Horatio should have realised that Hamlet was going down a path from which he could never return. From the start, he had been acting in a manner most unlike him, insisting on the existence of things that he once would have scoffed at. Ghosts? Messages from beyond the grave?
Not all that long ago, both Hamlet and Horatio would have mocked people who purported to believe in such things, painting them as ignorant fools. But Hamlet's typical scepticism had convinced Horatio to give the man the benefit of the doubt; it had stood to reason that if he believed it to be true, he must have had a good reason.
But the more time passed, the more obsessive Hamlet had become, like a hunting dog that had scented its prey and refused to let up, whatever the danger or consequence. He had killed, driven away the woman he loved, and made an ongoing public farce of himself, and yet he had continued, blinded to everything except for his distant quarry.
Despite Hamlet's insistence that he was still as clear-headed as ever, the mania in his eyes had suggested otherwise. Perhaps he had not suffered from an illness of the mind, but he had certainly been struggling through a burden of the soul. With his father gone and his mother and uncle at the centre of his conundrum, Horatio had been the only friend he could have turned to.
And there lay Horatio's greatest shame. If Horatio had been more assertive, maybe Hamlet would not have brought about such a violent tragedy. Hamlet had always been open to debate and discourse, eager to interrogate and consider every side of an argument before settling on a reasoned, defensible position. That attitude was what had originally drawn Horatio to him while pushing so many others away.
If they had made more time to discuss his thoughts and pick them apart, would Horatio have been able to stay his hand? If Horatio had confided in Ophelia about his concerns, would the two of them together have been able to sway him? Or, if Horatio had advised him to leave the castle for a time, travelling around the countryside to clear his head, would he have come back with his spirit renewed?
Maybe all Hamlet had needed was time to grieve while someone else handled the matter for him. It would have been a difficult task, of course, since they would have been going up against the king himself, but it would have been an option.
Alas, it was not to be. Horatio had not, and now, Horatio could not. Focusing on what he could have done differently would get him nowhere. He had to set aside his personal feelings and act – quickly.
Because of his failure as a friend, Denmark had been dealt a devastating blow. In one fell swoop, it had lost its king and queen, its crown prince, and a number of other high-ranking members of the noblesse. In the process, it had lost its independence, and it would soon be subsumed by Norwegian rule.
That was fair; it was Hamlet's final wish, and Fortinbras had proved to be an effective leader and military commander. For all his faults, Fortinbras was the best person to lead Denmark moving forward; as long as he extended his loyalty and goodwill to Denmark as well as Norway, the country would be well-served under his rule.
They could certainly do worse. Bowed but not broken, Denmark would live on.
But Horatio's countrymen were likely to think otherwise. King Hamlet the elder and Queen Gertrude had been beloved by the people, and while the commonfolk tended to find the younger Hamlet's intellectualism odd, they had extended their affection to him as well. The Norwegian people would assume that there had been some sort of political coup, with Horatio conspiring with Fortinbras for their mutual advancement.
In ways, it was a fair conclusion. After all, Horatio was the one left standing, wasn't he? He was, or so it would appear, the one who had stood the most to gain. And attempted coups were as common as table salt.
Correcting the townsfolks' perceptions would be difficult. He did not want to besmirch Hamlet's memory by explaining what had happened, and the people would most likely assume that Horatio was just trying to cover his own hide anyway.
Nevertheless, it had to be done, both for the principle of truth and for Denmark.
The idea that Horatio could have orchestrated his best friend's death pained him, and he was loath to allow his good name to be subjected to such slanderous falsities. For the sake of historical accuracy, someone had to set the record straight.
Moreover, any civil unrest would merely destabilise Denmark further. Believing the royal family to be blameless might comfort them in the short term, allowing them to keep their belief that their beloved monarchs were righteous, stalwart, and true.
But if they were to truly rebuild, they would need to know the truth. How could Fortinbras do his job effectively if the people thought that he had conspired to slay their king and poison their queen? Death on the battlefield was one thing; there was some honour in that. But death in the shadows would not easily be forgiven, much less forgotten.
With the kingdom splintered, Horatio's first duty was to hold its pieces together until they could be forged back into something resembling a unified whole.
Eventually, Horatio would need to take the time and space to grieve. Otherwise, he would risk finding himself with the same mindset as Hamlet, rushing to vengeance when justice would have sufficed.
For now, however, that would have to wait. Announcements had to be made quickly before the ensuing rumours and lies had their chance to sink their claws into common thought and mangle it beyond any saving.
So as he stood in the throne room, surrounded by the bodies of people whom he had known his whole life, he pushed his emotions aside as well as he could and readied himself for the next step.
A/N: Written for the Small Fandoms Fest with the prompt 'Shakespeare – Hamlet; Horatio (& or / Hamlet); picking up the pieces after someone you love (eros, phileo, agape, whatever suits your take on them) seemingly goes mad, and then dies'.
