**Oh, it has been a while, hasn't it? Sincerest apologies – college consumes time like a savage beast. Huge thanks to KateAndromeda, Lily Dragon, Painted Orchid, confused-cariad, ghostgirl19, and many others. Your comments have been my fuel, no matter how long ago you made them, and for that, I am forever grateful. Now, onwards!**

The minute the door clicked shut, Laertes rounded on Hamlet. "How doth she fair?" He hissed, as if worried his sickly sister would hear. "Tell me in manner most frank."

"Hold thy flapping; fie, you'll teach Icarus." The prince flashed a grin. "Iaso will see to her ills. Have faith – I've ne'er seen a drown'd woman so light."

Despite his lack of knowledge on the topic, Horatio felt his shoulders sag in relief. If his closest friend could be so calm, surely Ophelia was out of danger.

Then Hamlet's face darkened. "Tis in her mind that I see darkness now. Have you not seen't? That fog…" An unreadable emotion passed through his eyes and he blinked hard. "That curse'ed fog."

He stared hard at Laertes, and suddenly he was the spitting image of King Hamlet, the former: sharp eyes, determined jaw, unforgiving tone, and all. "How long hath she been so lost? Tell me all."

And so, in emotional starts and stops, Laertes told Hamlet everything. The aftermath of Polonius' death, Ophelia's apparent madness, her obsession with flowers, to the moment Queen Gertrude brought news of her being found face down in a brook. "The rest, you know," he concluded sadly, before brightening slightly. "Yet now my words mean naught. My sister lives; what a most bless'ed day."

Hamlet smiled slightly and nodded in acknowledgement, but he remained troubled. "But wherefore? How was Ophelia lost, from us, from nature, from even herself?"

"We know not," the young lord confessed, "for she fell without a trace. The moon retained its orb from craze'd to death."

"I know not what to make of her madness," Horatio murmured. "Death made apparent."

"Then is life forgot? Nay, Horatio, say it is not so." Hamlet snapped, stress sharpening his tongue to unwelcome points. His mind was a whirlwind. If Ophelia's madness had no known source, they had no way of knowing if there was a problem they should be addressing. He, Laertes, and Horatio could be facing something they had no way of curing.

He shook away childhood memories, stories he'd heard about people who'd lost their wits somehow and were locked up far away, never to be seen again. Hamlet refused to even consider such an ending for his love. "I know not if her state can be buried," he said, "but I shall try, and you both shall witness. I will carry our Ophelia home…" He stared at the door (through it, to Ophelia in her bed) with eyes of iron resolve. "Or else shall our madness perish as one."

Neither man doubted his word.

They continued to speak of Ophelia's condition, but it soon became clear that they couldn't proceed until she was well enough to function on her own. Laertes, having his own matters to attend to (matters that had fallen to him since his father's death), eventually bid his farewells, promising to come for Hamlet at midnight. It seemed they took turns watching over her, acting as Ophelia's most loyal guardians. Horatio reminded himself to ask if he might take part, if only so the lords would get as good a rest as their charge.

With Laertes gone, Hamlet made to open the wooden door, but Horatio quickly turned him towards the kitchens. "I refuse to be stuffed like a roast pig," Hamlet grumbled, but he submitted without resistance. His lanky frame and rumbling stomach betrayed him too easily.

Burning with curiosity, Horatio let only a few moments pass before he spoke. "Call Laertes a brother? Confidant? Friend? And Ophelia, lover most dear? What hath occurred here to cause such a change? When last we spoke you were most distracted."

"When last we spoke…" Hamlet gave a guilty smile and tapped his temple with his finger. "'Twas knife and madness here."

Horatio laughed coldly. "Ay, and it seems the devil hath arrived. Wilt thou forsake your friends so easily? Rosencrantz and Guildenstern…" He shook his head sadly. "The poor souls."

Hamlet's eyes turned hard and cold. "Men of little depth are no friends of mine. They took my uncle's words and writ them down, ne'er to be erased. They became like him, and, should they appear here, I'd spit on them."

"And what am I, your tilted, Danish fool?" Horatio had to stop, forcing the prince to do the same and face him head on. "Shall I wait upon you and Laertes? Shall I come and go at your leisure, my—"

"No, no!" At least he had the grace to look ashamed. "Nay, Horatio, forbear it. My distraction hath overtaken me; how dare I let my strife come between us! Forgive me, good friend, my Horatio. Let me speak a word and I will tell you all that past twixst me and Laertes, and Ophelia, too, this past evening."

