DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hamlet, its characters, its plot, etc.
In a Younger Time
"I'm open, you're closed
Where I'll follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again."
- Collide, Howie Day
Horatio was Hamlet's best friend.
Everyone knew this. It was common knowledge that everywhere Hamlet went, Horatio followed. Of all the various objects in the realm of Denmark, of all the things the crown prince could wish for, he kept the young boy's attention most jealously. While it was cute for the adults, Hamlet was quite serious.
Horatio was unlike any other person Hamlet had ever known. Horatio was small and looked frail, but had a mind sharper than any blade. He was odiously devoted to his studies, gulping down any books he could find like a man in a desert. Hamlet, on the other hand, hated his studies and would have to drag his friend out to go play in a world of trees, grass, and sky. Horatio lived by logic and reason, but Hamlet could usually talk him into anything. He always had fun with Horatio and while the boy was unusually inept with humor, Hamlet loved teaching him.
Horatio was Hamlet's best friend.
So why was he spending time with Laertes?!
Hamlet watched with narrow eyes as Horatio pointed out all the fish to the dark-haired boy. He had never seen his best friend talk so much, not even to him. Then again Horatio loved to share his vast booklore and Laertes was the perfect listener. The dark-haired boy never really looked at Horatio, just stared down at the river and nodded his head when he needed to. Just looking at him made Hamlet sick.
To be honest, Hamlet didn't really know Laertes that well. He knew some things about him. Like, the man's father, Polly-Nose, was a creepy man that didn't know how to smile properly. There was a girl, O-feet-ia, who was younger and was always skipping around, playing house. Hamlet thought she was weird too, always playing with flowers. She once tried to get Hamlet to play with her, but he ran away after she explained that the "Mommy" and the "Daddy" had to kiss. Then again, she was a girl so it wasn't really her fault that she was weird.
But Laertes… Laertes was silent as a shadow. He did well in everything- school, fencing- but said nothing of himself and did nothing to get to know the other children of Ellsinore. He always looked at the ground, never looking anyone in the eye. He wasn't weird in the way his father and sister were weird, but he remained different. Hamlet had never paid attention to him, though, because while Laertes stayed in the shadows, he craved the sunlight. There was never any reason to notice the strange boy.
Until now.
Hamlet watched disgusted as Horatio fawned over the non-responsive boy like a girl. The small kid kept trying to drag Laertes into doing something, but the boy just crouched down and stared into the river. Hamlet hated seeing the hurt in his friend's eyes, but was more hurt himself that Horatio didn't return to him.
He had never had to fight for Horatio's attention from another person. Books were an easy opponent to beat, easily forgotten once they were out of the room, but a whole other human being…
Hamlet, by nature, was a social child and there was only so much solitude he could stand. Grudgingly, he made his way over to the two companions. Horatio turned to Hamlet, but Laertes didn't move. The smaller boy's eyes looked wonderingly at his friend and Hamlet felt that he should say something. "Hey," he mumbled. "Can I play?"
Horatio grinned widely. Picking up a stone, he handed it to the prince. "Wanna skip stones?" he suggested amiably.
Hamlet felt all of his good humor return. He graciously took the stone and proceeded to demonstrate- without yet throwing the stone- the expert way of skipping stones in great detail. Horatio humored his friend by putting on an exaggerated show of boredom. Laertes, unnoticed by anyone, had turned slightly toward them and picked at the grass.
The two boys soon grew tired of skipping stones and proceeded to see who could make the biggest splash by dropping them in. However, this soon picked the riverbank clean of all large stones. The smaller ones did not make as big of a splash as the boys wanted and they became disappointed. That was until Hamlet came up with an idea.
"If we climb atop this tree," he pointed to a nearby willow, "we'll be higher up. Maybe the rocks will make a bigger splash from up higher."
Horatio looked doubtful. "I don't think it will make much of a difference, Hamlet," he looked cynically up at the tree. To his eye, it was uncertain if the branches were too thick or too thin.
"It won't," a soft voice spoke up. The two boys jumped and looked over to see Laertes talking. The boy had turned his back on the river entirely, but still just stared down at the grass. "It won't make a difference."
