We like to love 'til we die- a hamratio fanfiction

Chapter 1

Dearest Horatio,

Let me begin by saying that I'm not sure where to start with this letter. In truth, that makes me feel rather pathetic. One would assume nobility would be adept at communicating in any form, including letters... but I am unfortunately the exception of that assumption. Although I cannot speak this truth out loud, I don't wish to hide it from you. You deserve to know the truth. I need to leave Helsingør tonight. I have slain Polonius, thinking it was my uncle- the one who tarnishes the state of Denmark and its crown, which once outshone the sun and its billions of stars... and now is infected with the venom of that wretched snake that runs this country. It has already been decided that my uncle and mother will send me to England for execution. A simple reading of their body language indicated they were planning to do so. I am getting shipped off to England tomorrow morning, and that is my reason for leaving. I just need you to know th-

Hamlet was disrupted from his letter by a light rapping upon the door of his closet. If it were anyone else, such as the members of the Royal Court of Denmark, he would simply just resume with the letter, however, he recognized those gentle taps, and immediately recognized that it was Horatio. At this point, he could care very little about the lives of the members of the Royal Court of Denmark, especially his mother. His mother moved on three months after the tragic death of his father. To make matters worse, her way of 'moving on' was to get married to the brother of her late husband. In other words, it was incestuous. A sin. It was just... wrong, and Hamlet, from that day on, just couldn't regard her in the same way he did before her second wedding. She would always be inferior to him since marrying the monster that sat upon the throne, mocking the prince's natural grief for his father. Was he not allowed to grieve? Was it another thing he wasn't allowed to do, all because he was royal? Was he meant to just sit there and have the whole of Denmark gaze upon his beauty and mannerisms with admiration, when, deep within him, he just wanted to throw himself off the balcony he would stand upon to greet the people of Denmark?

Was grief a sin?

Hamlet placed his quill down gently, resting it on the quill holder, and declared that his humble friend may enter his closet. He turned to face the door as Horatio entered, a baffling mixture of sorrow and fury brewing within those oceanic eyes of his. After closing the door behind him, he took a few steps forward until he was standing in the middle of the room, the sea of marengo contained in his eyes clashing with the embers of kobicha in the other's. "The king informed me that you're leaving for England," the scholar spoke, an abundance of tears being held back, forcing his voice to falter, "I did not dare to ask him why, sir. He isn't truthful. I need the truth from you. I don't care if it hurts, I just need an honest answer."

Hamlet took a moment to compose his thoughts- to compose how exactly he was going to tell Horatio the ugly truth- took a deep breath, then finally spoke, "Claudius thinks I'm too dangerous to remain in Denmark." He muttered, trying his best to keep his composure as he saw Horatio's eyes narrow to that of pinpricks, the tears in his eyes threatening even further to fall. "To be truthfully honest, Horatio, he has a right to assume so. I killed Polonius thinking it was him. He thinks I'm insane and he has decided to send me to England tomorrow morning to be executed. I was in the middle of writing a letter to tell you this when you arrived here to ask me the reasons for my departure-"

Hamlet immediately put his speech to an end once he observed the scholar sobbing uncontrollably (albeit silently, minus a few shaky gasps for air) right in front of him, his head buried in his hands. He rose from his chair, approached Horatio and pulled him into a hug. He removed his hands from his face and placed them around Hamlet's waist, sinking his head down onto his shoulder.

"I was thinking about running away. Somewhere far from Kronberg. Somewhere they won't be able to find me. My father told me of a place he once stayed when in exile, years before I was born. Silkeborg. I could easily steal one of the boats from the dock and we can depart to Silkeborg together. I have an outfit that resembles that of the king. It's a very long story, anyways, I would like you to put it on now and place some rope around my hands afterwards."

"Wh-? Why?"

"You are going to walk me to the docks," Hamlet explained, his arms still holding his friend in a warm, loving embrace, "you will say that you have decided to send me to England alone. You will then head onto one of the ships and place me in the cellar. We will then switch clothes while in the cellar and you will remove the rope from my hands. I'll then head up to the deck and steer the ship to Silkeborg. We can plot our revenge against the king from there."

"Are you sure we'll be safe, my dear lord?"

"Certain."