VIII. Loss

My revenge against Sir Edward ruffles the court for a few weeks at the most, but eventually the nest of nobles becomes enthralled with greater gossip that has little to do with me. I am left in peace, though Adelaide and Fernanda hound me for the inner details as to why I turned down Sir Edward. They believe it proof that I have a secret lover to whom I will remain faithful. They eventually cease asking me questions when I tell them that Sir Edward is a vile man and exaggerate greatly on the details I retrieved from him.

I never reveal to my friends that their beliefs were the truth, let alone that my secret lover is the prince of Denmark.

As the high tides of summer fall, the leaves begin to change colour and autumn comes upon us, dispelling the warm weather we have long enjoyed. Our rides and walks become less frequent, even though I do enjoy the fantastically bright colours of the trees.

Autumn brings with it a period of melancholy. Perhaps it is because I hate seeing nature put to rest for winter's ice and snow, but my mind tells me that it is because one full year has passed since Hamlet departed for Wittenberg and he has not yet returned.

The freedom of summer made our correspondences merry. I told him the tales of my adventures with Adelaide and Fernanda, and relating all the troubles I had desisting the advances of ungainly suitors like Sir Edward. His responses were always good-natured; he found my stories delightful. In return, he wrote of his own adventures around the university, his discoveries in texts he happened upon, and of his friends there. In his final letter to me before the leaves began to change, he wrote:

I see you have taken my wish for you to be young at heart to – if this poor pun can be excused as a lamentable use of language – heart. I am glad that your summer days have been so jovial. I promise you now that I will be there with you at the next summer festival, where we can mock the pettiness of our fellow courtiers to our hearts' content, so long as it amuses us and does not make us horrible, horrible people.

I took it to mean that he would be returning to Elsinore soon. Indeed, near the end of the letter he admitted that the university had little else it could provide him and that perhaps it was time for him to consider politics over philosophies. I have yet to reply to that letter, as I wish to catch as much of autumn's beauty before the bitterly cold weather forces me indoors. However, I have grown weary of adventuring by myself and when Adelaide and Fernanda refuse my invitations, I find other ways to spend my time. So though it is only mid-afternoon on a sleepy autumn day, I find myself in my room, pen in hand and ink staining my fingers as my hand glides across a sheet of rough parchment.

I apologize for the lateness in my response. There are only so few days left in which I can comfortably adventure outside and I sought to use them wisely. It is very quiet here in these days; sometimes it seems as though the castle itself is asleep.

I myself am too exhilarated for sleep. I will hold you to your promise made in your last letter. Come summer, we shall dance and mock the petty fools of the court. Petty fools… perhaps it is some of my innocence shining through, but I do feel some guilt in calling them that even though, with an objective eye, that is how they behave. My friends are among the "petty fools" of the court and though Adelaide and Fernanda can be very foolish, I love them dearly for all their mistakes. Frivolous fools would be a better title, I think, than petty. At least it satisfies my conscience.

Despite the distance that has separated us for a year, I must tell you that the darkness of depression has never reached me. I am like an excitable child waiting for gifts whenever a messenger delivers a letter. I confess that I have thought that this distance has served us well. I have fallen deeply in love with you, my beloved lord, and it was through written word that I have done so. That is a power that can never be unbound.

You are concerned that you will not be able to lead this country – you have written to me so many times. Now as I await the time of your return, I send you my thoughts of comfort. We all have fears about what is expected of us, and so your fear is understandable. But I can see what you do not, and I tell you now you will be one of Denmark's greatest leaders. One could say that love has blinded my opinions, but I try to see through objective eyes. Your intelligence will let you see people for who they are. You are both kind and compassionate – as you have shown me nothing but. You shall make a fine king, my lord, and once you return to Elsinore perhaps you will see it for yourself.

My door suddenly flies open and my papers scattered all over my room. I leap to my feet and attempt to hurriedly assemble them, but my father appears and takes me by the hand.

"Leave your scribblings, daughter," he says in rushed tones. "You must come with me now."

"Father, what is wrong?" I struggle to ease myself from his grip as he drags me down the corridor, but his grasp remains tight.

"Something dreadful has occurred," he says. We come to a halt and he finally releases me. "Go to the grand hall and wait for me there. I must meet with the queen and Prince Claudius."

"Father—!" He does not heed me and speeds away down the corridor.

I cannot imagine what has happened, but I know I must hurry. I wish I had time to wash my hands – the fingers of my writing hand are stained with ink and hardly qualify to be presentable in court. But I know I have no time, so I lift my skirts and hurry to the grand hall.

When I arrive, it seems as though most of the court is gathered there. I see Adelaide and Fernanda in the crowd, standing with their heads together, no doubt discussing the gossip on what has occurred.

However, as I draw closer, I see that their faces are white. Fernanda turns to me.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Oh, Ophelia…" Fernanda's voice trails of. She looks to be fighting tears. She regains her composure and starts again. "The most terrible thing has happened, or so the whispers say. They say…" She blinks back tears and presses a hand to her mouth. She cannot speak.

"They are saying that the king—" Adelaide is interrupted as Fernanda hisses an epithet at her. Adelaide blanches.

"It's too awful to say!" Fernanda cries, not bothering to apologize.

I never thought I would see the day when I would have difficulty getting information from my two friends. "They are saying that the king what?" I ask.

Adelaide and Fernanda exchange looks of helplessness. My heart begins to sink like a stone as a feeling of dread overcomes me.

"Ophelia," Adelaide begins, but a sudden commotion interrupts her.

Gertrude, pale and willowy, has appeared, leaning on the king's brother for support. My fears are now the worst. With them are my father and a man dressed in black physician's robes. As they draw closer to the dais at the hall, I can see them more clearly. Gertrude's eyes are red and puffy, but she is not shedding tears. Prince Claudius' face is stony.

My father stands at the edge of the dais and addresses the court in an odd voice – loud, yet diminished. As we are silent his voice echoes eerily around us.

"Lords and ladies of the court," he begins, "it is my solemn duty to announce to you all that our beloved ruler, King Hamlet, has passed from this world this afternoon."

The gasps around the court from the ladies only prove that whatever gossip Adelaide and Fernanda have heard was true. I can feel blood draining from my face. The king, dead?

We all fall silent as my father continues. "I have spoken with the king's physician and he has decreed it to be a natural and painless death…"

It is as if my hearing has been shut away. My father's voice fades and all I can see are the faces of the court's nobles, bowing their heads in respect for our lost monarch. I feel the prickle of tears behind my eyes and blink quickly to persuade them not to fall. I do not wish to cry. Not now. I always weep. I shall not weep…

The king is dead. Long live the king.