around here, if you know what I mean.
GUIL: No, I don't believe I do.
PLAYER: It isn't written for us to be ill; it isn't a plot point, so of course we are never ill.
GUIL: Well, Cranz is. How do you explain that?
PLAYER: He's willing it.
GUIL: Don't be ridiculous.
PLAYER: I have no desire to be. It's more of a state of spirit, really. Your Rosencrantz has lost hope, is fed up, if you will. He could disappear from the play completely if he were in the right state of mind.
GUIL (unnerved): How could you possibly know that? He's only got a fever.
The PLAYER ignores him and rejoins his troupe. They exchange whispers. Despite his suspicion of the PLAYER's sanity, GUIL is worried there's some truth in his words. He gently shakes ROS.
GUIL: Cranz? Cranz, I need you to wake up.
ROS finally opens his eyes, moaning. With some difficulty, GUIL helps him sit up and leans ROS on his shoulder, speaking softly and close to him.
GUIL: You know I love you, right?
ROS (dozing off): Mmm hmm…
GUIL: And when I told you I'd get us out of this, I meant it, right?
ROS makes to nod, but stops.
ROS: It's not possible.
GUIL: Yes it is. Remember the last play? I thought you were gone, maybe for good, but you weren't. And you've told me that, back before then, you thought I'd never love you, but I do. (This makes ROS look up at him, eyes red.) Do you know what brought us back to reality? Love. We finally admitted our love like we were supposed to and that brought us back from… wherever we were. Or are now.
ROS (quietly): And… we already have that, so…
GUIL (smiling): Yes. So why are we worrying? We knew how to handle this all along.
ROS doesn't respond, staring past GUIL in alarm. GUIL glances behind him to see the TRAGEDIANS quickly turning back to their huddle, whispering.
ROS (hushed): Them. (Clings to GUIL.) I think… I mean, I have this feeling…
GUIL: That they're behind this somehow? I don't know.
GUIL turns back to them. The TRAGEDIANS wave to him gleefully, smiling, and GUIL waves back. The PLAYER waves to him, also, but GUIL points to him and mouths, 'Not you.' The PLAYER shrugs.
They seem as trapped in this as we are.
ROS: But, I… (Sighs.) I don't know.
Pause.
GUIL: How are you feeling?
ROS: Better.
GUIL feels ROS's face, gently.
GUIL: You have some color back and… (He reaches the forehead. GUIL feels it several times in disbelief.) Your fever's gone!
ROS: Well, so it is! I thought something was different.
GUIL: Why didn't you tell me?
ROS: I didn't want to worry you.
GUIL: Worry me-? (He pauses, and then continues in a lower voice.) Cranz, when we get home, we have some communication issues to discuss.
ROS (smiles, not quite understanding): All right.
GUIL shakes his head, and then remembers something. His eyes show his progression of thought, until they take on a wary and then finally determined look. GUIL jumps up and approaches the PLAYER and his group.
GUIL (pointing dramatically): What do you know, Player?
PLAYER (innocently): About what?
GUIL: You knew what was happening to Cranz.
PLAYER: I'm merely an experienced actor, good sir.
During their conversation, the TRAGEDIANS rise and surround ROS and GUIL. ROS grows nervous and jumps up to join GUIL.
GUIL: You know what's going on around here, don't you, Player? I can't think how or why, but-
PLAYER: If you don't mind, I do wish you would stop referring to me as 'Player.' I have a name, you know.
GUIL is stunned by the proposition.
ROS (thoughtfully): No, you don't.
PLAYER: No, I don't.
The PLAYER and his troupe close in on ROS and GUIL. There's a brief struggle and the result leaves the PLAYER and another TRAGEDIAN wearing GUIL and ROS's coats and cloaks (respectively).
GUIL (held back by another player): You can't-! Did he just-?
ROS: He stole our costumes.
The other TRAGEDIANS drag ROS and GUIL off stage as their imposters make ready to continue the scene.
…And there's no need for the scene to black out; it's already dark backstage.