The cold night air was colder still atop the wall where the three men kept watch. Marcellus huddled inside his cloak and stared out over the bleak lands that surrounded the castle, but Hamlet's gaze flickered over the wall where they stood, where Horatio had said that the Ghost had appeared. For his part, Horatio kept his eyes on the Prince, attempting to push away the thought of how much more pleasant it would be if they could have held each other close for warmth. He had not seen Hamlet so animated about something since the death of his father, except for the one or two occasions when a surge of anger directed towards his mother and uncle had overtaken him.

It had struck twelve not long ago, and still the silence stretched on. Once or twice either Marcellus or Horatio ventured forth a comment on the chill in the air or the malicious wind, but Hamlet never replied, his blue eyes scanning every inch of the wall. Only when the quiet was abruptly shattered by a flourish of trumpets and the sound of cannons firing did he laugh out loud and turn to address the others.

"Fear not, Horatio," he said in response to his friend's startled question. "It is but my uncle the king. He has adopted the estimable custom of waking late in the evening to drink, dance, carouse and generally make an ass of himself in front of all his friends." Hamlet heaved a theatrical sigh. "Alas, he puts my own night deeds to shame with the nobility of his actions. I may wake and wander the grounds of Elsinore, keeping quiet and keeping to myself, but he disturbs the rest of every inhabitant of this castle, if not all of Denmark. He truly is a wise and wonderful king."

Horatio glanced at Marcellus and read the other man's wide-eyed disbelief at how Hamlet spoke of his liege. "My lord," he said quickly, "it is near to the hour when the spirit is wont to walk. If you would come with me, I can show you where it appeared last night. Marcellus, stay and keep your guard here." Hamlet needed no encouragement and was quick to cross the wall to where Horatio stood. When they had moved far enough from Marcellus that they would not be overheard, he began to berate his Prince.

"Hamlet, you cannot speak of your uncle in that way," he implored. "It is treason, and being his heir does not make you invulnerable. Please, be more careful. If Marcellus were not a good friend to you, he could report your words to the king. You could be imprisoned or killed."

"I speak only the truth, Horatio," Hamlet replied airily, and Horatio, despairingly, knew that his friend would not listen to anything he said when in this mood. "Surely my beloved uncle has not yet outlawed honesty? In truth, it is a virtue he himself lacks, but so too are goodness and kindness and – if we are being honest, which we are, though you caution me against it – the virtue of a handsome face... and yet I see many of these things before me now, not least of all in yourself, dear Horatio." He tapped his friend's cheek, smiling merrily. "However, I see also that you worry too much. You needn't fear for my safety. I assure you, I have no intention of being imprisoned or killed. Not least of all by my slimy, smirking uncle."

Horatio gulped. "Hamlet, please," he begged. "Promise me you'll watch your words. Your uncle may be many things, but he is the king, and he is powerful. I... couldn't bear it if you got hurt." He lowered his gaze to his boots.

Hamlet tutted, still smiling. "You worry too much," he repeated flippantly. "You spoil my fun. But, if you insist, I suppose I shall have no choice but to promise. Here, then: I promise to lie and smile and simper and play the role of dutiful nephew and Prince. Will that let you sleep easier at night?"

"Yes, my lord," Horatio answered, still not meeting his gaze. It was not often he felt wounded by Hamlet, but the Prince's casual tone hurt. He was no stranger to being mocked – he had been picked on every day at Wittenberg – but Hamlet was one of the only students who had never teased him. The Prince's extraordinary intelligence often manifested itself in acerbic wit, but Horatio had never been the victim of it, until that night.

There was a pause, and then he heard Hamlet sigh. "I am glad of it," the Prince said quietly, reaching out to tilt Horatio's chin up until they were looking each other in the eye. His tone of voice was serious at last. "At least one of us should be able to sleep soundly. Horatio, forgive me. Your advice is sound, and I would do well to listen to it. And your concern for me... I am undeserving of it."

"Never," Horatio said vehemently. "You deserve all that I give you and more."

They were too far away to be overheard or observed and standing in shadow on a moonless night. For once, Horatio did not think of the dangers of being caught as Hamlet's mouth claimed his, the Prince's arms ensnaring his waist as Horatio threaded his fingers through Hamlet's curls. The kiss deepened as Hamlet pulled Horatio's body closer, the cold of the night banished by the shared warmth of their bodies and forgotten in the tugging at hair and the touching of tongues. Hamlet had always been skilled at kissing – whatever he did, he did well – but there was a new passion and a determination to him now, as though his father's death had reinforced the importance of these moments by reminding him of the existence of mortality. Now, when he kissed, he did so as though he meant it, as though every one could be his last. Horatio, who had always valued their kisses because the privacy required to enjoy them was so rare, felt himself gradually turning to jelly under the skilled movements of the Prince's hands and tongue.

"Hamlet," he gasped as the Prince pulled away from his mouth to suck at his neck, stubble rasping against his smooth skin.

"Horatio," Hamlet replied, his lips trailing kisses down to where Horatio's skin disappeared beneath his cloak. Horatio's hands twisted in Hamlet's hair, his eyes fluttering closed. Both men fell silent again, the one's mouth occupied, the other gradually forgetting how to form words.

Only the sudden, terrified yell could have distracted them.

"My lord!"