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Chapter Text

Main characters

Hamlet - the Prince of Denmark; he is son to the late King Hamlet; and nephew to the present King Claudius.
Daemon: Fyrste - Unsettled

Horatio - a good friend of Hamlet, from the university at Wittenberg.
Daemon: Elske - Siberian Husky

Claudius - the King of Denmark, elected to the throne after the death of his brother, King Hamlet. Claudius has married Gertrude, his brother's widow.
Daemon: Taka - Golden Monkey

Gertrude - the Queen of Denmark, and King Hamlet's widow, now married to Claudius, and mother to Hamlet.
Daemon: Malthe - Leopard

Polonius - Claudius's chief counsellor, and the father of Ophelia and Laertes.
Daemon: Malou - Duck

Ophelia - the daughter of Polonius, and Laertes's sister, who lives with her father at Elsinore. She is in love with Hamlet.
Daemon: Asmund - Mourning Dove

Laertes - the son of Polonius, who has returned to Elsinore from Paris.
Daemon: Almata - Lynx

Serafina - a witch.
Daemon: Kaisa - Goose.

Rosencrantz - schoolmate of Hamlet, who were summoned to Elsinore by Claudius and Gertrude.
Daemon: Ephesa - Virginia Possum

Guildenstern - schoolmate of Hamlet, who were summoned to Elsinore by Claudius and Gertrude.
Daemon: Syrac - Virginia Possum

Fortinbras - Norwegian crown prince, plotting the invasion of Denmark.
Daemon: Skardi - Gyrfalcon

Chapter Text

ACT I, SCENE I: Elsinore. A platform before the castle.

“Who’s there?”, a voice called in the darkness. Francisco’s torch shone on a face he knew; Bernardo, a fellow watchman of the King’s guard. Their daemons, both wolf formed, nodded at each other in greeting. It was a bitterly cold night in Denmark, and Francisco was thankful to be relieved from his post.

“If you should see Horatio and Marcellus, who I am expecting, tell them to hurry to join me”, Bernardo said as Francisco headed for the stairs down from the castle walls and to his chamber. As if his words had summoned them, Francisco heard footsteps and muffled voices. Marcellus, a fellow soldier, he knew, but Horatio...was that not the young Prince Hamlet’s friend? He had heard the name whispered in the court; but then the court was always full of gossip, and he tried to ignore such talk. Still, the young man had come all the way from Wittenberg, it would seem.

Emerging into the cold night air was first the imposing figure of Marcellus, followed by his dog shaped daemon, and then Horatio and his - who took the form of a husky, Francisco was surprised to see. Horatio was neither a soldier or servant - the roles traditionally associated with canine forms - but instead, as far as Francisco knew, a scholar.

He was struck particularly by Horatio’s eyes - a pale blue in sharp contrast to his brown hair - and also by the man’s daemon, who stepped forward and nodded first to his own daemon and then himself.

“It is good to see you both. I am Elske, and this is my human, Horatio. You must be Francisco; Bernardo said we might run into you if we were early. I hope you have had a good watch?”. Francisco blinked, surprised. Daemons spoke to humans, of course, but he had never encountered one who was so forward in taking the lead on introductions. Horatio himself, meanwhile, remain silent.

After a second, Francisco clocked that she had asked him a question. “Not a mouse stirring”, he replied.

“That is good,” nodded Marcellus, “have a good night”.

Further down the wall, Bernardo turned to see the silhouettes of two men and their daemons approach.

“Bernardo!”, that was Marcellus.

“Is Horatio there?”, he called back.

“A piece of him”, the friend of the Prince replied, his face illuminated as he stepped into the torchlight.

“And another piece here”, Elske added with a small smile. She stared straight at Bernardo, whilst Horatio’s eyes searched around in the dark. His unwillingness to make eye contact was irritating to Bernardo, who nonetheless greeted him and then Marcellus in turn.

“Has it appeared again tonight?”, Marcellus asked, to which Bernardo shook his head.

“It has not, yet”.

Horatio was still staring out over the castle walls and towards the sea. “It will not appear”, he said softly.

“He thinks it is but our fantasy”, explained Marcellus, and his daemon Clara shook her head. “We would not have believed it either if we had not seen it with our own eyes”, she said to Elske, “A daemonless and ghostly figure, shaped just like the late King, right before us”.

“It came before us the other night,” added Bernardo, “and stayed around a while but did not speak. Stay with us now and we shall see if it returns again”. Horatio nodded. He did not believe that this could be real, but he also did not believe that Marcellus or Bernardo were mad or liars or both. There had to be some other explanation. Elske touched his leg softly with her paw, and he sat down next to her to wait. She placed her head on his knee, and he placed his hand in turn on her head. They had been here weeks and they had still not seen him. They didn’t even really have a good reason; they just didn’t know if he wanted to see them, and under the circumstances of, well, everything that had happened it couldn’t not feel somewhat wrong to intrude. Hanging around the edge of the court, they had encountered first Marcellus and then Bernardo; two souls who knew much about what was occurring and what was being said. For the past few weeks they had cultivated friendly relationships with them both, until the other day Marcellus had told them about this apparent ghost.

And that was how they came to be out in the cold at past midnight, far away from their adopted home of Wittenberg, waiting for some sort of apparition to appear.

And then, as if to shatter everything they thought they knew in a single moment, it did.

It was like nothing Horatio had ever seen. And yet it was also familiar. He knew the King’s face. But this creature was both like the King and not; a ghostly presence that seemed to split the night in two with a kind of hollow light. A figure like a human but near transparent, floating in the air and with no daemon beside him.

“Is it not like the king?”, Bernardo whispered. Horatio saw that the man was shaking.

“Speak to it, Horatio”, urged Marcellus; as if Horatio’s education had ever prepared him for anything like this.

“What are you, that comes this time of night, and in such a form? What do you want here? I charge you - speak!”, Horatio’s voice rung out through the night air, and it was only after he finished that he realised just how loudly he had spoken. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the ghost turns to leave.

“It is offended”, Clara whispered, from where she hovered behind Marcellus’s leg.

“Stay!”, Horatio felt something like panic rise in his throat, “Stay! Speak! Tell us what you want”. But even as he shouted after it the ghost vanished into the night.

