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Chapter Text

It’d been weeks. 

It had taken an unusually long time to get the new king settled into his throne at Forres, given that the past king had fired all his servants in his various fits of madness as they informed him of his increasing insanity. The search to find enough servants to staff a royal family of five was… taxing, to say the least, but with Ross’s help Malcolm was finally getting things figured out. Forres Castle was filled with love and lament, as it was always meant to be. 

Malcolm & Ross’s new relationship fell in stark contrast to Macduff’s days spent in grief. He cried for his wife, his children all hours of the day. It was impossible to see him not red-faced & weakened, had he grieved so before he fought the traitorous Macbeth he would have perished. It was a solemn silence as they held the burials for the two, now joining all their victims in their tombs of stone. Rowan stood far behind, watching their mistress seem peaceful in rest for the first time in months.

The weeks past that calmed slightly with the more gruesome agenda accomplished, and the future of Scotland began to unfold in front of them. Fleance was alive & would carry on Banquo’s name, living just a few miles to the east in a small house he constructed on his own. 

Macduff had even taken on a new lover, much to his clan’s surprise- A pretty woman who called herself Moraya, and their wedding was set to the rapidly approaching new spring.

It brought the castle alive into cheer, white & blue decorations hanging off the castle walls and the children run amuck in mischief. Little Duff had long since left the care of the witch who wandered among the bodies & returned their drifting souls, instilling life back into lithe corpses. Macduff & his new betrothed spent most time hidden away in their chambers- Supposedly drowning in wedding preparations, but among the adults, …other theories ran rampant. 

On the day of the wedding, all were abuzz. Macduff’s bachelor party had been one of the most wild the kingdom had seen in a century or two, a four-day tirade of drinking, fighting, riding and feasting. They’d made it a point to avoid Macduff’s castle, as with Little Duff’s revival also came the revival of his mother. While they were no longer technically married, Lady Macduff’s grudges held no end. 

Macduff had returned from the party to find all prepared, his bride being used to caring for a castle on her own. In the space of a moment, he went from dismounting his horse to putting his kilt and cloak on and rising to the altar. 

[insert banquet dance: wedding edition]

His lady is gorgeous as she walks down the aisle. Her dress falls in curtains of ivory and lace, turning her silhouette into a pyramid of white. His eyes are glued in her direction, staring at his bride.

And then, staring at her groom.

She arrives on the altar and stops. Macduff’s eyes are still transfixed down the aisle, his face blank and curious. She reaches for his cheek, tries to turn his head to hers, but he is unmovable. She glances down, but all she can see through the many-layered veil are the slightest shapes of a crowd. 

She reaches up, and all is revealed.

Lady Macbeth flips back her veil, and the crowd erupts in gasps and screams.  In moments she responds the same, as she grasps her new groom in horror at the sight they both lay eyes on. Macbeth, bloody, bold, and resolute, stands at the other end of the isle, desperate and huffing. 

“STOP THE WEDDING!”

Chapter Text

“STOP THE WEDDING!”
He screams.

“MACBETH!?” Lady Macbeth screams.
“LADY!?” He shouts back.
“MACCY?” Macduff cries.
“Lady M?!” Malcolm exclaims in shock.
“What are you doing here!?” She yells at him. “We’re not stopping the wedding! You were dead!”

Macbeth tuts and shakes his head.
“You have to stop the wedding. But… I’m not here for you.”

Macduff and Lady M shared a look. The crowd had devolved into scandalous murmurs as soon as Macbeth had set foot on the aisle, and they’d since grown to an uproar.

Macbeth inhaled, and straightened up to hold his head high. He looked up to the altar, eyes a pit of love and longing.
“Macduff.” He called.
“Please, don’t go through this. You can’t marry her. You can’t love her.”
“Why? Why not?!”
“Because… Because Macduff,
I love you.”
The kingdom exploded into screams.
“Macduff and Macbeth!?”
“It was Lady Macbeth all along?!”
“They’re GAY?”

Macduff and Lady Macbeth are frozen in shock.

Macbeth’s outstretched hand calls to Macduff in a way that tugs at his heart.

Macduff feels like he’s on the battlefield again. Trapped between death and torture, trapped between two things that would change his life in irreversible ways.

Macduff feels like he has everything and nothing all at the same time.
Macduff is losing his grip on reality.
He’s losing his grip on every fact he knows, every piece of himself he had.

He loves a Macbeth.
A Macbeth loves him.

And he chooses the one thing he’s known since the first Norwegian soldier fell beneath his blade and hands gripped his shoulders, shooting a smile like an arrow straight into his heart.

He pieces himself back together in the silence, and takes a breath.
He reaches his hand out down the aisle.
“…Macbeth, I love you. I loved you since the day we met, and I love you still.”
There is hope in the world. Or at least, in Macbeth. Macduff turns back to
his bride on the altar.
“I- I cannot give up what I always wanted. You are what I could’ve had, and I hope that is enough to repent for what I choose- But I choose not to repent for a life like a blessing from god.” He mutters softly.

