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Laertes was sixteen when he first met Prince Hamlet.
He hadn’t been allowed to observe the court proceedings up until that point. All he really knew was that his father was gone for many hours out of the day to assist King Hamlet in ruling Denmark. Meanwhile, Laertes stayed home with his child of a sister and his studies. This was the first chance he got to observe the court proceedings.
Which he found to be quite boring. Everyone was talking about some war with King Fortinbras, who Laertes had never met and thus decided was unimportant. Laertes was young, he decided, and didn’t need to waste his days sitting around in a council discussing battle plans.
So when he could, he snuck out to peruse the castle. Maybe he would find some cute girl he could court in the future. One that would treat Ophelia with the utmost amount of care, as he did. His father had always told him he would have to marry someday.
That’s where he met Prince Hamlet.
Prince Hamlet was sneaking around the halls around the courtroom, clearly doing the same as Laertes, but making it much more obvious. Laertes held his head high and looked like he had a purpose, while Prince Hamlet was running from alcove to alcove, looking around for guards.
“Are you hiding from the court too?” Laertes asked, voice loud and daunting. It made Prince Hamlet jump, and Laertes smirked.
“Well I was ,” the teenage princess huffed. “But you gave me away.”
“There are no guards around,” Laertes observed.
“That’s what they want you to think.”
Laertes raised a brow.
“Who are you anyway?” Prince Hamlet stepped out of the alcove he was hiding in to look Laertes over.
Laertes puffed his chest out. “I am Laertes, son of Lord Polonius.”
The prince rolled his eyes. “So you’re just another lord, then.”
Laertes deflated a bit, the statement damaging his pride. He didn’t exactly have anything else to his name. No triumphs he could claim.
Prince Hamlet then laughed. “You look like a kicked pig, Sir Laertes.”
“I feel like one as well,” he murmured.
“Say, can you fence?”
Fence? “I… cannot say I can.”
“Come on, I’ll teach you.” Prince Hamlet grabbed his hand. “If it looks like I’m practicing for my lessons, they won’t punish me.”
Laertes blinked. “I cannot fight with the prince. It would destroy my honor.”
Prince Hamlet looked at him boredly. “I don’t like being called prince. You can just call me Hamlet.”
Laertes blinked. “Well… then you can just call me Laertes.”
Hamlet beamed. “Let’s go!”
Laertes was no good at fencing, but Hamlet was having fun, so Laertes let himself get beat again and again and again.
“You’re a poor fencer, Laertes.” Hamlet said as he tugged him to his feet for the thousandth time that day.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever practiced fencing, much less done it with others…” Laertes arm was starting to feel sore. He wasn’t sure how much more he could do this.
Hamlet put his hands behind his head and took a deep breath. “My father’s council never comes to fence with me. It’s always my teacher, and rarely the guardsman.
“What I wouldn’t give to have a good fencer on my council.”
Laertes went to bed that night wondering where he could learn how to fence.
Laertes was seventeen when they shared their first kiss.
Every day that Polonius went to advise King Hamlet, Laertes came with him, just for a chance to see the prince. And the prince was always happy to see Laertes. Sometimes they fenced in the guard quarters courtyard. Sometimes they raided the pantry for meat that was meant for dinner. And sometimes they sat in the tree filled groves that surrounded the castle.
The sun was starting to set when Laertes sighed and sat up. He and Hamlet had been laying in the grass in silent companionship for what must have been hours. Polonius was probably looking for him to return home for the night.
“Where are you going?” Hamlet propped himself up on his elbows. His tousled hair was filled with grass and his eyes shone in the dying sunlight.
Laertes had to look away to hide his flustered blush. Hamlet looked dazzling in the sunset, but it would be near treasonous for another man to tell him so. “My father will be looking for me so we can return home. We cannot leave Ophelia on her own for the night just yet.”
Hamlet placed his hand over Laertes, keeping him from moving. Hamlet’s hands were calloused from days of writing and fencing. Laertes’ hands still felt soft in comparison. “At least let me give you a proper goodbye first, Sir Laertes.”