“Perhaps we should not have got Horatio to speak to it”, Elske said. She kept her voice level; disguising just how unsettled she felt.

“Was it not like the king?”, Marcellus asked, turning to them both.

“As you are like Clara, or I like Elske, Marcellus”, Horatio nodded.

There was a pause, the six of them saying nothing, before Horatio spoke again, “We must tell young Hamlet what we have seen. A figure like his father; whether or not this is truly a ghost of the dead king...it must mean something”.

Marcellus nodded, “And I know where he will be tomorrow morning”. With at least that much agreed upon as a course of action, Marcellus and Horatio bid Bernardo good night, and they, Clara and Elske headed back down into the castle chambers. Horatio lay on the floor of Marcellus’s room, his arms wrapped around his daemon. They both drifted in and out of sleep, their dreams plagued by ghostly figures.

Chapter Text

ACT I, SCENE II: A room of state in the castle.

The court was alive with music that morning. Humans and daemons both swirled around, engaging in the kind of shallow conversation that those in political circles indulge in to avoid talking about things of actual importance. The young Prince Hamlet stood to the side of the room, watching it all. Fyrste, his daemon, was curled around his neck as a snake - a form she didn’t often take but one which tended to make people more inclined to stay away from them. Across the room, his uncle laughed and joked with several courteers whilst his mother looked on dotingly.

“A sight to make even the strongest stomach turn”, whispered Fyrste in his ear.

The room quieted as Claudius turned to address it. His speech was full of poetry as he lamented his brother’s death (“as if he cares”, muttered Fyrste), and as he spoke of his brother’s former wife, Gertrude - now his wife - who stood beside him beaming in a stunning silk green dress. She looked every inch the perfect wife, just as she always had; first to King Hamlet and now to his brother. Malthe, her leopard shaped daemon, cut a stunning figure in court. Hamlet gritted his teeth as Claudius’s daemon - the golden monkey shaped Taka - swung herself down from his shoulder and climbed onto Malthe’s back.

“Who knew incest and adultery would be acceptable if coated in silk and gold?”, he whispered to Fyrste.

Claudius’s speech then turned to Norway and the ever impending threat of invasion by the young Fortinbras - son of the old Norwegian King who had once been defeated by the late King Hamlet. Claudius theatrically waved a newspaper. It’s headline spoke of Norway’s military recruitment drive. Hamlet had read the article; it talked about the resources Norway was pouring into its military equipment and discussed young Fortinbras himself. He was said to be a great strategic mind. Fortinbras's Norway still followed the old gods, and Claudius spoke of how they were enemies of the Magisterium.

“So much for him!”, Claudius proclaimed, tearing the newspaper in two, to enthusiastic applause. Hamlet couldn’t help but feel he might take the situation somewhat more seriously.

“And now”, Claudius turned to address Laertes. Whilst two years Hamlet’s senior, he had a round face which made him look younger. He looked uncomfortable in a suit, Hamlet thought; like a child pretending to be an adult.

“There is no one more instrumental to the health of Denmark than your father”, Claudius was saying. A bored Fyrste changed into a sparrow and flew up, landing on the rafters just above where Hamlet was standing. The lynx shaped Almata stood close to Laertes’ leg. When they were children, Asmund and Fystre used to tease Almata; chasing him and pulling his ears. Laertes would complain first to Hamlet and Ophelia, and when they just laughed at their daemon’s antics, he would complain to his father; who would speak to the King about it. It was always Fyrste and Hamlet who were blamed of course; sweet Ophelia and her Asmund could do no wrong in Polonius’s eyes, nor in King Hamlet’s.

“It is my wish to return to France, to university, and to my studies - only if it pleases your majesty, of course”, Laertes was saying. From her high perch, Fystre smirked. Laertes had always been a coward, she thought.

“Has he got your leave, Polonius?”, Claudius asked.

The grey haired Polonius nodded with a weary smile, “He has rung it from me, Your Majesty.”

“Then I give you leave to go. Make the most of your time and your studies. We will all look forward to your return”. At that Claudius raised his wine glass in a toast. Hamlet, having already downed his drink, took the opportunity to wander over to the drinks table and pick up another glass of blood red alcohol. He was half way through downing it when Claudius said his name, and he nearly choked.

“Now, my cousin Hamlet - and my son…”. The whole court turned to look at him. Fyrste flew down and turned into a fox with a beautiful glossy red coat. He stared back at all the eyes that were fixed upon him.

“Why is it that the clouds still hang on you?”, Claudius asked, striding across the room towards him. Taka hopped down from Malthe’s back and followed his human.

“Why, they do not - in fact I feel I am too much in the sun”, quipped Hamlet, his eyes meeting Claudius’s.

“Hamlet, we beseech you to cast off your mourning clothes”, now his mother stepped towards him - had they rehearsed this? - and put her hand gently on his shoulder. “It is truly a testament to your character that you would carry the weight of your father’s too early passing so heavily. But we know that all that lives must die. He would not want us to spend the rest of our lives in sorrow”.

“Perhaps not the rest of our lives, but perhaps also more than a month”, Hamlet replied curtly, shrugging off her arm. Did they have to do this here in front of everyone?

“Hamlet, we wish to ask you not to return to university in Wittenberg”, Claudius said. He spoke as if he was presenting to the room, rather than speaking to Hamlet. Gertrude reached out as if to stroke her son’s cheek, but then hesitated, leaving her hand hovering awkwardly in mid air.

“Let me not lose my prayers, Hamlet. Please stay here with us”.

What was he meant to say? What could he possibly say?

“I shall as best as I might obey you madam. And stay here in Elsinore”.

“Huzzah!”, Claudius raised his glass and another sycophantic round of applause burst out from the crowd. “It is an honest, and a fair reply!”. Claudius downed his drink and put his arm around Gertrude’s waist. The golden monkey daemon was now running his paw through Mathe’s fur. Fyrste shot them an undisguised look of disgust.

The band struck up a tune and as Claudius took Gertrude’s hand and began to lead her in a dance, Hamlet and Fyrste slunk back to the corner; a fresh glass of wine in hand. The courteers in turn joined the dance and soon the room was a whirl of beautiful people in beautiful clothes; daemons and humans together filling the room with movement and laugher.

