XIX. Memory

I rise early, as it does take a lengthy amount of time to prepare oneself to attend both a coronation and a wedding. Catherine has kept the hearth well-attended to during the night, but even still the floor is cold as I slip out of bed. I am about to call for her when I noticed a folded sheet of parchment lying on my desk. I pick it up and unfold it, already knowing who exactly it is from without even needing to read the signature.

To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia. In her excellent white bosom, these, etc:

Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers. I have not art to reckon my groans: but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him.
Hamlet.

My heart has leaped into my throat. I set down the letter. It has been a long time since he has written to me, and even longer still since he has used such poetic verse. Over our long correspondence, we became less formal and more direct. These words and verses here are a call back on my memory, back to long ago when he addressed me formally, archaically, beautifully… and I stayed with him and read what he wrote and our love blossomed over summer months.

What does he mean by this? An apology for his words yesterday? Doubt thou, he writes… Do I doubt? I have not even asked myself this, but now it faces me plainly. With his recent refusal to consider marriage, do I doubt that he still loves me?

Oh, my dear Hamlet. I told him once that I would never cease to love him, not for anything. Our impasse will one day be solved. I must be patient… even though I have advocated that love is anything but.

I place the letter within my box and safely store it away. I should write him a reply – but I cannot do so now. There is not enough time. When a coronation and a wedding occur, there is little time for anything else.

I call Catherine to me and begin my preparations for the day. I am distracted in these early morning hours, my thoughts ever returning to our argument yesterday and the letter I have received. Catharine is a shy girl, but on occasion she does provide wonderful conversation. However, today she notes my mood and chooses to remain silent, for which I am grateful. As she dresses my hair, I wish to be alone with my thoughts to mull over the decisions I have ahead of me in future days.

The guilt for lying to my brother and father still irks me, and I cannot rid myself of it. However, I also cannot bring myself to tell them the full truth. I doubt I ever will. Indecisive wretch! My family or my lover… I will seek to choose where my heart goes, even though the guilt of my betrayal will follow me. I so desperately wish they could know the truth and thus I would be saved from my guilt, but it would only be worse if Father knew.

No, I convince myself, Father must not know. The way things are now is for the best.

Who am I to choose what is for the best? These thoughts are beginning to hurt my head. I abandon them, seeking out my memories of happier days, without all this worry and dread. The world seemed perfect that summer. Why can it not return to those times?

The world is an unfair place, he told me.

Oh how I know it is. How I know…

When Catharine finishes, I am free to attend to my own duties. Ladies-in-waiting all have their part to play in helping the queen ready for her own wedding. As I am to understand it, she and King Claudius are to be married and he is to be crowned at the same time. It shall be a very extravagant affair.

I wish I could pay more attention today, but my thoughts do wander back to my own problems and desires. Selfish, foolish girl that I am. Adelaide and Fernanda keep asking me if I am troubled by something, but I must continually say no. It is not as if they could help me.

It seems as though Elsinore has had a surplus of visitors. There are more people here than there were for the state funeral. Everyone wishes to see the coronation of a king and his wedding. For it to happen on the same day is surely an event to behold.

The days in my memories were a time to behold. Why am I so morose? Adelaide and Fernanda are asking me that very same question. I should be happy, they say. Silently, I agree with them. I should be happy for Gertrude, at the very least, who very much looks like a young bride even though this is her second wedding.

I tell myself to be joyful under my breath, hoping that it will work. I fear that it will not.

I attend the event in a daze. Had someone noticed, they may have thought me to be ill. However, no one notices anyone else when there is a wedding. For that, I am grateful. I am not ill, I am… what? I cannot find the answer.

My eyes seek out Hamlet, who will be easy to spot against this array of bright colour when he still dresses in black. I see him, but he does not look at me. He watches, stony-faced, as his mother arrives is a flurry of gold and colour, and is wed to his uncle. There is a storm of joyous applause as Denmark welcomes its new royal couple and King Claudius is officially crowned monarch.

The atmosphere is triumphant, but I cannot join in. My ears do not want to function this day, and everything is a blur of colour. I sit as though frozen, wondering what is to become of this country, what is to become of us… what is to become of me. Will I rise, and be wedded to my own love and become royalty myself? Or will I fall, shamed with what I have done?

The future is uncertain, now more than ever. I raise my hands and join the storm of applause, as a smiling King Claudius and Queen Gertrude begin to address the crowd of joyous courtiers from their thrones.

How long can this happiness last? Or will something bring it all crashing down?

I can still see Hamlet, standing to the side, his dark attire a black spot in this sea of colour. He observes the court, his expression impassive. I bow my head in silence. I will always have questions to which I will never receive answers.

fin

Hamlet's letter to Ophelia is from .116-124 of the play.

Thank you so much to everyone for reading! And to those of you who leave comments, thanks for taking the time to do so! It does mean a lot to me. I'm glad if you came through to the end and enjoyed the story, even moreso if you started with the first book, To Thine Own Self. I'll be finishing the trilogy sometime over the course of the next three months (hopefully); but you can be guaranteed that the third book, All My Sins Remembered, will be covering the events of the play itself, all the way up to Ophelia's tragic end.

Once again, thanks for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed! You all are awesome!

~Idri