More Fool Him

Note: Set after the events of episode six, because of reasons.

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Of all the betrayals he had suffered of late, why did this one sting the most?

The Capulet had betrayed him. Why should he even be surprised? If anything, this was the inevitable outcome of any of their interactions, the final proof that a Capulet and a Montague could never co-exist in harmony.

He should have known better. He really should have seen this coming. After all, if his own family and those who he had once considered friends had abandoned him to this fate, what right had he to expect that the Capulet maid would stand by his side? A few days ago, he would not have believed that possible.

And yet, she had come with him, willingly and eagerly. She had left everything behind and had vowed to tell the truth to help him clear his name. She was the only one he had left in the world and for a moment, she was more than enough.

Or had the events of the past few days truly meant nothing to her? He could no longer be sure. They had been forced to wear so many masks recently that he could no longer tell what was real.

All he knew now was this new, gaping wound in his chest, not unlike the emptiness he felt after Romeo and Mercutio's deaths and yet, this felt like something else entirely. He had believed that he had found in her a true friend at last, only to lose her just as abruptly. For a moment he thought: is this what it's like to have one's heart broken?

In spite of all that had happened, part of him still gave her the benefit of the doubt. There was something off about the way she had uttered those incriminating words, as if she was doing so under duress. She could barely look at him, not out of disgust but out of something like shame. She had none of the fire that had made her who she was. He almost felt like he was seeing another person entirely.

And she had seemed to be exchanging nervous glances with the other nobleman standing behind the prince. Could he have threatened her somehow? She was not someone easily threatened so for her to go back on her word like this, it would have been something very serious indeed.

Or was he merely imagining all of this?

But she had hesitated before answering every question, whether wracked by guilt or regret, he could not be sure. It was so unlike her to second-guess herself. He had never met anyone who could express their opinions so directly and decidedly. She had always spoken with such conviction, defying anyone who dared oppose her. But this time she had sounded subdued, doubtful, and perhaps a tad unconvincing.

Or were these more lies he told himself so he would not lose faith in her?

These were the thoughts that plagued Benvolio Montague as he waited forlornly in a dingy cell, awaiting a fate of certain death.

There was no comfort to be found in his memories, but the image of Rosaline's teary face remained fixed in his mind and the words she had last spoken about him, the words that had damned him so effectively, echoed in his memory juxtaposed against the memory of her promise that she would plead his innocence.

"…you're innocent..and kind..and a good friend."

He was hurt beyond measure but he still could not find it in himself to blame her for any of this. In spite of everything, some small part of him still trusted Rosaline Capulet. More fool him.

There was no greater torture that could be devised for a condemned man.