Before you read this story, you should probably be familiar with William Shakespeare's magnum opus, Hamlet. Read it if you haven't. It's a hell of a lot better than anything I could ever write. This story draws on it very heavily.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything about Zelda, and I damn well don't own Hamlet either.

I have to give Claudius at least a little credit, thought Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, as he lay dying. This poison is mercifully painless.

He opened his eyes to see the face of his oldest friend and confidante, Horatio. He had very feminine features, something that Hamlet used to light-heartedly tease him about. When they were both about seventeen, the teasing stopped (or at least became much lighter-hearted) when Horatio confessed to him, teary-eyed, that he did indeed prefer the company of men. Hamlet, a true friend, did not judge, did not recoil. He just clapped Horatio on the shoulder and gave him a word of encouragement.

Horatio's green eyes were filled with tears now, too. Hamlet did not know how long he had been lying there, or how long Horatio had been kneeling over him. He realized it did not matter, and found the strength to speak. "Horatio… my friend… who's still alive?"

"Just us, my lord…" Hamlet knew that Horatio was too much of an optimist to say 'just me'.

Hamlet nodded. "Horatio…I need you to tell my story, however painful it may be… Consider it my last request." He felt his mind slipping away as he spoke.

Horatio just swallowed and closed his eyes in acceptance of the task. Hamlet wanted to speak again, to bid him farewell, but his jaw was already locked shut. His final thought before going into the dark cloud was that he was dying in the same way his father did, and he was glad at that.

Hamlet's consciousness slipped away…

…and then returned.

He sighed inwardly and wished that he would just die already. He waited, but felt no more strength drained from him. Actually, he felt like that very strength was flowing back into him. "Oh," he said. "I understand now. I've gone to hell."

Shocked that he could speak, he snapped his eyes open. At first, he didn't really comprehend what he perceived--a swirl of pale blue and brown and white. When he finally realized he was looking at an evil, ominous sky, he sat up.

He was lying on a dirt trail in the middle of a large valley. He was a stones' throw from a curved stone wall, a sign of life in this dreary landscape.

He turned his head and realized that he really was in Hell. The tallest mountain within sight was ringed by an unnatural black cloud. Near it, on the horizon, he could see a castle. Not a castle like his beloved Elsinore, tall and gleaming and inviting. No, this castle was obviously designed to make people not want to live anywhere near it. Hamlet was completely and totally certain that this was Satan's citadel, and yet he was inexplicably drawn toward it.

He got to his feet, no longer surprised at the lack of the poison's effects, and walked cautiously towards the dark silhouette. It was not a long walk, but the dark cathedral rising up before him made it seem like an epic journey. He passed a signpost in a language he did not recognize, and came to a wrecked drawbridge.

I have nothing better to do, he thought. For the first time, he noticed that he wore everything he had been wearing when he died, including his sword. He pulled it out of its scabbard and held it out before him, more for psychological security than any sort of real protection. He didn't even know if he could kill the horrors that awaited him. Maybe, he thought dryly, if I kill them they'll just end up back here.

As he forded the moat over the remains of the shattered bridge, he wondered idly who he knew was here and who he might meet. Claudius for sure; even if he had stayed Hamlet's blade by praying once, Hamlet was sure that God would not have let the home-wrecking king's crimes go unpunished.

The water was easily waded through. Hamlet stepped up onto the path and smelled the characteristic scent of decay clinging to the air. An ill wind blew from the mountain; from here, Hamlet could see that it was a volcano, like the ones he had read about from the old Latin texts. The stinging reek of sulfur only served to reinforce his certainty that this was Hell.

The path that came off of the drawbridge was narrow, with crumbling stone walls on either side. It shortly opened up into what looked like it must once have been a thriving market, complete with a dried-up fountain and the disintegrating husks of buildings. The castle was on the other side of the square from here, but Hamlet briefly stopped his purposeful march to look around and was horrified by what he saw.

Out of the burned-out husks of buildings came a throng of…creatures. They were shaped like men, but had faces like hollowed and carved gourds. Their heads were empty- he could see the insides of the backs of heir heads through the hole where their eyes were supposed to be.

