Authors: Kate Danley
Tags: #Juliet, #retelling, #Leonardo DiCaprio, #Romeo and Juliet, #Romeo, #R&J, #romance, #love story, #Fantasy, #shakespeare, #Mab, #Mercutio, #Franco Zeffirelli, #movie, #Queen Mab
Queen Mab
MAGGIE MACKAY: | MAGICAL TRACKER
Queen Mab
by Kate Danley
––––––––
A Tale Entwined With
William Shakespeare's
Romeo and Juliet
To the Bard
with love
H
er golden hair tangled in his fingers. Pressing so close, his human heart beat softly, softly against her dewy, silken skin. Though the afternoon sun hung in the sky, the inside of their tent was dark as night. A lone flickering candle lit their bed.
She stared at this man, feeling both whole and empty, desperate to be with him, terrified he might leave. His eyes were closed as he rested in divine exhaustion. She could stare forever at his lashes as they curled, at his chestnut-colored locks, at his dusky cheek with its closely shorn beard. At him.
She rarely took a mortal lover, but this prince had appeared in her stronghold as if magicked to her. She was drawn to him inexplicably. His words enflamed her. His presence sweeter than a gift of milk and honey. She could not imagine eternity without him.
She nuzzled against his chest, as if to memorize its scent and the feel of his sweat on her lips. She whispered with a smile, "I would think you had goals of ensnaring me for my throne if we were not both so aware it cannot be passed to another."
The man's laughter rumbled in her bones as he kissed her brow. "Nay, it is only you I desire, Queen Mab."
"You have a taste for those above your rank?" She halted his answer before he could make one and asked, "Or needs your appetite be whetted more?"
"Whetted more and we shall be wedded for sure, my faerie queen," he replied, lifting his soft hand to trace her jaw line from ear to chin. "The dreams you bring at night pale in comparison to these moments which heat the day."
His eyes flickered at a sound outside their room.
Mab heard it, too.
Horse hooves and clanging bits of metal, and large numbers of both. A cry came from the outskirts of the camp. She sat straight up as her prince threw on his tunic and ran to the door.
"I shall return," he promised.
Queen Mab nodded. The sounds of battle were coming closer.
She cursed as she rose, grabbing her wrap in case she had need to fly. Her prince insisted upon this voyage to bring her white bull to the holy spring of Bandusia. He vowed their travels would be safe and smiled upon by the very gods themselves.
But as she thought upon it, it seemed puzzling that the gods would care. It was then that she wondered why it seemed so important to remove the bull from the safety of her realm in Verona in the first place.
The world slowed.
It suddenly seemed quite a strange action to take. Why had she listened to this man? She looked out where her prince exited and suddenly realized that despite sharing the road and a bed and her heart, she did not know his name.
Awakening struck her like a lightning bolt as the spell lifted, tearing away all artifice. Queen Mab rushed out of her tent, flinging open the flap. The sun hung like an orange coal, the soot and haze masking the sky in a cloud of death. Cries filled the air as her camp fell under attack. Her soldiers were too busy engaged in hand-to-hand with the enemy to notice what had been taken.
This, all of this, was a diversion to hide the theft of her sacred bull.
Two men ran along the horizon with her animal in tow. Their cloaks were as dark as midnight, but night cannot hide in the day. Shadows become silhouettes. It would have been better to dress as fire, for she saw them just as clearly.
Cloven hooves and woolly legs peeked out from beneath the robes of the man who had once been her prince. He cared no longer for secrecy. His disguise had melted away, revealing his true face, horns and all. He even paused to look back, to see her standing there his fool. He threw her a kiss and smiled.
"Faunus," she swore.
She knew him of old. As she was the ruler of dreams at night, he was the lord of those at day. He spent the hours between sunrise and set frolicking in the fields, playing the siren song of his pan pipes with no heed to their consequence, his loins always the master.
Two demigods of light and dark, she and he. She had thought Faunus a tenuous ally. They found understanding in one another, sympathy for the burden and toil of shaping man's idle thoughts.
She laughed when he'd gotten into mischief in centuries past, but this was too far. Once content to woo women by the stream, it now appeared his sport was to woo a queen. But he did not think her a queen on his board, only a pawn in his game of political chess. Mab recognized Faunus's partner in this crime, a lord of the mortal realm from the house of Montague. This lord came to her many times to beg the stud of this sacred bull, an animal who sired only cows, cows whose milk quenched hunger and bestowed their drinkers with unnatural strength.
Queen Mab clutched her robe against her bare skin. Faunus had probably whispered words of power and glory to the foolish Montague, covering his eyes with a gauze of paper promises. This lord did not know his conquest was nothing more than idle distraction to Faunus, something to stave his boredom. This lord did not know the war he started with his sly thievery, thinking it could be forgotten by time or forgiven in the passing years. He did not know what he meddled with when he chose to meddle with
her
.
