hello everyone! here is chapter two...officially longest chapter in all my fanficion! how cool is that?

hope you like this! it's gonna be super cute!

thanks everyone!

please read and review!

peace out!

After an impromptu funeral and burial, the whole of Scotland is shocked. Both princes dead in a matter of hours, Donalbain never crowned king. No one is entirely sure who is next in line—it's probably one of the thanes, most likely Lord Macduff, Skye's father. He's the oldest thane and probably the one with the most claim to the throne—his mother was King Duncan's older sister. Hopefully we can get him crowned fast. After him, I think it's Ross, then Lennox, then me (gulp), and then Banquo. Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

When the castle has calmed down a little, Skye goes to rest in her chambers and Kniertje heads off to command the Norwegian guards to surround the castle. We can't let anyone get inside—the murderer is on a killing spree, and we can't allow whoever it is to continue.

"Macbeth," Banquo whispers. "Do you want to go look for evidence? We can check out the king's chambers—don't worry, I remember plenty of secret passageways in that hallway from our adventures as little kids. We can hide if we see guards coming."

"But what if we get caught?" I ask.

"If it's the right thing to do—and this totally is—then no one will care. I'd just prefer to be secretive, in case the murderer gets any ideas."

I sigh, consenting, and follow Banquo down the hall to the king's chambers. I slept here for a few weeks when I was king—I forgot how nice it was.

"See anything?" Banquo asks as we step inside and lock the door behind us.

"Apart from the blood, no," I reply, feeling slightly queasy at the sight of the sticky red liquid splattered all over the bed, the floor, and even the walls. This is just how it looked when Gruoch forced me to kill Duncan.

Banquo and I search the whole room, finding nothing. No signs of magic.

But then Banquo hisses, "Look!"

A purple feather lies on the windowsill, drenched by the rain. It looks innocent enough, but…

"That came from the staff," I whisper, my voice shaking. "The murderer is definitely the one with the staffs."

"But who is it?" Banquo wonders.

At that moment, I hear quiet footsteps outside the door—that, and the soft thump of something being placed down on the carpet repeatedly.

A staff.

"We've got to get out of here!" Banquo whispers, his eyes widening in terror. "Here—there's a ton of secret passages!"

He turns to the stone fireplace and pushes on a rock in the back of it, which immediately slides aside to reveal a small tunnel.

"How did you know about this and I didn't?" I hiss, motioning for Banquo to climb through first. "I was literally king and I didn't notice."

"I didn't know about it!" Banquo whispers as I follow him into the tunnel and the stone slides shut behind me. "I just guessed!"

"Well, I hope this comes out somewhere good," I say quietly. "What if it goes to, like, the murderer's lair?"

"Let's assume the best," Banquo replies, and we crawl into the darkness.

After several minutes, Banquo gasps. "I can see light! I think it comes out somewhere outside."

But when he reaches the end, he whispers, "Wait—it's not outside. We're at the very top of the castle, probably above the church bells. There's a skylight up there."

I sigh in relief as Banquo climbs out, thankful to be out of the cramped tunnel. But when I try to pull myself through the opening, only my head, shoulders, and ribcage make it out. I strain to pull myself the rest of the way through, but to no avail. I glance at Banquo helplessly, but he's staring up at the huge skylight in wonder, so he doesn't notice me.

"Banquo!" I hiss, struggling to pull myself free. "Could I get some help over here?"

"With what?" he mumbles, gazing around the room.

"I'm stuck!"

Banquo turns around, his hands flying to his mouth. "Oh man—I'm so sorry, Macbeth, I didn't notice!"

"It's okay," I mumble, holding out my hands. "It's kind of my thing. Just get me out."

Banquo grabs my wrists and pulls, but I don't come free of the tunnel. He tries several more times, pulling as hard as he can, but I don't budge.

"Sorry," Banquo whispers. "I shouldn't have taken us down that tunnel."

"It's fine," I sigh, looking up into the skylight. It's beautiful—perfectly clear glass, and faceted somehow so that a faint rainbow light is reflected all over the spacious room.

"What do you think this is for?" Banquo asks.

I shrug as best as I can while wedged in the tunnel. "Maybe it's just to look pretty?"

