Title: "Misogyny"
Type: One-shot / slasher
Summary: Horatio unexpectedly returns to Denmark following the four years that followed both the prince's mother and Ophelia's death. Horatio finds that Hamlet has severely mourned it, refusing to eat, sleep, or abscond his chambers, and desires death as well.
Viewpoint: 1st person: Horatio
Disclaimer: As much as I love Hamlet, Shakespeare owns it and I intend to take no credit for his characters. Severe OOCness; not following the plotline of the play to any extent; et cetera.
Michiro-Chan: I threw this together awhile back but never got to posting. I've always been obsessed with the Hamlet/Horatio pairing-as much as I appreciated Ophelia's ceremonial, funeral passing-out-of-flowers mention, and her fixation with rosemary. Apart from that, I feel the only person Hamlet could ever recognize the merit of at the time is Horatio, and I thought it could be just a little more than plain, old friendship…
A/N: I literally drew designs for these characters last summer (2004). Horatio is a little on the girly-looking side, so Hamlet makes a lot of comments on Horatio's beauty. I didn't bother with the Iambic Pentameter complex for the sake of convenience, so it's free verse instead. I hope it fits with the so-called "Shakespearean" tone you all expected.
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Twice two years having not seen Hamlet, and there he dost' lie upon the stony, open blustery window pane, visage contort'd within thoughtful countenance. Lumbering features-too, too-thin face; colossal twin emeralds doth lodged within it; both tangled and parted grayish-blond locks retiring themselves unto high cheekbones and sunken eyelids, while the longer flaxen curls hath rest at the nape of his swan-like lapel; and snowy lashes wagged toward the biting, crisp morn air, hence directing themselves unto a text cradled within spidery, ashen finger and thumb.
Wast' Hamlet such a beauteous thing during those younger occasions within the tedious seminars of Wittenberg when he don but in a frosty white? Nay, I say not so. To what end do I feel such groaning love for 'nother not of mine own rank? And one who doth not feel in turn? Tall, he hath grown, within dire clash to his minuscule, infantile appearance during his upbringing I recall. Almost a nostalgia enclosed within my wretched bosom.
I dare not convey within Hamlet's shrouded tranquility, for look he, locked within a contented absorption 'pon methinks an engrossing literature, and darest I boldly break that, 'twould anger him. Or doth the transmute of me entering, in contrast, 'twould cast a light 'pon this dismal cloud? I step forth, but my starved gaze looks unto Hamlet-nay, I cannot speak. Ay, 'tis grief to gape unto his dejected state, but a hunger draws me to his looks-I know not what 't is. Imparting me 'pon the prince's fragile health, 'nother stolen glimpse hath divulge me so. I hath presume since the good king's death, Hamlet mourn for his late father thus ignorant of his own need-too garrot'd with melancholy to befall it. Stalwart Hamlet.
"Wherefore art thou so sad?" Droll, 'twould be to say-nay, my brittle intonation hath not the form to augment itself within his ostentatious attendance. 'Tis thus but anon a smart discord adverse to the elusive silence my lord Hamlet fabricates so melodiously in itself, while the sniveling wind, harmoniously-a spacious arras of immobility. Prithee he hath not forgotten me.
By Jesu, he hath becometh most lean. Limbs once of so graceful, lithe construction, now withered in their subtle dismissal, flaccid stockings now slack 'long extensive, scraggily hams and calves; tiny ankle dispersal to almost womanish foot, clad within a black, almost ballerina-like slipper-but verged with a clacking metal heel beneath, so gentle a tap 'gainst the hollow of mine ear when I should ever hear his humble a-pacing. Never swaggering-but plentiful inconstant and limber. Most recently, it hath lost that preferable vigor. My lord stirs suddenly. He endures weary exterior of one who hath diminished in bulk much too prosperously and within exceedingly transient instant.
The angelic prince, then utters contemplative words: "Ay, the sun doth deride mine homely condition. 'Tis a blaring treachery that veil itself within the gentle coil of tender serenity,-and to that pernicious woman I hath specified a sumptuous vacancy within this tyrannous, earthy hell for her loathsome, whoreson stature to loll itself as a wanton young girl naked 'pon the fractious ground, lamenting of great ache and woe as the moaning wind owe to her trembling anatomy that hath laid 'pon it.
"The girl doth not rise, for she is not tempted by any form encircling her prospect. So, with 't-a murk envelopes her breast, and a lashing rain of tears escapeth her once cerulean iris, in turn, frothing a gray haze within her piteous eye. Her warm bosom grows cold and a once painted splendor, fadeth and disclose itself as sheer hideousness. O God! Wherefore doth all God's creatures conceal thine unadulterated face? 'Tis an expectation? Nay, but I pronounce such heavy thoughts, to no means of feat within reach. 'Tis a burden that weigheth me down into a grief almost as abhorrent as Lucifer himself. But nay, I speak no more."
The morn air is dewy and sweet to the tongue, I perceive, and the sun begins to slither off her velvety, regal cloak of beautified red unto unconcealed beams of white in harmonious mixture of an unwavering, titannous while heavenly blue-flecked with the many snowy clouds that drift idly, as clustering passengers wafting the boundless sea. 'Tis a pleasure I see my lord not delighteth in anymore. His inky doublet unbraced, and indeed, as pale as his shirt-cadaverous, dark, jaded crescents hathing formed beneath his eyes from what I reputed to be commerce of his watch, fast, and lightness succeeding Ophelia's death.
