**Ah, college – you never cease. Onward to the next chapter! It may be short, but I decided to cut it off here in order to set the stage for everything else.**

News of Fortinbras and his army's impending arrival spread through the castle faster than that man could travel. By noon of the following day the servants and soldiers were abuzz with preparation, swarming to and fro in an effort to have all the necessary provisions ready by the following day. King Claudius' orders were very clear: the army of Denmark was to march as soon as possible. What was uncertain (and what made Hamlet giggle like a church girl) was whether or not there'd be a battle at all.

But, of course, that meant that another certain bit of news was also common knowledge.

"A prisoner?!" Hortaio shouted for the third time. His pacing once again drew him near his prince and away again. "You? The prince of Denmark…why, your dear father just rolled thrice over."

Hamlet tried not to rolls his eyes as Hortaio walked by again, leaning against a wall so he wouldn't be in the way of his friend's distracted state. They were in Hamlet's rooms, stuck there until the army was away so he couldn't interfere. Horatio suddenly swung around to face him. "And your dear mother, the queen? Go to her—"

"I shall not trouble her, Horatio," Hamlet replied, smacking his teeth with each word. He grinned wickedly and winked. "Now does she ride my uncle to glory, saving him from hard distractions."

"Dear God," his friend moaned, finally giving up to settle himself on a nearby bench. "We are lost."

The prince walked to Horatio and patted the troubled man's head. "Nay, my friend. Some…" He looked up at his door, which, in a distant, spiritual way, led to Ophelia's door. "May be found."

There was a brief pause upon hearing his lord's tone, then Horatio lifted his head and grinned, his expression changing from upset to coy in a matter of heartbeats. "You think on her?"

"Think? Nay, I dote on her." Hamlet stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his plush bed, his sigh reverberating throughout the room. "Her face brightens my harsh nightmares of late—starry-eyed she saves me from my own demons; mourning doves cannot sing if she be sad, thus do I attend her many a night to please her, as a servant to a lord." He lifted his head and stared at his friend, confusion writ across his face. "Methinks I wish to serve her, forever."

Horatio smiled softly. "My lord, you have already served her thus; your presence, alarming as it may be, hath soothed her in ways none can comprehend." An unreadable expression crossed his face. "It takes a strong heart to serve forever."

"Speak you from experience?"

Due to his position on the bed, Hamlet missed his friend's longing glance in his direction. "Aye, my lord."

They sat in silence for a moment, both contemplating different people. Then the prince proclaimed, "I do think I'm in love her."

Without hesitation, Horatio replied, "I know."

The king left the following day as ordered, with only a brief gathering of lords and ladies to see him and his army off. Ophelia didn't attend, as her revival still provoked much suspicion from the rest of the nobles, but there was no such excuse for her brother and the returned prince of Denmark. Hamlet fought the whole time his servants dressed him, until a sharp smack from Horatio reduced him to grumbling and complaining. Only the promise of a castle void of guards and his uncle kept him in check.

All the same, he did look the part. Horatio caught Hamlet looking at himself in the mirror more than once, admiring the way his deep red cape and doublet hugged his rather slim figure.

At the king's sendoff, Queen Gertrude kissed her husband on the cheek and wished him well. Hamlet settled on shaking hands with his uncle, while Laertes and Horatio bowed in turn. It was a rather long and tedious affair – the soldiers' horses were stamping their hooves and snorting at each other, fresh from the stables and ready to ride. The dust from their hooves hung over the armored soldiers like a cloud. It didn't help that it was particularly hot that day; Horatio wished tradition didn't force him to wear so many layers. Lord knows how his lord was coping.

As if he could sense his friend's thoughts, Hamlet glanced at Horatio and mimicked the panting face of a dog. They laughed silently, a tiny moment of joviality, while Queen Gertrude glared and Laertes attempted to ignore. As the prince turned forwards once more, Horatio tried his best not to stare at Hamlet's backside. A difficult thing to resist, really – his black trousers were well-tailored. Very…tight.

Finally the formalities concluded, and the king mounted his black steed and made for the gate. They stood in a line with the other nobles and waved at his retreating back, the procession of horses and men taking nearly as long as the initial ceremony, until at last the outer court was empty once more.

Unsurprisingly, Hamlet turned on his heel and left as soon as the nobles began muttering amongst themselves. Horatio watched his lord practically skip away, singing under his breath, "I'm off to see my lady love on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; I'm off to see my lady love on Christmas Day in the mor-ning…"