Laertes turned to reprimand Hamlet for calling him ‘Sir’, but he was cut off by a pair of soft lips against his.
Every muscle told him this was wrong, so wrong, he shouldn’t be doing this with another man, much less the prince , but his mind urged him forward and he kissed back, deep and languid and loving . It was the most emotionally riveting thing that had happened since Ophelia’s birth, and Laertes craved it. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted this- this deep connection with another person. He’d only known Hamlet for a year, and yet he was the closest thing Laertes had to a friend.
His affection for Hamlet ran deeper than that though, and he couldn’t ignore the beating of his heart in his ears. This was what he wanted. This is what he needed.
Their foreheads touched when they pulled away. Laertes’ hand was now entangled in the hair at the base of Hamlet’s neck. Hamlet was gripping Laertes’ other hand firmly.
“I love you, Sir Laertes,” he breathed.
Laertes heart skipped a beat and he was breathless as he murmured, “I love you too, Prince Hamlet.”
Laertes was eighteen when they shared their first night together.
Hamlet’s studies had led away from fencing and closer to educational things, like books and writing. Laertes missed that deep connection they had whenever they fenced. He felt empty without it.
Sometimes, when Hamlet was too busy, Laertes would sit under the tree where they shared the first of many kisses alone. It got cold quickly without Hamlet, but it would be inappropriate for Laertes to send for Hamlet just for a small amount of time with the prince, so he sat alone under that tree, watching the sunset by himself and missing the way it shone in Hamlet’s eyes.
The war with King Fortinbras had been getting worse, so the court proceedings lasted longer and longer. Polonius could be caught up in the castle for days on end, usually leaving Laertes and Ophelia to take care of themselves at home.
Laertes had started to insist that he come with Polonius even on the tedious handful of days where Polonius was working from sunup well past sunset. After enough begging, Polonius caved, allowing Laertes to accompany him and stay in the castle. Hamlet had a room set up specifically for Laertes, and when Hamlet had a few moments to spare, Laertes sat with Hamlet and talked about their individual studies.
That was rare, though, and Laertes spent most nights in his room alone. He had hoped that accompanying Polonius to the castle this frequently would allow him more time with Hamlet, but it seemed that was impossible.
And then it happened.
Laertes was sitting alone on a couch in his room, reading a book Hamlet had lent him, when the door creaked open and bare footed footsteps crept across the floor to settle on the end of the couch. He looked up from his book to see Hamlet staring at him in nothing but a pair of trousers.
Laertes’ whole body flushed and he immediately held his book up to his face. “My prince, what are you doing here?” He stammered, familiarity forgotten at the sight of shirtless royalty in his room.
Hamlet set a hand on Laertes’ knee and pushed his legs apart, creeping forward so he could lower the book with his chin. Their noses were almost touching as Laertes stared into Hamlet’s eyes.
“I want you,” Hamlet murmured, and the warmth spread through Laertes again, hot and stifling and wanting .
Hamlet practically threw Laertes to the bed and tore off his clothes. Laertes could feel the way the prince craved his skin, and he let Hamlet bite and claw at it until his vision whited out in pleasant overstimulation. He clung to the prince, needy and vocal, and let Hamlet rock against his body as he so wished.
Laertes lay breathless on the mattress, arms wrapped around Hamlet’s bare waist as he kept his nose buried in Hamlet’s tousled hair.
“Hamlet…” Laertes finally murmured, causing the prince to stir.
“Hm?”
“What if someone finds us?” His voice wavered a bit. “Won’t they…”
Hamlet looked up at him, face hidden save for his bright eyes. “I won’t let them kill you, my love.”
Laertes leaned into Hamlet’s palm as he carded his fingers through Laertes hair.
My love…
Laertes was nineteen when he was first stood up.
He had waited in his room for nearly the whole night, only for the sun to rise with no sight of the prince. He tried to not feel hurt, but he couldn’t deny that his heart stung a little at the fact that Hamlet had better things to do than spend time with him.
