Ill Met By Moonlight

By K9 shamelessly stolen from William Shakespeare and murdered.


The scene: Oberon and Robin Goodfellow, have administered a love potion to the sleeping lovers in the enchanted forest, that they shall fall in love with whomever they first see on waking.

But, Robin has given the potion to Lysander instead of Demetrius, for whom it was intended.

Oberon has watched Lysander from afar, revelling in his manly beauty, but the young Athenian stirs before the Faerie King can depart...


Lysander stirs and wakes from his leafy bed, the first thing he sees is the brave Oberon leaning over him.

Sighing at the sight of a man so divine, Lysander reaches out and cups fair Oberon's cheek.


Lysander: Oh my lord, hast thou come for me? Have I bewitched thee, as I am bewitched?

Oberon backs away.

Oberon: No, brave Lysander. A mistake is borne from a Puck's foolery; that is all!

Lysander advances on the retreating Oberon, backing him into a tree.

Lysander: Then a Puck's foolery is indeed a noble error, for thou art surely here for me. Thy loveliness a vision, thy manly beauty more desirable, more arousing than any maidens!

Oberon: But...<presses back into the tree> thou lovest Hermia!

Lysander presses his body close, his fingers ghosting the lips of the handsome Oberon

Lysander: No longer sweet monarch. From this day on, thou art my passion, my desire, my love...

Lysander touches his lips to Oberon's. The Faerie King pushes against the body of Lysander in a futile gesture of unwillingness before complying to soft, strong lips and sweet kisses.

Lysander's nakedness is complete as his hastily slung robe slips to the ground and his body, full fleshed and proud pushes against his mate.

Oberon: Wait! Brave Athenian, thou knows not what thou art doing!

Lysander: I know my heart, now kiss me and make my life complete...

Oberon: No! Lysander, thou art bewitched!

Lysander: Yes, my lord, by thy beauty!

Oberon slips from Lysander's grasp

Oberon: Bewitched by a foolish spirit! Thou dost not love me!

In the woods, Robin Goodfellow; the puckish knave whose mistake has caused such confusion, chews on his lip and scratches his horned head.

Puck: Alas, alas, away I go, I fear I cocked the wronged bow!

He tries to creep away and let the enchanted forest swallow him up, but suddenly, the figure of Oberon stands before him.

Oberon: Where goest thou, 'noble' Robin? <Oberon growls the words>

Puck: Er? I have my duties to perform, my lord. Lest I abandon work and cause discord!

Oberon: Cause more discord than having Lysander, beloved of Hermia, to fall in love with me?

Puck smiles, knowing the wrath of the Faerie King to be an unwise choice.

Puck: Thou makest a fine couple, my lord!

Oberon appears to grow larger and more angry in the blink of an eye.

Oberon: Robin Good 'for nothing' Fellow, thou shalt right thy wrong and make Lysander love his Hermia again, or I shall find a use for a Puck's head in games the muses play!

Puck: Yes my lord...away I go, and find the flower of peace I know. A Puck shall right his small mistake, and not another in its stead make!

Lysanders voice carries through the woods, a longing, mournful sound.

Lysander: Oberon? My love?

Oberon bears down upon a quivering Puck.

Oberon: Be gone...*nymph* and find thy cure. This man has thoughts of love for me and though I will not deny he is fair and handsome, he belongs to Hermia, not I. Now go and hurry!

Lysander appears in the clearing. The moonlight shafts through the trees lighting the ground with silver iridescence. Fireflies play in the light, their dancing colours like faeries skittering in the night.

Lysander: There thou art! Do not leave me, my love. I shall die if thou art not by my side this night, if thou cannot take me to thy bed and rest against me. If I do not feel thy warmth and softness against my flesh and hold thee in my heart until eternity ages and dies.

Oberon sighs and weakly smiles.

Oberon: By the faerie realm, what am I to do with thee?

Lysander: Love me my lord, hold me to thy bosom, take my body as a gift and do with it what thou wilt?

Oberon: Erm...I had something more in keeping with a stroll through the forest in mind? The flora is so beautiful this time of year!

Lysander grabs Oberon.

Lysander: Dost thou tease me my lord? Dost thou wish me to beg for thy love?

Oberon winces as Lysander falls to his knees and grasps the Faerie King's leg tightly.

Oberon: No, no, I wish thee to not grip my leg so tightly...or so surely...

Lysanders hand has slipped upwards and now rests on a muscular thigh.

Lysander: Oh brave king, thou art more lovely than the ancient gods, thy flesh more tempting than the serpent's apple..

His hand moves upwards, he places a kiss to Oberon's thigh, his tongue laves the soft flesh and seeks out the promises beneath the kings robe.

Oberon: Stop! Lysander, please, I beg thee stop and consider...

Lysander: I have thought all that is necessary to think and I want thee this night, here in the moonlight, our bodies entwined, our hearts and souls as one with the heavens. I love thee Oberon, take me to thy bed?

Oberon closes his eyes, the touch of the man more delicate than many a maid and more enticing. His body a raging pool of passion, his flesh willing and wanting, despite the doubts of his heart.

