Queen of Infinite Space

     It’s nothing new to see the Duke of Illyria strewn across a sofa weeping at poetry, which is either bad because he wrote it himself, or just a classic verse with the name of his beloved woven through its lines. What is new is the name whose features he extols with every breath. New, but not exactly surprising to hear Olivia replaced with Cesario.

     Laertes smiles the secret smile of one who sees that he is not alone in a community of like-minded lovers, that he’s always suspected sprawls underground for miles. From he first introduction he was sure he recognized a kindred soul in Orsino. Of course, it would have been uncouth to ask, and in some lands even dangerous, if a ruler felt threatened enough by the suggestion.

     When he was a boy, his sister went missing for several hours, and he was glad of it, because it meant he was not his father’s only wayward child, and that Ophelia had not grown as far apart from him as he sometimes feared. The dutiful son for once, he set out looking for her before their father could notice she was gone.

     If he was proud of her rough edges, he was prouder still to learn that her secret was as soft as the pair of kittens she and the prince had found in the stables. He melted as readily then as he does now to discover that beneath all of Orsino’s dramatics beats a foolishly sentimental heart, like anyone else’s. At last, they have something in common.

     He must make some noise, because Orsino slides out of his reverie and notices Laertes looking. He startles like Ophelia did back then at the moment of discovery. The difference here is that Laertes’ sister immediately opened up to let him into this previously unimagined corner of her world, but his lord walls himself off at once. Well, a ruler can be afraid just as easily as a citizen, Laertes thinks, and perhaps more so, with so much further to fall.

     Orsino stands without hurry and smooths the brocade at the front of his doublet. “Whatever you think you saw, Laertes, you will put it from your mind and keep it from your tongue.”

     “Just as you say.” But though Laertes inclines his head in assent he finds he cannot in good conscience allow this man to go on believing he is alone. “Good my lord, I have to wonder why you should be ashamed of such a tender thing when you are so open about everything else.”

     “I know it’s wrong.” The duke shuffles his feet and cannot meet Laertes eyes. “I know it does me dishonor.”

     “To love a man.” he says flatly, arms crossed.

     “No! To love a man not for who he is, but for the woman he might have been, were the world different. Or to love a woman because I can see what a fine gentleman she could make. I’ve done both, and it is most unmannerly of me to twist a person into what they never intended to be.”

     “You needn’t fear rejection, you know. I’ve seen the way Cesario looks at you when he thinks no one can see. The youth’s infatuated.”

     Orsino groans. “I thought I saw as much in him, and that only makes it worse! What sort of wretch would I be to let that love flourish if I go on seeing him for someone he is not?”

     “So talk to him,” Laertes chides. “After all, a maidenly blush or a firm jaw is only a feature like anything else that draws you on or repels you about another human being. That you are so concerned already is proof that you would not simply replace him with the image in your mind.”

     “I’m afraid,” whispers the duke.

     “Yes, I can see that. I was too, when I first entered this new world. But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. There are men who dress like women, and women who dress like men, but there are also those who discover they were never women and are much happier as the men they were all along. And others are neither one, but something else entirely. There’s room for all these folks and room to love all of them, too. You have a place here, if you want it, I promise you that.”

     “Thank you, Laertes,” he says fervently. “You’ve lifted a great weight from my mind.”

“Ah – um – Alfred?” Rosencrantz’s arm jerks up and down as if he’s jostling for a word in edgewise in the middle of a crowd, even though he’s alone.

Alfred chimes into the space with the music made by two coins together, wearing only the gauziest suggestion of a dress: “How can I help?”

“Yes – ah – now when the Player said ‘private viewing’ at the orientation, does that mean… that is to say… look, do you want to get married?”