Chapter Text
The first time Horatio comes across Hamlet, crown prince of Denmark, it takes him embarrassingly long to recognise him as the one he is.
He later excuses it before himself by blaming force of habit. It seems to Horatio that all of Denmark’s nobility send their offspring to Wittenberg, whether it is because the university is of great reputation or because it is so very willing to take even the most hopeless of cases if only the parents of said case are generous enough with their children’s study fees. Who is Horatio to form an opinion on the matter?
He is content enough with Wittenberg and what his studies there have to offer and settles for ignoring the nobility scattered around the place, bringing chaos to what could have been a perfectly organised place for perfectly organised minds more often than not.
He therefore doesn’t spare more than a glance to the young man in fine clothing that one day swooshes into his philosophy lecture half an hour late without any visible remorse, two of the most annoying new additions to Wittenberg’s nobler wassail scene in tow. The unnecessarily dramatic entrance interrupts him mid-argument in a debate with a fellow student that has obviously been letting his reading slide and is therefore about to lose this debate miserably.
That glace, however, gets caught somewhere in the back of Horatio’s mind and he keeps coming back to it later, thinking that he should have known just who that young man is right then.
His gaze is immediately met by two steely grey eyes, the colour and intensity of the sky above the stormy sea and there is something, not a spark, not quite a draw, but there is something not unlike a tug within Horatio, though he isn’t sure in which direction or where from or even where within him exactly.
It leaves a very slight unease with Horatio that he doesn’t become fully aware of until he has turned back around and finished making his point to his fellow student who reluctantly admits defeat and sits. At which the young man with the stormy eyes, who has by now settled down with his two companions, has the audacity to whistle audibly through his teeth and Horatio glares back to where he sits, only to meet those eyes again and realise that they never left him when he looked away, but have been staring all the while.
Startled, he blinks, and blames the strange heat sitting in the nape of his neck on the sensation of being watched.
He has only recently read a dissertation on the matter of Man’s unique capacity of sensing a spectator’s gaze – an awfully vague piece of writing that he had whole-heartedly disagreed with and thereon written quite a few pages about the carelessness with which some scholars mix the natural sciences, philosophy and theological contemplations without reflecting on the actual relationship and tension of these disciplines – and the thought comes back to him now, makes him frown because he never had experienced the sensation quite so strongly. Perhaps a point or two in the dissertation hadn’t been too bad after all; he’ll have to revisit his criticism on the matter.
The young man, meanwhile, is still staring, and Horatio comes to with a start as his lecturer clears his throat and he realises that he’s been staring back without even noticing. He now turns back to his lecturer who thanks him mildly and, as Horatio sits down, asks the assembly of students whether any of them would have a point to add to the debate or whether they could move on. Horatio startles a second time, which is quite unlike him, as a silky but clear voice from the back of the room calls out.
“I should think that any addition to such a swift and clean ending would wrong the very nature and purpose of debate, professor.”
Horatio’s head snaps around. It is the young man again, and Horatio frowns – because this nuisance of a man hasn’t even heard half his final argument, let alone the debate – and is about to open his mouth to disagree strongly and loudly with the apparent opinion on the purpose of debate, but before he can do so much as take a breath to gather his words, his lecturer hums and responds.
“Very well said indeed. Nevertheless, I’m sure Your Highness will agree that it is our scholarly duty to listen for any voice in a debate that we may not yet have heard, even and especially when we think to know and have given all sides a good listen.”
The young man grins as he remains seated despite being addressed and answers graciously. “As surely as it is our duty to know and respect when a debate has rightfully been won, as it seems to me it has been in this case.”
It is in this very moment that Horatio has the revelation and it stuns him so much that what might be taken as a compliment fully bypasses him. Good heavens, it is the young Prince Hamlet!
He very nearly staggers to his feet with the gravity of his realisation, but just so manages to stop himself and keep his reaction to placing a hand on the desk before him to steady himself. He now, on closer look, also recognises the two shadows the prince carries: The lords Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
The pair of them had arrived some two or three months ago and been the spring of much trouble and many stories of legendary nights, passed on among the sort of students that Horatio usually avoids. The two troublemakers, however, Horatio had not been able to avoid.
His reputation of helping out a small circle of struggling students had somehow spread to them and as the first essays became long overdue, Guildenstern had dragged Rosencrantz into the library one afternoon, up to where Horatio likes to sit and work, and had begged him to help his friend (and, less urgently but still very much necessary, him).
Horatio found them to be annoying more than anything else, but soon figured out that they were good men and meant no harm, but mischief, and never to those who didn’t deserve it. He gets along rather well with them as he helps them out and they let him in on a piece of knowledge or two about Wittenberg’s nobility, which could prove wealthy at all times for someone as Horatio who comes without a drop of noble blood.
Aside from their irritating habit of trying to talk Horatio into joining them on their ‘adventures’ – and the strange nagging at the back of Horatio’s head where he can’t stop pondering on the inseparability of the two (because neither has he, nor does he know of anyone who has ever seen the pair apart, but they must have separate lectures, and just how do they do it) – Horatio doesn’t mind them really and could possibly even like them so long as they don’t try to be cleverer in lectures than they know they actually are.
Their newly apparent ability to marvel at every word and action Prince Hamlet says and makes, however, is nothing but unpleasant in Horatio’s eyes, and he wonders, at a very brief sideway glance he sees the prince make, whether Hamlet feels the same, but he has the decency to turn back to his studies quickly as the lecturer finishes his short dialogue with Hamlet, the very crown prince of Denmark.
The lecturers are usually very lenient towards Horatio; they like him and appreciate a student so tedious and interested, and sometimes they even do their best to keep on his side when he gets into a more nasty debate with some lord. But where it comes to royalty, Horatio knows how his chances really stand, and as unafraid as he is to fight any fellow student no matter their rank or title on his opinions when he disagrees, he decides it is wisest to keep his head down until he knows what to think of this prince of Denmark now sitting in his philosophy lecture.
As Horatio slips out of the lecture room a good hour and a half later, he passes by the prince quickly, and there is this feeling at the back of his neck again, the one of being watched. He just so fights the urge to glance back because he is sure he would meet those stormy eyes again. Somehow the thought unsettles him and he doesn’t understand why. As he flits from the room, he shakes the thought off and goes about his way.
*******************
It turns out Prince Hamlet is not just in Horatio’s philosophy lecture, but that they share most of their lectures. Not that Horatio minds; the prince does have a tendency to be what he seemingly considers fashionably late to lectures, but in the least his contributions to the studies are well-informed, witty and a lot more interesting than what most nobles at Wittenberg manage to produce even in their lightest moments. Horatio has to admit to himself that he is quite impressed, and makes a mental note to revisit his prejudices towards noble families sending their offspring to Germany’s newly most promising university.
There is another habit that Prince Hamlet picks up, however, that irritates Horatio, and not because he minds it so much as because it unsettles him: Hamlet makes no attempt to hide it when he disagrees with a point a fellow student makes – not just that, but he makes no attempt to hide his ridicule and superiority. And superior he is, as he is usually fairly more informed and eloquent than his competitors in debate.