Eventually, the room emptied out. It maybe said something about the shallow nature of the court, Hamlet thought, that no one thought to check on him - although he was glad for it. Finally, they were alone. The fox shaped Fyrste laid her head on his foot. He knew she felt as miserable as he did.

“Oh Fyrste...that this too solid flesh would melt…”, he murmured to her softly. He ached. Every single part of him ached. His brain foggy and his mind exhausted, he closed his eyes for a moment.

And then the door burst open.

He jumped to his feet. There was Bernardo, Mercutio and…“Horatio?!”. Hamlet jumped up and ran towards Horatio and through himself into his arms, burying his head in his shoulder. Horatio returned his embrace for a moment, before solemnly pulling away to look at the Prince, his eyes dark and serious.

“But I...do forget myself?”, Hamlet faltered. “What...what brings you here? From Wittenberg?”.

“I came to see your father’s funeral”.

Hamlet snorted, “I think it was to see my mother’s wedding”.

“It did...follow quickly after…”

“Thrift! We used the leftover funeral food to cater the wedding reception!”.

Bernardo cleared his throat.

Horatio glanced down at his daemon, who looked away from Fyrste and nervously back at her human. “My lord...we have come to speak to you about a matter that is as strange as it is important. We, last night, saw a ghostly apparition the very image of..of your father”.

Hamlet drew back from him and frowned, “My father?”

“The King, your father; his face as alike as you are to Fyrste. I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own two eyes; and these men here will speak to the truth of what I am telling you”.

Hamlet shook his head.

“Come with us,” Horatio continued, “Tonight to the castle walls. If it appears again at just gone midnight, then I’m sure it will speak to you; at least that’s more likely than it speaking to anyone else. If it does not appear then you can ignore this as some sort of collective delusion. But please - just come and see”.

Still silent, Hamlet slowly nodded. Fyrste looked skeptically at Elske.

“Fyrste it’s...we didn’t imagine it. I promise you”, she said softly.

Now Marcellus awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well, we should go - but we will see you tonight, my Lord?”.

“Yes...yes...I...thank you, Marcellus. And you, Bernardo; thank you both for all your service! I will see you both tonight”.

As the two turned to leave, Hamlet reached out and ran his hand through Horatio’s tousled hair. Horatio smiled - a smile both soft and sad.

“Go too”, said Hamlet. “I will see you tonight. I think we need to be alone right now”. Fyrste turned into a pine marten and ran up onto her human's shoulder. “We will see you both soon”, she said, “We are very glad that you are here”.

Horatio hesitated a moment before turning to go. Hamlet, once again alone but for his daemon, sank to the floor where he stood, burying his head in his hands.

Chapter Text

ACT I, SCENE III. A room in Polonius' house

Asmund fluffed his feathers indignantly.

“Now Ophelia, all I am saying,” Laertes continued, “is to be careful with what favours you give the Prince. He is a young man, and we all know what young men are like…”. Ophelia raised her eyebrow.

“Well, no need to look like that - we all know that it is true…”

“I was not thinking that it was not, brother, simply that you yourself are a young man too…”

“And thus I know what we are like,” Laertes interrupted her, “and so I know that the feeling of someone like Hamlet are but fleeting! So be careful Ophelia; be sensible!”. Asmund rolled his eyes, and Laertes pretended not to notice.

“I will as best I can obey you, brother; but do not - as we both have seen with many a moral arbiter - show me the pathway to heaven whilst you yourself make every mistake you caution me against!”.

Perhaps luckily for Laertes, at that moment the door swung open and their father walked into the room, with Malou waddling behind.

“You’re still here, Laertes!” exclaimed Polonius, with that sort of affected and overly theatrical tone parents sometimes use with their children. “You should get going!”.

The thing about Polonius was once he started talking, it was very hard to make him stop. Malou, funnily, was the opposite; for she was a daemon who almost never uttered a word. Ophelia had pretty much completely zoned out - Polonius was telling his son something about being moral and upstanding, and to follow the teachings of the church (an irony, for all who knew him knew that Polonius himself had not been a follower of the Magisterium until the reigns of power had swung in their direction) - when Laertes turned to say goodbye to her. She quickly hugged her brother, who, for all his flaws, she did loved, and then he picked up his bags and headed out the door, Almata trailing behind him.

“And now, Ophelia,” her father turned to her, “I hear that the Prince Hamlet has recently been showing you some, shall we say, signs of his affection?”.

Well that was awkward.

“He…”, Ophelia glanced quickly at Asmund, “...he has, yes, expressed his feelings for me. Recently.”

“Well, I would be careful. I know how hot blood can flow when passion burns; but Hamlet is young. As are you. And I would wager that within a short time, his passions may turn elsewhere, and if you have given, well, your virtue…” - well now this was really awkward, Ophelia thought - “then where would that leave you? I would not, therefore, return his expressions of affection but instead, kindly and politely, decline them from here on out”.

“I, well, I...yes. I...will of course, uh, do as you say”, replied Ophelia, slightly stunned by this quite out of the blue declaration from her father. On her shoulder, Asmund whispered in her ear, “What the fuck?”.

Chapter Text

ACT I, SCENE IV: The platform before the castle.

The night air was bitterly cold. Horatio, Hamlet and their daemons stood waiting upon the castle walls.

“What hour is it?”, asked the prince.

“I think it lacks twelve”, answered Elske.

“No, it has gone twelve”, Marcellus said, himself and Clara approaching them from the far tower.

“Then this is the time, my lord,” said Horatio, “when we first saw the spirit walk”.

From the courtyard of the palace, the trio heard a trumpet sound.

“What is that?”, asked Elske.

Fyrste, currently in the form of a sparrow, answered, “The King takes his nightly walks at this time, generally drunk on ale”.

“A breach of custom”, Hamlet interjected.

“I would have expected different from a man who claims to be true to the teachings of the Magisterium”, Horatio commented.

“And since when were you someone who followed the teachings of the Magisterium, my friend?”, Hamlet said, a smirk passing his lips despite the circumstances - and the cold.

“I am not, but the new king claims to be, does he not?”.

