He found Hamlet reading, something that took him instantly back to their days at Wittenberg. They had, in fact, met in the library, back when Hamlet's father had been King and things had been simpler. Now, though, things were not so simple. Hamlet's Uncle Claudius reigned, and his father...

His father had appeared from beyond the grave the night before.

"My lord," Horatio said hesitantly. Though the Ghost had not spoken, Horatio had somehow known that it wanted Hamlet. Horatio had not trusted the spectre, but he knew it was unwise to act contrary to a spirit's desires. Hamlet, too, had been in a black mood ever since Horatio had arrived, and he would do anything he could to soothe the worried mind and sore heart of his Prince.

Hamlet looked up from his book, and Horatio saw the telltale red splotches on his cheeks and the black rings beneath his eyes – another day of crying following another night of no sleep. He felt his throat clench and approached the Prince where he sat on the stairs. "Are you well?"

"Do I look well, Horatio?" Hamlet asked tonelessly. Exhaustion had stripped his voice of emotion.

"No, my lord," Horatio answered. "You look terrible."

"Oh, Horatio. At least you are honest." Hamlet forced himself to his feet. "I will warn you, though, that if you call me 'my lord' while we are alone once more, I shall strip you of your clothes and your dignity before you have the chance to apologise. Honestly."

Horatio swallowed, feeling his face flush. "We're hardly alone, my l – Hamlet."

"I heard that." Hamlet grabbed the back of Horatio's neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss, made all the sweeter by the fact that they were standing in an extraordinarily public part of the castle. Horatio could think of nothing but getting caught, but it didn't detract from the cleverness of his Prince's tongue or the warmth of their bodies pressed so closely together in such an open space. At last, Hamlet pulled away, leaving Horatio gasping a little. "Consider that a warning," said the devious Prince, caressing the space beneath Horatio's ear for a moment before retracting his hand.

"Yes... Hamlet," Horatio whispered.

He was rewarded with a smile. "My Horatio," Hamlet said fondly. "I've missed you so. You mustn't go away again."

"Never," Horatio vowed. Staring into Hamlet's face, he noticed the dark rings beneath the Prince's eyes anew, and he took on a pitied expression. "You've not been sleeping."

"No, I've been wandering," Hamlet replied. "A habit, as I told you. Don't look so glum, Horatio. I am more than miserable enough for the both of us."

"So I see, and it pains my heart," Horatio said honestly. "If there was anything I could do..."

Hamlet shook his head, turning away. "No, Horatio. If you could restore my father to life, perhaps that would bring me some way towards healing. But aside from that..."

All at once Horatio remembered the reason for his visit. "My lord, last night –"

"You said it again." Hamlet faced him, a glint in his eye.

"Punish me later," Horatio said quickly, holding up his hands. "This you will want to hear."

Hamlet tilted his head. "Is that so?"

"Yes, my lord. Last night, I kept watch alongside Barnardo and Marcellus. During the day, they had spoken to me of... a vision they had had. They claimed that a spirit had risen from its grave to haunt their watch two nights hence, and the night before. Naturally, I did not believe them."

"Naturally," Hamlet repeated with a nod.

"But then..." Horatio swallowed nervously, unable to meet the Prince's gaze. "When I was with them, my lord, the spirit appeared again. He was... the very image of your father."

"My father?"

"Yes, armed and armoured as he had been in life. I tried to speak to him, but dawn was approaching, and he vanished."

Hamlet began to pace, his exhaustion forgotten. "You are certain it was my father?"

"In looks, yes," Horatio replied. "He did not speak."

Hamlet pulled up suddenly in front of Horatio. "I will watch with you tonight," he said. "If this spirit has appeared for three nights, there will be a fourth. I will see him for myself – my father. I will see my father. I will see my father."

Abruptly, he turned away from Horatio and started up the stairs. Horatio watched him go, already used to the new, sudden mood swings that had characterised Hamlet after the King's death. They did not bother him, even when they led Hamlet to practically forget about him, just as he had. Horatio wanted only to ease his friend's burdens in any way he could. He would not ask for attention or for love; he would simply be there to give and receive it at Hamlet's wish.

"Horatio."

The call from halfway up the stairs startled him, and he glanced upwards. "My lord?"

"You said it again." Hamlet leaned over the bannister, smirking down at the hapless man below. The look in his eyes was enough to make Horatio shiver.

"I did, my lord," he replied, and began to climb the stairs.