The next day…

"Hamlet?" Horatio called lightly, his knuckles tapping the hard wood of the door as he entered Ophelia's bedroom. There he found the man in question sitting next to Ophelia, still bedridden but as lovely as ever. They were clutching their sides, laughing like children at what the other had said. Horatio smiled. Of course his lord would be here. A day had hardly gone by and the prince had yet to leave the lady's side for longer than a few moments, to the point of eating his supper in his lap. Indeed, if it wasn't for Horatio's skill at persuasion, and some well-placed threats, Hamlet might have insisted on sleeping in Ophelia's bed.

The prince wiped his eyes with one hand and met Ophelia's gaze, and Horatio amended his earlier thought. More alike to lovers than two children, he mused. In the previous years, before King Hamlet died, Horatio had been the one Hamlet crawled to when the prince was at a loss as to what to do with women. At the time, most of his yearnings and passions had pointed to Ophelia; was the same true now?

There was a part of Horatio that winced at the thought of the pair becoming something more, an unfamiliar side of him that twitched with jealousy. But he smothered the feeling and shook his head, reminding himself of why he came to seek the prince out.

Horatio closed the door behind him as he entered the room, the click catching the room's occupants' attentions. "Horatio!" Hamlet greeted, a cheerful grin taking up the lower half of his face. "Good friend! Join us!"

He nodded, and then dragged a wooden chair next to Hamlet and sat down. For some reason he felt the irrational need to be physically closer to the prince than Ophelia was. "My thanks." He nodded politely to the lady in the bed in front of him. "Ophelia. How do you fare?"

She reciprocated his nod and smiled warmly. Irrational feelings aside, it really was a good thing Ophelia had survived her attempted drowning. Her smile lit up whatever room she happened to be in. "Well. The prince was just helping me wake up."

Horatio frowned. "Should not someone be helping you to sleep?"

"Sweet friend, for shame. Hath she not slept enough?" Hamlet asked. He met his friend's eyes with a frown, but quickly turned to Ophelia's to make sure he was not being intrusive. Satisfied with the answer he found in her irises, the pair smiled shyly and Hamlet squeezed her hand.

Horatio coughed slightly and tried not to glare at the not-so-guilty pair. "Your forgiveness, Ophelia. I was wrong. Your judgment should decide my health, not mine."

Ophelia laughed, the sound echoing around him room like bells. "You are forgiven, sir. Now, what brings you?"

"Indeed." Hamlet turned to him. "This early, I'd thought you'd be out cutting heads off some most beautiful blooms." He raised both eyebrows and winked suggestively. It was a game they'd often played—before the murder of Hamlet's father took away the prince's joviality.

Horatio chuckled, but he shook his head. "No, my lord. 'Tis wonder at your escape that I do come to seek you out."

"Escape?" Ophelia asked, frowning.

Hamlet's brow furrowed, before realization dawned and the smile returned once more. "Ah! You mean from England and my exile!"

"Exile?!" Ophelia's gasped and she moved, her arms and legs scrambling on the bed so she could stand. Her eyes turned wild and frenzied, and her breath started coming out in heaving starts and stops. But less than a second later Hamlet was out of his chair and sitting facing her, his hands running up and down Ophelia's arms as he made shushing noises and murmured "It's alright, you're safe" over and over again. She ran her eyes around the room frantically, as if looking for an escape, but then her eyes focused on Hamlet again and she stilled. Instead of bolting, Ophelia let the prince settle her back against the wooden headboard. Just like that the moment was over, and Hamlet settled back in his chair with a barely-suppressed sigh.

In a brief glimpse of truth Horatio saw what Hamlet's constant presence had kept hidden: the lady Ophelia was not fully healed. Something was still wrong with her mind, a hidden madness that could appear at any moment, especially if she became stressed or scared. Now Horatio looked behind Hamlet's smiles and saw what the prince had concealed so well: dark lines beneath his eyes, and a slight stubble on his jaw from lack of a razor. His hair was disheveled, and the shirt and trousers he wore were simple and undignified, as if he'd dressed in a hurry. How long had Hamlet been in this room, really? He might have agreed to not sleep in Ophelia's bed, but that didn't mean he'd gone to his own bed, either. Horatio had no idea what state the lady had been in yesterday when she'd woken up. Had Hamlet been by her side the whole time, keeping her company with his words and his presence? Had he been the only barrier between polite conversation and the ramblings of a mad woman?

Horatio was suddenly angry. Where was Laertes? Why should the prince be the only one brave and kind enough to sit by Ophelia's side and keep her from breaking apart?

Hamlet must have seen Horatio's irritation flash in his eyes, because the prince was quick to change the topic. "So much for this, sir: now shall you see the other;-you do remember all the circumstance?"

"Remember it, my lord!" Horatio scoffed. How could he forget? He'd only spent many sleepless nights, close to tears, thinking about how his lord could be faring and if he was even still alive.

Ophelia leaned forward slightly. "Remember what?"