“Oh, he claims, Horatio, he claims. Never a less godly man have I seen - but power. Power is with the church and the church has allowed him to seize the crown as his own. Now my mother - “.

But before Hamlet could continue his sentence, they were interrupted by the appearance of the ghostly form of King Hamlet.

The form, as recognisable as before and still horrifyingly without a daemon, hovered for a moment, illuminated against the night sky. And then it beckoned to Prince Hamlet as it began to move away from the spot where they stood and towards the wall to the south of the castle.

Horatio seized Hamlet’s hand, “Do not follow it my lord, we do not know where it may lead you”.

But Hamlet’s eyes were bright with fear and with wonder and with a sort of hope, and he snatched his hand away.

“I will follow it!”, and before either of the others could stop him, he darted forward, Fyrste turning into a red fox and running at his heel. They turned a corner and then were gone.

Horatio, Elske, Marcellus and Clara stood for a moment in stunned silence. And then as Horatio moved to follow, Elske stopped him, “wait a moment. It would not speak to us but it may to him. It is not for no reason that this apparition has appeared; and perhaps to give the young prince a moment alone with it is our best chance for someone to hear what it has to say”.

“Something is very wrong, Horatio”, said Marcellus, “the movements of the church are drastic”, and, despite them being alone, he lowered his tone, “and I believe dangerous. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”.

On the south platform, Hamlet was alone now, but for his daemon and the spirit.

“Will you speak to me now?”, he cried out, and after a moment he added, “Father?”.

And then the ghost spoke.

“My hour is almost come when I to the dark and endless torment must return. What I would give to be alive again, to be with my daemon again, to feel the air upon my skin again”. The pain in the spirit’s voice made Hamlet’s heart ache.

“I am your father's spirit, doomed for a certain term to walk the night, and for the day confined to the emptiness and blackness of death; a truth too terrible for me to speak of it any further to the ears of the living. But listen, Hamlet, listen; if you ever did love me, then you must revenge my foul and most unnatural murder”.

“Murder?!”.

“Murder most foul. When I was sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me. The serpent that did sting your father and take his life now wears his crown!”.

“My uncle?!”.

“Yes, that incestuous, that adulterous beast, with witchcraft of his wits, with traitorous gifts - he poisoned me and seduced my queen. He sells the people stories of heavens that do not exist, whilst letting my kingdom here on earth go to ruin. My son, my dear son - the time of night where I can wander has almost drawn to a close - but remember me! Remember me!”, the last was said as if from a distance, as the spirit slowly faded into nothingness, with Hamlet calling after it, “Father! Father, I will remember!”.

And then for a moment, everything was once again silent.

And then Hamlet broke into a run, a falcon formed Fyrste flying by his side. He found Horatio and Marcellus where he had left them.

“My friends! I need you to swear that you will not tell a soul what you saw here tonight!”. His eyes were half crazed, and Fyrste, now a mouse upon his shoulder, seemed unable to stay still with a kind of nervous excitement.

“My lord…”, Horatio reached out for him, but Hamlet jolted backwards.

“Both of you! You must swear you will tell no person of what you saw here tonight, or the night before”.

“Not I, my lord”, answered Marcellus.

“Nor I”, replied Horatio.

“Swear it! Swear it on the life of your daemons!”.

“My lord, I swear…”, began Marcellus.

“Swear it properly!”.

“I swear upon the life of Clara and upon my honour I will not not tell a soul of what I have seen tonight”.

“And I swear upon Elske’s life and my honour that nor will I”.

Hamlet visibly relaxed, although his eyes were still alarmingly bright.

“You are both good men. Marcellus, I will leave you to your watch. Horatio, please, with me”.

Later, lying in bed, with Fyrste and Elske curled up together on the floor beside them, Hamlet told Horatio the whole story of what the ghost had said.

“How can you know, my lord, that this ghost is to be trusted?”, asked Horatio.

“I do not. Whether or not it speaks the truth is something we shall have to uncover”.
.

Chapter Text

ACT I, SCENE V: A room in the church.

Queen Gertrude looked younger than her years. Her face was almost astoundingly innocent, framed with her long blonde hair. Malthe, his white coat glistening, walked by her side. She wore a simple blue dress, but the quality of the silk would leave no one in doubt of her status. In the most subtle ways, everything about her spoke of her royalty. Here in the dimly lit rooms of the church was one of the few times she was not surrounded by courtiers.

“Your Majesty”, the emissary of the Magisterium knelt before her, and she gave him her hand to kiss. His daemon, who took the form of a cat, bowed her head to Malthe.

“Let us sit”, said Gertrude.

“Your majesty, if I may be blunt - “

“You may always be blunt with me. We must be honest with each other”.

“Well, then I may say I have some concerns. The Magisterium is pleased with the progress of adoption of church teachings across Denmark, and the punishment of heretics. But there has also been a great deal of discontentment. And we believe this owes less to concerns about the church teachings themselves, and more to the fact that people are hungry. The provision of grain is vital to support for both the crown and for the church, and we are concerned - “.

Gertrude raised her hand to quiet him.

“ - we understand the concerns. We are working to provide abundance to all our people, however, the potential of impending war with the heretics of Norway is hindering our efforts. And I believe that the most effective enforcement of church teachings remains ensuring that heresy and sin is truly punished among all our people”.

There was a pause, before the emissary said, not breaking eye contact, “You are not sinless yourself, your Majesty”.

It had begun two years before that. Gertrude had seen her brother in law in the library of the castle, reading a work by a French leader of the Magisterium. She paused, curious. She herself had been raised within the church, and had always deeply believed - but politics was complicated, especially the politics of Denmark. Her husband had tried to be accommodating to the Magisterium whilst also accommodating other beliefs; something she had always strongly disagreed with. But she was just a woman, even though she was a Queen. She had never known her brother in law well before then, but at that moment, she was curious.

And so she went and sat beside him.

“None of us are without sin”, she told the emissary, “and that is why we all need the grace of God, as we have since Adam and Eve were expelled from the garden. But my sin was more than a sin of lust. It was a desire for Denmark to be ruled by truth. To be ruled by God. And I believe that this is the country we are building”, she paused for a moment, before reaching out and briefly resting her hand on the emissary's arm, “together”.

