Well, this is exciting. First story ever, woohoo!
Anyway.
If I could write dialogue in Elizabethan English then I would, but I can't and I'm not interested in being prosecuted for "abuse of language" and "sullying of England's greatest playwright", so I shan't.
My most heartfelt thanks to Indigo-Night-Wisp for being such a lovely Beta and sounding board.
I also won't make any disclaimers. I think it's pretty obvious that I'm not Shakespeare :P
The sky was clear of clouds and of light blue colour, with the sun standing high upon it. Absently, at the back of his mind, Benvolio wondered if the birds were singing today. Seldom did they bother to stay and rest near the core of the town, much preferring the market place or the gardens. In any case, even if they were he wouldn't be aware of it – the only thing he heard was the sound of quarrel scattered across the centre of Verona. Something had without any doubt been said, he was unknowing by whom and how and, frankly, he didn't care much either. The only thing important was that dozens of Montague swords clanged against those of Capulet. All sense had been abandoned yet again.
Stepping out with raised arms in order to catch even the smallest of attention, he contemplated drawing his own sword and going between, if the fray dragged on.
"Everyone, please!" he exclaimed. "Stop this madness!"
A scornful laugh followed, resembling a dull rumble, reaching his ears from behind him. Feeling his body stiffen he took a sharp breath before turning, for Benvolio knew that voice. And it was hardly the attention he would have liked.
"Tybalt."
The older male straightened up and took a few steps from the wall he had previously leaned against. With leisurely but heavy strides and a hand casually resting against the hilt of his sword he scrutinized him with a piercingly dark gaze that Benvolio forced himself to meet. Raising his head and relaxing his shoulders the young Montague gave the air of perfect composure, but the beads of sweat that flowed down his neck and throat betrayed him. Meeting Tybalt, on the warpath or not, could be a thrill and good fun when with Mercutio and sometimes even Romeo, but alone it was a nightmare and often akin to meeting death eye to eye.
"Madness..." Tybalt mused and nodded slowly, "…is a fitting word."
Allowing himself a small gulp Benvolio motioned with a fully extended arm to the combating masses.
"So help me cease this! And unhand your sword," he added, the last part more of a pleading rather than a command, much to his dismay. Tybalt snorted and let a smile, completely devoid of mirth, spread across his face.
"Cease. What man are you to speak this way?" he spat before drawing his sword. Benvolio did the same, but even though he prepared himself for combat he was too late to avoid and barely had the time to block Tybalt's blade with his own. Benvolio immediately understood why Mercutio never cared to deflect and instead almost always opted to dodge during his and Tybalt's many disputes. The force of the single strike was enough to send a jolt through Benvolio's body and he had to dig his heels into the ground in order not to fall down.
"Tybalt!" he hissed behind gritted teeth. "I do not wish to fight you!"
"Then you should have cleared off the battlefield," came the matter-of-factly reply. Taking a small step back he was quick to strike once again, but this time Benvolio followed his friend's example and simply stepped out of the way instead of meeting the clash, or give in return. Unfortunately Tybalt was not as sluggish as his size should have made him and again and again Benvolio found his routes of escape to be cut off. Not only was he quick, but dexterous as well, and the fluid, graceful even, movements made the confrontation appear almost like dancing. However the illusion was ruined by the rawness, the ferocity intermingling with the display. These thrusts – unlike the playfully lightsome ones Benvolio was accustomed to – were meant to kill.
Cornered at last, Benvolio once again raised his sword when Tybalt sprung forward, praying it would not shatter. But the impact never came.
Gaping in surprise at the third blade keeping theirs apart Benvolio turned his attention to its owner and let out a sharp gasp.
"Prince Escalus! My Lord..." he managed to utter before falling down on one knee with Tybalt shortly following suit. The prince's stare was hard upon them as he sheathed his sword and walked past them to mountain the large fountain in the very middle of the plaza. Momentarily surveying the crowd, he then emitted a bellow loud enough to catch even the oldest and most worn ears.
"Citizens!"
The clangs of the metal, the random screams instantly stopped as all fighters and onlookers turned to the prince and, in an almost ironic harmony, kneeled down before him.