Hamlet bit his lip, the first sign up uncertainty Horatio had seen from the prince in days, if not weeks. "I killed Polonius, your dear father. The king sent me to England for my crimes; by some luck I escaped. All this you know."

She nodded, the dreamy look back on her face. "Yes, I know that. How did it come to pass?"

Horatio raised an eyebrow at them both. Why was Ophelia so accepting of her father's murder? An event that might have marked the beginning of Ophelia's madness all those days ago was now a topic that could be easily brushed aside. Perhaps they had a chance to talk and come to terms with the event last night? He made a mental note to question Hamlet further later and nodded at the prince to continue his tale.

"Friends, in my heart there was a kind of fighting, that would not let me sleep; methought I lay worse than the mutines in the bilboes." Hamlet's eyes turned distant. "Rashly, and praised be rashness for it, let us know, our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, when our deep plots do pall: and that should learn us there's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will,-"

Horatio rolled his eyes. Hamlet had probably been born long-winded. "That is most certain," he chimed in, drawing the prince out of his revere.

Hamlet blinked and looked back at him, a light grin on his face at being caught in the midst of his ramblings. "Up from my cabin," he began again, his tone betraying the sense of wonder he felt even now, "my sea-gown scarft about me, in the dark groped I to find out them: had my desire; finger'd their packet; and, in fine, withdrew to mine own room again: making so bold, my fears forgetting manners, to unseal their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,-o royal knavery!—an exact command,-larded with many several sorts of reasons, importing Denmark's health, and England's too, with, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life,-that, on the supervise, no leisure bated, no, not to stay the grinding of the axe, my head should be struck off."

"Is't possible?" Horatio breathed, his heart clenching in shock. Struck off with an axe? How dare they! Those orders…horrible! Who could be terrible enough to make a man deliver his own death sentence unknowingly?

Ophelia started twitching in terror, and Horatio didn't blame her, but Hamlet's hand was in hers before she could move. He squeezed her palm and gently tugged until the lady's eyes were once again on his. Only when she'd visibly relaxed did he continue his tale, though he never relinquished his grip.

"Here's the commission," Hamlet said, pulling a piece of thick parchment from his pocket with his free hand and handing it to Horatio. The paper was brittle from the salt water and the wind's teeth in his fingers. "Read it at more leisure. But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed?"

Horatio tucked the letter into his breast pocket and nodded. "I beseech you."

"Being thus be-netted round with villainies,-ere I could make a prologue to my brains, they had begun to play,-I sat me down…" The prince shifted his buttocks on his chair for emphasis. This elicited a light giggle from Ophelia, but Horatio noticed how her eyes were more distant than ever. Somewhere along the line she'd lost interest in the conversation, even if her hand did not lose her grip on Hamlet's. "Devised a new commission; wrote it fair:-I once did hold it, as our statists do, a baseness to write fair, and labour'd much how to forget that learning; but, sir, now it did me yeoman's service:-wilt thou know the effect of what I wrote?"

"Ay, my good lord," Horatio answered on a good-natured sigh. Will there ever be a day when Hamlet would stop being the born-actor he was and just finish what he started?

The prince grinned like an imp as he recalled this part of the story. "An earnest conjuration from the king,-as England was his faithful tributary; as love between them like the palm might flourish; as peace should still her wheaten garland wear, and stand a comma 'tween their amities; and many such-like As-es of great charge,-that, on the view and knowing of these contents, without debatement further, more or less, he should the bearers put to sudden death, not shriving-time allow'd."

Put to death? Horatio frowned. That was a bit harsh, wasn't it? He ignored that revelation for now and instead asked the logical questions. "How was this seal'd?"

"Why, even in that was heaven ordinant." His hands came alive, illustrating his words with movement."I had my father's signet in my purse, which was the model of that Danish seal; folded the writ up in the form of th'other; subscribed it, gave't th'impression; placed it safely, the changeling never known. Now, the next day was our sea-flight; and what to this was sequent thou know'st already."

Horatio nodded, ignoring the fact that Ophelia was so far gone she didn't even protest about not knowing something. Was it possible to fall asleep with one's eyes open? "So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't."

Hamlet chuckled at some private joke. "Why, man, they did make love to this employment; they are not near my conscience; their defeat does by their own insinuation grow: 'tis dangerous when the baser nature comes between the pass and fell incensed points of mighty opposites."

Now Horatio was truly perturbed. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were two of Hamlet's closest friends, perhaps his only other friends besides Horatio himself. True, those two men had been part of the reason for Hamlet's eviction from Denmark, but was a "kill the messenger" letter really necessary? He could have simply escaped and be done with them. The Hamlet Horatio remembered from years ago would never kill without just cause. Perhaps something had changed him on that journey, in more ways than one.

But as with the other moments of Hamlet's questionable mental state, Horatio directed his questions towards a more impartial topic. If he still desired the answers to those questions, Horatio hoped he'd find some moment to ask them. "Why, what a king is this!"

