(no subject)
“And so as to evidence your love for Denmark, the bearers of this missive should without shriving-time be put to sudden death.” Edgar read out the letter, coming to that last command and pressing fingers over his eyes as he did. ‘Struth, as they had not enough difficulty without being made to some other kingdom’s hangman. Glancing back to the two men afore him, whom both had mouths agape with shock, Edgar sighed. “Some grievous crime must have been committed to have Denmark in such a rage for’t.”
They looked each at the other and the shorter one shook his head. “Nay, your Grace, we have no knowing of what has caused this order. Tis without reason.”
“We did lose Prince Hamlet to the pirates, though,” his friend interrupted him, frowning most thoughtfully. “If King Claudius was in a rage for the ransom--”
“Not so; the letter was writ previous to even stepping upon the ship, before any pirate had thought to sail--”
“But if twas a crime worth dying we have committed then there is naught else, we have been most loyal--”
“Now look here Rosencrantz--”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure of what?”
“You did just call me Rosencrantz and yet I thought we had not established such facts to as we might--”
“Don’t be so the fool, of course--”
“Pardon,” Edgar called, giving them both a wide look. Standing beside him, Albany snickered and Kent was having some difficulty keeping his features as grave as might be desired for such serious matters. What the sin was they had committed, at least was unlike to be that of the melancholy fool. “Rosencrantz? Guildenstern? I am correct in the titles, yes?”
Again they looked one at the other and the shorter one nodded, though gave no indication as to which might be which. “Your Grace, I pray do not act so quickly on this matter, it is like to be a mistake of some sort, we have done naught to offend the king so grievously.”
Devil take it. And e’en had they, twas it a reason for murder? Those that might rule could act with all the petty foul cruelty as any other man (or woman), and did causing some unknown offense to a king across the ocean truly give cause to the execution of two men who seemed not even capable of knowing their names, let alone causing some danger or difficulty. No more than his father’s offenses had given good reason to his blinding. Edgar pinched the top of his nose, feeling an ache coming on, and wondered why twas that such affairs must come in with this day’s tide rather than wait. England could solve not her own matters, less so those of some Danish king. “This letter, professing it of utter import, asks of the King of England to strike the heads from the bodies of its carriers.”
The taller Dane made a noise sounding much like a squeak, and his friend eyed him in tense concern. They had the fear of the condemned suddenly in their eyes, and it did bring some foul filth to Edgar’s heart to have caused it.
So he tossed aside the note. “And yet as of this time England has no king. I received the ambassadors of Denmark only as there are no others; but I am not him who this missive is addressed.”
“Edgar--” Kent suddenly broke in, frowning, and Edgar shot the older man a look in return.
“Would you take the crown to complete this request, my lord?” He asked, voice testy, and Kent’s face melted into some look of guilty half-reproach but he did grow silent. Edgar shook his head again and turned back to the Danes, who looked most bewildered. “As we have no Head to carry out the removal of yours, it seems you must live.”
They looked most relieved and Edgar was again glad he had not taken the crown.
Horatio was reading by candlelight when there was a tremendous clatter upon his door, followed by Hamlet storming in without leave, closing it behind him and leaning back upon the wood as his eyes scanned the room and alighted upon his friend. Both paused for a moment, Horatio rather startled, and then Hamlet stood again and began to talk, hands waving about expressively as he picked up items and placed them back down and found Horatio’s trunk tucked in the corner.
“Horatio, I have decided we shall return to Wittenberg anon, I hope thou brought not too much, although methinks thou would not, although if we must pack up all the books in this room the trunk will be heavy indeed, we will have to give twice the gold to the poor carriage that must carry it. This book; is it thine or the castle library’s? Never the matter, tis thine now.” He tossed the tome in question into Horatio’s trunk, along with several books that the scholar had not borrowed, and Horatio finally came to his senses somewhat.
“Pardon, my lord?” Mayhap not entirely to his senses. “Return to Wittenberg? When?”
