LONDON, 1620
A cock crowed relentlessly outside of the window at daybreak. Elsa searched blindly for her straw pillow or some other object to throw at the offending racket, but her fingers located only air. Bewildered, she rose onto her hands and blearily contemplated her surroundings. A thumping pain in her head announced itself as her eyes caught the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window and if she squinted she could discern the colorful plumage belonging to the vexatious rooster beyond the grimy panes of glass.
She turned her throbbing head and became aware that she was lying topsy-turvy on her bed; her pillow was near the headboard, as it should, but at the present her feet had the pleasure of occupying its luxury rather than her pain-stricken head. Discontent, she kicked at the pillow and it landed with an unceremonious flump on the floor.
Rolling onto her back, she shielded her watering eyes from the glare from beyond the window and labored to remember exactly the reason for her abrupt collapse into bed. It came in tableaus at first; the performance at the King's Court, her final bray as the Ox, drinking at the pub, even further drinking, escorting Kristoff to his home, the fortuitous conversation with Lady Anna…
Elsa lurched upright into a sitting position, ignoring the throb of protest in her head. Lady Anna, wife of a member of Court, the Lady whose contingent meeting with Elsa on a road at night had sparked an overwhelming desire to perform well that day, to impress, and had most surprisingly yielded in the actor a tremendous enthusiasm for the day ahead. She had never known such a reaction whilst suffering from the shakes, an aftereffect from the over-consumption of ale the night before. She felt her chest swell and a smile tug at her lips from the anticipation and she practically vaulted out of the bed. No notice was bestowed upon the blonde hair in the messy braid, and luckily her negligence was such that she was already dressed upon waking.
In her haste to appear at the theatre, Elsa was shamefully early. Sven was the only soul present, and he could be found backstage in a fitful slumber on a pile of costumes. It could only be assumed that he had attempted to organize the theatrical articles the actors had haphazardly forsaken the day before and promptly fallen to sleep without accomplishing his task. Elsa observed a bottle held tightly in her troupe master's fist and knew the true reason for his current unconsciousness, a state which so happened to be the only sort of repose she could get from his sardonic wheedling.
In lieu of another occupation for her free time, Elsa allowed herself to meander from the gloomy backstage area and out into the house. The lamps were unlit but the sunlight which filtered through the cracks in the doors and windows served to give at least faint outlines to the space, such that Elsa could walk about without obstacle. Her feet scuffed up dirt from the pit beneath her and she gazed up at the stage. This position away from the raised platform on which the troupe acted raised a peculiar sight for the actor, who was not often used to being on the outside looking in. She contemplated the hard lines of their backdrop, the setting for the herdsman and his Ox. With a slight lurch in her stomach, she regarded the stain that was the splatter of fruit from their previous performance in the space. The sheer extent of the crowd's discontent was still a fresh sting.
Placing her palms on the edge of the platform, Elsa hoisted herself onto the stage and straightened. She turned to face the empty space which during a performance would be filled by hundreds of faces that would all blend into one and she began to recite her favorite monologue. It was Shakespeare, almost twenty years old now, but it was one of the first she heard and could memorize - she used to practice it day and night and still knew it as well as if it had been printed into her very own skin.
"It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue."
Although she had not recited it in some time, the words came just as readily to her tongue as if she had practiced them the hour preceding. Sven was horribly disapproving of Shakespeare, Marlowe, and the King's Men, only if for vain jealousy. As a consequence, Elsa rarely had the opportunity to indulge in her Shakespearean whims.
She plowed through the monologue and became more and more enthusiastic with each line, spinning around the stage and increasing in volume until she was almost shouting the words with the profoundest joy.
"If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me, and breaths that I defied not; and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths, will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell."
True to form, she did indeed curtsy. Her investment in her private performance barred her from seeing or hearing the door open and the woman step in. Only when the first claps echoed around the empty space, did Elsa, with back bent and face turned to the floor, look around in abject surprise at her unexpected audience.
"Do forgive me," said Lady Anna upon witnessing Elsa's startled expression. "I am afraid that I could not resist a visit before the show; it is pathetic, I am well aware. Restrained judgment would be kind."
"Of course," Elsa said, unable to dislocate herself from the place in which she was stationed. Blue eyes followed the Lady as she walked slowly closer, fingers of one hand absentmindedly fiddling with a ring on the opposite hand.
"What was that you were reciting?"
"Shakespeare, my Lady. A favored monologue of mine from his comedy As You Like It."
"I have seen one Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet I believe if was? My husband did not think it a remarkable, prudent, or accurate play whatsoever. I did not know what to think at first, but I grew rather more fond the longer it preyed on my mind."