"That can't be it," Banquo says. "Maybe it's a meditation room. Or a hiding place for the king if enemy armies attack the castle."

"Well, it's definitely a hiding place at any rate," I agree. "But it's not much use if you're stuck in the tunnel that goes into it."

"Sorry," Banquo mumbles again, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll try again."

He grabs my wrists and pulls hard, then switches to my shoulders when that doesn't work. I suck in my stomach as far as I can, and one more yank from Banquo releases my trapped midsection. I stand up with a whispered thanks and look around the room. It doesn't seem to have anything in it, just a standard stone floor and bare walls. The skylight is beautiful, though, and I'd love to see it in sunlight. But I'd need to either find another entrance or lose a couple pounds. I'd prefer the former—I'm too busy to exercise.

I look for another way into the room, but unless there are very cleverly concealed secret passages, I don't see one. So the only way out is back through our escape route—great.

Banquo tells me to wait here while he goes to check if whoever was at the door is gone. I don't want him to, just in case it's the murderer, but he slips away into the tunnel and then calls out that it's safe. I sigh exasperatedly—he's gotta stop putting himself in danger for me. One of these days, something's gonna go really wrong.

I obviously can't squeeze back through the hole, but I try anyway and just sit there uncomfortably while Banquo crawls back up the tunnel to help me. Losing a couple pounds is starting to sound pretty good now.

Banquo helps me squeeze through the entrance and we crawl back down the tunnel, then exit into the king's chambers and go back down the hall.

I fish the purple feather out of my pocket and study it, brushing my finger across the soft tendrils. I don't think the feather itself is magic—it's just to make the staff look pretty—but it's still an important piece of evidence. Maybe we can trace it back to the murderer and catch them.

Banquo and I search for evidence all day, thankfully only having to use two other secret passages, both of which are large enough to fit through. But despite all our efforts, we find no more evidence. Slightly dejected, we head back to our chambers. I can feel a pounding headache starting to form in my skull, and I'm exhausted and hungry.

But as soon as we come in sight of the door to our rooms, something jerks me out of my sleepiness and I barely manage to hold back a scream.

Stabbed into the wood with a knife is a note, the parchment ragged and torn. It reads:

YOU'RE NOT GETTING RID OF ME THAT EASILY

I press my hands to my temples, shaking as a wave of dizziness and terror washes over me. The murderer left this, whoever they are. And if they're trying to scare us into confronting them—well, it's working. I think I'm having a panic attack.

Banquo's voice comes from far away. "Macbeth? Are you okay?"

"Yep," I mumble. "I'm fine…"

But my whole body is shaking, and my knees give out about three seconds later. The world swirls and goes black, and the last thing I hear is Banquo yelling my name as the scars on my palms start to tingle again.

I open my eyes to soft, warm, dim light and an extremely comfortable bed. I can feel a cool, damp cloth on my forehead, and the covers are pulled tightly around me.

Soft voices drag me out of unconsciousness, and I sit halfway up, but my head throbs and I sink back onto my pillow with a faint moan of pain. I don't think I even hit my head—why do I have such a terrible headache?

"Macbeth?" someone whispers. "Are you awake?"

"Mhmm," I mumble, glancing up at the blurry shape that appears above me. "Katavid?"

"It's me, buddy. How're you feeling?"

"Awful," I groan, trying to push myself up. But my pounding headache worsens and Katavid gently shoves me back down.

"What happened?" I whisper, rubbing my head. "Did I pass out?"

"Yep!" Katavid says happily. "It's only been a few hours, though. You're not hurt or anything—I just wanted to keep you here until you woke up. Oh, yeah—Banquo brought you in, but he had to go and help with the guarding of the castle. I'll send a trainee healer to get him as soon as one of them gets back." He takes the cloth off my forehead. "Anyway, do you think you can get out of bed? You're probably still dizzy, but—"

I've already stood up, and I'm definitely still dizzy. My head spins and my knees give out again, and Katavid catches me with a yelp, scooping me up and sitting me back down on the bed.

"Maybe we'll wait a while," he says worriedly. "Here, I'll give you some medicine to help with the dizziness. Do you remember why you passed out?"

"The note," I mumble as Katavid goes over to a shelf full of plants and selects a few leaves. "It was stabbed into the door, and I guess I freaked out." I sigh. "I'm such a baby."