But Hamlet doesn’t always step in to debate a point when he disagrees with a particularly foolish argument someone makes, as Horatio tries to do. Instead, he makes faces. Very obvious faces that draw a lot of attention. And it flusters Horatio. He frowns upon Hamlet’s habit. It bugs him that the prince doesn’t show enough respect to challenge his fellow scholars in debate, but confidently assumes the superiority of his argumentation. A good portion of arrogance comes with it and Horatio despises nothing more than arrogance, in a royal as much as (if not more than) in anyone else.
Nevertheless, it flusters him, this habit, and it takes him a particularly frustrating lecture on teleology to figure out why this may be.
It is one of the thicker young lords this time around that mutters his opinion on the matter at hand towards the lecturer who is patiently waiting in the front for the terror of it to be over, though the moment stretches on endlessly. The man must have had a letter from his parents reminding him to take care of his duties; either that or a rather harsh wake-up call in the form of grades that bring him close to failing his classes despite his noble blood, or he wouldn’t even open his mouth in lecture.
Horatio doesn’t recall him ever having opened his mouth in lecture before. In fact he hardly recalls his face and it doesn’t seem unlikely that this he has hardly come to this lecture before, Christ, Horatio catches himself thinking that it isn’t too unlikely that this is not the lecture this lord had meant to show up to today even, as what he is saying has little to no relevance to the topic and is nevertheless so daft that Horatio won’t even bother to get up for an argument to take this student down from the height at which he confidently blabbers on.
It’s just not worth it and Horatio is close to turning away from it iso as to witness this misery no longer Prince Hamlet’s incredulous open-mouthed staring from the back of the class. As usual, Horatio sits in the front and has to turn back to look at most of his fellow students when they get up for a speech, and it is just as usual that Prince Hamlet finds himself at the back of the class, today for once without his constantly snickering companions, but, from where Horatio sits, in direct line of sight past the speaking young lord. Their eyes meet and Hamlet raises both eyebrows with a meaningful look.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Horatio isn’t proud of it, but he can’t help himself and rolls his eyes in agreement.
Absolutely horrid.
An expression of surprise passes over the prince’s face, shortly followed by something else: delight. He wiggles his eyebrows and cocks his head, opening his eyes comically wide and staring at an especially stupid remark coming from the speaker.
Oh my God, did he really just say that?
Where does he think his argumentation is going? Horatio fights a grin and shakes his head slightly.
How is this getting worse by the minute? Hamlet silently gasps at the next turn the speaker’s rhetoric takes. Horatio shrugs helplessly.
Unbelievable. There should be no decline possible from this.
Hamlet cocks his head again and raises one eyebrow questioningly, challenging, offering...
Horatio grimaces and draws his eyebrows together questioningly. What’s the point in debating that?
Hamlet chuckles and Horatio is about to join in when he hears a huff from behind him and turns his head to see their lecturer pass an irritated look between them. Horatio blinks apologetically and turns back around to listen to the young lord who is somehow still speaking. Prince Hamlet seems unbothered by the lecturer’s scolding gaze and there is a first revelation for Horatio, when the thought hits him that part of him wishes he could show his reactions to the lack of wit some members of nobility prove daily at this university as openly as the prince can.
He doesn’t rejoin the game of exchanging looks with the prince who doesn’t seem to mind, but now that his interest is awoken, he cannot help but study Hamlet’s facial expressions closely for their meaning, and as he catches himself smiling when he thinks to have caught a thought hidden in the quirk of his eyebrows (and quickly suppresses said smile), another realisation comes.
It dawns on him that whenever Prince Hamlet obviously disagrees but doesn’t say a word, Horatio craves to hear his opinion, for often enough he marvels at the prince’s sharp tongue and insightful arguments, but when Prince Hamlet is set on keeping his mouth shut, there is no getting it out of him, simply his incredulous and sneering looks thrown at the subject of his disagreement.
And now that Horatio has been imparted with a notion of what these looks may communicate, he cannot help but watch out for them from lecture to lecture. And it flusters him, that he does. But what flusters him more is that the young prince seems aware, and from time to time makes a particularly comical face and throws a look just to him and whenever their eyes meet in these moments, Horatio is sure to avert his gaze quickly and scold himself for being drawn into the royal’s insolence.
*******************
The weeks pass and Horatio has more important things to keep himself busy with than young Prince Hamlet. His studies, for one. The poor quality of his accommodation is another worry on his mind, but it will have to wait until after mid-term grades and the new assessing of his study fees. He prays dearly that he will be able to afford a better location for he is afraid that his current one will fall apart around him even before his landlord kicks him out, but there is little hope that he will be able to afford an upgrade. For now, there is nothing he can do but focus on his studies and pray.
Prince Hamlet is a constant nagging at the back of his mind, but not much more. It is never more than a glance or so they share and the strange feeling at the nape of Horatio’s neck when their eyes meet, but they never share a single word.
That is until one day, in a lecture on philosophy and science, their lecturer speaks of common differences of the female to the male in fauna and utters the sentence, “The female of the species is more deadly than the male,” to which some laughter ensues and a pseudo-philosophical remark or two echo through the room, finding their climax in a cheap joke by some student that especially Rosencrantz and Guildenstern laugh loudly at.
Horatio busies himself ignoring the short uproar and stopping himself from rolling his eyes in the front of the class, but as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern suddenly fall silent, it takes Horatio a moment before he looks about to realise that it is because Hamlet has promptly stood up and is facing the student who has made the poor joke.
“Actually, I do find it a point to marvel at,” he says swiftly, his face deadly serious, and the class falls silent. “There is quite a lot in the nature of the fauna that we find in human nature as well; and considering that the male seems in most aspects of nature, animal and human, more aggressive than the female, isn’t it then quite interesting that a part of us relates to that notion of the female yet being more deadly? I take it from the declaration you just made that you think a woman to be significantly less deadly than a man, and surely is the fairer sex at most times of a lesser threat to us physically than it could be, but just how it could! Is there one of you who could not think of an example of a vengeful woman, or a mother ready to protect her child with all she has to offer – in which, again, mankind is much alike with the fauna – and can a woman in such an example not be horribly deadly? Be it just because a woman fights with no fairness when she fights, methinks it is no less true that she is more deadly!”
Silence has fallen upon the room. Horatio can’t help himself. He doesn’t even glance at his lecturer for permission, he is standing on his feet before he really knows what is happening to him.
“My lord,” he inclines his head and the corners of Hamlet’s mouth quirk upwards, but Horatio doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Methinks you do the debate on the nature of the female wrong in not mentioning that the reason the woman fights without fairness is that she only fights when the situation is beyond all fairness. In fact, I would say that the woman only fights because she is forced to by none other than man, and I believe your examples to stress this fact. What will a mother protect her child from, if not from some circumstance brought on by man? And the woman who is vengeful will feel betrayed and fight unfairly for she feels that she has been treated unfairly! I mean not to defend the deadliness a woman can bring, nor deny or relativise it. I simply think it wrong to explain her deadliness with the unjust means of her fighting. The female is not given chance to fight fairly, she sees no need to fight fairly! She lacks the male’s aggression and therefore takes not part in his orderly matters of fighting in ways we call ‘fair’. The woman’s deadliness, methinks, is provoked where she cannot escape the sphere of male aggression. I believe that a close study of many a piece of ancient literature will show us just that thesis put into more poetic words than I can presently author.”