Lady Macbeth can do nothing but stare.
In a blink, Macduff has turned and ran down the aisle. He sprints past his subjects, past his fellow thanes and rulers. He takes Macbeth’s hand and doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

As they run, Macbeth & Macduff miss something crucial. No, not something, someone. 

And that someone is Banquo. 

Banquo had stumbled in out of the forest nearly four hours ago, dazed and bloody, nearly falling face-first onto the road to Forres when he found it. He’d walked for hours in the blinding sun until he’d been picked up by a passing merchant and taken to the castle. 

When he’d finally been dropped at the gates, he was swept up by Ross and given fresh clothes, and caught up on the recent happenings. The moment he was told about the wedding he set off, ignoring Ross’s calls and thundering his way down the halls and bursting into the courtyard just in time to hear the one thing he’d always feared more than anything in his life- 

Macbeth loving someone else.

Macbeth, with his quiet smile and bold laugh, Macbeth whose eyes crinkled when he grinned and who made Banquo’s heart leap every time he swept his hair from his face. 

Macbeth, pale and lonely in the fields as Banquo found him, hunched over himself. 

Macbeth, who finally, finally held on to Banquo and cried, who finally wrapped his arms around his best friend and nearly clambered on top of him. Macbeth, who pressed his lips to Banquo and only the grey silhouettes of the dead could tell what happened next. 

Banquo would never had said a thing. He’d like to think that in time, he would’ve gathered enough courage to let the words fall softly onto the grass of a clear summer day, to hold Macbeth in his arms after a particularly gruesome battle and feel Macbeth hold him back. But even deeper in his heart does he know that he would rather die a thousand deaths than tell Macbeth how he feels. To risk rejection would be worse than to risk dying on his own. At least Banquo would have his son by his side. 

But this, this hurts. It hurts more than he ever could’ve imagined, more than what fills his nightmares because this time it’s real. 

Macbeth doesn’t care for him. 

All the time he spent dreaming of a life after war, all the time he spent thinking of all the ways he loved him, Macbeth had been loving someone else. Banquo knew he couldn’t just replace Lady M, and here Macduff had done it in a heartbeat. Macbeth hadn’t given him a second thought, hadn’t looked back to his longest friend. Macbeth hadn’t hesitated too long and missed his chance, hadn’t been too afraid to go for what he wanted, and Banquo could never, ever, ever hate him. He could only hate himself. 

So that was what he did. He turned and ran too, down out & away from the pain. 

He ran through the forest without a destination in mind, heading as far east as his feet would take him before he inevitably collapsed. He nearly did so when he burst through the brush into a small clearing, a wooden cabin with a stone founation sitting in the middle. It looked almost hastily conducted, like it’d been done by a child with nowhere to live. He found himself overcome with grief for what he’s lost, the thousand loves big and small he’d never be able to express. Just as his heart had failed him in bravery, his body began to fail him in strength, and he stumbled towards the cabin. As soon as he’d dragged himself up the porch, he knocked heavily on the door. 

“I call not for danger but for assistance, if I may rest myself here I would be indebted!” He pleaded. 

The door swung open and a young girl answered. She had long brown hair, a long blue tartan dress with a white shirt, and an achingly familiar face. 

She… she looked like Fleance. 

Fleance opened her door and nearly blacked out. It took her far too long in her opinion to get her reflexes back to launch herself at her father. 

Banquo did not expect the girl to tackle him to the ground and bury her face in his chest, but the resounding cry of

“DAD!”

made it all okay. His brain struggled for a moment, trying to comprehend how any of it could be possible, how his- his- his daughter could be alive.

Now, he would not wait too long. 

Now, he would not miss his chance to show his love. 

He wrapped Fleance in his arms and told her he loved her all the ways in the world, for all that she is, for all that she’ll be. He held her tight and told her that people come in a thousand shapes and sizes and that all love is worth saying. He told her he loved her, and she responded that she loved him too. 

Chapter Text

It was safe to say Lady Macbeth was pissed. Well- that’s not correct. It was in fact, quite dangerous to say that Lady Macbeth was pissed. It would lead to being screamed at the top of her lungs, and possibly even shoved out of your chair. The moment Macduff had disappeared through the gates she ripped her veil off of her head and stormed the other way, throwing her wedding dress over the side of a horse and swinging herself over it. She brought nothing but herself, using her heels as spurs and setting off to the first thing that came to mind- Macduff’s castle. If those two traitorous bastards were on foot, she could easily beat Macduff home and catch him in the act. What would he say then? Would he try to console her, tell her of her woman’s sensitivities like all the rest of the condescending assholes in the royal court? 

      She was going to cut him off before he could even try. 

When she reached Macduff’s castle, she didn’t even bother tying up the horse. She could steal one of his, that rich rat wouldn’t even miss it. She slid off and barged through the gates, angrily hitching up her train as it caught on the flagstones. 

