Title: Imperialism
Warnings: Some minor Hamlet/Horatio slash.
Hamlet is not mad; he often appears to be so but, as Horatio often reassures him, there is method to his actions. Sometimes, the Prince considers what it would be like if he truly were mad like his fabricated façade suggests. Certainly, he would be more impulsive and quick to act. In fact, Hamlet has ofttimes thought, if he really were mad, it would solve the problems that twist and turn in his mind like a fitful sleeper.
He would be able to decide a course of action. In his head, Hamlet is haunted. Haunted by a ghost and the questions it brought. Horatio has always been the philosopher and yet Hamlet feels himself drawn to that which is unattainable.
The definite answer. The correct path. The right goal.
Was it right to kill in the name of revenge, or even to kill at all? Wasn't revenge a just cause and reason, however? Truly it was a problem of moral proportions. One that would perplex even the stars in the sky had they enough sense.
But then, sometimes Hamlet would wonder if it was all just a pretence. The Prince never thought himself much of an actor. Did the stars themselves have perhaps more sense than he did? There was that madness that Hamlet believed he controlled. He was the master of his mind. It was as much his domain as Denmark was. And yet…was he really the one controlled here or was Hamlet as deceived by his own thoughts as he thought he deceived those in court? Such a fine line we balance upon, he thinks. Such a fine line to walk, Hamlet often muses to his friend. Horatio always replies with a reassuring hand to his shoulder and an occasional sad nod of understanding. Hamlet doesn't doubt that he does.
Some nights, he reaches out in the darkness and grasps the hands he knows will be there. The pair of hands that never curl in rough balls or flutter away from him like an inconstant mistress. He pulls the smooth hands – for the owner of said hands is a scholarly man, not one who would lift heavy loads – and places them over his eyes. Not rough, but earthy. It is a strange sensation, but one Hamlet welcomes. The hands hide him. He cannot sleep. He will not dream. He will not die, as he has so often related to Horatio. Hamlet cannot, until he has proven what he needs to and reached a final conclusion. And so Horatio will not sleep either. But the hands…they hide him, if only temporarily. For one cannot watch a world so filled with misfortune and falsities constantly.
The stars are detached from worldly concerns and Hamlet envies them. Horatio suggests to his lord that surely they have their own celestial problems, beyond the aims of mankind. Hamlet dismisses it, though the idea stays. And so Horatio is a connection to this world of falsehood and pain. Horatio has faith in him and so Hamlet can have faith in himself, however limited. Horatio cannot be human. Humans distrust and are but fleeting shadows on Hamlet's life.
Hamlet fancies to himself, lying next to Horatio in the quiet understanding that darkness can allow, that his friend is an angel. He supports and cares. He never leaves. Most of all, his only shown concerns are for Hamlet. Though this is selfish Hamlet reasons that he is the only concern Horatio could have. He must have his own celestial concerns in that case. He is beyond everything else; so calm and concerned and quiet.
Hamlet finds himself continually drawn to the unattainable. Solid trust and understanding. Horatio. Love?
Horatio says that some people are only born to try. He relates to his Prince something that he read quite recently about the fate and purpose of mankind. Some exist to do definite things. Some exist only to contemplate the pros and cons, the wrong and right. Leaders and philosophers. Hamlet asks what happens to people who fall into both. Horatio stays silent for a long while before answering slowly that only one who has experienced such a thing can answer that and that Hamlet should look inside. The Prince doesn't dare to and the conversation ends much as it began; abruptly and fluidly with minimal formality.
Hamlet is scared to look inside in his own mind. Denmark is rotting around them. The Prince doesn't want to discover his own mind doing the same thing, as he suspects it is. Everyone else is sure that his personal empire is crumbling and lately, Hamlet isn't so sure that they are wrong. The thought is a common one and Hamlet reacts in a way that is common now and almost anticipated. He kisses Horatio, yet not completely feeling the contact. It doesn't even distract him from his thoughts as he intends. It never does.
The darkness is welcome once again. Hamlet doesn't want to see Horatio. He doesn't want to see what a nagging voice in the back of his mind says might be there. Sadness. Pity. Resignation. He trusts Horatio, but this is his time for contemplation too. Hamlet knows that his friend wishes for things to be the way it used to be. This way, when Hamlet cannot see Horatio's eyes, he can believe, if only for a minute, that he has obtained at least one unattainable thing.
Hamlet presses Horatio's ever-present hands against his eyes again, harder this time. He won't let him go. He's the only one who believes. Horatio is his link to the world from outside his mind.
Ok this is a revision. I did try uploading it earlier but it obviously didn't work. I don't feel up to typing out my long justification again so I'll summarise. Basically I changed only a little cos everythign connects. Therefore I couldn't change everything without a complete rewrite. Got any questions or problems with what it is now, then feel free to email me. Please review and tell me your opinion. ;p
If you really want to hear a long-winded rant about what I changed and why I didn't change some stuff then look at the relevant journal entry on my homepage.