I irrevocably garner the treacherous audacity to bearing once more within my lord's attendance. "My Lord, I am at your righteous favor-"
An arc of maw thwarts his once-troubled visage, and to my obligatory revelation, he torrents from his cold, friendless deportment with a brittle, pale hand thrust my course. "Horatio! soft you now! 'Tis my perpetually steadfast companion. Indeed, I am pleased to see thee. 'Tis been but an unmitigated, tenuous time since I hath seen of thee last…"
I ascent my inconsequential head toward the now-dour heir to the throne in endeavor to lift his downcast spirit. "A thousand apologies for the good king's lateness. Had it been feasible, I'd have of my accord taken the place of his dismal providence."
"As I'd hath chosen that star-crossed adversity for myself, honorable Horatio." The prince nimbly fluctuates his spare limbs, and with the minces of his enthrallingly infantile dexterity, allowed his frail, yet agile composition to descend at my ground-with the poised clatter of his adept heel I'd so long pined to perceive resonance of 'gain. He was hitherto as lissome as the child from Wittenberg I'd recollect.
My eye casts spectacle 'long his lofty, malformed mien-unkempt, dark garments, draped like quilts 'long his middling gallows-none an iota left of a mother to tend to his bedraggled appearance, if not harrow his wallowing, shoddy poise. Though constructed with sinewy, sprightly upper limbs, his murky garb was yet sewn too long and wilt beyond his fingertips; as an impish infant donning their father's clothes. His stockings looked to be arbitrarily unhinged at his trough-girth; short borough of his shirt pleated scrappily within the sagging band of his girder, excess slung 'long his thigh-though it perturbed me and enthused my façade to flush rather, at witnessing prince Hamlet's monochrome, subtly ribbed bosom divulged from his lack in trepidation for tidiness.
I draw my thick cloak tautly 'bout my structure, and arc my shoulders within cavernous inhale of breath as I view my lord disconsolately. "My Lord is very thin. Hast thou fast for these preceding days of mourning?"
"I find no avail within mortal fare. 'Tis a wretched practice of broken men to persist in doing so." His gape meanders toward the kindling transom yet 'gain, and dismisses the pleat 'mongst my temples.
"Thou, whilst a prince, art yet earthly. If thou dost not hath, thou will waste thyself into an untimely grave, my lord."
"The twinge in thy eyes prod my mind so. This corporeal gluttony desires in bingeing to the intention my bulk 'twould swell as copiously as schwein; though my throbbing heart reproves my stomach for pleading such self-indulgence. 'Twill pain thee to see me atrophy, though…-my ruin is my aspiration at present. I am but an exhausted instrument of God."
"My darling Lord, I implore of thee-"
"Nay. I entreat of thee to hold thy peace." My lips fasten to my lord's appeal. A grin casts 'long his pallid mouth. "I perceive an atmosphere of a dove in thee, Horatio. Anon, thy complexion guises to one of a girl's beguilement… 'tis the equivalent within our youthful being within the fortification of Wittenberg's assessment. Though I hath come to surpass infancy as unconfined from that elated condition of takings-manuscript may no longer uplift this cumbersome melancholy rest at my shoulders."
My vacillating hand brushes rear a mahogany tuft of hair flaccid within my eyes. "By and by my Lord's mirth shall return. 'Tis but an obligation of resilience, my Lord. A wound may only reinstate constitution when 'tis given occasion to mend."
"Studious Horatio. I see thy blushing, womanish fascia and contemplate the divine intercession of my engulfed mermaid-Ophelia. The fiery, blazing tresses of her trim mane; thy ebony eyes… her pale blue gape… the very trace of my bones blanch at deeming the malice of her watery tomb. Where hast my womb sally forth adrift to? I yearn to be secluded by it once more-even if bereavement may dwell as my lone penchant to shelter this weary soul from the very cage of being." His wilting bulk restfully slump toward the earth, I watched him tilt his nodding head unto a pair of stolen, insufferably snarled, darkly-clad knees-the crown of hoary, childlike whorls spilling unto his unspeakably ashen face.
Unto bent knee I plunge toward the frail prince, whilst my tattered shawl quivers throughout my dithering mass. "Art thou well? Hamlet-my Lord! thy fatigue assails thy fitness. Speak unto me thy words of spirited breath."
The tenor I am prone to heed descends to a brittle whisper. "My spirit hast fallen. Diminished; as a candle should evade its illumination reaching the midst of twilight." A languid brace of jade casts toward me yet 'gain.
"Thy eyes meander resignedly… I beseech thee-may I sanction thy being? 'Tis both heartrending and fearsome to see thee so wan…"
A precarious undertone I perceive. "Horatio… I love thee."
I bat an eyelid toward this artless pronouncement. "Ay, my lord?"
"Ay. What think you on't? That a successor of the Danish throne contained no sooner than mine standing… but in fondness with another man. With one auspicious and one dropping eye-I art arrant mad, Horatio! O God!"
Though, I could not resist, and with no further timidity, the crest of my lower lip met his hotly, and the great feat wast sealed and enveloped within Aphrodite's bosom herself.
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