"That's okay," Katavid says cheerfully. "I can be a baby sometimes, too. And panic attacks can do strange things to people. I've had a few, and they're not fun. Don't worry, the effects will wear off in a little while."

The physician hands me the medicine and I chew up the leaves, then swallow. The dizziness starts to dissipate almost immediately.

"Since you're here, I might as well give you a healing lesson when you're feeling better," Katavid tells me. "I can teach you how to treat people when they've passed out."

When I can stand up without collapsing, Katavid shows me how to position unconscious patients, how to carry them to bed, how to give them water if they won't wake up. By the time we're done, Katavid pronounces me good to go, and I leave the healing wing to go find Banquo and Skye. We need to go back to Inverness.

When I get back to our chambers, the note has been removed from the door. I open the door and head to Banquo's room, walking in to see my best friend putting his clothes into his bag.

"Hey," I whisper.

Banquo looks up. "Macbeth! You're awake! How're you feeling?"

"Still got a bit of a headache," I tell him. "But I'm okay."

"That's good. Do you think we should go back to Inverness today? I want you to get away from all this mystery—it's not doing you any good."

"Yeah, we should go home," I agree. "But we do have to find a way to stop this, Banquo. I think if we're needed at Dunsinane, we'll have to come back here."

"Of course," Banquo replies. "But I think you should stay at Inverness. You've been through too much already."

"I'm fine!" I exclaim, flopping down on Banquo's bed and wincing as my head throbs again. "I don't usually pass out, Banquo. I was just really shocked. And tired. And hungry—speaking of which, I'm still hungry. You wanna stress eat with me when we get back to Inverness?"

Banquo laughs. "Stress eating all the time isn't good for you, Macbeth." He gently pats my stomach. "I don't want you getting stuck in any secret passageways again."

"Oh, come on," I groan, swatting his hand away. "One time."

"But do you remember the bars? And the roof when we were kids? And the window? And the—"

"Okay, I get it!" I laugh. "Don't worry, I'll try not to stress eat. But you have to eat more, okay?"

Banquo handles stress differently than I do. He's almost unhealthily skinny, and he goes off food whenever he's worried, causing him to lose more weight than I should. And maybe I'm slightly less skinny than I should be—but I just eat more food whenever I'm stressed. Honestly, our habits should be reversed for both of us to be healthy.

I pack my things and go to find Skye. I want to get back to Inverness as soon as possible—we've been spending so much time away from home.

The ride back to Inverness is just as wet and muddy as the ride to Dunsinane, though the rain is falling more lightly now. I breathe in the rainy air, trying to relax. I need to calm down.

What happens next, though, does nothing to calm me down in the slightest.

A bright flash of purple light streaks across the highlands, and Skye and Kniertje scream. The horses whinny loudly and rear, racing down the road. Banquo and I are yelling, our wives are screaming, and streaks of purple light are flying across the grass.

My yell morphs into a scream as my horse rears, and I go flying off his back.

"Macbeth!" Skye screams as I hit the muddy road face-first. Thankfully, the ground is much softer than it would normally be, and I'm pretty sure the worst of the damage is mud all over my front and maybe a couple bruises.

I push myself up, shaking my head and trying to wipe the mud off my face. Squinting through the rain, I can see Skye still clinging to our sprinting horse, and Banquo and Kniertje's running free, its riders gone.

Gingerly testing my legs on the muddy ground, I find that neither of them seem injured, and I break into a run down the road. Where did Banquo and Kniertje go? I hope they're okay.

As Castle Inverness draws closer, I see Banquo and Kniertje running up the road toward me, covered in probably more mud than I am.

"Macbeth!" Banquo yelps. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I reply shakily. "What about you? What was that?"

"I have no idea," Banquo whispers. "But I think someone was trying to scare us. Hurt us, even. We need to get back to Inverness, see if Skye's horse made it there."

Thankfully, we're only about half a mile from the castle, so it doesn't take us long to trudge back. My feet sink into the mud a few times, and it takes me several seconds to pull them free. Will the storm ever stop?

