By Auburn Red
Disclaimer: Oh boy, this is where the fun begins. I do not own these characters. (Deep breath): Puck, Oberon, Titania, Macbeth, The Wierd Sisters, and Demona belong to William Shakespeare, Greg Weisman, and the group from Disney/Buena Vista Television (Except for Demona who is just owned by Weisman, etc.) Quicksiler, Ariel, Sylvanus, Proteus, and their crew belong to Sarah A. Hoyt. Widge, Sal, Sam, Julia, Jaime Redshaw, and the Kings Men are partly real and partly owned by Gary Blackwood. Othello, Iago, Horatio, Prospero, and anyone else who sounds vaguely Shakespearean belong to Shakespeare himself. William Shakespeare belongs to himself and many of the above. (This interpretation of him is based on his portrayals in The Ill Met by Moonlight series and The Shakespeare Stealer series).The Unseelies are based on various characters. I did however create the characters, Sebastian, Viola, and Antonio (except lifted their names from Shakespeare's plays).
A/N: For the thoroughly confused as I am, this is an amalgam of the animated series, Gargoyles, some of Shakespeare's plays, and the book series, Ill Met by Moonlight by Sarah A. Hoyt and The Shakespeare Stealer series by Gary Blackwood (except for Shakespeare's Spy which I have used some concepts from but not all) For the uninitiated on the two book series, Ill Met by Moonlight series is about Will, then a young teacher and later struggling playwright who finds himself perpetually involved in the inner into the inner workings of the Fairy Kingdom. (In Ill Met by Moonlight, his wife and daughter are kidnapped,then in All Night Awake, his friend Christopher Marlowe becomes a pawn in a very sinister plan, then in Any Man So Daring, his son is taken to a place of magic) He becomes involved in a lust-love-hate relationship with Quicksiler, a young Fairy Prince and later King, who changes into a female form, Silver unintentionally. (Oh and in Gargoyles, Oberon and Titania are alive and in exile whereas in Ill Met by Moonlight they are dead, easily fixable with the stroke of a pen).
The Shakespeare Stealer series by Gary Blackwood is about Widge, a young boy who is ordered by his employer to steal Hamlet or else. He ingratiates himself with the then-Lord Chamberlain's Men and becomes an apprentice and makes friends with the other players, with his employer following him and in Shakespeare's Scribe he tours with the group during the plague and reunites with a man who may or may not be his father.
Oh and one other thing, I do apologize but unless the characters are quoting directly from the plays, I am not using Shakespearean dialogue for the most part (They aren't speaking modern slang, but not continuously speaking as though they were in the plays. It's formal, but more like for example how the characters speak in the flashback scenes of Gargoyles). I have a hard time keeping up the Shakespearean style of speaking and from me it wouldn't sound right.
Scene One
Out of all of the places he had been to, Puck had always liked Britain the best. In the rural areas, he was the bane and sometimes the helpmate of many a country wife. In days of old, he danced around with minstrels, scared the drunks in the tavern, and hid in the woods with the outlaws.
Puck tripped past the various people going one way or another. The smell of fish, and dust, and the constant stream of people filled him. He could hear a dizzying array of voices in many accents asking for wares, arguing, teasing. Though his long white hair and red doublet, stockings, and purple sash gave him the appearance of being a typical Renaissance man, he had made his more objectionable features, like his long ears disappear so he wouldn't create a disturbance.
Besides the countryside, he also enjoyed London. Now that the messiness of the plague was but a distant memory, it was a fun place to be again. The nobles to mock, the intrigues to get involved in, the plots overthrow the lord or the queen to thwart for fun, and of course the artists to fool and inspire.
His favorite used to be Christopher Marlowe, in fact his appearance inspired the writer's portrayal of Mephistopholes in his Tragic History of Dr. Faustus. But that of course went sour upon the playwright's death (under mysterious circumstances but he knew the truth as did all fay) Now his favorite was William Shakespeare. He had inspired the former country rube to turn an amusing incident from the fairy's youth involving his Lord, his Lady and a donkey into a play.
It was odd, when he first met Shakespeare, or Shakey as he called him, he reacted like he was used to communicating with fairies. No surprises, no falling over passed out in shock, no clinging to a cross and begging him to be gone in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Kind of a let-down really. He just sighed, like he expected it.
He remembered when they were working down the play, A Midsummer Night's Dream, there was an odd conversation between them.
"It is finished," the playwright said peering his long hawk-like nose at the work.
"Yeah, after so many rewrites," Puck quipped.
Will looked at the play and sighed, running his fingers through his receding chestnut hair. "Do you suppose she will like it?"