Oberon: If it were only true, sweet Lysander. If only thy love were not a dream on this the night of dreams.

Lysander pulls the robe free from Oberon's waist, letting it fall to the ground. The Faerie King in all his naked glory stands before his still kneeling love, his body hard, muscles shimmering in the moonlight, beauty like none borne of woman; a delight unearthly.

Oberon: Cast not my clout that I shall be yet more enticed! Oh, shall I hate my mortal form come the morning? Shall I swear loathing on my weakness if I take thee to my bed?

Lysander: No sweet lord, thou shalt remember my touches and caresses until the spirits raise thee to heaven and beyond. My body shall be thy plaything...<He stands and takes Oberon in his arms> Be mine this night if no other. Let not the doubts of this union be our undoing, for regret is a cold bedfellow.

Oberon succumbs to the man in his arms, allowing kisses to go unresisted. Soon, Oberon and his mortal love lie beneath the moon, their bed a blanket of leaves. Bodies tangled in passionate embrace, tender touches and soft kisses now charged with the desire of men, heated intensity pounding at lost minds as a fever of desire carries them to the highest realms of need a mortal can bear.

Lying at last in the arms of the other, the two moon soaked lovers bathe in the fading light of their passion.

Oberon: Oh my beautiful Lysander, if only this were true. If only the desire of these moments could last an eternity.

Lysander: How can thee doubt my love, fair Oberon? Has the love we shared meant nothing to thee?

Oberon raises himself upon an elbow to smile down at his mortal love.

Oberon: It is still a dream. A fancy for a Summers night, to be unmasked by cold morning light when my Lysander shall love his maiden again and poor Oberon to his realm returns alone.

Lysander: Thou wound me sir! How can thou deny the wild beating of our hearts as we were joined as one? How cold can a soul become that it can feel what we have felt and still doubt our love is real?

Oberon: But my love, thou art bewitched by sorcery. Love not real but given as a potion is thy folly.

Lysander: Speak not of this again. Come the morning light I shall love thee more than at this moment, not less!

A sound is heard and Oberon spies a cunning Puck hidden in the trees. The rascally fellow waves a flower and dances a small jig of delight, while Oberon's heart sinks.

Oberon: Speak not of this again, Lysander. Know this; that in this moment of time, I love thee with a heartfelt passion. Now sleep, my love, sleep and dream of many moons to come.

Lysander settles into Oberon's arms, his head upon the Faerie Kings shoulder, his hand resting upon the breast of the man he loves.

When sleep takes the young Athenian, a playful Puck skips from the shadows and squeezes the juice of the flower upon Lysander's eyes.

Laying the sleeping man onto his bed of leaves, Oberon withdraws to the shadows, his heart heavy and his soul torn from the wounds of unrequited love.

Puck: All now well my lord I trust, No more for thee the mortal lusts?

Oberon sits and watches Lysander sleep.

Oberon: No Robin, no more shall the lovely Lysander desire to lie with a man, 'stead his Hermia.

Puck: So, all is well away shall we, to let the mortal love run free!

Oberon: Aye, back to the Faerie Kingdom shall we go. But my heart shall rest here with Lysander a moment more. I am bestraught with him! Fair it is that I reap what I did sow by meddling in the affairs of mortal man.

Puck sits beside his master, now seeing that the king's heart is heavy with love.

Puck: Pine not my lord for mortal kind, But thankful be of loves remind.

Oberon: I know thou speak the truth, but Lysander has stolen my heart. And for my malaise, no flower shall be the answer, no sleep and dream to ease my mourning heart.

Puck: My lord...he wakes..

Oberon and Puck watch as Lysander rubs his eyes and looks around. He glances at his naked state, first in puzzlement, then he smiles.

Lysander: Oberon?

The Faerie King watches on as his mortal love climbs to his feet and stretches each sinew before calling out again.

Lysander: Oberon? Why hast thou left me? Art thou but a dream? Oh, but what a dream, what loveliness and desire could be a mere dream. I beg thee, come back to my arms?

Oberon appears in the clearing.

Oberon: Thou art still bewitched?

Lysander: No, my lord. True love needs no witchery, it blooms like Summer blossom, flows like the river, sure in its path and endures like a droplet of rain journeying from the mountain to the sea through all adversity. I love thee fair Oberon, now and always.

Oberon takes Lysanders hand.

Oberon: Can it be true?

Oberon looks over to where Puck sits in the shadows. The sprite shrugs and smiles.

Puck: Maybe t'was the other Athenian true, I bewitched with the lovers brew?

Lysander: Now, trust me and love me as no other. With thy heart and thy body!

Oberon: Never shall it be said that the Faerie king is a fool or a knave. Come with me my beloved Lysander, to the spirit place, the kingdom of the fey?

Lysander: To the ends of the Earth, my lord...always!

Oberon and Lysander kiss.

Puck: So here we see the lovers true, enraptured souls and passions new. So shall it end, this tale of hearts, and fare thee well now I depart.


The End