dum dum dum...
The general opinion of the crew, at this point, was that Antonio was either sadistic or slipping out of his wits. The reason they had been made to approach, twice in a week, the country where they were outlaws was an utter mystery to them. Which, of course, was how Antonio would have it be; if they knew his reasoning, he predicted the level of reverence his sailors showed toward him would decrease, to say the least.
He didn’t even know that it was reasoning. He thought maybe he was slipping out of his wits. Come when you’re wanted and go when you’re dismissed, and no one will take issue with you. That would be the sensible thing to do. This was not a sea-fight; he would get nowhere on tenacity.
And still he had turned back. To do what? He knew not. To have his say. It was a fault of his; he could never keep quiet. He was very lucky it had not yet earned him a sword to the gut or a place at the gallows.
Slumped on his elbows, watching the sea slide past and attempting to ignore the looming continent of Illyria fast approaching on the horizon, he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He needed a memory, a calm one; the first one he hit upon had been nearly making his throat close up whenever it came to mind for the past few days.
He remembered a silver-golden morning, the sun half-up, mist drifting and swirling over the surface of the sea. Suddenly, a shadow in the distance; he squinted but could not make it out. He was the only one of the tiny crew on deck, but this was too small to be a rival ship, so he let them be and waited.
And then it emerged from the mist and became clear: a broken-off piece of mast, near-submerged, the sail spread in tatters through the water, yet somehow keeping upright. Tied to the mast with slipshod knots about his chest, there was a beautiful young man, visibly languishing, bleeding from the chafing of the rope, eyes closed. His golden head drooped first forward, then back against the wood; there was very little life in him.
His Sebastian. Antonio didn’t know if he had gasped or just drawn a long, slow breath.
Fitting that he seemed to be born of the sea, Antonio thought now, looking at the calm waters. For the sea was changeable, one minute raging, the next playful, the next smooth and cold as stone.
But he could not give Sebastian up without a fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Antonio remembered how he and his men had the young man out of the water in a moment, and how his wounds were dressed. Antonio managed to keep the bandage steady as he wound it around the young man’s chest, though by all logic his hands should have been shaking. By all logic, though, he should have had no reason to think his hands should shake. Sometimes Antonio’s thoughts were torturous.
He gave the young man in his own clothes to wear, fed him, gave him a place to sleep. Through it all, the man’s eyes remained vaguely unfocused and watery, and he never spoke but to give his thanks, quietly, as though speaking might bring unwanted tears.
Eventually, he told Antonio his name was Roderigo. Antonio trusted him and did not question him further.
There was one night when a storm shook the little ship as if it would throw it out of the water, although Antonio knew it was not enough to do much actual damage. He made his slow, arduous way to Sebastian’s chamber (he couldn’t help now but think of him as Sebastian; it was a beautiful name). He walked a sort of serpentine path as the ship tossed and he stumbled sideways on the slippery deck again and again.
He found Sebastian on the meager bed, huddled against the wall, clutching his knees with his face hidden and breathing hard. Alarmed, Antonio hurried to his side, unthinkingly climbed onto the bed and took Sebastian’s shoulders in his hands. “How dost thou, Roderigo?”
Sebastian looked up with panicked eyes. “It shall go over, and that shall make an end of me,” he croaked. “I shall be glad of it. But o! my sister, and the others -”
“It shall not go over. I trust my ship as I would a wife,” said Antonio, in what he intended to be a soothing tone, but it came out rather awkwardly. Sebastian did not respond, so he continued, hurriedly, “I have seen a hundred storms like this. All have come and passed. Believe me, Roderigo, we are safe.”
Sebastian let his head drop onto Antonio’s shoulder behind him - trust or just fatigue, Antonio couldn’t tell.
“Some have called me pirate,” said Antonio softly; he was not sure why he said it. “They have spoke true, at times. But I should not let you drown for all the world in riches.” Slowly, deferentially almost, he wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders. The motion was full of the mixture of tenderness and uncertainty that comes from hardly ever having shown one’s affections before.
Sebastian’s breathing had slowed to normal. He looked quizzically up at Antonio for a moment, then relaxed in his arms - then suddenly pulled away and slumped forward. “I am sorry to trouble you, sir,” he said in a voice as near to normal as Antonio had ever heard him use. “Very sorry.”
“’Tis no trouble, truly,” said a conflicted Antonio.
The waves were calming. Sebastian’s eyes - sea-colored - had lost their panic and now seemed quite lucid. “I thank you fervently, sir, for the pains you have taken for me. I am much in your debt”
“They are no pains,” murmured Antonio. “The love I bear you repays any debts that you could owe.” Why could he never hold his tongue?
Sebastian hesitated as if trying to determine what meaning of ‘love’ Antonio intended. As if he needed to. “You may be rid of me at the next sight of land, if you wish it so.”
“I wish nothing -”
“I do wish it so, I think.” said Sebastian, as firmly as one may when a statement sounds like a question.
Antonio nodded and made as if to leave.
“Stay!” Antonio had no choice but to obey. “I mean to say, stay if you wish,” Sebastian said hastily. “I want to tell you... Do you know why I am here? We were shipwrecked.”
A smile played at Antonio’s lips. “I did assume as much.”
“Yes. I -” Sebastian seemed to fumble for words. “I was the only one who lived, I think. I was... I am... I was alone.”
