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That was it, then, Macbeth decided, lifting his cup to his lips with a shaky hand where he stood at the corner of the room. He smiled and nodded at Ross, who entered through the large doors at the other end of the hall as the man he had just spoken with exited through them. His wife, seated beside him, picked at the food on her plate, casting glances over at him every now and again.
Banquo was dead.
Fleance was a worry for a later time.
He was thankful that no one else in attendance could peer into thoughts as he could, and in the privacy of his own head, he celebrated his security upon the throne.
Lady Macbeth cleared her throat, a thin smile on her lips. Embarrassment and expectation flared in her mind.
“My lord, should we not have some ceremony? A feast is nothing without good cheer.” He snapped out of his thoughts and made his way back towards the centre of the room, casting his eyes over the assembly of thanes and ladies. Through the cacophony of voices, he could make out very little, but all in attendance seemed to be enjoying their meal. That was good; nothing outwardly seemed amiss. He took another step before stopping at one end of the great feast table.
Was it his imagination, or did the door slip open on its own? It had to be the wind, he told himself, willfully ignoring that the castle was never particularly drafty.
“Good health to you all, and may you all leave far happier than you came,” he announced to scattered applause.
“Please, your Highness--sit and dine with us,” the thane of Lennox beckoned. Macbeth saw something akin to fear threaten to rise in the back of their consciousness, quickly stifled by what seemed to be joy.
“Here, within these walls, are the greatest hearts in all Scotland--” He feigned worry. “--save for our friend Banquo. And I would, a thousand times, rather have him choose to offend than fall upon some misfortune.” He began to step towards the empty seat beside Lennox.
The hint of a familiar voice, couched in thoughts that could only belong to one man, caught his attention.
Bethad.
He drew back suddenly, like a startled deer, as he realized that the voice seemed to be coming from the empty seat itself.
Can you hear me?
A sharp chill ran down his spine.
“Is everything alright, my lord?” Lennox inquired.
Do you know what you’ve done? Truly?
“Who’s doing this?” Macbeth shouted, eyes fixed on the empty seat.
“Doing… what, my lord?” Ross asked, his fear much more evident than Lennox’s.
Lie all you want. It doesn’t change the fact that you tried to have me and my son hunted down.
“You--” He sucked in a breath. “You can’t prove it was me!” Macbeth cried. By now, the guests had ceased eating, some clutching their silverware and watching the spectacle he was making of himself, others silently preparing to leave.
You would kill a child for your prophecy. He was defenseless. Small. Afraid.
“I--Shall we leave?” Ross stammered. “His Highness is… not well.”
I can only pray you feel the same now.
“Give him a moment,” Lady Macbeth begged, clinging to as much authority as she could. “He’s been like this since he was young. Give us a moment to ourselves, and he will soon be well again. Enjoy yourselves.” She forced a smile, then grabbed Macbeth by his wrist and tugged him aside.
Where was she in all of this? Did she know?
“Are you a man?” she hissed. Macbeth’s hands flew up to his ears, desperate to silence Banquo’s thoughts and yet unable to stop listening. He could feel Banquo--wherever he was, incorporeal as his power made him--drawing closer.
You’re a monster.
The thought came from so close beside him that he flinched away, and his wife grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.
“Whatever you’re hearing, whatever you’re seeing --none of it is real. This is as real as the dagger that you said led you to Duncan that night,” she hissed. “You are terrified of a chair .”
“But--” She shushed him.
“For shame.” He could still feel Banquo, peering over his shoulder. “The entire country has its eyes on you, and this is how you act?”
Go on. Show them your true colours.
The thought was so close that it felt like it was coming from inside his own head.
I'll be back, Bethad. And when I return, there won't be a single face in this hall that will look on you with anything but hatred.
“Shut up!” Macbeth roared, telekinetically sending the utensils of the thane nearest to him flying against the wall behind him. They clattered to the ground. The silence was much more stifling now, a thick atmosphere of terror enveloping his guests.
I will never let you rest.
Macbeth stood there, his whole body tense, as if preparing to run. He listened. Nothing but the terrified murmurs of those in attendance met his ears. A few more seconds passed, and he swallowed, his throat dry.
“You've soured the mood, my lord,” Lady Macbeth pointed out. One thought of hers prodded its way into Macbeth’s awareness: Fix it. He turned around to face the guests, an embarrassed smile on his face.
“Friends, I…” He sought the words. “Forgive me. Those closest to me know how these things happen, and I ask for your patience. But come, I… I will sit, and we will dine. Raise your cups and voices with me now, in honour of all those here, and especially… to our dear friend Banquo.”
A resounding chorus of “hear, hear” rang throughout the hall, drowned out by a singular voice that only Macbeth could perceive.
Aye. To your “dear friend”, lying at the bottom of a muddy ditch.
“Enough!” Macbeth screamed, whirling around to face nothing but the air. Whatever mirth he had managed to salvage died immediately, and Lady Macbeth watched as Caithness shuffled awkwardly in his seat.
You’re no man. You’re a coward. I’ll show myself before all of them. And then they’ll see plain as day what kind of a man you’ve become.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Macbeth growled, sweat beading on his brow. “I’d cut you down all the same.”
Kill a ghost?
“Aye. For good.”
Then it’s for the best that I don’t intend to let you see me. Mark my words: from this moment forth, everything I do will be recompense for what you did to my family.
“You’ve lost your mind if you think that’ll change anything.”
It doesn’t matter what I think. The rest of the country has its eyes on you, and not a single thane wants to stand in your shadow anymore. Can you hear it? The doubt? The fear? The anger?
“My lord, what… what is it that you see?” Ross interrupted, his voice trembling.
“Please don’t.” Lady Macbeth’s tone was curt and commanding, and the glare she gave Ross was sharp enough to cleave whatever shred of pretense remained. “My sincerest apologies on his Majesty’s behalf. Go as you wish.” A chorus of scraping and shuffling erupted in an instant as the guests stood from their chairs and gathered their things.
“Good night,” Lennox called, as Menteith tried to lead them away by the hand. “And may his Majesty soon return to good spirits.”
“Yes, good night,” Lady Macbeth replied, hurrying everyone away.
They’ll all leave. Just like that. Every last one.
“I don’t intend to fear a dead man,” Macbeth hissed through gritted teeth, eyes flitting back and forth across the increasingly-empty room.
Fear not, indeed. I’ll give you something to dread in time.
And suddenly, save for the crackling of torchlight, the distant noise of those who had left, and the quickening steps of his wife’s shoes upon the floor, all went silent.
Macbeth fell to his knees and screamed.