[Semi-Closed Post: Aornis Is a Real Headache]

[timebethine]

Somewhere around midnight, a migraine descended on Laertes like a thunderhead, and he still hasn't come out from beneath its anvil. He's spent most of the day hiding in bed with the curtains drawn, feeling as though he's about to be sick--and that feeling's only grown worse as the sun has drifted sluggishly to a low apex in the sky.

It isn't until mid-afternoon that he feels well enough to make progress on all his plans. He needs to speak to SecUnit about its drones, to Dionysus about whether Avernus (that is her name, isn't it?) is a goddess, and to Nightingale about whether he can offer magical support in case their confrontation goes sour. He needs to talk with Claudius about what to say when he does speak to her.

So it is that he starts making his rounds through the mansion and its grounds, seeking out friends old and new, clinging grimly to the thermos of coffee that smells sickeningly strong but also helps drive back the pain. His face is wan, his eyes shadowed. He would rather be doing anything but this.

Comments

[wickedwit]

"I love him so," he says helplessly, and sighs. "What would have I done if I did not have thee to tell me what a jonquil meant?"

[timebethine]

"Thou wouldst have managed," says Laertes, grinning. "A love like thine could never be restrained for long."

[wickedwit]

Claudius laughs. "A love like mine? And what sort of love is that?"

[timebethine]

"A once-in-a-lifetime love," says Laertes, laying his hand upon Claudius's breastbone. "Galahad is the other half of thy heart, as thou art of his."

[wickedwit]

"I've felt it, too," Claudius says, smile growing. "I've come to esteem my heart more, sharing it with him. This life of mine will have more worth, being wedded to him -- it already does, being his betrothed. Is it how thou feel'st for Sagramore?"

[timebethine]

"It is," says Laertes. "We're necessary to each other, like a pair of shoes; each of us requires the other."

[wickedwit]

"Like Tress's pair of gloves." Claudius smiles with fondness. "Has she told you about that metaphor her Charlie made?"

[timebethine]

"I think I've heard it, but can't remember whether she told me of it or Sagramore did. It's apt."

[wickedwit]

"Her young man is a poet," Claudius says, with a laugh. "Which I approve of. It means he's better able to praise her with all the terms she deserves."

[timebethine]

"And how wouldst thou be praised?" Laertes asks, leaning back to regard Claudius with mirth in his eyes.

[wickedwit]

"Wouldst thou write poetry to me?"

[timebethine]

"An thou wish it so."

[wickedwit]

"Then do. The next time thou art in longing for me," he teases, but he also entirely means it. "Write something praising my wit, or my skill at dancing, or something else thou dost admire in me. Hast thou ever written a sonnet for a pretty girl ere now?"

[timebethine]

"... I have," Laertes admits, "but I burned it, lest it be found."

[wickedwit]

“I did the same with my most earnest letters. I always expected them to be read, and prided myself on how coy and evasive I could be. Anything too truthful ended up in the fire.” He smiles softly, and says, “It’s a shame thy sonnet was never read by its subject. What sort of girl was she?”

[timebethine]

"Bold, and quick," says Laertes, after a moment. "She was the sister of a friend--I say a friend, but thou knowest all my friendships were shallow in those days. She knew Latin and Greek and Italian, and had many impertinent questions about the writings of Plato and Aristotle; she and her brother almost came to blows over the Divine Comedy more than once. She had thick black hair and eyes very near to black--but in sunlight, thou couldst make out a golden ring around her pupils, like the halo of the sun shining out from behind the eclipsing moon. Her laugh was like warm honey; it made me ache to hear her laugh at me."

[wickedwit]

“I can see her, when thou speak’st of her,” Claudius says with a smile. “I can hear her laugh. Preserve me in such poetry. I want to read what thou wouldst write of my hair and eyes and the books I argue over.”

[timebethine]

"I will," Laertes promises. "I swear it."

[wickedwit]

Claudius lets this I swear it pass without teasing, and simply gives Laertes a kiss. "I know thou wilt. Thou art good as thy word."