The truth was more complex than this. The truth was that Claudius had seemed devout, but above all he had been kind. Her first husband, the dead King Hamlet; he had been something other than kind.

“And what of young Hamlet?”, the emissary’s question brought her back into the present, out of her remembrance.

Gertrude sighed before answering, “He is the son of his father. He has a deep ambivalence towards the church. And I believe a deep resentment that his uncle sits upon the throne. But he is young and he may yet learn. I am pleased he has decided to stay here, where myself and others, such as yourself, may be true influences over him, rather than him returning to university, where he may be influenced by the untrustworthy views of scholars”.

The emissary once again paused. These pauses seemed to indicate his hesitancy to disagree with the Queen, but his expression never once faltered. “Alternatively, your Majesty, if you and the present King were to have a child, one that could be raised within the church, we may find ourselves with an alternative, and more pious, successor to the throne”.

Chapter Text

ACT II, SCENE I: Polonius’s chambers

Polonius handed a letter, and a purse full of money, to his servant Reynaldo.

“Give these to my son, Laertes, and make sure, before you depart, that you enquire regarding his behaviour. We must be careful that he does not fall into heretical ways; we know all too well how university can be. All this talk of open mindedness and philosophical thinking; it can too easily corrupt young men”.

“I intend on it, my lord”, replied Reynaldo, his magpie formed daemon nodding to Malou.

Reynaldo did think, only to himself, of Polonius’s hypocrisy; his increasing piousness seemed to marry entirely with the increase in the power of the church, rather than with any truly held belief. But that, Reynaldo supposed, was the nature of politics, and of court life especially.

As Reynaldo opened the door to leave, Ophelia sped past him, tears in her eyes. He paused, but turning to Polonius, his lord indicated that he should leave and so he did.

Now alone, Ophelia embraced her father, “I have been so affrighted!”. Asmund was flapping around the room; his anxiety palpable.

“Sit down, my child”, Polonius guided her gently to a chair, “sit and compose yourself, and tell me what it is that has so frightened you”.

Ophelia took a deep breathe, “My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, entirely dishevelled, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, his daemon changing forms even more than usual - a snake one moment, a bird the next, a wolf another - and with a look as if he had come out of hell to tell me of it’s horrors - he comes before me”.

“Mad because of his love for you?”.

“I do not know. But I do fear that that is the case”.

“What did he say to you?”, Malou asked.

“He took me by the wrist and held me hard, and ran his hand across my cheeks. Finally, he shook my arm a little and let out the most piteous and horrible sigh. That done, he lets me go, and left, never uttering a word. But as he left, he seemed to find his way without his eyes, for he kept his gaze, to the last, upon me”.

Chapter Text

ACT II, SCENE II: A room in the castle
.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had been friends of Hamlet’s at university, as best as the prince had had friends, aside from Horatio. It was a running joke that they could not be told apart - and their identical daemon forms (a strange kind of creature, which looked something like a large rat and none could identify), did not help with this. Hamlet would often joke that he could not tell them apart either, but in truth he could.

They were both Danish, and when they received an invitation from the King of Denmark to meet him at his court, they went with haste.

“Welcome both”, Claudius greeted them as they both bowed, their daemons lowering their heads in respect.

“Rise, good gentlemen”, chimed in Gertrude, “And let us speak of the matter. Your dear friend Hamlet has been most out of sorts lately. I am sure it has to do with the recent death of his father, but we are greatly troubled at what seem to be reports of madness from him”. Mathe let out a small growel, which made Rosencrantz and his daemon both jump. “I know you are both noble and good men of the Church. We must now entreat you to go to him and find out the truth of his state, and inform us of it”.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern nodded. Both men were finding themselves quite flustered to be in the presence of the King and Queen, and this was only made worse by them both being self-conscious about the fact that their daemons were visibly anxious, and so they were in a hurry to leave the court.

“We shall obey you, and report back what we might discover”.

“Thank you, good Rosencrantz”, said Claudius, addressing Guildenstern, “and gentle Guildenstern”, he said, turning to Rosencrantz, and the two men hastily left the chamber.

Almost as they were departing, the Danish spies who Claudius had sent to Norway entered.

They reported that the Norwegian armies were preparing for an invasion. King Fortinbras had raised taxes to pay for the war effort, which had met some resistance, but the majority of the Norwegian people seemed to support both those measures and the war effort which they were for. They valued religious freedom, one spy said, and another added that the Church’s movements across Europe were making many citizens of Norway increasingly scared and so inclined to support their King’s ambitions towards Denmark. Claudius commented that he believed they would be prepared for an invasion - and when Gertrude tried to suggest reasons why they might not, in fact, be as battle ready as he seemed to think, he waved away her comments.

Once the spies had departed, it was Polonius’s turn to seek an audience. He had been waiting outside a while, but if the news about Norway had at all concerned him he did not show it. No, he had matters closer to home he wished to draw to the King and Queen’s attention.

“Your Majesties, I may have stumbled upon the cause of the young prince’s recent turn towards what seems like madness. And I hope this may be a happy reason. For, you see, he has long shown affection, as you know, for my daughter, but I, and I hope you will forgive an old fool, but in my attempt to protect her I ordered her to reject his advances. I believe he has been made mad by this - but that the love of my daughter might be the cure of it”.

Claudius frowned, and Polonius hastily pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket.

“See here this letter written from Hamlet to my daughter.

‘To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia,' - that is poor phrasing, beautified, but nonetheless I will read you the rest:

'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.
Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;
I have not art to reckon my groans: but that
I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.
Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst
this machine is to him, Hamlet’.

So you see, your Majesties, I have hope that if my daughter does demonstrate that she does indeed return his love - which she does, I know it - then this might be the happy solution to our troubles and in young love we might also once again have a happy, and loyal, prince”.

Claudius’s daemon Taka walked over to Polonius, roughly snatched the parchment out of his hand and took it back to Claudius, who inspected it for a moment. Then, before he could say anything, Malou glanced around and noticed the Prince walking towards them - though still far off as the corridor he was walking down was quite long.

“Quickly, the Prince comes!”.