Prince Hamlet’s face is graced by a small smile that Horatio thinks becomes him rather well. The class is still utterly silent, all gazes now drawn from Horatio back to Hamlet as he hums and answers, smile unfaltering.
“I marvel at your philosophy, and your reasoning is well. Literature can sure attest such – my experience proves you right in that – and I am glad you pointed out that the female may be driven to unfairness by unfairness; indeed, I would have to agree. Personally, I believe the female to be not much different from the male in deadliness. I think she has as much potential for aggression as he does, and is as deadly as he is. It seems to me rather that her aggression comes to light in greater portions if less often, whereas the male’s aggression leaks more steadily. But truly, their deadliness comes down to the same. Nevertheless, it fascinates me how nature draws us in with the implication of the female’s deadliness perhaps being true in our own female as much as in fauna. I’faith, it is ever the more interesting that the female shall by literature be considered so deadly when submitted to pressure, although she is in truth no more deadly than the male.”
“In truth,” Horatio can’t fight a quick quirk of his lips himself. Who would have thought that he would find himself agreeing so strongly with something Prince Hamlet openly said – something said so easily by the prince that Horatio would never have dared say aloud? “If you will allow me the speculation, my lord, perhaps literature justifies its fascination with something in which mankind is inherently different from nature with finding the similarity elsewhere. For it seems to me, looking at literature, that the female is found to be more deadly to the heart than the male, if otherwise less deadly.”
Hamlet’s small smile turns into a sly grin and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern behind him whisper to each other before laughing to themselves as Hamlet looks Horatio up and down and says, “See, now that I am afraid I cannot possibly agree with.”
There is that heat at the back of Horatio’s neck again and he is speechless for but a second, but it is enough because without him knowing how or why, their debate is apparently finished and Hamlet has sat back down and he sits himself and the lecturer clears his throat and continues talking about what he had actually been talking about before the disruption. When Horatio next turns around when someone else is speaking about something unrelated to the earlier matter, he only catches Hamlet’s eyes for a split second before, it seems to him, the prince averts his gaze and joins an apparently very entertaining discussion with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
*******************
The matter of Hamlet’s comment occupies Horatio’s mind for longer than he is comfortable with, but he has successfully pushed it from his mind before he next comes across the young prince, and when he does, the implications of what he said don’t come to mind again before their ways have parted, so turbulent and sudden is their meeting.
It is the day their essay on a subject of theology is assessed. It is quite a niche topic and Horatio is fully immersed in his thoughts about it as he makes his way to the library. He usually makes a head start on his work, especially when he knows the topic to be this specific, and he had a feeling that there might only be one copy of the book he is looking for when the lecturer spoke about it.
His feeling doesn’t prove him wrong; the librarian confirms that there is only one copy of the book he needs to be found in the entirety of Wittenberg and, having received directions to it, Horatio sets off. He is still deeply caught in his thoughts and internally he is halfway into his essay’s introduction when he finds the book. He flinches terribly as he reaches for the book and in the same moment that he grabs it, a second, strange hand does the same and meets his on the spine.
Both hands freeze and Horatio looks up in confusion, only to meet the eyes of Prince Hamlet who is standing right next to him and seems just as surprised to not have notices that someone else was heading down this aisle of bookshelves as Horatio is.
For a long, tense moment they just stand and stare at each other, painfully close, breathing the same air, and Horatio thinks he can smell a distant notion of oak wood and ink on fresh paper and – and he snaps out of it, pulling his hand away from under Hamlet’s and taking a step back, inclining his head.
“My lord,” he mumbles.
Hamlet remains as he was, hand on the back of the book, eyes boring into Horatio’s. Finally, he smiles and seems to relax a little.
“Horatio, isn’t it?” Horatio blinks.
“Indeed, my lord.” He hadn’t expected the prince to know his name. Hamlet’s smile widens a little and he pulls the book out from the shelf, holding it out between them.
“I’m afraid we’re going for the same book.” Horatio is quick to take another small step back.
“After you, my lord.” Hamlet raises an eyebrow.
“Are you sure? I am informed that this is the only copy of it there is.”
“’Tis of no consequence, my lord,” Horatio reassures. “There is much time before this essay needs to be handed in.”
“And yet, you’re here already...”
“I like to make a head start on my work. But I will be just fine starting on it a little later than usual.” Hamlet still smiles his small bemused smile.
“Yes,” he muses. “Guildenstern said something like that.” Horatio raises his eyebrows. Of course, this explains how Prince Hamlet would know his name. “They are quite fond of you, you know?” Hamlet continues. “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.” Horatio gives his politest smile.
“Are they, my lord? Well, I am quite flattered.” Hamlet’s quiet, yet open laughter at that takes him by surprise.
“Nothing to be too flattered about, they are fond of anyone who will help them to a drink, an evening’s entertainment or a grade to pass their studies. And I do not believe that it flatters you either. Methinks you are cleverer than that.” Horatio startles.
“My lord...?” Hamlet’s ambiguous smile is back.
“Well, I would hate to disrupt your usual manners of studying. If you will, we can sit over this reading matter together. I would be delighted to have such a mind as yours to discuss the topic of this essay with.”
It is a tempting offer and for a long moment Horatio seriously considers it, but then sense comes back to him, reminding him of such fundamental things as the fact that he is nobody to sit and study with a crown prince, no matter how openly said crown prince may be offering his company, and he carefully backs off.
“I would not stand in the ways of your studies, my lord. I will return to the book when you are done with it. Until then, I have plenty of other studies to occupy myself with.”
For a very short moment Hamlet seems disappointed, but not surprised, and then his small smile comes back, now more calculating than before, it seems.
“Very well,” he says. “As you wish.” But then he lingers before leaving, looking Horatio up and down again, and he mutters something that somehow leaves Horatio frozen in place. “They may be fond of everyone, but you may actually be deserving of their fondness... By any means, you should let yourself be flattered. A man of your wit could never stand in the way of my studies, I find it most enticing to hear what your mind puts forth. Perhaps another time, good Horatio.”
And with that, he is gone, and suddenly the thoughts of that look and his words and so many shared looks are back and Horatio feels dizzy and isn’t sure why, and it takes him another minute before he manages to leave the aisle of bookshelves and he leaves the library as well because he feels that he needs some fresh air.
*******************
Horatio tries to push the confusion that is Hamlet of Denmark from his mind as best as he can. He finds himself oddly reassured by the thought that his somewhat distant ‘relation’ to the prince could probably become no stranger. Oh, how wrong he is!
The days are becoming soggier as rain pours down over Wittenberg relentlessly with apparently no intention of stopping any time soon and Horatio finds himself outside of his rooms more often than inside, in fear that the rotten building will finally give up on the little bit of will to live that is left in it. It is so that he finds himself absent-mindedly reading one of Aristophanes’ comedies, strolling down the hallway towards the kitchens in the still dark morning hours in hopes of gathering an early breakfast so he can find the energy to get some studying done after a long night of the same.