Hamlet felt annoyed. "Oh, sure, now you talk," he huffed. The tip of his nose lowered, a peculiar habit he used whenever something did not go his way. "Have you anything else to say, oh mighty wise one?"
Then, for just a moment, Laertes looked up and Hamlet felt himself sucked in by black eyes. They stared right at him, piercing through him like someone you couldn't hide anything from, not even to save your li-
The boy looked down again and just picked at the grass.
A bit shaken, Hamlet drew up anger in defense. In a huff, he turned his back on the black-haired boy. "Don't listen to him," he snapped at Horatio. "Moron doesn't know anything." He started toward the willow.
Horatio hung back. "I don't know, Hamlet," he said slowly. "Maybe it isn't all that safe." His eyes darted toward the river, which suddenly didn't seem all that safe. "If you fell in, you could-"
"I won't fall," Hamlet barked, his annoyance growing. Feeling particularly stubborn, he clambered up on top of the roots, which were barely wide enough for him to walk one foot in front of the other. His balance was shaky, causing a flash of fear, but he hid it with a confident smile and continued onward. "See? It's easy." He was now standing over the river.
"Hamlet!" Horatio cried, stressed with worry. He could see, though his friend refused to acknowledge it, how shaky Hamlet's steps were and frail his balance was. "Come back! You're going to fall!"
Anger blinding him, Hamlet whipped around. "I'm not gonna-" his cry was cut short as the twist proved to be too much for his footing and he fell with a gasp into the river. The cold enveloped him and shocked him into a temporary stupor. For a moment, he felt dumb, his body moving without his control and he couldn't hear nor breathe. He waved his arms and tried to make his way to the surface, but the force of the river tumbled him head over feet so he soon couldn't tell up from down. After a short time that felt like a long time, he was buoyed up to the surface and he took a gulp of air that soon filled with water. He gagged and before he could splutter, he was sucked under. He became scared and his moves became uncoordinated. Arms and legs just waved wildly, expending his energy.
Then, out of nowhere, something grabbed him. For a moment, his heart beat even more ferociously with panic until he realized that whatever it was was pulling him upward. Together, they broke the surface and Hamlet coughed for air. They started to get pulled under again, but the air cleared Hamlet's mind enough for him to regain his swimming ability. Along with the person beside him, he was able to keep aloft. Then he started to get pulled a certain way, but the pull was focused in a way that was clearly not caused by the river. Slightly bewildered, Hamlet tried to see what had grabbed him. In the corner of his eye, Hamlet finally recognized his savior, Laertes.
The black-haired boy had taken a firm grip on Hamlet's arm and with his other arm, tried to paddle toward the shore. It was obvious that Laertes was making a conscious effort to keep Hamlet aloft, but the only way to do that was to push himself down. It was a little silly looking the way his head kept bobbing to the surface to breathe, but there was only hard determination in Laertes eyes. Even now he did not look at Hamlet, but instead focused on the shore as though he could bear to look away. Putting aside all the negative feelings he had felt for the boy earlier, Hamlet also grabbed hold of Laertes and together they slowly made their way toward shore.
It took forever and a moment. By the time they had solid proof of ground under their hands, they were both exhausted. They let go of each other and clambered onto the earth with their hands and knees. With only their toes left in the water, they collapsed side by side, panting for air that was now sweeter than any wine. Hamlet opened his eyes, that now felt so heavy, to really look at this boy.
He was surprised to see that they were about the same size. Laertes had always looked small, small in a different way that Horatio was. It was as though the black-haired boy had done everything he could to make sure that he did not stand out. Still, for Laertes to be the same as Hamlet was odd as Laertes was supposed to be the older of the two. Hamlet never considered Laertes older than himself. The thought struck him as funny and he felt something tighten in his chest.
It was not a laugh, however. Instead, he began to cough and cough. His throat burned and his jaw began to ache. When he could finally breathe normally, he could see spots in front of his eyes, obscuring Laertes's worried face. The lack of air made him feel lightheaded and he closed his eyes as though going to sleep. Tired of his face pressing into the ground, he rolled onto his back and felt the open sky above him, an empty presence that felt like freedom.