Lady Macduff was going to scream. She’d done a lot of it already- But Little Duff had left for the wedding and wouldn’t know of any more. She was about to throw a blanket into the fire when the door to the hall slammed open, calling her to spin and toss the blanket in the general direction. If that cheater was going to try to come home with his new wife, he could face her wrath. 

“Macduff!?” A woman’s voice cried. 

No, not just any woman, Lady Macbeth. Lady Macbeth. Lady Macbeth, come back from the dead, just like her. 

“Lady Macbeth!?” Lady Macduff cried out.

They stood, two ends of the hall, confused and still ebbing with fury. 

“Is Macduff here?” Lady M shouted across the room.

“Are you kidding? Of course not! That traitorous cheater cannot come home.”

That stopped Lady M in her tracks. It took her a minute to realize that Lady Macduff had no idea of the scandal at the wedding, had no idea it was her who’d ruined their relationship, or that the wedding was off at all! 

Well. If Lady Macduff wanted to bitch about her husband, Lady M wouldn’t protest. She wouldn’t protest at all. 

“…I feel the same way. In fact, I’ve got news for you.”

“What news? Is the wedding off?” 

“Indeed.” Lady Macbeth replied. “It’s off, because your husband eloped with mine!”

Silence rang out. 

“That traitorous MANWH-“

Lady Macbeth threw a pillow into the fire. Lady Macduff followed her with a pile of shirts, all emblazoned with his crest. Next, a chair from their bedchambers, and a stack of plates that shattered on the cobble, falling against the wood enveloped by flames. They’d been at this for nearly an hour now, burning as much of Macduff’s posessions as they could. Anything that he might want was smashed to pieces and tossed onto the bonfire, smoke rising up out of the courtyard high into the air. 

It was only after Lady Macduff threw a dress he’d bought for her when he came back from war did Lady Macbeth begin to have an idea. Slowly, calmly, she untied and began to peel off her wedding dress, letting the fabric fall around her skin until she was left in just a red slip. She sat down on the ground, legs crossed, staring lazily at the fire as it licked the sky. Lady Macduff glanced over from where she’d been lugging a ceremonial dish set through the doors and instantly dropped the whole thing, clay shattering and clanging around her feet, hands shaking in shock.
 Lady Macbeth just threw her a glance and winked, stretching her arms and leaning back a bit. 

Lady Macduff found her senses again and walked back into the house. 

When she returned, she carried four bottles of gin and wine, and once she set them down began to unzip her dress too. 

Chapter Text

Someone knocked at the door, much to Malcolm’s distaste. He’d specifically told his servants not to bother him, that this night was time off and that they should all go home. He gently stirred the stew pot one more time and crossed the kitchen, swinging open the door to a messenger with a letter. Malcolm could’ve been nice, he could’ve asked for more information, but his lover was waiting for dinner and Malcolm honestly couldn’t care less. 

He grabbed the letter from the messenger’s hands and slammed the door in their face, leaning against it to rip open the envelope.

In it was a letter from Macduff. 

Macduff, who in Malcolm’s opinion, had brought all this upon himself. 

The letter opened with the usual greetings but quickly transformed into pathetic begging for Malcolm to help Macduff out of the dog house. Lady Macbeth had moved into the Macduff’s castle and the scandalous men were living in Inverness by themselves, finally feeling the lives of their subjects. 

Malcolm sighed, and opened the door again. The messenger hadn’t been dismissed and was still standing there, albeit a bit irritated. 

“Apologies. I was meant to be alone. Do me a favor- Tell Macduff to shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

A laugh rang out from behind him, and Malcolm smiled. He shut the door a little more gently this time, and turned back to his boyfriend. He walked over and planted a gentle kiss on Ross’s head, throwing the letter into the cooking fire as he went.

Chapter Text

Macduff was in hot water. 

He wished he was in actual hot water as he poured the cup down his face, sputtering at the chill, but alas, living on your own had its challenges. 

Really, he was in trouble. 

His lover was perfect, but he still wanted more. He wanted Lady Macbeth’s soft touches and gleeful smile. He wanted Lady Macduff’s hot food and pretty singing. 

And in all honesty, he missed Banquo’s deep laugh and strong hugs. 

He sat down on the bench in the bathroom and thought. The what ifs flew by each other in his head, swirling and weaving together into a semblance of plan.  A plan that could get him everything he wanted. 

The letters arrived and so did the people, gathered in the room of his castle, where Macduff had spent nearly five hours hauling frames and bedding up for his newest creation- A bed that filled up the whole width of the room. 

He looked around him. Banquo, standing awkwardly, clutching his arms. Macbeth, confused and mussed, yanked out of bed to attend. Lady Macbeth, dressed in Macduff’s old clothes, her eyebrows raised sky high. And his wife, dressed in his clothes too, leaning gently on Lady Macbeth. 

Macduff climbed onto the bed, and turned back to face them. 

“I’ve brought you all here because I love you. Each of you.”

And with that sentence, he unbuckled his kilt and grinned.