Project Fortinbras

By Noa Carlson

I-

Bedtime Stories

Baby years: nephew, know that Your father, the brave, Was murdered by Old Hamlet.

Toddler: remember, nephew, Your namesake. Hamlet Had a son, same name, Hamlet.

Teen angst: uncle knows nothing. Decrepit, old, sick. Tears fall on father’s uniform.

I bet Hamlet understands, He’d get me. He feels Loss, anguish, anger, madness.

Fortinbras, what matters now Is that you reclaim The name that Norway deserves.

II- Strategy

War.

Rage is not what occupies my mind. Duty is what propels my action. He said, “Reclaim the name that Norway deserves, my boy.”

You are not my father, uncle, and you will never be. My father was a competent king. Sickly uncle, you are no king. You say war, but for the wrong reasons. You say attack. Attack Poland? A meaningless insignificant amount of land that does not avenge Fortinbras’s name, dad’s name. My name. Therefore, your decree matters not, uncle. I will reclaim our title, but for Fortinbras, against the man who dared to kill my brave namesake. Hamlet. The murderer’s namesake. The innocent born into guilt. He has to pay for his father’s sins, though he may not deserve it. I must find a purpose, and this Must be it. War against Denmark.

III– Voices of Reason

You told me to fight!

Damn, Voltemand and Cornelius. He didn’t deserve it anyway. It was for your brother and his honor. If only they had kept their mouths shut. He’s like me. One of the innocents. Uncle, it’s not because you are sick…

Denmark doesn’t need to know my business

He was just a babe. Didn’t know

(it’s because you’re an awful King.) though it may have directly affected them… that vengeance would overtake me. I am not proud, Uncle, not proud that I was caught, but more because I did not use my heart. You are right. Denmark is not the goal. Hamlet is not my target.

But what of honor, uncle?

Poland has no role in our victory. My name belongs to a kingdom not to a farm.

Hamlet must pay!

Pain strikes my chest when said aloud. But why? I must be harsh, rage must swell but he enrages me not.

Do not imprison your only heir, uncle. Do not let foolishness overcome you. Fortinbras will have a title once more, your silly Polish war plans will be executed, but know Denmark will pay, in time. My father’s name will not be forgotten. Fortinbras, the brave, will live on.

IV– Hamlet

Corner of my eye, blonde blue-eyed emotionally unstable boy Packed for voyage across the deep blue-black sea.

My name forms in the crevice of his small, dainty mouth. Well-bred and wealthy.

Yes, these are “Norway’s powers,” why does he ask? Who is he to ask?

Captain! Tell the voyageur to move… oh, this is no voyageur. Front and center, he stares curiously where my green eyes lie. In reciprocation, I boldly introduce myself. I know him. He knows me.

My uncle weaved me the story of your birth.

The story of my father’s death. The story of your father’s deathMurder? Really. Huh.

His firm manly grasp suddenly wrapped around my shoulder, and softly he whispered:

“We are one, you and I. Same goals, same aspirations, familiar pain.”

Calling out to his (friends?) he left my side

Embarking on his impromptu stay in England, his uncle’s decision no doubt.

Butterflies in my stomach, warmth that engulfed my heart, A sense of belonging. Kinship almost, between two princes

Named after their murdered fathers.

BLOOD! I hate war. Pointless and a bore, To come so far and not care where you are And that it feels just like a chore. For my uncle, yes, This is his mess, And for the claim and name for Norway, It is for them that I defend But isn’t there some other way?

Swords are drawn, most lives don’t go on, This endless battle takes a toll. I find it hard to sleep at night when I forget my goal. It is not the land that I want, It is the title that I crave.

Yet, there is another feeling that I want Before they send me to my grave. Acceptance, love from one to another And who else to love than Hamlet, My new found brother? The battle is almost over, we might as well win. If not for me, then for the Norwegians. My purpose is no longer war, For truly, as I said before, It is the bloodiest, cruelest thing there is Because it hits you to the core. My place is by Hamlet’s side, as his counselor, maybe, For I hope he is back in Denmark, Since I know not the cost of a ferry. And once I find him, we will be together, He was right, “We are one,” And one we will be forever, until our numbered days are done.