"Does it not, thinks't thee, stand me now upon,-he that hath kill'd my king, and whored my mother; popt in between th'election and my hopes; thrown out his angle or my proper life, and with such cozenage,-is't not perfect conscience to quit him with this arm? And is't not to be damn'd to let this canker of our nature come in further evil?"

"It must be shortly known to him from England what is the issue of the business there," Horatio murmured, resting his head on his fist. In a way, these recent events were indeed ironic, but as Hamlet's friend is what his job to caution the prince against sudden or unnecessary violence.

"It will be short: the interim is mine; and a man's life's no more than to say 'one.'" Hamlet shook his head."But I am very sorry, good Horatio, that to Laertes I forgot myself; for, by the image of my cause, I see the portraiture of his: I'll court his favours: but, sure, the bravery of his grief did put me into a towering passion."

"'Tis most strange. Do I affect Hamlet thus?" A voice interrupted. All three pairs of eyes turned to see Laertes enter Ophelia's bedroom, unhurried but no more kept in his appearance and manor than the prince. The bottom of his eyes seemed to drag above his cheekbones.

Hamlet broke into another smile, this one more out of relief than uncontrollable joy. "Good Laertes, brother and friend. Welcome."

"You hail me as a king would to a lord," the man answered. He walked to the other side of Ophelia's bed listlessly, as if the movement was becoming a routine. By the way he fell into the chair waiting for him, Horatio wondered if it already had. "Since when has the blade in my late father been brought out to shine like golden doubloons?"

Horatio tensed and prepared to rise to his lord's aid, but Hamlet chuckled as if was nothing more than a harmless jest. "Since your late father returned it hither," Hamlet shot back. "Methinks the devil had no need for gifts."

"Nor angels neither." Laertes rubbed a hand down his face, scrubbing away any lingering traces of mirth. He looked to Ophelia. "Your health, dear sister?"

The lady looked down at him with a sparkle in her eyes that wasn't there before. "If there be gold enough on this round ball for me at the conclusion of those words, I should sit on my mound and touch white clouds."

"Justly, she answers so!" Hamlet said, grinning at her like the love-struck fool he was. Then he turned to Laertes and asked, "Have you talked with mine uncle?"

"No, my good lord, he only wishes for you."

"Then I'll none," Hamlet answered, his voice clipped. He turned back to his love without another word.

Horatio rolled his eyes at the prince's response. At least some things were bound to hold true. "Is anything the matter, Laertes?" He asked, hoping to God that it wouldn't require him dragging his lord anywhere. He wasn't particularly strong.

Laertes shrugged, and though his eyes were for Ophelia as well he had the courtesy to give Horatio some amount of attention. "Only that the king inquires after the ill-fated voyage of Prince Hamlet." He raised an eyebrow at the prince opposite him. "The wind whispers of pirates on the sea."

"More like ill-fated rats than pirates be," Hamlet murmured. Then he firmly shook his head, stood up, and gave Laertes his most charming grin. "Shall we walk out, and Horatio, too?" He lowered his voice and, glancing at Ophelia, added, "I feel there be more news to come to light."

"And in the sun, burn'd," Laertes replied, nodding like he was making a solemn promise.

Though he had no idea what was going on, Horatio didn't think it wise trust Ophelia's brother with the prince alone. He stood with the other man and said, "We will go with thee."

The three men turned to go, but then they heard a soft voice say, "No…"

Horatio turned, but kept his distance at the foot of the bed while Hamlet went back to stand next to Ophelia. He was surprised when Laertes joined him there, and did not go to his sister's side.

"Fear not, fair Ophelia. Take thy rest," Hamlet whispered in a voice sewn with silk threads. One hand lowered the lady's outstretched arm, and the other lightly caressed her cheek.

Laertes stiffened, but made no move to interfere. Horatio added it to his growing list of things to find out at a later time.

With a few more soothing words and touches, Ophelia consented to lying back down in her bed. Just before leaving, the prince uttered a phrase that confused Horatio: "Remember, you are forever your own."

Smiled, and her eye slid shut. Hamlet set her hand down beside her and joined the men, his grin returning faster than the glint in his eyes did. He left the room first, followed by Laertes, and Horatio taking up the rear.

As soon as Hamlet left Ophelia's bedroom, his eyes narrowed. "Be swift; afore she wakes we'll exchange tongues."

The two men began their small argument mere feet from the door, making no move to "take a walk" as Hamlet had first suggested. Horatio rolled his eyes at his lord's newfound love for secrecy, but as was becoming customary, did not comment on it.

Just before he closed the door to the lady's bedroom, Horatio took one last look at Ophelia. She looked so peaceful, already asleep on her bed, beautiful despite the paleness that still ringed her once-rosy cheeks. But her eyes were still muted and dull, occasionally sparkling with life before becoming shrouded in fog once more. Ophelia was alive, yes, but Horatio couldn't find himself to be glad for this news. Her eyes, her life and soul, were still asleep. It was as if she had never truly woken up.