Dragging out a pile of Horatio’s folded clothes, Hamlet tossed them on top of the books and turned to grin. “This very night! I will stay here not a minute longer, mine uncle can have it all and rot for what I care. I prithee, stand there not gawping like a fish and help.”
“Tonight? To Wittenberg?”
“Aye, unless twas some other place? O, aye, if tis thy wish we will some exotic local, to Rome, or Flanders, or to France -- we might to Paris and mock Laertes’ difficulties with wooing. Where wouldst thou?”
Horatio slid from his chair, leaving his text on the desk and watching as Hamlet scooped it neatly up and tossed it to the trunk as well. He frowned. “My lord, we cannot simply leave.”
Hamlet stopped, some jocularity falling from his face as he truly looked at his friend for the first time since entering. “And why not, pray?”
“Your mother will not allow’t, nor your uncle--” Horatio was interrupted as the prince suddenly grabbed his shoulders, all sense of jest now gone as he frowned with a continence most stern.
“Aye, what of it. Dost thou care what mine uncle will allow, or no, or mayhap, but only on the night of the full moon if thou wilt stand on one foot, but then he will speak of it tomorrow! What concern is thine that we must arrest a desired path for mine uncle’s wishes?” Hamlet snapped the last, nearly shaking him as he spoke. “Unless tis because thou dost desire to remain within his earshot, to speak also of my doings and thoughts, to act as a mockingbird to every word coming from me!”
“My lord!” Horatio jerked away, tearing himself from fingers that dug in most painfully, looking in bewilderment and hurt at the hot strange light in the prince’s eyes. “What reason would I for such treachery when yours is the only form I care to look on in this whole estate, when all else might disappear and twould be lauded as God’s plan as you stayed? I would not speak to your uncle, you know me not if that is your worry.”
And then did the prince wilt, sink into himself as a delicate bloom battered by too harsh rain, staring with a wounded eye at Horatio as he swallowed. “Thou’rt in the right. I am sorry, Horatio. Tis only… they have all turned gainst me, there are none that might be worthy of trust, I cannot lay faith in a single man in this castle let he report himself to that treacherous snake, and I know not what to do of it, there is not one, Horatio, not a one that I would have hold my empty purse less he make off with the cloth.” Horatio realized suddenly the prince was shaking slightly, shoulders drawn up as he pressed a hand to his forehead, and the scholar darted back forward to pull the blond into an embrace.
Hamlet rested his head to his shoulder, returning the embrace halfheartedly. “E’en our friends, e’en Ophelia, who has not a thought in her head, mine own mother would betray me ere she could, and smile whilst her husband pulled a knife cross my throat. What might I do in such a place as this? I would we leave, Horatio, allowed or no.”
“Dear my lord,” Horatio began quietly, running a hand over Hamlet’s back in what soothing motion he might offer and murmuring nearly into the other’s ear, “we cannot leave.”
“But wherefore. I cannot stay, Horatio, I am as a rope pulled too tight, I feel as ready to break. I--” Here he hid his face into the scholar’s collar, mumbling and making sounds that only roughly approximated any words. “I see no purpose in’t.”
“We cannot leave because you have sworn a vow,” Horatio sighed, watching the candle on the desk sputter and struggle. “You would… Hamlet, thou wouldst hate thyself and me if I agreed to let that be broken o’er one night’s passions.”
Hamlet let loose a heartbreaking sigh, pulling himself back to standing and stepping back that he might look his friend in the eye. “Then thou shouldst leave, and free thyself of this foul and bitter place, and keep in thy tables that I am still unbroken.” He attempted a smile, succeeding not, and placed his fingers gainst the scholar’s jaw in affection.
The brunet returned the wounded smile with one already buried. “My sweet lord Hamlet, I would hate my self if I did leave thee to’t as such. And so neither can leave.” Putting a hand over the one on his face, Horatio worked some dread magic on his own expression and brought his smile to life. “But I would not have your throat cut in the night; stay here this eve.”
Hamlet let himself be pulled towards the bed as the candle was finally drowned in its own wax. “An it happens regardless?”
“Twill be us both, and so alike to a Greek tragedy; I am quite fond of them.”