It seems to him he hears footsteps and voices from down the hallway, but they disappear in the far distance soon enough and it isn’t exactly uncommon for students who live closer to the kitchens (not that Horatio is one of them; the wealthiest students live near the kitchens,) to sneak down in the early morning hours for a snack. The sun is on the brink of rising, the hallway dimly lit by two torches on one wall and the light will soon begin to seep in through the windows. Horatio is quite content in his reading, despite his mind being tired. It is nothing an early breakfast can’t fix and his steps are slow on the cold stone floor.
Suddenly, he stops as he hears a noise. He looks up from his book, listens, waits. Just as he thinks he might have imagined it and wants to go on, the noise repeats itself. It sounds a bit like muffled coughing. He looks around, but the only thing down the hallway is a slim, but broad cabinet that seems to have been put there by a student who was trying to carry it elsewhere, but forgot it or left it behind. Horatio frowns. The noise is repeated again and his frown deepens. It comes from the cabinet. After a moment’s hesitation, he steps towards it, reaches out – another cough. Horatio has had enough. With a huff, he reaches out and swiftly opens one of the two cabinet doors.
The sight that greets him is similarly as confusing as... strangely endearing. But confusion definitely wins out. Prince Hamlet is squeezed into the small space inside the cabinet, sitting on the floor, back against one side. He is wearing what seems to be quite formal attire made of valuable fabrics, but his feet are bare and a blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. He looks up at Horatio in something between surprise and annoyance, his features softening a little as he sees who it is, but then he frowns and presses the index finger of one hand against his lips.
“Shhhh,” he hisses conspiratorially. “I’m hiding.”
Horatio blinks. A hundred questions flood his mind, one crazier than the next, but he isn’t sure if that is because of him or because of the insanity of the situation presented to him. He is at a loss for words although not for things to say and in his stupor, he does the only thing that seems sensible to his confused and tired mind: he closes the door of the cabinet again.
As if in a dream, Horatio continues on to the kitchens where he gathers some food (freshly baked goods – the baker scolds him for being to the kitchens so early, but sees his tired, glazed over eyes and takes pity) before making his way back. And indeed, he can nearly convince himself that he is dreaming the whole thing, if it weren’t that he could never in his life dream up such a thing; and as he passes by the cabinet again, he stops and listens, and as if only waiting for this moment, the cabinet door opens and a long arm reaches out, taking one of the pastries he is carrying before slipping back inside. After a moment’s consideration, the door opens a little bit again, and Prince Hamlet reaches out and gently takes his copy of Aristophanes from Horatio’s other hand, cabinet door closing behind it.
Horatio blinks rapidly, shakes his head, and continues on his way down the hallway. He briefly wonders whether he has died, whether his room has collapsed in on itself and onto him and this is some strange version of afterlife, but he discards that thought when he hits his foot in a doorway and the pain shooting up his leg shows him that he is very much alive and very much awake and, above all, he is very much confused.
*******************
As Horatio spends less and less time in his room, he finds himself more and more distracted with Prince Hamlet’s moods.
He tries, he really tries, not to think too much on it, not to take notice of them, but it is difficult, and as it is the third time that he sits by the big chestnut tree in the town square trying to study, only to be interrupted by Prince Hamlet, who has this time decided to pick a competition with a local shop owner’s dog to determine which of them can bark the loudest, (another time Horatio caught sight of him, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, running from a man from whose shop they had stolen ladies hats, and yet another time the prince assembled a dozen children who had been playing in the street and positioned them to use them as soldiers in his retelling of some famous battle,) Horatio finally decides to move his studies from outside in the sun, back to the library where the thought of Prince Hamlet lurks around every corner, but at least the real Prince Hamlet doesn’t.
Back at the library, however, he is met more frequently with the lords Rosencrantz and Guildenstern who are apparently in great need of catching up on studies that they have let slide. The two are delighted to run into Horatio more often than not and he soon finds himself spending nearly as much time in helping them with their studies as he spends working on his own.
It is one such afternoon when Horatio finds himself in the library, reading through a rather clumsily written German essay from Guildenstern’s messy noble hand. Guildenstern is occupying the chair opposite him and nervously watches as Horatio tries not to grimace at the choice of every other word. Rosencrantz, meanwhile, is sitting in the windowsill next to their desk, reading some book in Latin, taking thrice the time Horatio did when he read the same volume. Guildenstern sighs and leans back in his chair.
“Well, then. Show no mercy, Horatio. Tell us; how bad is it?” Horatio glances up from the paper in front of him.
“If I may speak freely, my lord?”
“Surely,” Rosencrantz calls from where he is still reading. “There is no quality we cherish more in you than your frankness, good Horatio. Methinks that, were it not for your free speech, your tutoring would be no help to Guil, for he needs to be told a stern few words or he won’t move his a to do a single bit of work.” Guildenstern throws a pencil at his friend that Rosencrantz easily catches.
“Will you pretend that you’re any better?” Horatio frowns.
“Please refrain from throwing my stationery.” Guildenstern is at least self-conscious enough to look apologetic; Rosencrantz only snorts. Horatio sighs. “Well, in earnest, my lord: I know not how you have so far passed your German classes, considering your poor knowledge of the language, evident in this essay.” Guildenstern makes a face.
“Well, I think the spoken language comes more easily to me than the written form of it.” Horatio raises an eyebrow.
“What I have heard from your German attests to no such thing, I’m afraid.” Rosencrantz laughs in his corner and Guildenstern shoots him an angry look.
“Not everyone can be fluent in Latin, Greek, and three more continental languages!”
“Well, enough people are fairly capable of it!” Rosencrantz snorts. “And not just our scholars; fellow students too – just take Horatio--”
“Horatio is a remarkable example, but hardly a student can compare with him in all of Wittenberg!” Guildenstern shoots back. “Or can you give me one name more of an honourable student who knows his languages as well as Horatio does?” Rosencrantz’s smile widens.
“I sure can, Guil. Or see’st thou our sweet prince anywhere around? I’m sure he is out in the streets drinking, starting up a quarrel with some local in fluent German right now.” Guildenstern rolls his eyes, defeated.
“Well, had I a – brain – the size of his, I would be holding myself in any language with quite the same confidence as he. But you cannot possibly be asking me to compare myself to him! He is the only noble I know of in all Wittenberg who hands in his essays when they are actually due!”
Horatio lets out a snort. He hadn’t meant to, but it happens before he can stop himself. And now Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s attention is drawn solely to him. Rosencrantz smirks.
“An opinion, Horatio?” Horatio coughs.
“Not at all, my lord.”
“Oh come now, don’t lie to us, Horatio,” Guildenstern teases. Horatio grits his teeth.
“My lords, I am sure I am not in the least entitled to an opinion on any matter regarding the prince.” Rosencrantz laughs out loud.
“Oh, Horatio, don’t make yourself boring! I am sure it was just yesterday in our lecture on logic and scholarly discourse that you proudly defended your point that any educated individual is free to an opinion on any matter, be it his place to speak of it or not!”