When we get back to Castle Inverness, a female servant has Skye wrapped in a blanket. My wife's eyes widen when she sees me, and she wraps me in a huge hug. I give her a kiss on the forehead and ask, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Skye whispers. "Just wet. What about you? Are you hurt?"

"No—just muddy," I reassure her. "I'm going to go take a bath—let me know if you need anything."

I trudge up the stairs to my chambers and pull off my filthy tunic and cape. Turning the tap for the hot-water pipe, I wait for the stone bathtub to fill.

When it's done, I climb into the tub and close my eyes, letting the steaming water soak my muddy skin and soothe the bruises I'm sure I have. I think there's a big one on my hip, and another on my chest. Probably one on my cheek too, but none of them hurt too badly. They'll probably be fine in a few days.

I wash the mud off my face and arms, then climb out of the tub and towel myself dry. I put on another yellow tunic—don't judge me—and then head back into my bedroom to hear frantic knocking.

"What is it, Banquo?" I sigh, opening the door.

Banquo's eyes are wide. "You have to hurry—a servant's going to get Katavid—Macbeth, Skye's in labor!"

"What?" I yelp. "But we have like three more weeks!"

"Well, the baby's not going to wait! Hurry up!"

I sprint barefoot down the stairs, following Banquo down to the birthing room. Yes, we have a birthing room—every castle does. Dunsinane has two. Women do kind of need a place to have their babies.

Banquo and I burst into the room, and I catch sight of Skye lying in a bed, a blanket pulled up to her chest. She's shaking and sweating, and she gasps out my name as I enter. I run to my wife's side, kneeling down beside her bed and grabbing her hand.

"Katavid's coming," Banquo tells Skye as Kniertje enters the room, presumably to assist with the birth. "He'll be here in about twenty minutes. Don't worry, the baby won't be here that fast. And Katavid's never lost a baby before—everything will be alright."

"Thanks," Skye mumbles through gritted teeth. "How long do I have to do this for?"

"Not long," I soothe, rubbing my wife's pregnant stomach. "The baby will be here soon enough."

"I didn't think it would hurt this much," Skye groans. "It's like being stabbed in the gut."

My eyes widen at the comparison. I'm so glad men don't have to go through childbirth—the worst pain I've ever felt is in no way comparable to what Skye is feeling right now. Thankfully, I haven't experienced a lot of terrible pain.

After several minutes of waiting, Katavid arrives, bursting into the room. "Everyone move! Except you, Macbeth!"

Katavid kneels down next to Skye and checks her vitals, placing a hand on her stomach. "That baby's early, but he's strong. Well, I guess it could be a young lass, but I feel like it's male."

"How can you tell?" I ask curiously.

"I can feel it somehow," Katavid tells me. "I predicted both you and Banquo would be boys. I remember your birth like it was yesterday…" He sighs. "Your poor mother. She was overdue, and her labor lasted well over a day. She died almost immediately after you were born."

"I've never heard the story before," I say. "Will you tell me about it? And…and will that happen to Skye?"

"I don't think so," Katavid reassures me. "The labor seems to be progressing well—I'm hopeful that she and the baby will both make it. But yes, Macbeth, I'll tell you the story."

-katavid-

seventeen years ago

I glance up at Eileen, my mentor healer, as she places a hand on Lady Fiona's enormous baby bump. The baby is three weeks overdue, and he's finally decided to come. But the labor has been going for a whole day, and the baby isn't moving. I think he might be stuck, or at least unable to fit into the birth canal.

Lord Sinel, thane of Glamis, is sitting in the corner, looking at his wife worriedly. I can sense his anxiety—it's unsurprising. I'd be worried too if my wife's labor was going on for this long.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Eileen tells Sinel. "I'm going to have to take the child by Caesarean if you want it to live."

Sinel looks up from his chair, his eyes wide. "But—but Fiona—"

"Let her do it," Fiona gasps, her forest-green eyes squeezed shut. "I was never…going to survive this…anyway…I've been too sick, Sinel. Please…let her take him."

"No, Fiona," Sinel whispers. "If the child is cut out of the womb, you will die. And it might die too."

"But he will not survive…a natural birth," Fiona rasps. "Please…let her do it…tell Isla and Ewan I love them…"

"Fiona, please," Sinel begs, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I can't lose you. It would tear me apart."