He dressed in a fresh set of travelling clothes, as Polonius would be taking him home that day, and went to locate Hamlet.
He found him with a girl Laertes didn’t recognize on his arm. He paused some distance down the hall, watching how Hamlet laughed with bright eyes at something the girl said. She was dressed in a gown adorned with gold threads, and jewelry hung heavy on her head.
She was royalty.
Laertes was not.
Hamlet made brief eye contact with Laertes, and if he hadn’t known Hamlet so well, he wouldn’t have seen anything. But he could see the way a dark shadow briefly passed over Hamlet’s face before he brought the smiling girl over.
“This is one of my friends, Sir Laertes,” Hamlet said with a royal smile.
Laertes dipped his head cordially in the expected sign of respect. “Prince Hamlet,” he greeted, forcing a steady voice.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sir Laertes,” the princess said. Her voice was smooth like silk, and Laertes heart ached. She was so beautiful . Of course Hamlet would prefer her over him.
Hamlet didn’t give Laertes another glance, instead leading the girl away. Laertes stood alone in the hallway, watching them until they had rounded the corner. Hamlet didn’t look back.
Laertes was packing the carriage to return to the house with Polonius when Hamlet set a hand on his shoulder. Laertes jumped and turned to look at Hamlet, scowling a bit.
“Laertes-”
“Don’t worry about it, Hamlet.”
“Laertes, please -”
“I said don’t worry about it.”
“I have to court her! It’s part of my duty to my kingdom!”
Laertes glowered. “You seemed pretty disappointed to see me today, regardless of if you’re courting her or not.”
Hamlet paused. “I... “
“I get that we-” He cut himself off, lowering his voice. “I get that we have to be quiet about it,” he whispered. “But you could refrain from looking at me like I’m some scum you can’t wait to scrape off your boot.”
Hamlet looked hurt, and he stepped back. “I’m sorry, Laertes.”
Laertes heart ached, and he sighed. “It’s okay, Hamlet. I just… wish you had told me before I had to assume you had moved on.”
Hamlet reached out and squeezed Laertes’ hand firmly. “I could never move on from you.”
Laertes was twenty when he left for France.
Hamlet had stood him up countless times after that, but every time Laertes saw Hamlet, he was courting a new girl, new royalty, a new girl that Hamlet gave all his attention to. Laertes got endless mixed signals, and he didn’t know what to do.
So he went to France. If Hamlet was going to give other people who were so much better than Laertes, then he just had to be better .
He had met Hamlet four years ago, but he never forgot when Hamlet said how much he would want a lord that could fence on his council.
He’d found a school that would be able to teach him more than Hamlet could.
If Hamlet wasn’t going to pay attention, he was going to get Hamlet’s attention.
He spent six years in France studying. He studied more than fencing, obviously, but fencing was his main focus. He wanted to be better than good. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be enough for the prince of Denmark.
Countless times he was approached. He had been doted on by Hamlet for as long as he could remember, but he never realized how many other people recognized his charm and appearance. Girls with status chased after him with gifts, and even a handful of men gave him a second chance.
He paid them no heed. He focused on his studies, all with the intent to get Hamlet to see him as he used to.
Laertes was twenty six when he travelled back to Denmark and realized Ophelia was in love with Hamlet.
He had come for the sudden death of King Hamlet, to pay his respects. Polonius was horribly bent out of shape, and Laertes’ heart already ached.
Hamlet stood with Queen Gertrude on one side and Ophelia on the other at the funeral. Laertes sat in the back and cried, not for the death of King Hamlet, but for the death of his love for Prince Hamlet.
Days following the funeral (and the subsequent wedding, of which Laertes did not participate), Hamlet finally approached Laertes via a knock on Laertes quarters- the same quarters, Laertes noted when he was shown to them, that he and Hamlet shared nights of passion in the heat of summer and the cold of winter.
“Sir Laertes?”
Laertes would recognize that voice anywhere.
‘You may enter, Prince Hamlet.”
Hamlet opened the door but did not step across the threshold. Laertes didn’t motion for him to do so.