“Well then, my lord, it is surely not my place.” Guildenstern clicks his tongue scoldingly.
“Oh, but we give you the space, Horatio, do make it place! And didn’t you win that debate, proudly too, saying that a scholar should be in the position to voice any opinion, rightfully formed, on any such subject out of his reach and, if with careful respect, still no less loudly?”
Horatio sighs heavily as he corrects a few spelling mistakes in Guildenstern’s essay. The two lords are staring at him expectantly. Suddenly mercilessly patient.
“Oh please, Horatio,” Rosencrantz finally mutters. “We truly do appreciate how freely you speak of and to any nobility. It is refreshing, if nothing else, and what many a man here deserves to hear, but never has.”
“Well, that is precisely the matter, my lord,” Horatio gives in, looking up. “You see, this German essay that your comrade has, judging by its quality, only started on today – or so I hope – that very German essay has been handed in by the Prince Hamlet a week ago.”
“Yes,” Guildenstern nods.
“Which was half a month later than it was actually due,” Horatio swiftly continues. “You see, my lords, your kind runs on other due dates than a man like I. Truly, I know of not a single noble in all Wittenberg that has ever handed a piece of work in on time, for you can freely take a date and interpret day and month as something other than it is. Perhaps Prince Hamlet hands his work in on your time, but in actual fact he is definitely no more punctual than any other noble in Wittenberg.”
Guildenstern and Rosencrantz share a look. Horatio turns back to the essay he is trying to save, but before he gets very far, Rosencrantz interrupts him yet again.
“Pray tell, Horatio – forgive our curiosity, but we would dearly like to know: What do you think of the young Prince Hamlet?” Horatio startles, then blinks.
“My lord... I would rather not speak to you of the matter, i'truth.”
“But why not?” Rosencrantz inquires. “You are not usually hesitant to speak to us of your opinion of any noble at university. What is the difference now?”
“Is royalty where you draw the line?” Guildenstern asks, with what appears to be genuine curiosity. “To speak freely in critical words of nobility is an ability you have mastered, with little hesitance, good conscience and fair confidence. Surely, it would surprise me, should speaking this way of royalty be too dangerous to you, but not very... So is his title what makes you hesitate?” Horatio frowns.
“Not quite, my lords.”
“You think of royalty no more highly than of all other nobility?” Rosencrantz suspects.
“I think no less highly of nobility than they deserve, my lords, I have told you oft enough – royalty’s rule of the world is as just as God will have it; I simply think that they are to be regarded with no greater respect as scholars solely for their title, but that often they assume to be deserving of greater regard as scholars when they are indeed not. It is no different with royalty than with any other nobility, but that they can be assuming of even greater respect as it is.” Guildenstern smiles.
“Yes, we know your opinions. So, if royalty is no different than nobility in your scholarly regard, then why won’t you share with us your opinions on Prince Hamlet?” Horatio hesitates a moment before he looks up from the essay again.
“My lords, you are, I take it, quite close friends to his Highness the prince?”
“Quite close,” Guildenstern repeats in agreement.
“And, my lords... I also assume that you are sent with him to Wittenberg to report back to the court in Elsinore any interesting thing and matter taking place in his life?” Rosencrantz and Guildenstern fall very silent, sharing another look.
“So he is fair and wise,” Rosencrantz finally says.
“Fairly too wise,” Guildenstern jokes.
Horatio suppresses a polite apology. The lords have brought this onto themselves. They insistently pressed on the topic after all.
“It is a dangerous sport, that,” Rosencrantz speaks conversationally, leaving his place on the windowsill and settling into a chair next to Guildenstern’s. “You see, we truly do care for the prince, and yet we have our duties to fulfil; our Lord Hamlet understands that very well, you see. It is a careful balance, that of love and duty... And a difficult one to hold at times.” Horatio looks between them. He has never seen the pair of them so serious, he thinks.
“My lords, I should not think so,” he says, nevertheless.
“You should not?” Guildenstern asks.
“No, my lords. Methinks that no duty is a greater one to hold then one of love.” Rosencrantz smiles slyly.
“Well, good Horatio, you are of no noble blood, as you say yourself. Perhaps there are differences between us nobles and you commoners after all.”
“I think not, at heart, mind, soul, or conscience, my lords,” Horatio shoots back. Guildenstern and Rosencrantz raise their eyebrows at his open show of disapproval with the nature of their loyalty to the prince and Horatio wonders if perhaps now he has gone a step too far. He quickly adds to his statement. “Either way, now I find myself in a strange position when speaking to you of the prince that I would rather not be in. For I know not how, truly, you regard him, in one sense or the other, and I know not what, of that which I say, you will regard in which way, and therefore do not know how to speak to you of him without putting myself, his Highness or you in a position possibly compromising in ways I could not possibly assess fully.”
The lords before him share yet another look. Their smiles turn more bemused than tense again, and Horatio allows himself to relax, but only a little bit.
“It seems, Horatio, that you are fairer to us in this regard than we deserve in your eyes,” Rosencrantz murmurs. But before Horatio can react to that statement, Guildenstern interrupts the moment by thinking out loud.
“Nevertheless, I would have loved to hear your assessment of the prince! He is of a remarkable mind, you’d have to agree. He masters all studies with ease and draws in any man with his charms. And still, there is nobody yet who can have claimed to have been safe from or truly understanding of his moods. Some say the royalty has taken heavily to his mind. Truly, I think, the freedoms of Wittenberg draw out of him what has been carefully contained for years at court!” The last bit is muttered conspiratorially, and Rosencrantz laughs out loud.
“Like we wouldn’t know ourselves how intoxicating the freedoms of Wittenberg can be!” At that, Guildenstern throws his comrade a look so full of fondness that Horatio suddenly finds it painful to look at it. “Truly, I think that the prince is in need of a mind to match his. He is in some sort of great imbalance that brings on his moods, and what can help this if not a kindred mind?” Guildenstern grins.
“Not just a mind, but perhaps a heart and soul and body, too, don’t you think?” Horatio is blushing and he isn’t even sure why, but this is not a turn he wanted this conversation to take.
“Well,” he mutters. “Judging by what I have seen of his moods, I would say that you will busy yourself for a while with finding a mind to match his. Either way, I am not sure how you will want to find it if you cannot even draw up a readable essay in German. I suggest you busy yourself with improving your skills in that first.”
With that he hands Guildenstern’s essay back to him and Rosencrantz pats his friend on the back with an empathetic grin as the scene is suddenly interrupted by soft laughter from nearby. All three of them turn their heads, and there he is: Prince Hamlet, leaning against a bookshelf not far from where they’ve been sitting all this time, studying them with an attentive gaze. Horatio swallows and suddenly feels hot all over.
The two lords on the other side of the table seem a lot less bothered. Rosencrantz gets up from his seat without any hurry while Guildenstern’s eyes go back to scanning the notes Horatio left on his essay.
“How long have you been standing there?” Rosencrantz asks friendlily as he retrieves his book from the windowsill. Hamlet smirks.