Puck grinned lavisciously. He knew whom he was talking about. Even though he was traveling during most of it, he had heard enough. He decided to play innocent. "The queen," he said. "I'm sure that she will like it. You know if she doesn't, its---" he ran his finger across his throat having no subtlety to his meaning.
Will responded with a far-away glance. "Yes, who?" he asked coming back to reality. "Not Her Majesty. She probably would never- Puck in all of your travels have you ever met up with-" He waved his hand. "Never mind, it matters not."
Puck returned to reality and glanced up at the round building: The Globe. A new play was opening, Macbeth. Puck just had to see it considering that he knew some of the participants personally.
Puck's ears then perked up at a sound. Despite their being a loud commotion from the crowd, the sound of his name carried over that as though it were being shouted. He looked up and saw a female figure across the road staring at him. A familiar female figure dressed in her gold and red armor and glancing at him through her pink hair and blue skin. She glanced at him with sorrowful eyes that he never saw, angry a lot of time but sorrowful almost never. Of course he hadn't seen her, since before she died with her husband, Oberon.
Puck was away during most of this, but he had heard what had happened. About 700 years ago, Oberon and Titania divorced and he had sent all of his children into exile to learn among the humans. Though they hadn't spoken to each other in a long time, Oberon and Titania, a few years ago, reunited and apparantely the flames were still there enough for them to agree to "work things out." Unfortunately, their eldest son, Sylvanus had a mortal kill them or send them to oblivion, Puck was never sure which, leaving what was left of the Avalonians to be ruled by their youngest son, Quicksilver who had ruled for the past 15 years. Of course it had not been an easy rule most of which Puck wasn't around for, one of the plague spreading to the fay as well as the humans and a civil war led by Oberon's brother and nephew. As strange as it was, it was nothing compared to what he had heard happened in the Hollow Hills lately.
Puck gasped as Titania stared right him as stone and silent as a gargoyle during the day. Two men approached where she stood, but passed right through her. "My lady," Puck called. But she paid him no heed instead disappeared into the background.
"Puck," he heard once again the voice of his queen call into his mind. Puck approached the Fairy Queen, but she disappeared again.
He heard her call his name again, and this time he followed her into a dark ally. "Alright, who is this?" Puck commanded feeling stupid chasing after a ghost "For unless gossip has failed, my lady is dead!"
"Puck," the voice called again.
This was enough! Puck knelt down ready to fight. "Stop calling to me, I'm ready for you!"
The shadow took a slightly more corporeal form. "Puck, it is I," Titania said.
Puck knelt down but couldn't as usual resist a comment. "You wish to speak with me, milady?" as though she were at the palace and was calling him for a minor transgression.
Titania glowered at him in an expression that was every bit as bad-tempered as her husband and son's. "I have not the time for your jests, Puck. I would pass this message to my daughter-in-law, Ariel but I could not find her. So you must be my emissary. I need you to find my son and pass this message that what happened at the Hill was not of his making. Our death was not permanent and we are meant to be freed, My husband, his father, is not with me, where he is I do not know. You must also find the Playwright for he can help us also the Immortal Enemies and the One Who is Lost can help us. Tell him to beware of the approaching war and the Magic Hunters, they could bring dissension within his own house."
Puck put his hand on his head confused. And I thought the Monkey King acted wierd over too much sake, he said to himself. "Are you sure you don't want me to write this down?" he asked.
"Go," Titania yelled then her voice became kinder. "Help us, Puck, I have faith in you. I know that you will help us." She faded and her voice called once more, "Help us."
Puck rubbed his eyes. Was it a dream? Even though fairies could not age, nor get sick, they can die and occasionally become ghosts to the living, but why here and why now? Was it because of the recent attack on the Hollow Hill? And what of the playwright? Puck had a theory on that one. He cupped his chin in his hand and glanced up at The Globe. "Looks like I'm going to a play," he said aloud.
The physician called his nurse over. "Has she showed any signs of improvement?"
"No," the nurse, a heavy gray haired woman, sighed. "She sits privately in her cell. When ehe is among others, she ignores them as they call to her with such lecherous comments. Though, I can't blame her."
"Poor thing," the physician said.
"The nurse nodded. "She asks that she not be kept in darkness, preferring only to be near the light."
"She still calls for the other two?" he asked.
"Yes sir," the nurse replied. "She still says their names many times and has to be restrained by the guards. There are days when those names are all she says.:"
The physician heard the door open and saw the young woman walk through that they were speaking about. Her blond hair hung bedraggled to her waist. She wore a dirty-white gown making her look ghostly and goddess-like at the same time. Her eyes were vacant and hollow as ever. It was apparent, that she hadn't changed much since she had been found one year ago, wandering the streets and babbling and had to be restrained.
The woman held the candle with one hand and reached out with her other. She seemed to be holding onto and invisible someone's hand. Perhaps the owner of one of the two names she called incessantely, the physician thought.
