A Rose by This Name

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{This is my work from my AO3 account, by the same name. This is also not entirely historically accurate, as Shakespeare didn't leave much for us to work with on the identity of W.H. This was just an idea I had one day, and decided there was quite a bit to work with in terms of speculation!}

It was not often that William was approached with a commission. His writings were typically reserved for plays and dramatic readings, theatre being the highest and most noble form of entertainment. Even the queen herself was frequently an attendee to Shakespeare's works. It was well known she funded and encouraged his writings, along with many other nobles who sought to raise their court status. Sponsoring theatre troupes was fashionable, and Queen Elizabeth was the most fashionable of all. Noblemen and women looking to attract the attention of the queen would visit plays as well, if only to become more powerful in the court. It was rare to find someone who truly enjoyed the art of theatre for what it was.

Henry Wriothesley was someone of the latter, however. Which is why William found it so puzzling when his mother, Countess Mary of South Hampton, sent a letter to ask for William's help. She implored William to write to her son in a way that would be sure to get through to him. He reads the letter one last time:

Dearest Sir William Shakespeare,
I write this to you in moments of sheer desperation. As you may know, my son has been raised so far in his life by Lord Burghley. Henry, however indebted to his guardian, is now refusing to marry Lord Burghley's granddaughter. This is terribly upsetting, as we will be forced to pay a fine of £5,000 if the betrothal is not made. I implore you, write to Henry in a way only an actor the likes of you can. Dictate to him the joys of marriage and fatherhood. His status at court is surely on the line.
~ Mary of South Hampton

It was clear what Mary was asking William to do; convince him to marry into more wealth and status. But William had met Henry before, and that was easier said than done. Having been raised by Lord Burghley, Henry grew to despise women. Aside from his great prominence in the court of Queen Elizabeth, he also had a bit of a reputation for affairs with young men. How was William meant to shift the focus of his desires? Staring at the carefully inked-in letters of the countess's message, William felt the beginnings of a plan form. He knew Henry was fond of praise and the art of theatre, and since sonnets were growing more popular within the stately English homes, it would be a perfect mode of delivery.

William had written sonnets for his plays before, plays that Henry had likely attended. However, there was only so much you could say to a young man in a sonnet. William recalls Henry's fairness of looks, his vibrant eyes, and decides to start with praise. Crossing his small apartment, he opens a drawer filled with parchments and inks and quills. He dips a fresh quill into the ink, words flowing onto the parchment from his mind.

From fairest creatures we desire increase...

-----

The sun is rising over Henry, who is sitting in the garden of his childhood estate when his mother finally finds him. Her long and thick layering of petticoats is no doubt becoming heavy with dew on the lawn, but her dress still looks impeccable, as expected from a countess. Henry knows she's sporting the highest fashion of the day, but he still thinks her clothing is ugly. Dresses are not appealing to him, the flared hips and tiny waists seeming bothersome. She sits on the stone bench next to him, tucking a small parcel between the layers of her skirt.

"Good morning, mother," says Henry, "It's a bit early for you to be in the garden today." The countess nods slightly, looking towards the horizon, away from Henry. "Is there a reason for that?"

She turns back to look at the delicate features of her only son. Even as a young boy, she had been of the persuasion that he looked rather feminine. Yes, she thought, there is no reason a woman would not like to marry him. He's simply the problem himself. She raises her hands to reveal the envelope, adorned with small roses and bold gothic lettering addressing it to Earl Henry Wriothesley.

"I believe it's from the poet, Sir William Shakespeare."

Henry looks at her suspiciously. "Why might Sir Shakespeare be calling on me, of all people?"

The countess pinches her lips together, poorly hiding a smirk. "Perhaps he is just looking to thank his most important patron," She stops, reconsiders. "Second most important, after Queen Elizabeth. God save the queen." This doesn't seem to be a satisfactory answer for Henry, but the countess has already risen from the bench. "I trust you'll read the letter and think carefully about his words." With that, Mary strides away across the manicured lawn, likely hurrying off to stare at the backs of her many servants.

Henry peels the wax seal off of the letter, careful not to damage any of the designs on the envelope. Inside, not a letter, but a short poem, a sonnet. He had heard of others in court writing and receiving sonnets, but had yet to experience one himself. With no note left in the envelope, he reads:

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggardly.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

Looking down at the page, Henry frowns. It was one thing for the most successful actor in England to send him a letter, but another entirely to send him a sonnet. A sonnet clearly filled to the brim with flattery. But the flattery here was seemingly only a ploy, convincing Henry to carry on with his bloodline. Why on God's green earth would Sir William Shakespeare be writing to Henry to encourage him to impregnate some woman? He re-reads the sonnet, growing more irritated by the minute. Who was William to accuse him of excessively pleasuring himself? This accusation implied Henry was wasting away his fertility, his bloodline going to waste. At least William believed Henry to be one of the aforementioned 'fairest creatures'. He smiles at that. Even if the flattery had an ulterior motive, compliments from such a profound man as Shakespeare might not be so bad.