Hey there, thanks for taking the time to check out my lil' fic. I know Benvolio is a strange character to write about but the poor bugger goes through so much during the play and is ignored by everyone. So I thought it was about damn time Benvolio got some lovin'. Just as a warning there will be a major plot twist, BUT other elements the play will remain. It IS a tragedy after all…
Chapter 1 - A Red Sun Rises
A crowd began to gather in one of the many piazzas of Verona, an occurrence not uncommon in these turbulent times. Word had spread throughout the town of the Prince's cousin Paris. His desire to woo the fair maiden, Juliet, had sparked conflict between the two dynasties; each competing for the Prince's favour. The feud between the houses of Capulet and Montague had begun to erupt once more, spilling onto the street as blood had oft been spilt among the warring houses.
"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" hollered a young servant of the Montague line, daring his foe to transgress.
A burly giant of a man would not yield to such an arrogant Montague pup, "I do bite my thumb, sir." he quipped.
A line had been crossed, only blood would suffice as satisfaction for such a transgression, "Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?"
Samson paused and consulted his kinsmen, knowing this verbal joust could end in bloodshed, responding "No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir."
"Do you quarrel, sir?" snapped Gregory, tiring of this petty spat. He, like all in Verona, knew if this were to escalate all involved would be stripped of something far more valuable than pride.
"Quarrel sir! No, sir." Abraham gibed, hoping to enrage his adversaries.
"If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you." Samson sneered, his blood boiling.
"No better", Abraham said impassively.
"Well, sir!" Samson raged, his blood boiling at the notion of he being as lowly as a Montague.
"Say 'better', here comes one of my master's kinsmen", dared Gregory, the jab at his comrade had spirited away any caution he previously held.
"Yes, better, sir." Samson spat, his full fury but a hairbreadth away from exploding.
Abraham would not tolerate such impudence, especially from Capulet scum. "You lie."
The final blow had been laid; the time for words had now ceased, "Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow." roared Samson, unsheathing his sword.
"PART FOOLS!", I screamed, "Put up your swords; you know not what you do."
I stood amazed at their complete contempt for their lives. Even if there was a victor, he would be condemned to death under Veronian law. I hit away their blades, hoping to hold whatever fragile peace the new day had brought. The day had already brought sorrow to the house of Montague; I would not abide by any more on this day.
"What, drawn, and talk of peace?" I heard a voice snicker behind me; Tybalt never missed an opportunity to sully the honour of his rival clan. The Prince of Cats: sly, cunning and ruthless. He circled me as a predator would its prey, unsheathing his rapier.
"I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues..." he said as I withdrew my blade. He drew nearer to my person until he and I were nose to nose and whispered, "... and thee."
I felt the butt of his sword ram into my stomach winding me, followed by a knee to my groin. I doubled over, winded. Tybalt was not known for his fair swordsmanship; not unlike every other aspect of his life he sought to win at all costs.
"Have at thee, coward!" Tybalt hollered, forgoing the formalities of duelling as he charged forth.
Had I parried an instant later, I would have been gutted. And so we duelled; he was strong, yet I was swift. We danced around the ever swarming fray, dodging and weaving those who had come to our aid. He nicked my thigh as I deflected a cheap shot to my belly. It stung as rivulets of blood ran down my leg, staining the fabric of my tights a deep crimson. He bore a sadistic glint in his eye as he did so, chuckling darkly as I yelped in a mixture of pain and surprise. I did not despair for I had a small victory of my own as I thrust my rapier towards his chest. He repelled, only to slash his cheek, he snarled like a wild beast. I could not help but smirk as I took great pride in marring such a vain creature. Enraged he began to slash wildly; I could barely parry let alone muster the strength to counter his assault.
A voice rang out among the chaos, "REBELLOUS SUBJECTS! Enemies to peace, profaners of this neighbour-stained steel. Will they not hear?"
All ceased brawling, quieting and dropping to their knees. The Prince's entire personal guard had arrived to quell the violence. The sovereign was in the fore atop his horse, surveying the clash.
"What, ho! You men, you beast that quench the fire of your pernicious rage with purple fountains issuing from your veins. On pain of torture, from those bloody hands throw your mistempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your moved prince.". The regent growled, disgusted at the childishness of his subjects.
"Three, THREE civil brawls, bred of an airy word by thee, old Capulet, and Montague, have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets and made Verona's ancient citizens cast by their grave beseeming ornaments. To wield old partisans, in hands as old canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate. If EVER you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the this time, all the rest depart away: You Capulet; shall go along with me and, Montague, come you this afternoon to know our further pleasure in this case, to old Free-town, our common judgment-place." centred the monarch. Not a soul amongst the crowd stirred, I was frozen in fear. I had escaped death twice this day; I was not willing to chance third time.
"Once more, on pain of death, all men depart." The Prince commanded.
He dismissed his guards as the rival factions began to disperse, asserting his presence to ensure that the fight would not carry on after his departure. Once the mob had dispersed, the Prince turned to face Tybalt and me, his gaze a warning against further transgressions. Tybalt stormed off clutching his wounded cheek, no doubt to exert the remainder of his aggression on his poor kinsmen. I, conversely, was still petrified from the shock of the situation. I was numb to the world. My entire life was now a hairsbreadth away from ruin.