Her rage boiled to a fury as bright as a thousand suns.
Mab would educate him.
From every foot soldier fighting alongside Faunus to that lord from the House of Montague and every child he sired beyond, they would all pay dearly for the insult for as long as her immortal blood ran hot in her veins.
"Believe you so clever to escape Mab?" she roared as they ran. "You shall die begging for relief! You cannot hide from me!"
They would learn that, unlike Faunus with his empty threats and playful distractions, Queen Mab meant every word.
"W
ho are they upon that plain?" Mab asked. The faerie captain peered into her scrying ball.
Though they were leagues away, the glass showed an army camped on the ridge of a hill. The valley below lay wasted, ash and brown, strewn with the broken bodies of friend and foe alike. Two men, one fair, one dark, took their leave from the amassed troops, perhaps in council or strategy or gossip, but two men who walked alone together among the dead.
"Lord Montague and his sworn brother, Lord Capulet. Often it is said that this man is dearer to his heart than life itself," the captain replied.
Lord Capulet reached over to grip the arm of the other man in friendship, as Lord Montague seemed to lean towards him for support.
"Is that so?" stated Queen Mab, her thoughts rife with the true damage she could fashion for this pair.
True, she could use her armies to decimate them. The death at these lords’ feet was proof of her might. Every night, she slipped inside the Montague tents unseen. There, she hunted down Faunus's forces one by one, plaguing their dreams with such terror that they woke exhausted and fell in battle like straw before a raging fire.
Faunus had countered, seeing her hand at work in their minds, and warned his men to keep nocturnal hours with the owl and the wolf, to sleep within the safety of the sun. Some followed. But all men must sleep, especially those who had been kept awake all day by the nuisance of Mab's forces.
But how much more biting, how much more just, to turn Lord Montague's one comfort into an assassin's blade? To bait one against the other and in doing so, leave them to face the fight alone? Cruelty would be her weapon. She would wound their hearts as her own had once been shattered.
She would turn these friends, these Capulets and Montagues, into bitter enemies. She would make this Capulet her ally. How many more men would slip into the arms of rest if she had a human who could fight when her strength was at its weakest, a mortal with as much to lose as she? A satisfied smile stretched across her face—the House of Capulet would do fine. She would ensure they never aligned themselves with the visions of Faunus again, that for generations when the name Mab crossed the tongues of conversation, their children would quake with fear.
She looked once more into her scrying ball and saw the days to come — the betrayal, the revenge, and the fall of these two Houses. The truth of their future would be the meat on the hook she cast. Whether she was the catalyst that caused these tomorrows or this turning merely fulfilled their destinies, she was happy to play her role.
The captain shifted uncomfortably in Queen Mab's silence. He knew better than to speak. Neither moved until campfires dotted the darkened horizon. Then, she cried to her faerie host, "Bring me my chariot!"
It was brought forth by two fairies the size of butterflies. The hazelnut was harnessed with spider web to two insects smaller than sight. Grasshopper wings made the roof, spider legs made the wheels, and a cricket leg the whip to speed her steeds. She waved her hand and in a spiral of smoke, Mab became no larger than a jewel upon a signet ring.
She climbed aboard and flew into the sky. Sailing over her army, she made way towards the enemy camp. Who would pay mind to an invasion the size of a moth? Not those soldiers who stood watch. Soon, they found their eyelids heavy. As they succumbed to sleep, she drove over their throats, making their dreams nightmares of blades and blood.
She landed by the tent of Lord Capulet. The guards at his door did not bother to look down as she crept inside the flap. Lord Capulet rested on his bed, his oil lamp still burning in case he had need to rise in the middle of the night to take arms. He was barely eighteen, almost halfway through his mortal life, and still without a beard. There was a time not long ago when man worshiped the gods and knew the secrets to see a century or more. But now they locked the doors on knowledge, they cowered inside the darkness of their fears, and most would die before four decades had risen and set before their puny eyes. She pitied them.
Lord Capulet's dark, olive coloring spoke of his southern ties, unlike the fair skin and blonde hair of the Montague she sought to destroy. Their heritage had never crossed, and so long as she could play her hand, they never would.
As she regarded him, she thought that if he had not aligned himself with someone willing to commit such an atrocity against her, to make a fool of her and her heart, she might have been charmed into filling such a head with sweet dreams. But the time for such things was done and this man would not escape her nightmares. There would be no peace in this house. Enmity sewn would not be unthreaded. Nay, it would be woven into the very warp of the Houses of Capulet and Montague, and any hoped-for happiness destroyed with the shuttle she slid through the fabric of this man's mind. It would have been a pleasure to bring dreams of peace to someone after six months of terror, she reflected, but tonight would not be that night.