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"My king," Banquo bowed, his head staying high as he dipped to keep his gaze on Macbeth.
He walked slowly backwards into the forest, Macbeth mirroring his steps as they waltzed among the greenery.
"Banquo, my old friend, wher'st Fleance, he misses our talk, I'm sure he'd love to join."
"I'm sure, I'm afraid thy kin stays home, though our talk may still commence if thou wishes?"
The two stayed silent, the only noise being the small crash of bark as Banquo walked back into a tree, trapped with his friend before him and God's earth at his back.
Macbeth stopped with a blank, tired look carved on his face while watching the fear in Banquo's eyes, hidden by an otherwise stoic expression.
"If thou wishes to kill me your majesty, I suggest you do so quickly, before your general sees and catches light of your sins."
"Sin is a word I wish not to use. I did only what was destined."
"Destiny spoken by devils hold no candles to truth! You take their word stolen from falsehoods and make it your fate."
"Did they not speak truth to us both? I, Of Glamis, granted Thane of Cawdor not of my wish but the Lords. 'Twas not I who sold Duncan to the Norwegians. And heir to your title and mine lives on. It is written, I am but the narrator, my old friend."
"If that were true, if in thine eyes, I play part as an equal, Why is it that you see fit, the right to take my life. You take orders from the devil himself, even if it ends everything we've been through."
"This is of no reflection of us."
"Yet you wish to kill me still?"
"I'm afraid so Banquo. My honour is at risk, it lays broken, I wish not to burry it too. Forgive me."
"You will watch your honour die beside your title and your head. It will be a shame that I must miss that day. Do what you must, My Macbeth."
Macbeth stepped back and drew his sword from its sheath, the weighted metal heavy and familiar in his palm.
Banquo smiled softly at him. He knew deep down that remorse, regret, hurt, nervousness, any of these emotions would be acceptable even necessary now, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel.
He felt heavy.
That's all it was.
Heavy.
He wrapped an arm around his friends shoulders, crying into the crook of his neck as his other hand plunged the sword into Banquo's stomach until it could no longer go any further.
It was quick. He made sure of that.
He pulled it back with a grunt and for the first time since that fair and foul day, King Macbeth Of Scotland, once great Thane of Cawdor and general before that, felt pain.
His friend was a rag doll, heavy with no control left over their body. He fell into Macbeth who just tightened his grip if only to will himself to calm.
He held Banquo close, sitting with the mans lifeless body in his arms. Crying until he could cry no longer. Red stained his clothes but he couldn't care.
Time passed slowly. Or maybe fast. The next time Macbeth tore his eyes from Banquo, the sun was beginning to set above him.
"Your highness!"
He looked up at the sound of running, the leaves parting for who he could only assume was one of the Lords, perhaps a general.
"Your highness, why art thou so far from your chambers, the queen doth call for you."
Macbeth met his eyes before looking down at his deceased friend.
"Heavens above, what curse the lord brings upon Scotland, first our king, now a friend, tell me, Macbeth, what wicked fate became of Lord Banquo?"
"My dear Lennox, battles are fought for a lands safety as well as its demise. A dishonourable conscious doth murder our friend though he will not be forgotten in vain, his services shall be celebrated in food and wine."
"As you wish, your highness. I will have my men fetch for Banquo and prepare ceremonies. A letter shall be given to his kin."
"It is only fitting. I shall see to my wife, let not our friends sacrifice be fruitless. Threat still looms from Duncan's kin to the seas of Norway. This is the beginning, the lord knew of such."
Lennox bowed as Macbeth rose and sauntered through the forest to his castle.
The sword gleamed in the evening sun. Beautiful golds complimented the deep red that painted the blade.
All hail Macbeth.
All hail Banquo.
Not so happy, yet much happier.