Elsa nodded absently as the Lady spoke, not having seen the aforementioned play. Another comedy perhaps? The woman's countenance did not disclose any such information, and Elsa decided to remain silent rather than expose her own ignorance. There was a clatter as the ring with which the Lady tampered dropped to the floor and rolled a few yards away from its owner. Elsa dashed to her aid, hopping down from the stage and bending to gather the object before the Lady herself could react. The ring sat stoically in Elsa's palm as she walked it over to its possessor; it was plain and silver, not something Elsa would have thought belonged to a wife of a member of the Court. On the contrary, it belied little grace.
"My sincerest thanks," said Lady Anna, reaching out to pluck the silver ring from Elsa's palm and slipping it back onto her slender finger. "It means a great deal to me, though I know it does not look of much importance."
Before Elsa could reply in the negative, a bellow rose up from the backstage area; Sven must have just woken up.
"You should depart before my manager-"
"My apologies!" The woman was alarmed and hastened to lift her broad skirts and make for the exit.
"Will I still see you tonight?" Elsa couldn't help but to ask.
"Oh yes," said the Lady, flashing Elsa a reassuring smile. Elsa smiled back and closed the door quietly behind the woman once her dress was clear of it.
Once the "trespasser" was safely out of the theatre, Elsa went to the backstage area from where yelling was still emanating. Kristoff and other members of the troupe had arrived for their calls and Elsa discerned from the shouts that they had woken their manager with an unprecedented amount of force. The natural consequence was Sven's rage.
"How are you feeling?" Elsa asked Kristoff timidly under her breath. He was clutching his head, which Elsa was sure didn't feel any less pained than her own, and Sven's noise was not helping. He only grimaced at her and moved away to begin dressing.
Within the hour, Elsa was once more fitted into her cumbersome wooden Ox costume and was pacing bulkily around backstage while attempting to quietly warm up her bray. For the first time in the play's run, she wanted the show to go perfectly, trivial Ox exit included. Under usual circumstances the rumbling from the crowd presently filing into the house would be giving her anxiety in preparation for the hate they would likely display, but tonight the jitters were formulating excitement.
Kristoff was peering through the crack of the curtain, skin tinged with a verdigris that Elsa couldn't decide came from the shakes or anticipation for the show. Perhaps both. Five minutes until curtain, Sven gathered up his troupe to make his usual pre-show speech. Beady eyes glanced at the thespians amassed around him as the audience rumbled in the background. The talk was mercifully short:
"We've performed for the king, we can do anything." He stomped on the last word to punctuate his point.
Elsa's eyebrows shot up skeptically and disappeared into her fringe but Sven could not see, hidden as her face was in the Ox mask. Kristoff shifted uncomfortably and a few of the other actors rolled their eyes at each other. Sven always acted as though he were leading an army instead of a group of people who dressed up in costumes and makeup to pretend every night.
"All right men! And woman," Sven added graciously to Elsa. "Onward!"
A hush fell over the crowd as Kristoff stepped boldly onstage to begin - Elsa watched from behind as he puffed out his chest and wiped his brow before throwing open the curtain and striding confidently forward.
"Thou art he whom morality and vicissitudes bespeak in temperate carnage the sentience of a herdsman and his companion, the formidable Ox."
Her entrance, as written, was not special in any sense of the word, but she appeared from the depths of the curtain with as much relish as she could muster under the heavy costume. One of the horns protruding from the top of her head struck the doorframe on her way out and she stumbled to mild jeering from the pit of spectators below. She reached up with her hoof-covered hands to correct the lopsided mask and accidentally made eye-contact with an audience member - a man with auburn locks, long sideburns, and a malicious gleam in his eye. Shaking herself of her mistake and hoping this spectator was not in possession of any rotten fruit, she straightened and sauntered over to Kristoff as he continued the opening monologue, dutifully unfazed by his fellow actor's slight trip-up.
Kristoff went on and on, and all Elsa was required to do was stand at his shoulder and act like an ox (an occupation that included swaying one's head to and fro and appearing generally dumb). But unlike most nights, she was peering through the cracks in her costume, attempting to spot Lady Anna somewhere in the gallery - but the effort was fruitless as it was too dark in the balcony to discern much.
Two thirds of the way through Kristoff's first monologue found the pit already restless; the usual amount of time had passed for the disinterest in the terribly-written play. The crowd in the pit was beginning to sneer under their breaths, but Elsa knew it wouldn't be long before they were shouting malice at the pair assembled onstage. Under normal circumstances this would be cause for Elsa's shame, but knowing Lady Anna was in attendance provoked absolute mortification.