“Longer than you’d like.” The two lords snort at that whereas Horatio thinks he might faint any second, but Rosencrantz and Guildenstern make ready to leave and join the prince without another word about it. Right before they go, Hamlet seems to remember something. He rummages through his satchel quickly and then steps up to where Horatio is sitting, neatly placing his copy of Aristophanes’ comedies on the desk in front of him. As he leans down to do so, Horatio immediately leans back a little, but not far enough so that he cannot feel the warmth Hamlet radiates and catch that scent of oak wood again... “I believe this is yours.” Hamlet smiles innocently.
Horatio stares, first at him, then at the book, then at Hamlet again.
“Yes, my lord,” he finally manages to say. “Thank you, my lord.” Hamlet’s smile widens.
“No, thank you.”
And then he gives Horatio a strange look, and turns around to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern who curiously glance between them before they turn as well and the three of them leave. Only when they’ve gone does Horatio notice that he must have been holding his breath.
*******************
It turns out that Prince Hamlet has left pencil notes in his copy of Aristophanes.
At first, Horatio is offended. Then, he begins to read them and finds himself laughing harder than he has in a long time at some of the comments. A few of the remarks, however, make Horatio blush. In every other conversation or gesture Hamlet seems to see the implication of homoerotic relations between the characters and the way he voices it causes Horatio to put the book aside after two or three such comments to calm himself before reading on. Not that he necessarily disagrees, he has found himself aware of such implications before, but the prince has a very... explicit use of language.
Horatio tries his best to come to terms with the fact that being in Prince Hamlet’s presence as well as thinking too much about Prince Hamlet makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t understand why and searches his mind for a reason unsuccessfully for days on end before he decides to put the matter to rest and simply opts for avoiding the man until an answer either magically appears to him or the problem dissipates.
Sadly, however, neither happens, and just as sadly, Horatio finds it more difficult to avoid the prince’s presence than he thought it would be. If he didn’t know any better, Horatio would say that the prince is seeking out his presence.
For it becomes more and more often that Prince Hamlet is sitting in the library, scanning through book after book, right where Horatio had been studying the day before, as if waiting for him to return to the same seat today – which Horatio refuses to do. The habit and near presence of the prince is so irritating to him though, that he soon flees the library to find other places to study.
His rooms aren’t an option, for every time that he runs into his landlord, the man wants to talk to him about selling the place and Horatio tries to avoid that talk because as much as he hates his rooms, he cannot afford to be thrown out at the moment and that is where things are inevitably heading. The later his landlord lets him know, the better, for he has a three week notice period before having to leave once told to.
Every other place Horatio seeks out to study, however, proves either inadequate or soon occupied by one Prince Hamlet, crown stalker of Denmark. In the outdoor spaces, Horatio thinks it innocent enough, but when he finds Prince Hamlet lying stretched out across four chairs in the common room of the students’ debate society reading with his head hanging off a chair and the book held above his head the day after Horatio first goes there to study, he grows suspicious. Eventually, Horatio only has one last place in which he can think that Prince Hamlet apparently hasn’t found yet – and even there his luck comes to an end soon.
He is wandering the university’s greenhouse in peace for the tenth day in a row, quietly reciting Vergil as he tries to memorise 40 verses for an upcoming lecture, when he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye and stops dead. He looks about just quickly enough to see the movement of someone hurriedly hiding behind some bushes, but not quickly enough to be able to make out anything about the person. He frowns, strides forward and quickly crosses the space between him and the bushes, rounding them and coming to a stop when he sees a figure cowering between the branches of one of the plants. Horatio blinks, speechless.
“Before you ask,” Prince Hamlet says, beaming. “I am pretending to be a bush.” Horatio just keeps on staring. He doesn’t know what to say or how to react and he is awfully unsure what social protocol demands of him in this situation. “It is just that I woke up this morning wondering how plants might feel and as I could not find an answer to my musing, I decided to follow the modern philosophical way of experiencing the nature of a thing by attempting to get as close to it in being as possible.” Horatio still doesn’t react. A thousand thoughts are flooding his mind, a hundred emotions battling for dominance. “And so,” Prince Hamlet concludes, “I felt that the greenhouse was the best place to start; wouldn’t you think so?”
The battle of emotions clouding Horatio’s mind abruptly comes to an end and there is a clear winner: annoyance. And with it wins the one of the thousand thoughts that has been shouting the longest and the loudest. Horatio opens his mouth and promptly lets it out.
“My lord, are you following me?”
The following moment in which Hamlet regards him with a blank expression seems to stretch into eternity. Then, finally, a smile stretches across his features and it is so bright that Horatio has to stop himself from smiling back.
“Are you a plant, Horatio? For if you are, pretending to be you would surely prove more interesting than this...”
Horatio has had enough. In this moment he cares not for politeness and appropriate conduct. He simply turns around, leaves the prince as he is and makes for the other side of the greenhouse where his studies are laid out on the ground for him to read. Prince Hamlet, however, will have none of it and springs to his feet to follow him, which Horatio only notices when he has already reached his papers and brings them back into order to pack his things up.
“Where are you going?” the prince asks curiously.
“Elsewhere,” is all Horatio will tell him. “I would hate to interfere with Your Highness’s attempt at studying the nature of plants.”
The hum Hamlet lets out sounds somewhat disapproving, but Horatio couldn’t care less. He has had enough of this. It is just when he has gathered all his papers and stands on his feet again that the prince’s voice interrupts his leave.
“Very considerate, Horatio, i'faith – before you go, one question, if I may? Pray tell, which berries are poisonous around here?”
Horatio stops dead in his tracks at that; a feeling of dread is beginning to gather in the pit of his stomach as he very carefully says, his back still to the prince, “All of them, except the green ones – they are hallucinogens.”
“Oh,” the prince lets out a small laugh. “Well, I suppose that this is what the Germans call Glück im Unglück then!” Horatio turns around now and the horror must be written all over his face because Hamlet laughs at the sight of him and is quick to reassure him. “Oh, by my troth, it’s alright! After all, imagine it had not been the green ones! ‘Tis not the first time I’m on hallucinogens; I shall not die!” Horatio frowns and somehow it makes Hamlet laugh even harder. “You look awfully disapproving, Horatio. What is the matter?” Horatio’s frown deepens.
“My lord, I do not wish to have any knowledge of your experience with drugs.” Hamlet grins.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s no getting around it now. I will need somebody to look after me in this state so that I don’t wander off thinking it is a wonderful idea to eat more of any of these berries – and you are the only one here.” Horatio recoils.
“Oh no, there is no way we are staying here with you in this condition. I am taking you to the infirmary!” He turns to get going, but realises quickly that Hamlet isn’t following him. Instead, he has let himself drop to the floor and is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “My lord?” he asks, worry seeping into his voice. Hamlet clicks his tongue unhappily.
“We shall have to work on that.”
“Work? On what, my lord?”
“That,” he says, looking up at Horatio. “My lord...” Horatio is growing more irritated by the second.
“Well, how would you have me address you, my lord?” The prince smiles.
“Just ‘Hamlet’.”
“I can’t do that, my lord.” Hamlet sighs.