“Very well.”, said Claudius, “We shall retire. You”, and he pointed at Polonius in a manner that almost seemed threatening, “shall talk to the Prince and see if what you say about your daughter might be true”. Hastily, the royal couple and their servants left, leaving Polonius and Malou standing rather awkwardly alone in the middle of the room.

“Well, if it is not the gentleman himself!”, Hamlet shouted upon seeing him. He did indeed look as dishevelled as Ophelia described; wearing a shirt that was grey with dirt and had a tear across the chest and another down it’s sleeve. His hair was matted and his eyes were wild.

“Do you know me, my lord?”, asked Polonius, because Hamlet’s eyes seemed to not quite focus on him.

The prince threw his arm around the old man’s shoulder, “I do! You are a fishmonger!”. Fyrste was a small insect and was flying around Malou, who was trying to hide her annoyance at the little thing’s buzzing.

“Not I, my lord”, replied Polonius.

“Then I would you were so honest a man”.

“Honest, my lord?”.

“To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out of ten thousand”.

“That's very true, my lord”.

Hamlet was now not looking at him at all, watching instead his own daemon, who was now flying wildly around the room, with seemingly transfixed interest. Without taking his eyes off Fyrste, Hamlet asked, “Do you have a daughter?”.

Ah, there was the heart of the thing, thought Polonius, and he smiled as he responded, “I have, my lord”.

“Then do not let her out in the sun. Conception is a blessing but not if your daughter were to conceive!”.

Polonius was rather taken aback by this and, unsure what to say, was silent for a moment, during which time Hamlet wandered over to a bookshelf and started flicking through a book, laughing quietly to himself.

“What…what is it you read, my lord?”, Polonius asked.

“Words”.

“What is the matter, my lord?”.

“Between who?”.

Polonius signed, “I mean, the matter that you read, my lord”.

“Oh, oh slander, all of it! For this satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum and that they have a plentiful lack of wit. Which I do all believe, but I do not believe that it is good form to spell it out in a book”.

“Is there method in this madness?”, whispered Malou to Polonius.

After another pause, Polonius asked Hamlet if he would like to come outside.

Hamlet turned to him then and fixed him with a piercing stare; an alarming intensity in his eyes.

“Into my grave?”.

Polonius was now deeply unnerved, “Why yes, that is, indeed….is indeed out of the air. My lord, I will now humbly take my leave of you”.

Hamlet smiled broadly, “You cannot, sir, take from me something I would more willingly part with”. And just as quickly as the smile had appeared on his face, so his face fell, “except my life”.

As Polonius and Malou quite hastily left the room, frantically whispering back and forth to each other as they did so, Hamlet yelled after them “Except my life!”.

In the moments that followed there was an eerie silence.

And then, quite literally from behind the bookshelf, Horatio slipped out, laughing.

“My good friend!”, exclaimed Hamlet, “have you been there the whole time?!”.

“Indeed, my lord. I intended to see what I could overhear of the King and Queen, but did not expect to also get such a performance from yourself. What was the matter?”, Horatio reached out and gently ran his hand through Hamlet’s tangled hair, “What is the matter?”.

“Ah, but no, you see Horatio!”, Hamlet grinned, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I am not mad but this pretence is designed to ensure the King feels he has nothing to fear from me. I must discover if the spirit that we saw tells the truth, or if it is an evil spirit taking on a familiar shape to spread lies. Until then, all shall think I am mad. Harmless and mad”.

Fyrste turned into a bluebird form, and flew down to perch upon Elske’s back. After a moment, she turned into a white ferret and buried herself in Else’s soft fur.

“But tell me!”, continued Hamlet, his eyes flashing with excitement, “What did you overhear?”.

“Two things, my lord; firstly, that the spies from Norway returned and they have what may, at least for the King, be considered alarming news about the readiness of the Norwegian fleet for invasion, but the King rather dismissed the concerns…”

“And you see, there we have it; one of many reasons I would be a better King than him - what was the second thing?”.

“The second, my lord, is that the King and Queen have summoned Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to court, in an attempt to find out whether you are truly mad”.

Hamlet frowned, “But they would not betray me. They are good men, honest men”.

Now it was Horatio’s turn to frown. He did not trust either of them; he never had. He thought that they were both self serving fools with no morals to speak of.

“I would be careful with them, my lord”.

But Hamlet did not seem to be listening to him, “I think we should go find them”.

The four men found each other in the castle gardens.

“My good friends!”, exclaimed Hamlet, and the two men bowed, “How are you both?!”.

“As the indifferent children of the earth”, Rosencrantz said

“Happy in that we are not overhappy; but content”, added Guildenstern, cutting across him.

“What brings you here, to this prison?”.

“Prison, my lord?”, asked Rosencrantz.

“Denmark’s a prison”.

“Then is the world one”.

“Perhaps so, but Denmark is it’s darkest cell”. Both men looked at each other awkwardly, unsure how to reply to that.

“We, uh, do not think so, my lord”, said Rosencrantz.

“But again”, Hamlet continued, his voice becoming slightly more forceful and his face more serious, “what is it that brings you here?”.

After a moment’s hesitation, Guildenstern signed, “My lord, we were sent for”.

“And there we have it! Was it the good King and Queen who sent for you? Have they told you tales of my madness?”. As he said the word madness, Hamlet did a flourish with his hands, and widened his eyes in mock intrigued.

“My lord, they are both most concerned for your wellbeing, and simply wanted us to…”.

“The truth”, Hamlet interrupted, “is I have for the past month lost all my mirth. I am indeed a hopeless wanderer upon this frame, the earth. Man delights not me - “, at this both men smirked and glanced at Horatio, who was standing silently behind the Prince.

“What do you mean by these looks?”, asked Hamlet.

“Uh, simply, my lord”, said Guildenstern quickly, “that if you can find no delight in man then what poor value you will get from the players when they arrive in town”.

Hamlet’s eyes widened now in genuine excitement and curiosity, “The players?!”.

“Yes, my lord, we ran into them on our way into town. They should be here by nightfall’.

“Excellent! Oh, excellent!”, Hamlet cried, truly delighted. “Well, my friends, please make yourselves at home. I am of course delighted that you are here”. As he spoke he placed one hand on each man’s back, driving them away and back towards the palace.