"Put on a muzzle, you clown!" Elsa heard the side-burned man shout before raising a fist in which was tightly clenched a cabbage. That was when she snapped. Dropping to her hands and knees but keeping in character, she lowered her head and reared at the man, thrusting her fake horns at his face. He gave a shriek and stumbled backwards away from her assault. Silence fell at this - even Kristoff had halted mid-sentence. Another good thrust from her horns and the man turned tail and disappeared into the crowd. Satisfied, Elsa rose back to her feet and gestured for Kristoff to continue, which elicited a smattering of chuckles from the audience, especially the gallery. Her chest swelled with pride.
There were no more interruptions while Kristoff concluded his monologue and they even applauded lightly when he was finished and had ambled off. Elsa's big moment had come - she stepped centerstage and filled her lungs with air, ready to release her moment-shattering bray. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she saw a figure climb onto the stage from the pit. Abandoning her bit, she spun to face the offending wall-breaker and saw it was the same man with the cabbage, but his hand was now wrapped around one of the lighted candles meant to illuminate the acting space.
"Dry up, stupid donkey!" With that, he threw the lamp at Elsa, whose hard-surfaced costume caused the glass housing to burst and the flame inside to spread, eating rapidly at the wooden casing around the helpless actor. Smoke immediately filled her mouth and nose, gagging and causing her to panic. Shouts had risen about her but she was deaf to them, only preoccupied with the fire that was quickly consuming the wood around her. Sweat was pouring down her face from the heat and she was dizzy from lack of clean air.
She had managed to throw off the hoof gloves and was groping at the straps to her mask when an unprecedented force bowled into her and she fell heavily onto her side. Then, her mask was ripped from her head and she heard a thump as it was tossed away. Coughing and choking, she opened her eyes and met Kristoff's terrified face - he had pulled off her mask. There were hands on her, tearing the burning costume apart, but they weren't Kristoff's - his were on her cheeks, and he was asking over and over if she was hurt. She shook her head, still coughing, and looked down at herself. Bare, freckled hands were ripping at the straps all down her body and when each piece of hot wood was released it was then flung unceremoniously over a ruffled shoulder.
When she was free from the costume, Elsa was pulled onto her feet by Kristoff's large hands under her arms and she realized for the first time that the smoke was not only coming from the remains of her costume, but that fires had broken out all over the theatre from other toppled lamps. The audience was in a frenzy as they clambered to the exit, screaming in hysteria.
"We have to get out of here!" Kristoff shouted unnecessarily into Elsa's ear as he supported her straight into the chaos of the pit - the backstage area had gone up in flames. A slender and blackened hand caught hers - it had a plain silver ring on and when Elsa followed it up to its owner she found herself staring into Lady Anna's concerned eyes. The Lady said nothing, but pursed her lips at Elsa before tugging on her hand, encouraging movement.
Despite the confusion, they were soon out of the burning building and panting on the cobblestones a safe distance away. Kristoff watched the flames climb into the evening sky in disbelief and it was at this time when Elsa noticed that the regal Lady Anna was clad only in a bodice and petticoat; her skirts were ostentatiously missing. At this realization, Elsa averted her gaze, cheeks burning red.
Lady Anna saw this reaction and laughed. "How else could you expect me to extinguish the fire on your back?"
"You? How did you-"
"My husband will be mortified, but I have always been a bit of a loose spirit - I witnessed the happenings and promptly leaped from our box - it was right over the stage, you know - it was incredibly unladylike of me, but I you could not expect me to leave you to burn!" The Lady spoke quickly and with a giddy undertone, as though the excitement enticed rather than scared her. "I whipped off my skirts to pat the flames but knocked you down on accident."
Elsa stuttered out a thanks and marveled at the Lady once more until her husband, straight-backed and sporting a graying and pointed goatee came to collect her. By this time, Sven and the rest of the troupe had found them and were staring disbelieving at the smoldering theatre with Kristoff. Instead of going with her husband quietly, and still half-dressed in public, Lady Anna approached Sven, whose tears were running silently down his face. Within minutes, however, a huge smile had replaced all evidence of misery and Sven was shaking the Lady's hand ruthlessly. Lady Anna had offered a small chunk of her husband's vast fortune to rebuild the theatre "so that you may continue to produce first-rate shows and I may continue to attend!"
The fire was a blessing in disguise - the culprit who began it was apprehended and thanks to Lady Anna they were to build an entirely new place to produce plays - on top of it all, the Lady herself had written a few plays and Sven assured her his troupe would indeed produce them (for they could never be as terrible as what they'd already done). Lady Anna even confided to Elsa that she would petition to give the actor more lead roles - she had been extremely impressed by the recitation of Shakespeare that afternoon. It was true; Lady Anna was a saint and the future was bright.
A/N: I forgot to mention that I'm a theatre minor. Can you tell?