He stared deep into Hamlet's eyes, searching for some hint of foul play, but finally nodded when he found none. "Then do tell all," Horatio said, sitting down on a nearby felted bench. "Your stomach shall keep time."

Hamlet smiled gratefully and joined him on the bench, eager to share yet another story. "First I say how Ophelia awoke. In a daze she looked about, unseeing; she did know Laertes but little else. Then my name reaches her ears, cries, 'Hamlet!', and rushes to my arms quick, shaking so; her warm tears made such marks on my doublet. Laertes, as confused as I, sat dumb and we calmed her with prayers of gratitude. From her we gleaned that she thought I had died! She wept to see me thus, in case I had."

"Was she in heaven?" Horatio asked softly. "Or in Hell?"

The prince stared into his clasped hands, his haunted eyes and clenched jaw barely visible. "Never ask," he whispered.

A shiver went up Horatio's spine at the thought. Had they asked her that question? Had they gotten an answer, and found it too terrifying to bring up again? Or worse, had she been in neither? Perhaps a purgatory especially horrible for those who had taken their own life?

He was almost glad when Hamlet shook himself out from his stupor and forced the conversation onwards. "But as you see, that passed quickly enough. As she breathes, so does Laertes' relief; with her awake we shook hands as brothers. In his eyes, distrust died, as it should be; sense, in all manners, returned for us both. I breathe easy now, though I know not why."

Horatio smiled at that comment, knowing what the reason was for that even if Hamlet refused to admit it. "She lives; we are all grateful for such grace."

A soft smile danced across the prince's face, and he nodded. Suddenly he looked like a little boy again, shy at the mention of his lady love and as bold and daring as a young solider off to war. Somewhere along the way, Horatio mused, thoughts replaced action. He briefly wondered when that transition had taken place, and why he hadn't noticed it as fully before. Or perhaps it was always there, simmering below the surface, just waiting for a murder-in-the-family kind of catalyst to bring it to light.

"Why not her father's name spark such…harsh moods?" Horatio prompted.

Hamlet raised his eyebrows and blew out a puff of air before replying. "Do prepare yourself for some amazement. Laertes and myself did wonder thus, and wouldst thou believe but her father, noble Polonius, hath been death's cause! All through both their lives, his hands can be found. A tighter fist wounds on her as one leaves: her brother, Laertes, you remember, left for Paris, followed by a shadow – his father's, as he discovered one night. Left with no one, Ophelia panics; tis no wonder she rejected me thus, and protected her father from my rage. My confusion, turned on her and all else…" He grinned. "A wonder you all can look at me still."

"That thought has oft crossed my mind, many times," Horatio muttered, and they both chuckled. "But how camst her to forsake her own life?"

"Tragically, as it would seem by her words. In a rare state of sanity and awe, she revealed, both to us and herself, that her father's death struck her most strangely. A northern seagull in a southern wood could not have been as lost as she was then. She said little else of the matter, then, or, as could be, she dared not think on it, but the very fact of her speech is this: she is at peace with her father's murder, and, as it is so, with me and her kin."

"She must have met him in another life to exchange words of sorrow and forgiveness." Horatio frowned. "Yet no cause for her distracted state now?"

Hamlet sighed, nodded, and ran his hand through his hair. He didn't seem to notice (or mind) when it came away stained, the marks of long, harsh travel not yet cleansed by a proper bath. "She wakes with starts and stops, gasping for air in a manner most disturbed and fearful. That is why Laertes and I take rounds: if we do not sooth her cries, no one will."

At that moment, a man turned the corner ahead of them and Hamlet, ever one for secrecy, said nothing more. A courtier, clearly, and their least favorite of Claudius' courtiers at that. Osric prided himself on his ability to uphold several codes of honor, to the point of obsession. It was oh so easy for two clever, trickster-minded, like themselves, to goad him into a temper – Osric wasn't known as the "angry yellow squash" for nothing.

"Peace; who comes here?" Horatio muttered. "Enter young Osric, a courtier." He heard Hamlet stifle a laugh behind his hand at his friend's mischievous tone.