He rushed to get away from them, towards the monolithic tower ahead. The cobblestones, however, were rough and uneven, and the prince fell flat on his face. By the time he gathered himself to once again attempt an escape, the things were already upon him. One of them screamed, and the world went dark.

Zelda, former Princess of Hyrule and present freedom fighter, lit another torch in the underground bunker that the resistance had made into its headquarters. She had fallen far from her previous standing in the past seven years; while she once wore elegant dresses, she now wore a functional (but comfortable) armored leather tunic. Ever since the supposed Hero of Time had been killed by Ganon in the Temple of Time all those years ago, Zelda had been training her own skills with the blade and building a devoted contingent of fighters of all races. In the flickering torchlight, she saw Hylians, humans, Gorons, and even a few Zoras.

One of the people in the room, though, she wasn't quite sure of. As a princess, she had dealt with people from all parts of the world in a diplomatic sense, but she had never seen a human as aristocratic as this. He was unconscious on a table, but even there his brow had a defiant arch to it, and his face, paralyzed by the re-deads, held a more noble and stoic sort of fear than one might expect. His robes were made of fine silk, a material she had not seen since Ganondorf came to power. All in all, his presence was a puzzle to her, one that she intended to unravel as soon as he woke up.

As she had been doing for the past hour that he was in this chamber, she nudged him on the shoulder. This time, he actually stirred a bit, and then seemed to realize he was no longer under the effects of the re-dead's paralyzing scream. His eyes fluttered open. "Wh…wehre ammn I?" he slurred groggily.

Zelda put on her best calming voice, another talent she had picked up in dealing with ambassadors. "You're safe, that's all you needed to know for now." She kept it at that, in case he was some sort of an agent of Ganon's.

The well-dressed man sat up stiffly. Zelda could actually hear his joints creaking, and realized that if the re-deads had really affected him this badly, it must be his first run-in with them. He worked his jaw around a bit, popping and cracking it before he spoke again. "I am Prince Hamlet of Denmark," he said. "And I'm dead. You, madam, are you a demon?"

Zelda had to stifle a laugh. She tried to stay humble about it, but she did know her own beauty; she had no idea what would possess this man to think she were a fiend like… well, like Ganon. Then she realized something odd. "You speak Hylian!"

He blinked. "I speak Greek, and Latin, and of course Danish, but… I don't believe any of my teachers at the university ever mentioned a language called Hylian, I'm sorry."

"But...you're speaking it right now." Poor thing. He must be completely addled, she thought. "What kingdom are you from that you speak…" she tried to mimic his words, "Grick and Lateen?"

They stared at each other incredulously for a bit. Zelda had no doubt now that he was a prince. He looked like one, he acted like one. He looked to be about the same age as she was (even though her father used to always tell her that she had always existed—pfft!) but he carried himself like an old man who had seen too much trouble and intrigue. Being royalty herself, Zelda completely understood how that was.

One of the Zora healers in the bunker broke the silence by abruptly walking into the room. He grabbed the prince's leg in one flippered hand and began to work it up and down. Each time, it moved an imperceptible bit more, and the paralysis dissolved slowly.

Zelda was getting desperate, and she jumped at the opportunity that sat before her. "Prince Hamlet… Will you please join our freedom fighters? We need another educated planner to lead the charge on Ganon's castle in seven days. With your help, it might not be a suicide mission." Her voice was both rational and impassioned, another skill she had learned, not as a princess but as a guerilla.

Hamlet did not even hesitate, and raised one arm melodramatically. "My father was killed and deposed by a tyrant. I already toppled him, but I'd give my life, if such a thing is even possible in Hell, to remove another from his ill-gotten throne!"

Zelda put her head in her hands, exasperated. "I told you. You're NOT in Hell."

That's it for the short introduction. The entire story is already written out, I just don't know how to break it up into chapters yet... Regardless of that, review if you liked it, or if you didn't, or if you just have something to say. Part Two should be posted shortly.

-Sir Gimp