“Of course not.” Before Horatio can ask what he means, he carries on. “Well, we cannot go to the infirmary. The doctor there will think that I have attempted to poison myself and write to my parents, and under no circumstances will I let that happen again.” Horatio shakes his head in confusion.
“Why would he think that?” But Prince Hamlet doesn’t answer; he just looks at him, and as the full extent of what he has said sinks in, Horatio follows a sudden urge to sit down next to the prince where he is standing. “But we still cannot stay here. Someone might come in at any minute and as much as I doubt that they would care about your misconduct, I am sure the university will not hesitate to expel me for my neglected assistance in the form of not taking you to the infirmary after you ate berries from a bush that neither of us knows the full potential of.” Hamlet cocks his head.
“A fair enough point. Where shall we go then? Your chambers?” The thought leaves Horatio feeling utterly uncomfortable.
“Out of the question. What about your chambers?” The thought is not a lot more pleasant, but seems to make more sense.
“Troth, no. There are too many students scattered around the hallways on the way there.”
“Well, if we make the journey before you start feeling the berries’ effects...” Hamlet chuckles lightly.
“I’m afraid it is a little late for that.” Horatio nearly groans in frustration. This is not how he had wanted his afternoon to go. “What is wrong with your chambers?” Hamlet curiously asks and Horatio cannot suppress a sigh.
“Several things, my lord. Firstly, they are not exactly chambers, it is rather a room. Secondly, I am currently avoiding my landlord and if he finds me attending to a fellow student who happens to be high on hallucinogens, he will surely take it as reason enough to throw me out without a three week notice period. But most of all, the place is in a horrible condition and I am afraid that should my rooms collapse onto the crown prince of Denmark and kill him, I will surely go to hell for it, or at least my family’s good name will be ruined for all eternity.”
Hamlet laughs so loudly and so hard that, for a frightening minute, Horatio begins to worry whether it is a side effect from the berries, but he eventually comes back to himself, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes and grinning at Horatio in a somewhat insane fashion that frightens Horatio in an entirely different way.
“Well then, I fear we will have to stay here after all,” the prince declares. “The good news is that hardly anyone ever comes in here so you should be rather safe from being expelled. In all seriousness, this is as secluded a place as you can find at university – it took me over a week to figure out you were hiding here.” Horatio, who has admitted defeat and is shifting on the floor to sit more comfortably, starts and nearly tips over when he hears this.
“So you have been following me!” Hamlet looks momentarily surprised to realise that he has spoken aloud, but then a lopsided smile breaks out over his face again.
“Hah. Well, it seems that I must confess.”
“May one inquire what has driven you to follow me around then, my lord?” The prince hums.
“That wholly depends. May one inquire why you have been avoiding my presence, good Horatio?”
Horatio, again, is rendered speechless. He finds that he has no good answer at hand; none that wouldn’t put him in an uncomfortable situation of revealing the queerness of his personal feelings anyway. So he doesn’t answer, but instead settles down and unfolds his papers again, rearranging them on the floor before him.
“I will be using the time to study then, my lord. You had better stay right where you are so I can have a watch over you. We should also make sure that you stay sufficiently hydrated.” Hamlet smiles absent-mindedly.
“Mind me not, Horatio. And please be lenient should I not listen to you, but the fairies are telling such interesting stories and I find it difficult enough as it is to listen to all of them at the same time.”
Horatio sighs and turns to his studies, half an eye on the prince who seems to be seeing the sweetest dreams come true underneath the ceiling of the greenhouse as he smiles and coos.
It is half an hour or so later, Horatio is losing his sense of time in the dull light within the greenhouse, that Prince Hamlet falls very silent next to him and Horatio looks up from his readings to check on him.
“Are you alright, my lord?” Hamlet’s facial expression is blank.
“And you, my good Horatio?” he responds evenly. Horatio frowns.
“Please do not call me that, my lord.” Some emotion passes over Hamlet’s features and he looks up at him with a small smile back in place.
“What then, my good Horatio?” Horatio glares.
“That. I’m not your good Horatio.”
“No?” The prince seems genuinely surprised. “Well, strictly speaking, I am not your lord either, am I?” Horatio furrows his brow.
“I suppose not, my lord.”
“And yet you call me so.”
“It’s what custom wants.”
“What?” Hamlet laughs. “That I am above you in hierarchy, but may not have a word in how you refer to me?”
“So it seems, my lord.” The prince sighs heavily.
“Well, my good Horatio, it only seems fair to me that at least I may in return address you as I please, but, as I wish not to upset you, I shall try to refrain from it for your sake.”
“Thank you--” my lord. He has to bite his tongue to not say it. Hamlet seems pleased.
“I take it then that you are well?” The prince closes his eyes and smiles.
“I feel light as a feather, Horatio, and in fact I thought for a moment that I must be flying. It was a beautiful sensation, that, for a few moments, but then I felt that I was too light, too little, that I was dissipating, was made of nothing, that I was fading – or flying away, and nothing could hold me, and it became quite frightening...!” The smile has died on his lips and he is staring wide-eyed at Horatio. “Will you ground me, Horatio?” he whispers and Horatio cannot help himself, there is that tug again from somewhere within him and he feels helpless, but something within him is terribly sure of what to do and before he knows what is happening, his hand has already reached out and he firmly places it on the prince’s shoulder, pressing it down into the ground lightly, but steadily. And Hamlet smiles and closes his eyes again and a warmth fills Horatio that should be more unsettling than it is.
The hours pass with Hamlet muttering the silliest things to him, asking a question about what Horatio is reading once or twice, at times he asks Horatio to read out loud and Horatio complies and listens to the prince’s comments that are sometimes utterly senseless, sometimes surprisingly insightful and most of the time more entertaining than Horatio would openly admit. A few minutes into such a session of Horatio reading and Hamlet commenting, Hamlet suddenly silences him by putting a hand onto his knee. Horatio immediately falls silent at the sensation and very nearly gasps as the contact sends a spark up his leg. He shakes his head to clear his mind and looks up.
“What is it, my lord?”
“Have you ever been in love, Horatio?”
Horatio isn’t sure how to respond. It seems an awfully personal question, but before he can do so much as attempt to find the right words, Hamlet continues to speak and it occurs to him that perhaps it had been a rhetorical question.
“There is a girl back at home... She is very dear to me. I am afraid, though, that I will break her heart. I love her dearly, or I have, when we were very young. Really, I hardly knew what love could mean in those days, but it made my love for her no less true, you see, in what it was back then. I think she was the first to own my heart in such a way, but I fear that I have never held her quite as dear as she still holds me. I fear that I have yet not ever loved to the truest and fullest extent. I will surely be expected to marry her one day. I liked to think in past years I would not ever marry; to think that a king can do as he pleases, but you see, I am the last of my line, and a king must have a queen and offspring if there is no one else to pass the line on... Anyway, the girl – Ophelia is her name – Ophelia is still dear to me; I will always hold her in my heart, but I will never love her as much as she deserves. It breaks my heart to think how unhappy it will make her the day that she has to realise, and surely that day will come, Horatio, for I fear that I will lose my heart to another.” At that he looks up to Horatio again. “It is quite frustrating a situation. I had forsworn myself to love – not by my mind, soul, body, but by my heart, you see. I thought that, this way, it would prove easier to return to Elsinore one day, and love Ophelia as best I can. But at times it happens that you set yourself such a goal, only for your eyes to fall upon a person and for you to realise, aahh, and there is the one who will ruin all good intentions, no matter what. Do you know that feeling, Horatio?” Horatio swallows.