Oblivious as always, Osric stepped in front of them and clapped his heels together. In unison both Hamlet and Horatio stood to match him, clapped their own heels together and stood as straight as a rod, maybe straighter.

There was that faint tinge of yellow in his cheeks they'd both come to know so well. With great stiffness, Osric reported, "Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark."

"I humbly thank you, sir," Hamlet replied, ever formal. He turned to Horatio. "Dost know this water-fly?"

Without missing a beat, he said, "No, my good lord."

"Thy state is the more gracious; for 'tis a vice to know him." That's my lord prince, practiced as ever, Horatio thought as he worked on keeping his own smile hidden. "He hath much land, and fertile: let be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's mess: 'tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt."

"Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure," Osric began again, his fists shaking at his sides, "I should impart a thing to you from his majesty."

Hamlet nodded deeply, the tips of his hair intentionally brushing against the courtier's nose. "I will receive it with all diligence of spirit." He nodded at the other man's hat, a ridiculous cap that matched his emerald green coat and had a long feather sticking out the top. Horatio had the uncanny urge to pull at it. "Put your bonnet to his right use; 'tis for the head."

Perhaps Osric could have refused – it might have been better in the long run. But some code of honor probably told him that he shouldn't refuse anything from a noble of such high standing. He pulled off his cap (the feather bobbed up and down so very, very much) and said, "I thank your lordship, 'tis very hot."

"No, believe me, 'tis very cold." He leaned closer to Horatio, and he, catching on to his lord's game, followed suite. "The wind is northerly."

The courtier flexed his fingers around the brim of his cap and he swiftly replied, "It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed."

"Methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion."

"Exceedingly, my lord," Osric parroted back through gritted teeth. Horatio, tired of standing straight for so long (how ever did this man do it?), began pacing behind the fellow. Hamlet followed the action as smoothly as if they had planned this in advance, trapping the poor courtier in his own standards. "It is very sultry, as't were, I cannot tell how," the courtier continued, still attempting to do his duty."But, my lord, his majesty bade me signify to you—"

"I beseech you, remember." Hamlet barked, impatience turning his tone harsh.

"My lord, his majesty commended…" He paused to take a hearty breath. "That you attend him in his rooms."

Hamlet raised an eyebrow at him. "Is't all?"

"Yes, my lord." Osric clicked his heels once more and lifted his proud, tiny, hairless chin high, his cap gripped with white-knuckles by his side. Horatio tried not to stare too hard at the back of the courtier's outfit, which seemed to be tied so close to his body it was a wonder the fabric had not melded into his skin.

He paused for a moment, the better to fix the poor man with a hard stare, before Hamlet shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "Better to eat now then be choked later. To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will."

"I commend my duty to your lordship," the courtier replied, though it looked like it pained him greatly to say so.

"Yours, yours," Hamlet mumbled, waving him away. With yet another click of the heels, Osric put his hat back on his head, swiveled, and walked away, not even pausing to give Horatio enough time to move out of the way. The minute he had turned the corner, both men broke down in laughter, leaning forward and gripping their sides with the weight of their mirth. Oh, it was good to laugh again! Horatio couldn't remember the last time they had acted like boys again. It was freeing, in a way, and he quietly promised himself that he would never let his lord go this long without a proper laugh again.

"He does well to commend it himself," Hamlet said, wiping his eyes with his finger. "There are no tongues else for's turn."

"This lapwig runs away with the shell on his head!"

"He did comply with his dug before he sucked it," the prince added, and such a comment sent them into youthful giggles once more.

Moments later, sitting on the felted bench once more, the courtier's words struck home. "It must be shortly known to him from England what is the issue of the business there," Horatio said.

Hamlet nodded, but shrugged away the worry nonetheless. "It will be short: the interim is mine; and a man's life's no more than to say One. And, as he speaks down, so will I to him. There is more in this head than twixst his legs."

Before Horatio could react to such a shrewd insult, or even attempt to comprehend the prince's words, Hamlet jumped up from the bench and gave him a mock salute. "Wish me time, err I seek seconds to pass! And eat, or we'll starve at the lord's table."

And with a final wave, his lord was gone, whistling a tune as he turned a corner and disappeared further into the castle. Horatio sighed – he'd eat, alright. But as he started on the path towards the kitchens, he could feel himself already planning a way to save some for the Danish prince.