"You will be alright, my love," Fiona whispers. "Our child…will grow to be strong. Just…just like you."

Sinel lets out a sob, pressing his lips against his wife's forehead. I feel my own eyes filling with tears as he struggles to speak. "I cannot be strong without you, Fiona. I love you too much. How will our child be strong if I am not?"

"He will be strong. He will live," Fiona murmurs. "And he…he shall be called…"

"Tell me, Fiona, please," Sinel says. "I don't know how to name a child."

Fiona gazes up into her husband's eyes and utters a single name, one that I suddenly feel will change the course of Scotland's future.

"Macbeth."

Sinel closes his eyes and nods, then kisses his wife on the lips. Fiona gives him one last weary, loving smile, and then Eileen puts a hand on his shoulder. "I am so sorry, Lord Sinel. But it's time. Katavid, bring me the knife."

I pick up the blade from the bedside table and hand it to Eileen, then put a hand on Sinel's back and lead him out of the room. Closing the door behind the sobbing thane, I go to stand by Eileen's side, looking up at my elderly mentor as if to ask if we have to do this.

"Maybe you should go out too, Katavid," she murmurs. "You're only eight. I'm not sure you can handle this."

"I'll stay," I whisper. "You need someone to clean and wrap the baby. Besides, I was there at his cousin's birth—and I saved him."

Eileen nods. "You are wise, young one, and I believe in your skill of healing. Perhaps you will be of assistance. When I've made the incision, I need you to reach into the womb and gently pull out the child. I will cut the cord, and then you will clean the child and wrap it in the blanket." She nods to the supplies on the bedside table, then turns to Fiona. "Are you ready, my lady?"

Fiona nods, her face white and dripping with sweat. "Please…save him. Save my son."

"My lady, I will do everything I can."

Eileen takes a deep breath and carefully cuts open Fiona's dress, exposing her skin. I take one last look at the exhausted mother's eyes, knowing that there is no way she will survive the procedure—but that there is a slim chance her baby will. This is the only way.

My mentor, her eyes closed, sets the knife down on Fiona's stomach and draws the blade across the skin.

And Fiona screams.

And screams.

And screams until I think my heart is going to be ripped out.

Finally, the cut is deep and wide enough, and Eileen whispers, "Now, Katavid! Now!"

I draw in a shaky breath and gently reach into the incision, grabbing the baby's shoulders and lifting it out of the womb. Eileen slashes open the amniotic sac, then cuts the cord. Fiona gives a shuddering gasp as Eileen rushes to stitch the cut back together.

Grabbing a cloth from the table, I plunge it into the bowl of water we've brought, soaking it. I wipe the baby off and am unsurprised to discover that it's a boy—a dark-haired, chubby baby boy. He's adorable.

When I'm finished, the baby lets out a tiny cry and waves his small hands around, trying to locate his mother. Tears prick at my eyes as I realize she's never going to nurse him. I wrap the infant in a cloth and carry him over to Fiona and Eileen. My mentor's hands are covered in blood—so are mine, I realize—and even though she's stitched the incision back up, blood is spreading over the bandages she's pressed over the wound. Fiona is bleeding out.

Even so, I gently place the baby into his mother's arms. She gazes lovingly at her son, giving a weak smile. "Oh, my son…my son of life, my son in death…make your father proud."

The baby gives a faint coo and snuggles into his mother's chest. Fiona's eyes close, and her last word passes over her lips.

"Macbeth…"

Then she goes limp, and my tears spill over.

"Go wash your hands, lad," Eileen whispers, tears following the path of her wrinkles down her face. "I need you to hold the child while I tell Sinel and the children the news."

I quickly wash my hands, sniffling and trying not to let my tears drip onto the baby as I pick him up. Poor little Macbeth.

Eileen pulls the blanket over Fiona's body and folds the woman's hands over her chest. My mentor washes her hands, then ushers me out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Outside, in the antechamber, young Lady Isla and Lord Ewan play quietly on the floor. Both children look up as Eileen I exit the birthing room, their eyes wide.

Sinel stands up from his chair, his eyes red and puffy. "Is she…"

"She's gone," Eileen says heavily. "I'm sorry."

The thane sinks back into his chair, burying his face in his hands. "And—and my child?"