“Well, my lord... I suppose... Well, I think that, in an abstract way, I do.” Hamlet studies his face carefully for a long moment before looking back to the ceiling.
“Well, perhaps that is better than to concretely know it,” he says, and then on a completely unrelated note he continues, “Have you read the notes I left in your volume of Aristophanes?” Horatio blushes so fiercely at the mention that he fully forgets to be puzzled by the sudden change of topic.
“I – I have, my lord.” Hamlet smiles an awfully knowing smile.
“Did you like them?” Horatio coughs self-consciously.
“I found them widely entertaining and, in many points, agreeable, my lord.” Hamlet grins.
“Good.”
“At times quite particular in choice of words,” Horatio points out. Hamlet squints at him.
“Think you not, though, that Aristophanes, himself, is just as particular? I thought it only fitting, really.” Horatio smiles and inclines his head in agreement.
“Perhaps you are most right, my lord.”
“Most definitely I am,” Hamlet mutters, closing his eyes again.
“I just marvelled at where a prince would learn such expressions, that is all.” Hamlet grins his broadest grin yet.
“A prince knows his ways to learn what he is curious about. Since arriving in Wittenberg, even more than before, I have learned from the best – and believe me, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are the best in all such aspects.” Horatio blushes deeply and decides not to think too much about the implications of that as he mutters,
“I have no doubt they are, my lord.”
“Nay,” Hamlet sighs. “They are awfully daft at times and more talkative than is good for them, and surely, they report at least half of all the words I ever speak on to the court, but they do know which half to leave out, and they are good men, really.” He cracks one eye open. “I do feel a demand for more sensible company every once in a while, though. It isn’t the most pleasant thing to mind even half my words in the presence of my closest companions.”
“I imagine not,” Horatio agrees.
“And imagine you must,” Hamlet says. “You hesitate not to say aloud every word on your mind, it seems.”
“Nay, good prince,” Horatio laughs. “That is but half the truth. Were I to speak every word on my mind, I fear I would spend most of the hours in a day talking. I simply have a tendency to utter things aloud that it would be better for my health and future I kept to myself.”
“Then why do you utter them?”
“Well, my lord, I fear it would be worse for my sanity to keep them to myself than it is for my health and future to make them be heard... But truly, perhaps it is some terrible form of pride. I fear it is my worst habitude.” Hamlet smirks.
“Nay, there must be some other naughtiness that we can coax out of you.”
“My lord, you’d be the first to be successful.” Hamlet grins.
“That challenge I readily accept.” Horatio realises too late his mistake.
“My lord, I meant not--”
But Hamlet is already back to his hallucinations, laughing at the shape of a nearby plant and Horatio gives up. He only hopes that Hamlet will have forgotten this part of their conversation when his trip is over.
Thrice Hamlet tries to crawl off and Horatio has to sternly demand that he come back so that he doesn’t get lost in the greenhouse or try to eat some berries even more poisonous than what he has had. It slowly grows dark around them and Horatio lights a single candle he carries with himself to still be able to read. At least it doesn’t get too cold inside the greenhouse, but he does hope that Prince Hamlet’s high will come to its end soon or they will be sitting in here all night, and Horatio should really get some sleep. He hasn’t been having enough lately, what with all the creeping out of his room in the early morning hours and only returning late at night so as to not run into his landlord.
It is when Horatio is caught in that worrisome thought that Hamlet suddenly calls out.
“Horatio, look!”
And although the prince has called out the same phrase a dozen times before and Horatio has looked up to find him fascinated by something only he can see, Horatio looks up yet again, and this time he does see what the prince means.
“I see them too, my lord.”
A hundred fireflies are rising from the plants into the air around them and filling the space with a somewhat magical glow.
“What, Horatio, you mean to say that of all things I have seen today, this is the one that is really happening?” Hamlet laughs and sits up. “What a lucky day I am having...”
They sit in a surprisingly companionable silence for many minutes, just watching the display of the glowing bugs floating through the air around them. Horatio’s left hand is still on Hamlet’s shoulder where it has, with short interruptions, stayed since Hamlet asked him to ‘ground him’, and Hamlet’s left hand is still on Horatio’s knee as they sit closely next to each other, facing different directions.
Horatio feels that strange tug inside his body again, deep at his core, but this time it has a direction and it seems to pull him towards the prince and Horatio takes a shaky breath as he suddenly has an idea of what it might be and breathing in, he smells the faint scent of oak wood and ink again and becomes highly aware of how warm Hamlet is next to him and how cold he is from sitting in one place for hours – and before he can fight it, that tug manifests somewhere between where his heart and where his stomach is and he thinks that he understands something that Hamlet has said earlier, but he isn’t sure what is was...
It is in this moment that Hamlet turns his head around to him and says something right into his ear and Horatio cannot help the shiver that runs down his back and it takes him a moment before he becomes aware of what the prince has said.
“I think the effect of the berries has fully worn off. By any means, I imagine it is time we leave this place before someone locks us in for the night.”
They help each other to their feet, awkwardly taking a few steps to wake up their tired limps that have become used to being in one position for too long. When their hands let go from where they have been set for several hours, Horatio is left feeling strangely cold again and that tugging within him turns into a strangely fierce heat and the mixture of the two sensations makes Horatio dizzy as they stagger out of the greenhouse.
Standing in front of the building, Hamlet looks around and asks whether Horatio will join him for a late trip to the kitchens as they have missed out on lunch, and his tone is annoyingly conversational, but there is also a great deal of care barely contained by the nonchalance and Horatio’s dizziness is getting worse and Hamlet must see is for he doesn’t object as Horatio politely declines the invite.
“Very well. As you wish,” he says. “But I will have to make it up to you some time. You spent an entire afternoon and evening looking after me because of my carelessness – thank you. And I must apologise. I will do my best to look for a way to make it up to you if you will let me.”
A part of Horatio wants to refuse, to say that Hamlet mustn’t and that they can forget it and never have to spend such an uncomfortable amount of time in each other’s presence again, but the tug is back and his mind is flooded by all the endearing, funny, kind and clever things the prince has said today – and oh, he really needs to sleep, he doesn’t have the energy to argue – so he only inclines his head.
“But another time,” Hamlet is quick to say. “I see you need your sleep. We will see. Thank you for your compassion for now, Horatio. And a sweet night.”
There is a tense moment in which they lean a little towards each other, not sure how to say goodbye, but then Hamlet opts for passing by him and patting his back briefly, but gently, and they part.
Horatio isn’t sure how he made it home that night, but when he wakes up the next morning, he is in his bed in his room and he groans into his pillow as the first thing he notices is that the tug in his lower chest is still very much there and shows no sign of passing or even easing, and he really wants to hate Prince Hamlet for it.