The room was filled with idle quiet chatter, like the black wings of ravens rustling with no flight attempted. She wore a placid, mild smile, nodding or softly disagreeing before shifting back to silence. Her fingers idly touched at the small, ivory embroidering along her skirts, enjoying the subtle changes in texture as her eyes shifted amongst the countless faces without much thought or registration. The hall burst into laughter with a jarring start, the noise mimicked over and over again until the back was responding to a joke the head had long moved on from. His majesty must have said something amusing to some extent then. Her cold meats sat before her with only a few signs of consumption, but the ladies surrounding her hardly noticed. They rarely did. Ah, there he was, surrounded by men, a large preforming smile on his lips, Horatio, his very own Apollo, charismatic as ever.
He seemed to have sensed her stare, for their eyes locked and suddenly she understood. He was beyond anxious as well. The letter affirming Hamlet's return had been a popular topic since its arrival three days ago, but he had yet to appear. Each hour was twice as long as the last, what a relief she was not alone in that feeling. How she longed to talk to him again, but that would not be a possibility. She was no child anymore, and Hamlet had grown into a prince since his departure. Appearances prohibited her from even briefly speaking with Horatio without having a scandalous array of rumors make rounds about the castle. He was a doctor of some sort now, but they rarely talked of such things when opportunities to converse arose.
She gave a subtle bow of her head, and he returned the gesture with a soft smile before two officers approached him and began to talk in hushed tones. He was a reserved man, with eyes so dark and observant she found most men assumed more wisdom upon him than necessary. All the same, he listened to their whispers with respect and seriousness, before replying something quiet with a swift nod of the head, and thus the two officers vanished, quite suddenly, like ghosts. She longed to walk up to him, to ask after them, to simply converse with him. She clenched her fingers into her skirts and gave a soft remark to the conversation the ladies were having. She longed for many things, but it was not to be.
"Sister." A man with hair a reddish shade of blonde crept next to her, bowing and whispering. She smiled softly, excused herself, and rose from her place, moving to a quiet corner of the hall, a suitable place for private affairs in company. Laertes had taken the news much harder than even she. His face seemed gaunt, his frame thin, but still he stood tall and high, with a flirtatious and inviting grin pasted upon his chapped lips. "Sister, I do not think I can bear to face him. I think it best if I return to France. I have spoken over the matter with Father, and although he is grieved over the decision, he is not opposed. Do not give me that look, please. I would rather not drudge up ancient memories of little consequence."
"What look?" Her manner stiffened, her back straight, hands once again brushing over soft threads and spaces.
"You are disappointed that I am not a stronger man, that simply speaking to him, in my opinion, is too great a challenge. You would be correct, of course, but all the same it is not fitting for us to spend too long together." His gray eyes shifted towards the sea of unlabeled faces that always seemed to overwhelm her if concentrated on for too long. "If I were to be in France at least no harm could be done- to either of us."
A moment passed between them in that dark columned corner as laughter once again echoed, reminding her of the gap between them. She collected herself. "This is all very sudden," she responded quietly. "Are you quite sure? When would your ship depart?" Another moment passed before she continued. "Laertes, perhaps you should wait. I care not Hamlet's opinion of you, it has been so long as it is, but your tiptoeing must cease. It has been years, Brother, and all feeling has long since died, has it not? Anger can subside with time, as well as all passionate feeling. Perhaps a discussion is for the best. Laertes, I do not want you to-"
He suddenly turned, gripping tightly to her elbow, forcing her to meet his eyes, his cold, distant eyes. Something dark was rising from the depths of his soul, and for a moment she felt fear. She feared that he was capable of horror she had not yet allowed herself to imagine, but worse than he had already inflicted. She feared that the rage of a god had yet to afflict her. "What do you know of passion? Of anger? Of feeling? You are a child to such emotions, inexperienced and blind. No, my heart has not 'subsided', nor shall it."
"Must I experience such things to comprehend them? Perhaps I have loved, perhaps my heart has been broken. Perhaps I yearn, and feel, and sigh over men as you both deem me impossible of and yet constantly assume. I am shocked you do not think me in love with Hamlet myse-"
"Are you?" A flash of something strange, foreign and familiar, seeped into his expression as grip tightened to the point of pain. She pulled herself away from him, taking a commanding step back. Why? Why now? Why again?
"No." She allowed her answer to sink into the stone corners around them, collecting herself before adding: "You forget yourself." She held his stare a moment before he seemed to think better on it, straightening and calming his manner. He did not apologize. He never did.
'Laertes, I do not want you to leave, I need you here, I am alone, with none but you on my side.' How glad was she now to have been so rudely interrupted.
She bowed her head, and lifted her peach skirts, before turning to leave, with no utterance of goodbye or promise of further discussion. This was all she could to express "passion, anger, feeling". This, this small meaningless gesture, was her rage of the Erinyes at their fullest. While her brother ran, pulled, prodded, abused, she could only walk away and pretend such things had never occurred. She could only return to her untouched food, make some light joke of the situation to her companions, and gaze at Horatio laugh with whomever he pleased from afar. Yes, a true Apollo to her earthly shell. She was paying no heed to her brother, to his silent pleas and amendments that meant nothing to her in that moment. The last thing he tried to say was simply:
"Ophelia."