His own breathing became a lullaby so that he forgot the rest of the world. So much so that he was only vaguely aware of a new presence hovering over him and becoming heavier. Then something soft and gentle pressed itself into the corner of his left eye. Roused out of his drowsing state, he slowly opened his eyes. Laertes hovered slightly over him, looking straight into his eyes with those deep, fathomless pupils. Where before Hamlet had felt overwhelmed by that gaze, he now felt at ease, as though he fit so perfectly in a niche he had never known existed.
"I was afraid you wouldn't wake up," Laertes whispered, eyes drawing down toward the ground. "So I gave you a kiss."
Hamlet felt as though his mind was turned to mush and someone was trying to push it through a tube. He tried to comprehend what was going on. So he used the best question possible: "What?"
"It always works with princesses," Laertes stammered, his voice making him seem younger. "So, why not a prince?"
Trying to absorb all this just threatened to hurt Hamlet's head. He wanted to go back to his bed, to lie down and fall asleep. To get lost in dreams that made more sense. He closed his eyes briefly, and heard Horatio's voice. It seemed to be coming from so far away. With it though, came thundering footsteps. Horatio must have gone to get help. His eyes slid open.
"Horatio is coming," he heard his voice say.
"Good," he heard Laertes reply. "He must have brought help."
For some reason, Hamlet felt a tiny flick of annoyance. It ignited his previous anger, but in a way that was different from before. "This doesn't mean I'll have mercy on you," he ground out. Laertes looked at him sideways, uncomprehending. There was something bothering him, but he did not know what it was. It gave him a funny feeling in his stomach. Though his heart could not be forced into his words, Hamlet still sounded as malicious as he could. "I won't let you take my friend away. You won't get him without a fight."
Laertes suddenly seemed unsure on what to do. His face turned into a mixture of embarrassment and confusion and he awkwardly glanced back and forth between Hamlet and the ground. He forced himself to speak.
"It wasn't," he swallowed audibly, head bowed down. He seemed to have retreated back to himself. Two fists clutched at his pants legs. He struggled to make his voice audible. "It wasn't Horatio I wanted to be with."
Hamlet suddenly felt very awake. "What?" he gasped loudly, instinctively trying to get up.
Laertes's cheeks bloomed red and ducked down further. "It wasn't Horatio," he revealed steadily. He glanced up into the prince's eyes. "It was you."
Hamlet felt very, very stupid.
"We've always been so different that I couldn't help but be curious," Laertes confessed, drawing up a little. "But getting close to you is like trying to get through a wind storm. I would have been blown away." A little quieter, "I'm not that strong." Then, gathering his strength, he continued, "Then Horatio came over, like the eye of a storm. He was easier to be around and he did not seem to expect much from me." His eyes stayed toward the ground and he started picking at the ground. "But it was you I listened to and saw in the corner of my eye. Every word revealed our differences and I thought that if I could be someone else, someone stronger, then that was the sort of person I would want to be." He looked shyly at Hamlet and gave a small smile, the first Hamlet had ever seen him give. "You are fitting to be prince," Laertes murmured boldly. "A touch of destiny lays within you. Anyone can see it." Then he looked back toward the ground.
Hamlet… Hamlet didn't know what to think. He earnestly heard Laertes's words and took them to heart more than he had any of the tutor's stupid poems. Had he been older he would have known that he had been touched by this boy's show of sincerity, but as it was, he just felt generally pleased. He wanted to give something back, say something back.
"You…" now Hamlet was at a lost for words. He looked down too, staring at nothing, just acutely aware of his awkward mouth and how nothing seemed to come out. Then, quietly, the only thing to say, "Thank you."
This was how they were found, two boys staring awkwardly at the ground. The main focus, of course, was on Hamlet and the grown-ups quickly lifted him up and pulled him away. Laertes, saying nothing, eventually got up and followed behind, looking at the ground. Hamlet tried to keep his eyes on Laertes, but it was not to be. The grown-ups were almost twice his size and they gathered like a fortress around him, carrying him like the tide back to the castle. The words remained in his heart, though his mind folded them away like worn clothes and set them aside. However, they were there, along with the memory of them sitting on the river bank, because as simple as it was, it meant something that went on to very much define them. Two boys looking at each other and upon wishing to be like the other became each other's mirror in a tale that would be told for ages and ages to come.
The End
For Taylor
(and her fandom of one)