(no subject)
TITLE: Mine Own Hephaistion
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Hamlet
NOTES: My dear, lovely siriaeve was - alas - ill. This was my attempt at cheer-up fic :) <333 Hamlet.
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Seating himself soft close upon his Lord’s bed, Horatio’s form was stiff, his face graven with troubles. One hand, trembling, reached forth, touching the pale fingers of the noble Prince where they lay upon his bosom.
“Peace, good Horatio,” spoke fair Hamlet, his voice coarse and wan. His lashes, heavy, fluttered open. “I but rest a while.”
“Wouldst thou have me send word to thy mother, my Lord?”
Hamlet’s lips slipped to a sonambulist’s smile, pale, bare parted. “I would not wish to cause her concern, my good friend,” he spake softly. “Stay here, Horatio. I would that you cheer me.”
“If I am able, my Lord,” Horatio’s gaze was fond. “Wouldst thou have me read of theology to thee?”
“Feh!” the Prince did murmur, lip curling in chastising mockery. “I rest abed with accursed contagion and thou wouldst bring the final rites to me?” Horatio grew pale, but Hamlet did smile. Dark eyes gleamed with the very brightness of mirth. “Nay, good Horatio, I would hear tales of the great Alexander.”
Rising, his tread soft, Horatio sought the weighty book, opening pages curled with age. His fingertips marked the very words he sought and in a voice fluent and calm, he read of the noble King Alexander, of his triumphs and glories.
Upon the bed, the Prince did close his eyes as the tales wove about him. His pale hands folded upon his breast, he was as still as one dead, dark curls damp upon his fever-flushed brow, lips parted in silent breaths.
Upon the final page, Horatio did close the book upon his lap, soft eyes gazing with tenderness upon his lord’s soporific features.
“Truly,” Hamlet’s lips parted softly. “He was the greatest warrior.”
“Ay, my Lord,” Horatio murmured. “But I do not doubt thy greatness also.”
The Prince did laugh with fondness. “Thou hast commendable loyalty, good Horatio,” he did say, turning his head to gaze fondly upon his friend.
“Always, my Lord,” Horatio laid the book upon the bed, close to his Prince’s feet, reaching to grasp Hamlet’s hand once more.
Eyes dark as the clearest of winter nights gazed upon him solemnly, then the Prince spoke once more. “Swear it to me, my beloved Horatio,” he said. “Be to me as the brave Hephaistion was to the great Alexander.”
Clasping that fever-warmed hand twixt his own, Horatio’s face was as stern as the grave. “I swear it, my Lord,” he said, voice afire with fervour. “My love and my loyalty is thine. Until the flesh from our bones is but the dust that blows upon the four winds, thou art my Lord.”
With his lonely hand, the Prince touched his companion’s face. “Then kiss me, mine own Hephaistion,” he said, soft and warm.
Obedient, Horatio stooped upon the bed, Hamlet’s hand clasped to his breast. His lips were soft and moist upon the dry and thirsting mouth of the Prince, the touch brief and tender, their sighs mingling.
“Ay, my Lord,” Horatio whispered with great devotion. “As thou wilt.”
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Hamlet
NOTES: My dear, lovely siriaeve was - alas - ill. This was my attempt at cheer-up fic :) <333 Hamlet.
____________________________
Seating himself soft close upon his Lord’s bed, Horatio’s form was stiff, his face graven with troubles. One hand, trembling, reached forth, touching the pale fingers of the noble Prince where they lay upon his bosom.
“Peace, good Horatio,” spoke fair Hamlet, his voice coarse and wan. His lashes, heavy, fluttered open. “I but rest a while.”
“Wouldst thou have me send word to thy mother, my Lord?”
Hamlet’s lips slipped to a sonambulist’s smile, pale, bare parted. “I would not wish to cause her concern, my good friend,” he spake softly. “Stay here, Horatio. I would that you cheer me.”
“If I am able, my Lord,” Horatio’s gaze was fond. “Wouldst thou have me read of theology to thee?”
“Feh!” the Prince did murmur, lip curling in chastising mockery. “I rest abed with accursed contagion and thou wouldst bring the final rites to me?” Horatio grew pale, but Hamlet did smile. Dark eyes gleamed with the very brightness of mirth. “Nay, good Horatio, I would hear tales of the great Alexander.”
Rising, his tread soft, Horatio sought the weighty book, opening pages curled with age. His fingertips marked the very words he sought and in a voice fluent and calm, he read of the noble King Alexander, of his triumphs and glories.
Upon the bed, the Prince did close his eyes as the tales wove about him. His pale hands folded upon his breast, he was as still as one dead, dark curls damp upon his fever-flushed brow, lips parted in silent breaths.
Upon the final page, Horatio did close the book upon his lap, soft eyes gazing with tenderness upon his lord’s soporific features.
“Truly,” Hamlet’s lips parted softly. “He was the greatest warrior.”
“Ay, my Lord,” Horatio murmured. “But I do not doubt thy greatness also.”
The Prince did laugh with fondness. “Thou hast commendable loyalty, good Horatio,” he did say, turning his head to gaze fondly upon his friend.
“Always, my Lord,” Horatio laid the book upon the bed, close to his Prince’s feet, reaching to grasp Hamlet’s hand once more.
Eyes dark as the clearest of winter nights gazed upon him solemnly, then the Prince spoke once more. “Swear it to me, my beloved Horatio,” he said. “Be to me as the brave Hephaistion was to the great Alexander.”
Clasping that fever-warmed hand twixt his own, Horatio’s face was as stern as the grave. “I swear it, my Lord,” he said, voice afire with fervour. “My love and my loyalty is thine. Until the flesh from our bones is but the dust that blows upon the four winds, thou art my Lord.”
With his lonely hand, the Prince touched his companion’s face. “Then kiss me, mine own Hephaistion,” he said, soft and warm.
Obedient, Horatio stooped upon the bed, Hamlet’s hand clasped to his breast. His lips were soft and moist upon the dry and thirsting mouth of the Prince, the touch brief and tender, their sighs mingling.
“Ay, my Lord,” Horatio whispered with great devotion. “As thou wilt.”