“I will see you both very soon, but for now I have some matters to attend to”.

But just before the two men opened the door to go back inside, Hamlet called after them.

“My friends, one more thing! My uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived”.

“In what, my lord?”, asked Guildenstern, as the two men turned back towards him. Elske nipped at Fyrste’s ears (the prince’s daemon was currently in the form of a cat) as a warning to Hamlet to stop talking, but he carried on regardless.

“I am mad only north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw”.

Chapter Text

ACT II, Scene III: Flashbacks to The University in Wittenberg

“It is true, though, that Christ was a historical figure”, mused Elske, “and more than that, that there are many accounts of his miracles - from enough people that it seems unlikely the entire thing is a lie”.

“Yes”, agreed Horatio, “but evidence of what is essentially magic is not evidence he was the son of God”.

“Maybe not; but it has to be evidence of something rather particular”.

“Whilst men might not be witches, there are many records of men who practiced magic scattered throughout history. They are, in the scheme of all humans that have ever been, exceptionally rare; but this is not a phenomenon unique to Christ”.

“That is true. And even if he was a son of god, there are still so many questions. What makes that god the only god, or one worthy of our worship?”.

***

It was an idyllic day; like something out of a painting. Horatio was leaning against a tree, holding his book with one hand. His other arm was wrapped around Hamlet, who was lying on his chest, watching a flock of birds fly by overhead. Elske and Fyrste lay next to them, curled up together. Fyrste was in the form of some kind of wildcat.

***

“More wine, good fellows?”.

Hamlet passed Rosencrantz and Guildenstern two more cups full to the brim with red wine. He was exceptionally merry, and Rosencrantz had confessed a little earlier that he was unsure if he could stand, but nonetheless they all raised their glasses and drank.

Fyrste, sleepy from her human’s drunken state, lay down on his lap in the form of a stoat.

Syrac hiccuped.

***

“But you cannot, my Lord, think that the moves by the Church are not deeply concerning?”.

The two were in Horatio’s room. Hamlet was flicking through a copy of the New Testament.

“All I am saying, Horatio, is that the teachings of Christ are rather interesting and I might even say profound ones, which perhaps we could all learn something from”.

“I do hope you are not becoming evangelical, my Lord?”.

“No, no, of course not, Horatio; in fact one might actually argue that what is contained in these books here - teachings about tolerance and love - should instil us with a greater zeal for the individual’s freedom of belief, and certainly give us motive to stand against cruelty. All of which is rather the opposite of what we are seeing from the Church”.

***

“I can never truly tell if they are clever men, or foolish?”, Hamlet mused, playing idly with with a piece of string. He was speaking of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who had by now become his almost daily companions, which felt as much like a habit they had all fallen into as anything.

“Why not both?”, Fyrste, fox formed, replied. “Many men in this world are clever fools”.

Chapter Text

ACT II, SCENE IIII: Outside the castle

The players were a colourful troupe, dressed in homemade and beautiful clothes and carrying with them instruments, props and other assorted items. Women, men and children and their daemons all gathered outside the castle doors - where they were surprised to be greeted by the Prince himself.

“You are welcome; welcome, all! I am glad to see you well. Welcome, good friends”, Hamlet said, enthusiastically shaking hands with those at the front of the group.

“My old friend! You have grown tall since last I saw you!”, he said, feigning shock at a young girl of around nine, who in response giggled with delight.

He turned to the leader of the group, and smiling, said “come, give us a taste of your work; show us a speech!”.

The player frowned, “A speech, my lord? Now?”.

“Yes! Why not? For mine and my daemon’s ears only let me hear just a small echo of your work! I heard you perform a piece once, but it was never acted…or maybe it was but just the once, for the play, if I remember, did not please the masses. But I thought that it was beautiful. One speech in it I chiefly loved was Aeneas’ tale to Dido; where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. If you remember it then let me hear it. It started something like ‘The rugged Pyrrhus, like the Hyrcanian beast,’...no, no wait that is wrong; it begins with Pyrrhus - ‘The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, black as his purpose, did the night resemble when he lay couched in the ominous horse, hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d with heraldry more dismal; head to foot mow is he total gules; horridly trick’d with blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, baked and impasted with the parching streets, that lend a tyrannous and damned light to their lord’s murder: roasted in wrath and fire, and thus o’er-sized with coagulate gore, with eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus old grandsire Priam seeks’...I believe it began something like that anyway, and so, proceed you”, he said, indicating for the player to begin from where he had left off.

And so, with a brief moment's hesitation and a small look of annoyance - which Hamlet seemed to not see - the player began. He remembered the piece well - well enough that his daemon knew exactly where to interject with her lines - and he performed it as well as a man tired from a long day’s travel might.

When it was done, Hamlet applauded.

“Well performed, my good sir, well performed! I welcome you once again to Elsinore. We look forward to hearing your play!”.

As the players were escorted to their lodgings at the palace by one of the servants, Hamlet paused briefly outside the palace gates, looking down the hill upon Elsinore.

“Now we are alone. What rogues are we, Fyrste? Is it not monstrous that this player here could have shown such emotion for something that is but fiction? Whilst we, with true cause for such emotion, stand still?”.

Fyrste took on the form of a dove and perched on her human’s shoulder.

“What would he do had he the motive and the passion that we have?”, she asked.

“He would drown the stage with tears, and overwhelm the audience with his cries”, answered Hamlet.

“Make mad the guilty and appal the free”, added Fyrste.

“Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed the very faculties of eyes and ears”, concluded Hamlet.

There was a pause.

“And yet we have done nothing to avenge what our father suffered”, Hamlet said.

“Are we cowards?”, asked Fyrste.

“I am afraid that we may be”.

And the two of them were silent for another moment.

Then Hamlet said, “But the spirit that we have seen may be an evil spirit: one with the power to assume a pleasing shape. And perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy he is manipulating me. We must have ground clearer than this; we must materially see Claudius’s guilt through playing on his conscience”.

Fyrste nodded, “The play‘s the thing, wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the king.”