"Many times you have turned weapons against each other in these streets, and many times have I had to come between! How much blood must flow before your resentment will be quenched?"
No one in the surrounding masses dared answer. The silence was respected by even the wind and the birds. The prince sighed in calm frustration.
"Tybalt, Benvolio. Relay this message to your elders," he called out. Benvolio cautiously raised his head and braced himself for whatever punishment his carelessness would cause his uncle. If Tybalt had similar fears he didn't let them show, merely staring blankly at the prince.
"Let Montague and Capulet know that the peace never again will be disturbed. My patience has thinned – from this time forth initiating a riot like this will be a certain sentence of death. This is the last warning! Now, return home all of you."
Stepping down, the prince and his entourage left as swiftly as they had arrived, and slowly even the last order was followed by the retreating citizens. Providing him one last murderous glare Tybalt too turned and left. With the shivers still lingering down his spine, Benvolio hurried home. His uncle paced when he reported the brawl and the prince's proclamation.
"Good," he mumbled, coming to a halt as Benvolio finished. "Good... with such direct orders neither we nor the Capulet will dare cause uproar again. Perhaps the peace will be kept this time."
"And if not, we will not be the ones to disturb it!" the lady spoke up. "After all, the Capulets were the ones to start today – were they not, Benvolio?"
Benvolio hesitated. "I do not know how the bout itself begun, but Tybalt was the one to first draw his sword against me."
Lady Montague frowned and shook her head.
"As was my suspicion. That bastard will without any doubt be the first to suffer the new law. You and Romeo are too well-brought-up to have us worried."
"Speaking of which," Montague suddenly said, pausing only to cough into his hand,"where is my son?"
"I last saw him two hours ago," Benvolio informed him. "Before the fight. It was clear he was not in the mood for talking, so I decided to leave him be. Shall I go find him?"
Barely twenty minutes after the offer had been made – and accepted – Benvolio located his cousin strolling down the alleyways of Verona with a vacant look on his face, not even noticing his friend joining him.
"Deep in thought I see," he loudly commented, and smiled despite himself when Romeo gave a jump in surprise.
"Benvolio!" he exclaimed. "I did not hear you come…"
"I noticed. Your parents wonder of your whereabouts. And uncle would like to know why you have been so distracted lately."
"I have?"
Benvolio nodded. "You have," he confirmed. "And I promised them I wouldn't stop bothering you until you told me what occupies your thoughts."
Romeo looked dumbfounded for a moment, before donning an exceedingly amused smile.
"Oh dear cousin," he laughed and grabbed Benvolio by his shoulders. "Thank you for your concern, but you needn't worry."
"No?" Benvolio asked as Romeo put an arm around him and steered him to start walking down the lane once more.
"No," Romeo assured him. "What causes my daydreaming is something beautiful! Something rough yet gentle! It is a bright obscurity that has the inferno freeze, the night burn, life itself weeps in its tragedy! It brings me pain but it also guides me forward to-"
"You're in love again, right?" Benvolio cut him off. Romeo chuckled and rubbed his neck in a sheepish manner.
"Is it so obvious?" he asked.
"Only when you speak."
"So much too often then!"
Coming to a halt, both boys simultaneously tipped their heads backwards, for the comment had unquestionably come from above. Sitting perched on a stone wall just a few metres away he peered down on them with a characteristically cheeky grin.
"Mercutio!" Romeo called out with good cheer. The last of the triumvirate let out a chuckle before nimbly leaping off the mure and landing before them rather gracefully. His normally unruly thatch of hair looked even more dishevelled than usual and his eyes gave the impression of being all the more blue due to the glint of excitement in them. No more than a glance was needed for Benvolio to tell what the ensuing questions would be.
"What happened? How was it?"
"Ephemeral," Benvolio replied, but did not add the "fortunately" out loud, as he knew the other wouldn't agree. Mercutio loved a good match more than was healthy.
"What was?" Romeo asked.
"Our dear friends the Capulets challenged us today in the plaza," Mercutio revealed without dropping the gaze firmly fixated on Benvolio, undoubtedly inquiring for further details.
