Maundy Thursday

[truant_horatio]

As last year, the Prince's consort, or perhaps just a simple quiet man with tired eyes and a weary smile, is sitting in the main room with a large basin, a pitcher of water, and a towel, and offering to wash the feet of anyone who will come.

And I say to you, do to one another as I have done to you, he says, and he sits and waits for you. His

Comments

[border_princess]

Helen also looks rather quiet and tired today. A lot happened and a lot more is probably going to continue happening, most likely for the worse. She is muttering to herself in Ukrainian and barely even notices Horatio. But she does and gives him a polite nod. "Hello, Pan."

[truant_horatio]

"Bid thee good day, Sir," he says softly; gestures to his pitcher. "Wouldst give me leave to wash thy feet?"

[border_princess]

"What?" This is a custom they did not have back home. "Why, Pan?"

[truant_horatio]

"On the night He was taken, our Lord Jesus did wash the feet of his disciples, and bade them do unto each other as he did unto them, and show equal love to one another, saying, they shall know thou art my disciples by thy love." He smiles; it makes his face tired. "Therefore I wash the feet of my brethren on this anniversary of that time."

[norweenish]

Hey, buddy, what's going on?

[truant_horatio]

'Tis the Thursday of our Lord, Your Majesty.

[norweenish]

Yeah? *...pretty obviously has no idea what that means*

[truant_horatio]

*prompting* When Our Lord Jesus did wash the feet of his disciples before he went to pray.

[thanitohercules]

And as last year, Hamlet stands off to one side, in the corner, in the shadows if there are any-- his default place, just away from any action.

And he watches, watches the lover who sometimes has too much love, who is consort, friend, confidant, too much and sometimes not enough despite it all, because that's just how much Hamlet needs.

[truant_horatio]

Horatio always, always notices his Prince; and after a while he looks over at Hamlet and smiles. "My Lord."

[thanitohercules]

Hamlet smiles back, a bit brittle as his smiles sometimes are. "Ay, 'tis I."

[truant_horatio]

"Thou art returned."

[danceinblood]

Salome pauses passing by -- he looks familiar, all of this does -- and then, remembering, smiles a bright little-girlish sort of smile (she has grown taller, but is still childish, so young.)

"A year ago thou didst the same. Is't not so?"

[truant_horatio]

"Ay, I did," he says, smiling at her with a touch of fondness--he remembers her. "Has it past well for thee, this year?"

[danceinblood]

She shakes her head, expression mournful. "The days are too long, and so little to fill them--!" To a princess of her age, boredom is a tragedy of epic proportions.

[truant_horatio]

"Canst thou read, or hast thou a friend to pass time?" Sympathetic.

[allsweetflowers]

Some days are easier to live in than others, and today she's quiet and still, her hands unclenched and loose at her sides. (Only her eyes, too wide, large as those of a frightened animal, seem anything but simple and calm.)

And today she's here, just looking in at the door, not committing herself to actually walking inside the room.

[truant_horatio]

He looks up to her and his eyes are gentle, his hands gentle--he smiles at her. "Why, good morrow."

[allsweetflowers]

"And to thee, lord," soft and immediate. "Thou art a devouter man by far than most who dwell here."

[truant_horatio]

"Sayest thou so?" with perhaps a little of the attempts he used to give of humour where he always failed utterly in the delivery.