Later that evening, Horatio and Elske were standing out on the castle walls, having been unable to sleep. It was cold, but the wind was gentle. They stared out into the distance in silence, in that strange place where exhaustion and adrenaline meet.

And then, in the distance, they saw something coming towards them. After a moment, they realised it was human shaped, and after a moment more they realised it was a woman - flying towards them. The figure paused, hovering outside the castle at eye level with Horatio. She was incredibly beautiful, but more striking was that she had no daemon.

Horatio placed his hand on the cold stone of the wall in front of him to steady himself.

“Are you…are you a witch?”.

“I am”, she replied.

“And what brings you here?”.

“I came to speak to you, Horatio”.

“To me?”.

“Yes, to you”.

“And it is…it is because you are a witch that you have no daemon?”. Horatio had read about this in books, but he had never encountered one in person - and the sight of her; so alive and so whole but without a daemon was almost more alarming than seeing the figure of the ghost.

“Yes. My daemon may go as far away from him as he pleases, but he remains my daemon and as much a part of me as your daemon is a part of you”.

“Who are you? And what brings you here?”, Horatio asked again.

“I am Serafina Pekkala, clan princess of Lake Enara. I come to you because we both know there is a war afoot. A war between Denmark and Norway - but beyond that a war for freedom. The current King of Denmark and his Queen are enemies of this. Your Prince - he could be an ally in the fight against the domination of the Magisterium”.

“And what does that mean for him?”.

“It means he must overthrow his uncle and take the throne. For the good of all”.

Chapter Text

ACT III, SCENE I: A room in the castle

“Did he receive you well?”, Gertrude asked Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

“Most like a gentleman”.

“But uncomfortable in his disposition”.

“He was greatly excited to see the players though”.

“Well, it does bring me some relief that he has found something to find joy in”, said Claudius, “perhaps some theatre will do him some good. Good gentlemen, stay with him as much as you can and keep his council, and report back to us”.

“We will do so, your majesty”. And the two men bowed and left the room, their daemons perched on their shoulders; Rosencrantz’s on his left and Guildenstern’s on his right. Or perhaps it was the other way round.

“Now”, Claudius turned to Polonius and an incredibly uncomfortable looking Ophelia, “Ophelia, we have told Hamlet to expect you in the drawing room - you will go and speak to him and inform him that we are all agreeable as to your love. This will, we hope, alleviate the melancholy that has fallen upon him”.

“It is my strong hope that your beauty will be the happy cause of his misery”, added Gertrude, reaching out and gently touching Ophelia’s arm.

Ophelia glanced nervously at her father, and Asmund ruffled his feathers.

“I will do as you say, your majesties”.

Polonius put a hand on her shoulder, “Now, you should walk down this corridor here to the drawing room, reading this book” - and he handed her a slim volume with a light blue cover - “as a show of melancholy to demonstrate your sadness at being without his love”. Ophelia pursed her lips. “And do not look like that, but try and look as a good and pious maiden - now go, go!”.

In the drawing room, Hamlet and Fyrste were alone.

Hamlet slumped down into a chair as if the weight of standing had become too much for him.

Fyrste took the form of a butterfly.

“To be, or not to be, that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them. To die: to sleep; and by sleeping to end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that we must suffer on this earth”.

“To die, to sleep; but to sleep means perchance to dream”, said Fyrste, gently, “For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. We do not know what to expect once we have shuffled off this mortal coil and that must give her pause”.

Hamlet sighed, “Yes, and that makes calamity of so long a life; for who would bear the whips and scorns of time…the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law's delay, the insolence of office and the spurns of the unworthy…what would make a man bear this weary life but the dread of something after death?; the undiscovered country from where no traveller returns”.

“And so it is safer to bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of”, said Fyrste.

“Thus conscience does make cowards of us all”, said Hamlet bitterly, looking at Fyrste with a look of near contempt, just for a moment, before his expression softened.

And then they both heard footsteps, and looking up, saw Ophelia and Asmund heading towards them. Ophelia, for some reason, was pretending to read a book.

“Nymph, in your eyes, all my sins are remembered”, whispered Hamlet.

“Good day, my lord”, Ophelia said, entering the room. “How are you today?”.

“I thank you, well”.

“Hamlet, I have some letters of yours I have…long wanted to return”.

Hamlet stood up, looking at the letters in her hand with shock and disgust. Then after a pause, he turned away, saying “you are wrong - I gave you nothing”.

Ophelia sighed, “You know you did, my lord”.

Hamlet spun round, anger flaring up in his voice, “are you honest?!”.

“My lord?”.

“Are you fair?!”.

“What do you mean?!”.

“That if you were honest and fair you would have no part in these schemes of court”.

“Hamlet”, Ophelia glanced over her shoulder, before leaning in to whisper, “I have no desire to be part of any of it - it is why I am returning your letters and not…I do not want to be part of these games and I do not want to hurt you…”.

“If you did not want to hurt me you would not act so! But it matters not - I never loved you”.

Ophelia pulled her hand away as if stung.

“Then I was all the more deceived”.

“Go to a nunnery! Why would you be a breeder of sinners? I am myself honest, but even I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious. It would have been better that my mother had not given birth to me. We are arrant knaves, all of us and you should not bring more of us into the world. Instead you should join a nunnery”.

After a pause, he asked, “Where's your father?”.

“He…he is at home, my lord”.

“Well, let the doors be shut upon him. I will go”.

And he headed for the door, Fyrste transforming into a snake as she followed after him. Without turning to look back at Ophelia, he yelled, “I say no more marriages! Those that are already married; all but one of them may live. Go to a nunnery!”.

Ophelia and Asmund stood silent in confusion and shock.

And then Polonius and Claudius entered, Malou and Taka following, whispering to each other.

“Well, it is not love!”, exclaimed Claudius.

“You were listening?!”, Ophelia asked, looking between her father and the King in bewilderment.

“We were in the room next door, my child. But yes, your majesty it would seem that I was incorrect in my diagnosis of the cause of Hamlet’s condition. I would advise that the Queen, his mother, might be asked to speak with him - for maybe she can better find a reason for his state. But if not we will need another plan - for a Prince to be this way…”.

Claudius nodded, “I will speak with his mother. Madness in great ones must not go unwatched”.