“There is yet another cot, there against the wall.”
Sebastian smiled now and nodded, and the smile rendered Antonio momentarily off-balance. He fell rather heavily onto the other cot, and they slept in the same room that night, and for many nights thereafter.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Land ho,” Antonio said as they pulled up to Illyrian soil for the second time. He could not believe himself, even as he helped the men tie up the ship, told them to do as they would until he returned, and set off on the winding road to Sebastian’s lady’s house.
At the gate, a formidable iron one, he thought he saw Sebastian in the distance, but his heart sank as he realized the form was a woman’s in a dress; it was only Sebastian’s twin. Drowned Viola. She was speaking to someone in the garden. He did not wish to see her.
So he climbed over the wall on one side of the gate, using the ivy for handholds. He went to what he assumed was the servants’ entrance and knocked on the door.
A maid answered and looked at him oddly when he asked for Sebastian. “The count, that is,” he corrected himself, and she went back inside, still giving him odd looks. Surely his appearance was not so terrible? He ran his hand through his thick hair, heart pounding. What would Sebastian say?
And there he was, richly dressed, more handsome than ever. He had come out through a different door, and he was now looking, confused, in an entirely different direction from where Antonio was standing.
Antonio wanted to say something, but instead of “Sebastian, do you know how much I love you, whether you be a count or no?” it came out as a cough.
Sebastian saw him. They both froze.
And then Sebastian grinned and sprinted toward him. There was a flower patch between them; Sebastian nearly trampled it in his haste to fling himself into Antonio’s arms. Antonio stumbled backwards with the impact. They clutched each other tightly and did not speak. This time, Antonio was the one to hide his tears.
“I am sorry to return when you wish me gone,” he said, questioningly.
“Wish thee gone!” Sebastian gave a choked little laugh. “Nay, I have wished thee back all these many days and nights.”
And then, in a whisper, “I have missed thee.”
“I love thee,” Antonio murmured into his hair.
“I know,” said Sebastian. “And I know now for certain that I love - but my lady the countess.” He pulled back, but did not let go. “I have married her,” he said as if he still didn’t entirely believe it.
Antonio closed his eyes in sudden pain. He had not fully considered the countess. And the marriage. Why did he never think? The countess Olivia. He could picture her, gray eyes and dark hair, pale skin and noble bearing. She was beautiful. He had admired her speech. How could he take her husband from her?
“Thy lady the countess,” said a serene voice, “bids thee go with the fellow.”
They jumped, shaken, and turned to see Olivia standing calmly by the ruined flowerbed, an unreadable expression on her face.
“My lady Olivia,” cried Sebastian in a strangled voice. Antonio bowed low, doffing his sea-cap.
“Didst hear my saying?” Olivia sounded amused.
“Er... no, my lady.” Sebastian turned red.
“I did bid thee go with him,” said Olivia.
“But I will... I will bring shame on you!”
“There is no shame in having a husband at sea,” said Olivia. “No one needs know more than that. I have found, in these few days together - I am sorry, my lord, for what I must needs make known - I have found that I did marry in error. I have found...” She sighed, and something sad crept into her expression. “I have found that I fell in love with Cesario, not Sebastian, and it is no fault of Sebastian’s that I may love none but Cesario.”
Sebastian nodded. “Thou art are a virtuous lady,” he breathed.
“And,” Olivia continued, “Cesario does not exist but in the person of the sister of my lord.”
Antonio felt a sudden wave of commiseration and wanted to embrace the lady, tell her she was not mad. But that would have been entirely improper, and he held his peace.
“And therefore,” Olivia finished, with dignity, “go with this man, if thou wilt. I give thee leave; I bear thee no ill will.”
Sebastian, shaking his head in joyful disbelief, kissed his wife on the forehead. “I thank you a thousand times.”
“And I as well,” said Antonio, and met the gray eyes with gratitude, and for once he felt he was right in speaking what he thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Viola came to see her brother off at port, and acted warm and friendly, if sorry to see her brother go, and remembering her former disguise, Antonio couldn’t help but think that she knew his mind to a fault.
“Shall you return soon, sir?” she said to him. Her hair was still cropped short; now that she wore women’s clothes, it just accentuated her feminine face. She did not look like Sebastian at all, now that Antonio thought about it.
“Soon, and often thereafter,” Antonio assured her with a little bow. “And...” He paused to think. “I think I shall bring back trinkets, and the like, for the Lady Olivia. I have grown fond of her, I think.”
Viola smiled an odd smile, as if her mind was elsewhere. “Many do so, sir; you are not the first.”
She and her brother embraced, and she returned to the halls of the duke, who had loved her in boy’s clothing. Antonio’s ship set sail.
“What’s our destination, dear captain?” said Sebastian when they had cast off.
“Whatever thou’lt have it be,” said Antonio with a bow.
Sebastian grinned, and Antonio murmured something like “Most dear Sebastian,” and then they were kissing, a new and incredible thing. Antonio thought maybe his heart would burst, if he did not lose all his blood with sighing first. He had never before thought he would end up a lover, but the whirligig of time, as the fool said, must bring its joys along with its revenges.
And Illyria faded gray and silent in the distance.
There isn't that much that's different, actually. Just made a few little additions.