IX. Bittersweet

The castle mourns. It seems strange to say that a majestic complex of towers and turrets can mourn, but in the passing of a king, anything is possible. Even the weather seems to mourn, as we have had nothing but cloud, cold winds and rain since the king's death.

The funeral preparations are in order to lay the king in his final resting place. Messengers have gone out. The prince has been called back from Wittenberg.

This is not the way I would have chosen for our reunion to occur.

Father has sent for Laertes; he will return from France. Another bittersweet reunion that is in store for me.

Prince Claudius has quickly taken control of the affairs of state. His right to the throne has been given to the council who decides such things. Were Hamlet here, his name would also be under consideration… Alas, he is not here and thus duties fall to Prince Claudius alone. Denmark is an elective monarchy. I do not fully understand how such things work, but what I know is this: for the time being, Prince Claudius is in charge.

Silence has overtaken Elsinore as if we were haunted by some paranormal force. I cannot explain it; perhaps it is grief playing tricks on the mind, I have no seen Adelaide or Fernanda for days; they have confined themselves to their rooms, claiming to be ill, or so I heard. I cannot rest. I cannot think. There is little for me to do, for whenever I set about accomplishing a task, my mind cannot settle for it and I abandon it for something else.

I find myself pacing the empty halls and corridors, listening to the echo of my footsteps on the flagstones. I find the window that I was so fond of gazing out of when I first came to this place. From it, you can see the whole of the rugged landscape stretching out for miles in quiet majesty. I perch myself by the window and stare at the horizon, but no thoughts come to me. My mind is blank.

"Lady Ophelia?"

My eyes snap open. I had not realized they were shut. I slip down from my seat and look at my speaker. It is a young girl, one of Gertrude's newest maids.

"Yes?"

"The queen wishes to see you in her quarters," she says, curtseying clumsily. She is very young, almost too young to be a maid, and obviously thrilled to be playing messenger.

"Very well," I say. "Thank you."

I take off down the hall, the maid following. I tell her as gently as I can that I know the way and that she does not need to guide me. My words sting her a little, but I do not care. I wish to be alone for as long as I can manage, but I cannot refuse the summons of a queen, just as I cannot refuse to the summons of a grieving friend.

Oh, what is wrong with me? I do not understand this depression that has plagued me since the king's death.

"Ophelia," Gertrude greets me warmly when I arrive. She sweeps me into an embrace and invites me in.

Her quarters are lavish and warm. There is a fire crackling in her hearth. At her request, I sit on one of the elegantly decorated couches by the fire, resting my weary feet.

"You look tired," Gertrude says.

I nod. "I am restless. I have walked this castle from hall to hall and yet I cannot find peace for myself."

Gertrude bows her head. "Strange times follow the death of a king," she says quietly.

"The country mourns," I say, my fingers fiddling with the skirt of my black gown, "yet all I can do myself is feel… distracted. My father's tasks are endless, yet I, his daughter, cannot commit to any task."

Gertrude purses her lips. "The feeling will pass," she says gently. "Such is the way of grief. We all grieve in our own way."

I look at her, meeting her eyes. "I would rather not have sensed it at all."

Gertrude sighs sadly. "The living pass on. Such is the way of life the Lord has given us. Someday you will learn to accept it with greater ease."

"Is that why you do not weep?"

She pauses. There is a heavy silence in the room. "Indeed," she says finally. "I cannot bring myself to tears, as I know my husband – a good man – is in a better place. All I can do is surround myself with the kindness of friends and learn to go on without him."

"Hm." This is all I can say in return – a wordless, meaningless sound. In my mind, I would tell her, so that is why you do not look the part of a grieving widow, but I feel disrespectful even to think it. As such, it remains unsaid.

"Light your heart, child," Gertrude says. "The world will go on, as it always does."

"No," I say slowly "I only realize that I never once said a word to the king, your husband. I knew him as my king, but… I never spoke to him. In some ways, I regret that now." My voice sounds strange even as I speak the works. I do not know what I am saying.

There is a knock on the door. A maid enters and curtseys to the queen.

"What is it?" Gertrude asks.

"Prince Claudius respectfully wishes to speak with you, Your Majesty," the maid says. She eyes me and adds, "In private."

"Very well," Gertrude sighs. "Ophelia?"

"I take my leave, my lady," I murmur quietly, rising to my feet. As I exit the rooms, I pass the late king's brother. I curtsey politely to him and continue on my way. No doubt they have familial business to discuss.

I spend the rest of the day on my own, even though I feel deprived of energy and void of thoughts, a state anyone's conversations surely would have mended. As the sun begins to sink behind the horizon, I search out my father. He is weary, but pleased to see me.

"Daughter," he says by way of greeting.

I go to him and embrace him tightly. He seems almost shocked by this gesture.

"Ho, now, Ophelia," he says, gently releasing my grip. "What ails you?"

"I feel shameful, Father," I say, rushing the words out so they provide me with the least amount of pain. It is hurtful to admit it even to myself, though I feel better to have told it to someone else.

His eyes narrow and he invites me to sit on a chair across from him. He says nothing, but rather looks at me intently, giving me his undivided attention.

"With the death of the king, my brother returns," I say. I keep my thoughts about the prince to myself for the time being. "It is because of his passing that I may see Laertes again."

My father sighs. "There, now, Ophelia. You must put this silliness behind you. Is that all you thought? It is shameful, yes, but show that you are grieving for our great monarch and it will pass."

I bow my head. "Yes, Father." Little does he know that those words were more about the prince than my brother.

"Is that all?" he asks, standing as he speaks. "I have much more work to complete before the day's end and I have little time to spare."

"That is all, Father," I say. I thank him and move to the door. I pause and turn back to him as a thought surfaces in my mind. "The prince shall be crowned upon his return," I say. "A bittersweet homecoming: a funeral and a coronation."

My father shakes his head and opens the door for me. "Perhaps," as he invites me to exit. "Such is the way of kings."