"A fray?" Romeo exclaimed and too turned to stare.
"It lasted less than the quarter-hour, and no one was gravely hurt." Benvolio noticed his voice had taken on a vaguely defensive tone, and he was fidgeting where he stood. "The prince was quick to end it. He also declared that whoever disrupts the peace again will be sentenced to death."
With a disgruntled groan Mercutio tossed his head back.
"But of course he did! And how come, while we're on the subject," he added, glancing at Romeo, "you had not yet heard of it?"
A pale pink tint appeared on Romeo's face, together with a bashful grin.
"I, uh, I had a few things on my mind…"
"Oh, yes. That woman," Mercutio said with a deadpan expression, not even trying to conceal the dryness that coated his tone. "So, who is this creature of immortal beauty? This spirit of fire, this fair dove of immaculate ivory, this bejewelled-"
"I have never called her that!"
"Then you will – at one point or another. Who is she?"
"I don't know…" Romeo sighed and stared out into thin air amorously.
Dead silence – then Mercutio abruptly turned around and marched away from them with rapid strides. Benvolio had to grab Romeo by the arm and hurriedly drag him along in order to keep up the pace, for Mercutio's gait was brisker than even their sprint.
"You don't know…" Benvolio could hear him grumble. "How can you claim to love a woman if you can't even tell who she is?"
"I have not yet spoken to her!" Romeo replied breathlessly. "Only watched her from afar! I know neither her name nor her father. Only the certainty of her radiance that have even the moon be filled with envy!"
"Mercutio, did you merely seek us out to get word of the brawl?" Benvolio interrupted his cousin's blathering, noticing the beginning of the deterioration of Mercutio's temper. Evidently, his efforts proved successful, as Mercutio instantly stopped in his tracks and spun around. The gleam in his eyes had returned.
"That's right! Have you heard what's happening tonight?" he exclaimed and did not wait for their answer. "Old man Capulet is throwing a feast, and we. Are. Going!"
"Capulet?" Benvolio repeated, a frown of hesitance upon his face. "But as Montagues surely we cannot be invited."
"True," Mercutio agreed. "But I am invited, and I in turn invite you to join me."
Benvolio emitted a deep breath that sounded much like a strange combination of a sigh and a groan at once, all while vehemently shaking his head. He had had enough of Capulets for weeks ahead.
"No," he asserted himself. "No, no, no, definitely not! It is the worst idea you have had in ages and we will most certainly not–"
"Let's do it!"
Quietening as he looked up, Benvolio could see in the corner of his eye that also Mercutio had turned to their friend in disbelief at his, not just approval, but eagerly sounding such. Romeo's eyes darted between them, his face still serious.
"Do not act like have never agreed upon an admittedly mad suggestion before! Why should we not?"
"You scarcely said it yourself: it is mad!"
"Enjoyably mad I'll say," Romeo countered with a ridiculous grin. Mercutio laughed in triumph as he slung his arm around the formers shoulders and begun walking yet again. Benvolio eyed their increasingly retreating backs thoughtfully. He did not have to come, had no obligation to follow. He could let them have their way. Attend, be discovered, cause distress. It would be simpler than to monitor them both an entire evening. Immeasurably simpler in fact. But, alas.
Mentally slapping himself he hurried up next to his friends, his stupid, senseless friends.
Damn them. Damn them both to hell.
Escalus slumped into his chair. Leaning back he raised his hands to tenderly massage his temples and allowed himself an exhausted, unremorseful groan.
"Those people will be the death of me someday."
"Not if they kill each other first." A short contemplative thought. "Maybe you should not have stopped them after all. Then you would be rid of them now."
Escalus extended his neck to view Gonzaga's playfully wicked grin. Este rolled his eyes at the comment and Viscont gave him a reprimanding glare.
"Duilio! You must end these tasteless quips! It is nothing to joke about!"
Lying back, Escalus shut his eyes and fought the chuckle threatening to escape from his throat. Gonzaga laughed.
See? I don't know what it was, but it certainly wasn't Shakespeare.
Not enough dirty jokes :|