"As me," she sighed.
"She speaks sir," the nurse gasped.
"Let's hear what she has to say," the physician said to her.
"One of three," the woman said. "Three make one whole. Where are the other two now? Why had they left me as this?Why has our Light been extinguished? Is the King and Queen dead or are they hiding? Keep the light, near me. The darkness disturbs me. I fear what I do not see and see what I do not fear. Fair is foul and foul is fair through the fog and misty air."
The physician calmly stepped towards the woman, but she paid him no mind. He leaned over to her to calmly relieve her of her candle. She showed no sign that she acknowledge him instead continued to speak.
"Each is immortal until one destroys the other and in turn destroys me," she said. "The Hunter is no friend, nor is the Gargoyle. They share each other's pain, until the end. The Archmage had an apprentice. Where is he now? Living on our isle with his strumpet and that child and our things"
The physician shook his head and held the young woman by the shoulders. None of her ramblings made sense, but he heard a long time ago in his boyhood home of Scotland there were rumors of a gargoyle clan that had been attacked by vikings over 700 years ago. He blithely wondered if she was referring to those gargoyles but paid it no mind. "Madam, please we must return you to your cell?"
"Alone?" as asked hollowly as though she wasn't really aware that she was being addressed.
"Yes alone," he said.
"Suddenly, the hollow eyes snapped and blazed with recognition. "No, no, I cannot!" she said. "Where are the other halves of me, where are they?" The physician held her by one arm. "Nurse! Guards!" he yellped. The nurse and two guards arrived and held onto the young woman. She was overpowered by their size.
"I don't belong here!" She yelled. "Luna! Selene!"
"Not those names again," the physician said. "Take her back to her room!."
The woman continued to yell the names Luna and Selene screaming and getting more frantic as they led her back to her room.
The ship pulled into the London harbor. The sailors all cheered with delight. After so many months asea, they could finally land and have some fun.
One of the boatswains, Peter, sighed with delight. "It will be grand to be going home again," he said. He turned to the sailor next to him, a tall powerful looking black man. He never smiled and his face had a look of hard sorrow.. "Won't you be glad to land, sir?" he asked.
The older man, he called himself Aaron, but there was a lot of doubt that was his name, sighed. "You have to have a home to miss," Peter leaned over the mast to the approaching city almost touching it with his hands. "Though I did love Venice, the grand houses, the beautiful sights, the beloved ladies. Didn't you enjoy it, sir?"
"It wasn't exactely my beloved Venice," Aaron said so quietly that Peter wasn't sure that he heard him.
Peter remembered Aaron's behavior in Venice. Though never very sociable, the older man behaved like a hermit in that city. He almost never left the ship and the few times that he did, he was in the company of other sailors. He claimed that he had never been to Venice before but carried himself through the city like he knew every angle and had been there many times before.
In fact, Peter only saw Aaron alone in Venice once. While soliciting company for the night, Peter saw Aaron stand in front of an old house unmoving like a statue. He stood there in silence, then he picked up a rock on the ground and threw it at a window in the buliding sending it smashing to the ground. He then pulled his sword out of his scabbard and ran to the building just beating on it with the blunt end of the sword and his fists. He pounded on the door and windows and then sank down from exhaustion. Peter turned away not wanting to say anything to the older man or let him know he was watching him, but he saw Aaron return to th ship later that night and remain in his cabin for the rest of their stay in Venice.
The men had speculated about Aaron's behaviour. That he was a Moor, that was no secret, but they theorized that he might have been exiled from Venice because of a pogrom, perhaps leaving a family behind. The house may have belonged to the ones who exiled him.
Whatever happened to him, the black man offered no words, nor clues, and definately said nothing. Still through it all, he was a good sailor, serious, hard-working, and often carried himself like a soldier. He did not participate in the fun of the other men, though he treated them sternly, but fairly.
"Land," the lookout called. The men prepared to disembark as Aaron trailed behind.
"Coming to a tavern?" one of the men asked Peter.
Peter nodded giggling in anticipation of the beautous ladies. "Are you coming sir?" He asked Aaron.
Aaron shook his head. Peter gasped surprised that he was ready to disembark. "No, but I do have someone I need to meet here."
Aaron felt a cold presence almost as soon as the ship landed.He knew the one he sought was here. They hadn't been in each other's company for so long, but they could zero in on each other's presence like a sixth sense, a bond that they shared. They shared more than that bond, Aaron thought. He kept his sword to his side and gripped it tightly.
"I know you are here," he said with anger "And I will finish this, I promise you that." The man called Aaron, for he long abandoned his real name, Othello, made this vow to the one, who though absent right now in body was never absent from his mind.
_________________ On to Scene Two