Musical One-Shots and Headcanons! (REQUESTS OPEN!)

Jalana - Praises Are But Prophecies

A/N: Inspired by Ellie's love for Shakespeare. Shout-out to Keisha for keeping this story from taking a sad turn (Ellie was seriously considering it, but we're on a fluff-writing spree and didn't want to ruin it). Also shout-out to someone on Discord who helped Ellie write Jared's confusion.

"I have absolutely no idea what this sonnet means!" Jared shouted in exasperation, running his hands through his short, curly hair. "I need to answer all these questions about it, but what in the world is he even saying? Why do we even study Shakespeare anymore? What is the point of making a bunch of kids who don't care and a few who do each read outlines of English so outdated, it's basically a foreign language?!"

Alana stared at him with a look of mock horror. "You--Jared!" She crumpled up a blank piece of loose-leaf paper and flicked it across the table at him in jest, then became serious. "Which sonnet is it?"

"106."

"Okay, let's go quatrain by quatrain. How's that?" 

Jared nodded and passed her the book. "Wait, what's a quatrain?"

 " 'A four-line stanza, especially one with an ABAB rhyme scheme.' " Jared stared at her and tilted his head. He knew what a stanza was, but only faintly recalled the rhyme scheme. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't that one of the first things Ms. Lloyd told us when we began the unit?"

"I don't know anymore! My brain clocked out the second she announced that we were doing a Shakespeare unit!"

"Anyway, this is the first quatrain. 'When in the chronicle of wasted time/I see descriptions of the fairest wights/And beauty making beautiful old rhyme/In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights.' What do you gather from it?"

"Isn't my inability to gather anything from it the reason I'm here in the first place? Why is the speaker wasting time or thinking about wasting time? What's a 'wight,' anyway?! Is that a noun or an adjective or what?!"

"Oh, yeah. Right. Well, I'm not doing this for you--"

"I know."

"--but basically, what the speaker's saying is that he looks at what people in the past have written about other beautiful people, like ladies who have passed away or handsome knights." She pulled up a dictionary app on her phone, typed for a few seconds, and moved it over so he could see. "A 'wight' is 'a person of a specified kind, especially one regarded as unfortunate,' though that's the archaic meaning and it doesn't seem to fit in this poem. Why would he be talking about beautiful but unfortunate people? I think the second entry, 'a spirit, ghost, or other supernatural beings is more likely."

"Wait, so he's not talking about actually wasting time or daydreaming?"

"No, that's just a fancy way of saying the past."

"Well, it's a CONFUSING one!"

"Yeah, honestly, it is." 

"Okay, so he's looking at what writers of the past had to say about other beautiful people, but where is he going with this?"

"Ah, but that's in the next quatrain. Why don't you read it this time?" Alana slid the book over to Jared.

" 'Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best/Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow/I see their antique pen would have expressed/Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.' " The uncertainty on his face was evident, and he looked at her as if for approval.

"Can you tell me what you think is being said here?"

"Uh, is this meant to be a metaphor or something? I get metaphors when they're, like, in songs or what have you, but here?"

"No, it isn't a metaphor, but keep trying," Alana encouraged him, noting how the sun shone in through the window on him and his soft striped jacket.

"Something about creativity in writing...? Maybe that's what the poem is about. But if that's the case, why is the speaker bringing an unspecified 'you' into it? I think it's more likely that the subject is beautiful. Yes, that's right. The subject is beautiful, and that's why the speaker is talking about old writers and poets. They were...talking about the subject's beauty?"

"You've got it!" A small smile danced on his face, and she beamed at him, fidgeting with the end of her ponytail.

"Wow. That's deep."

"Should I read the next quatrain?"

"Sure. I'm tired. Honestly, go ahead, finish out the entire thing if you want."

" 'So all their praises are but prophecies/Of this our time, all you prefiguring/And for they looked but with divining eyes/They had not skill enough your worth to sing.' "

"This has to still be about the subject. Every good thing the old poets said about their subjects was really meant to be about the subject of this poem, right?"

"Keep going, keep going!"

"I'm not sure about the third line, but I know that the fourth has to be about those old poets being unable to talk about this poem's subject well enough--"

"Yes! The third line basically means that the only way the old writers could do this poem's subject justice would be to see the future somehow."

"Interesting."

" 'For we which now behold these present days/Have eyes to wonder, yet lack tongues to praise.' Jared?"

"The people now can see the subject firsthand, but they don't have the words to express their wonder."

Isn't that how I love you?

A surge of longing overcame her. She started with a subtle hint. "You know, sometimes I relate to the speaker."

"How so?" Jared asked.

"There's someone in my life..." she explained, smiling almost involuntarily and far too widely to continue. 

"Forgive me for prying, but...if I may ask?"

She gazed into his eyes, not needing to say anything else. He understood everything, then moved from his side of the table to hers. The irony about love is that it's the most complex and yet somehow the easiest thing to understand. And that was true for the two of them as they kissed, a brief, sweet, special thing.