“I am… sure you realize what has happened while you were gone.”
Laertes folded a tunic and set it in a chest in preparation for travelling away, back to France. “Yes. You started courting my sister.”
“I love her.”
“Do you now?”
“Laertes,” Hamlet sighed exasperatedly, stepping into the room. “You know it could have never worked between us.”
“Then why did you try to make it work?!” Laertes spun around to glare at the prince. There were tears in his eyes. “Why did you make me believe that it could work. Why did-why did you spend four years courting me only to leave me for your duties?”
“Because they’re my duties, Laertes!” Hamlet cried. “And you were the one who left me for six years to go to France!”
“I went to France to become the Lord you wanted!” Laertes shrieked.
Hamlet hesitated. “... what do you mean?”
Laertes stopped, taking a slow breath. “When we first met, you said that you would want a lord that could fence on your council.”
“... you… went to... “
“I went to France to impress you.” Laertes stared at the ground, clenching his hands into fists. “So that I could… I could capture your attention the way those women did.”
“Oh, Laertes,” Hamlet lamented, moving forward to take hold of Laertes’ hands.
Laertes yanked them back. “But now you’re courting my sister, so I can see all my work was in vain.”
Hamlet recoiled.
“I am going to ask your uncle for permission to depart for France, since I can see that I am not wanted here any longer.”
“... I see.”
A heavy silence fell as Laertes continued packing his chest.
“Well then.” Hamlet’s voice was hoarse and he choked on his next words. “Farewell, Sir Laertes. Until you return.”
“... Farewell, Prince Hamlet.”
His departing words to Ophelia were to not trust Hamlet, because Laertes knew that Hamlet would just use her- please himself on her flower, dote on her and make her feel like she was her everything, and then cast her aside in favor of another piece of royalty. It was his “duty”, as Hamlet had told Laertes all those years ago. Laertes didn’t trust Hamlet to not break his sister’s heart.
Laertes was twenty seven when he was told his father and his sister were dead.
Enraged, he departed for Denmark immediately. How dare Hamlet do this to his family, the one thing he knew he could rely on for love. Hamlet had already broken his heart, why did he have to do this too?!
He was enraged. He was grieved.
He was presented by a dismal sight when he arrived in Denmark.
Polonius and Ophelia were dead. Countless messengers had been sent out, never to return. And Hamlet was accusing King Claudius of killing King Hamlet.
Laertes believed him, he really did, but it was masked by his hatred for Hamlet and his treacherous heart, so his instinct was to just kill . He wanted his revenge. He wanted Hamlet to pay for everything he had done to Laertes. He’d broken his heart and ruined his belief in romance. He’d killed Laertes’ whole family.
Laertes had nothing left to lose but a sword fight to the death.
He should’ve expected Hamlet to take the chance to hurt Laertes, but somehow it still took him by surprise. He slowly sank to his knees, the wound burning as it bled into his blood.
“Hamlet,” Laertes murmured, looking up at the prince. The shine Laertes had always admired was gone. It was replaced by crazed grief, and Laertes just wanted to fix it, and make it better.
“Laertes,” Hamlet murmured, stepping forward before his cut leg gave out and he sank to his knees.
“The sword,” Laertes said. “It’s poisoned.”
Hamlet looked at the tip, and then where Claudius was holding Gertrude to his chest. The prince forced himself to his feet, stumbling over so he could sink the poisoned tip into Claudius’ chest.
A wave of exhaustion overtook him, and he slowly lay down on the floor, watching as Hamlet sat down next to him.
“I’m sorry,” Laertes said. “Please forgive me…”
“I forgive you,” Hamlet whispered. Laertes could feel Hamlet run his fingers through his hair. “Do you forgive me?”
Laertes looked up at him. Hamlet’s eyes shone with tears.
“I forgive you.”
Laertes watched through blurred vision as Horatio caught Hamlet before he could fall to the ground. Hamlet’s fingers twitched around Laertes’ hand and held it as Laertes drifted off into eternal sleep.