"A son," Eileen whispers. "Katavid, give him to his father."

I place little Macbeth into Sinel's arms, and the thane looks down at his son. As Sinel lifts the bundle up to his face, the baby opens his eyes, and I realize with a start that his irises are a deep forest green. Just like Fiona's.

"He's beautiful," Sinel whispers. "Thank you."

Isla and Ewan toddle over to see their baby brother, letting out tiny squeals of delight. Poor little things—they don't know that their mother is dead.

"Katavid and I will find the baby a wet nurse," Eileen tells Sinel. "Lady Iona just had her son a few months ago—she can nurse yours as well. I'll go find her and tell her what's happened. In the meantime, you should take your son to the priests to be christened." She smiles at Sinel, who is gazing, enraptured, at his son. "Best wishes to you and your family."

Eileen beckons to me, and we leave the antechamber and walk down the corridor to the healing wing.

"I'm so sorry, Katavid," my mentor murmurs, putting a gnarled hand to her face. "You should not have had to watch that. As I said before, you are only eight years old."

"It's okay," I whisper, giving Eileen a small smile. "I'm glad we were able to save the baby. I think he'll be important to Scotland."

Eileen stops at the edge of the hallway, suddenly gazing out the window, and I know she's seeing beyond.

"Yes, I do believe you're right."

-macbeth-

"Wow," I whisper. "That's…that's so sad."

"Yes," Katavid says. "But we were able to save you, and that's what your mum wanted. And now look at you—about to welcome your first child."

"When will it come?" Skye pants. "Is it bad that it's so early?"

"Hopefully not," Katavid reassures her. "Banquo was a little earlier, and he and his mum both made it. Your labor is going much better, so don't be worried."

"When do I start pushing?" Skye asks. "I want this baby out as soon as possible."

"We'll have to wait and see," Katavid says. "He'll come when he will come."

Then Skye's eyes widen, and her back arches as she inhales sharply. It quickly turns into a scream.

"Which is apparently now," Katavid adds, looking startled. "Macbeth, hold her hand. Banquo, Kniertje, can you get the supplies laid out?"

Skye screams again, and the next several minutes are a blur of blood and piercing screams and pain in my hand where Skye is squeezing it.

"I can see the head!" Katavid yells. "Macbeth, I need you to cut the cord when it comes out!"

"What?" I yelp. "With what?"

"The knife, you bonehead! It's on the table!"

I reach over with the hand that Skye isn't crushing and grab the knife off the table. Just a few moments later, Katavid lifts the baby up and yells, "Now, Macbeth!"

Skye finally lets go of my hand, and I grab the cord, then sever it. Katavid takes the baby over to the table in the corner and cleans it off, then wraps it in a blanket.

"It's a boy!" he declares, turning around and handing the tiny bundle to Skye. "Look at him! He's so cute!"

I pull a chair up next to Skye's bed and look down at my son. He's so tiny—probably the smallest baby I've ever seen. He has fuzzy dark hair, exactly the same color as mine. His eyes aren't really able to focus yet, but I can tell they're a beautiful sky-blue.

My son lets out a tiny coo and presses his face against Skye's chest, his tiny fists clutching my wife's dress. The sight makes my heart melt. This is even more beautiful than I thought it would be.

"I'm so proud of you," I whisper to Skye. "He's beautiful. What do you want to call him?"

"I've only been able to think of one name," Skye murmurs, stroking the baby's hair. "It's a bit unusual, but I think you'll like it."

I nod earnestly. "Go ahead."

"I was thinking…" Skye smiles down at our son. "Banner. Banner Findlaech. It means 'standard bearer.' I think he'll bear the standard of Scotland—he'll bring an important gift to us."

"It's a wonderful name," I tell her. "It's perfect."

I hear a sniffle from behind me and turn to see both Katavid and Banquo crying. My best friend is doing it silently, but Katavid is full-out bawling.

"Sorry," he gasps, wiping a tear away. "It's just—being able to see this again—the baby I delivered with his own baby is amazing. That makes me feel so old."

I laugh. "Katavid, you're only twenty-five."

"I know, but I'm very mature for my age. Banner, did you say?"

"Yes," I reply, turning back to look at my son. "Banner."