Sorry for such a long wait: life gets in the way of writing good work and so does writer's block! Thank you for all your reviews and enjoy this new chapter! ;-D

Mercutio's song will be in the next chapter with the end of the competition and the announcement of the winner, along with some rather unsettling and sudden news from Middleham for some of the characters!

Wait... HOLY HELL, I've reached 60 chapters! It's been four years since I started writing this story and I've written 60 chapters?! WOW! He's to reaching 100! I never thought that this story would have as many reviews as it does! THANK YOU! :-D

And by the way, don't tell Harry I said holy hell - he would not be a happy bunny. ;-)

"Hey, that's mine!" Clarence yanked his can of coke that had been in front of him out of Ned's hands.

"I don't see your name on it!" Ned retorted.

"It's still mine!" Clarence stuck out his tongue at his oldest brother and sat back down. "Get your own, Ned!"

"Spoilsport..." Ned pouted as he sat back down as well.

Harry came in and sat down in the armchair opposite Ned. "Greetings, cousin Edward, cousin George."

"No need to be so formal, Harry," Ned smiled at him. "How's God?"

"God is fine, thank you," Harry replied, a small smile on his face. "How are you?"

"Well enough; can't wait to go home, though!"

"Me too," Clarence piped up.

"Me three!" Richard came in. "I've had fun, but I miss my boy!"

"And I miss my little Dickon - poor Bess must be tearing her hair out with having to deal with a newborn and a toddler all by herself! I'm sure that Lizzie will be causing her no problems at all." Ned sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"She sounds like a sweet girl..." Richard replied.

"She is. Very smart for her age and very kind. She's a lovely child." Ned smiled at the thought of his daughter, his favourite child.

"I'd like to meet your children, once we get back," Richard asked.

"I'm sure that's possible," Ned contemplated. "Just don't insult my wife, will you?"

"Whatever," Clarence spoke up, rolling his eyes.

"George," Hyde growled, "come on."

The pair were walking down a grotty looking alleyway, Hyde strolling ahead at a quick pace, George trailing slowly behind.

"I can't walk as fast as you, you know..." The lad grumbled.

"Hurry up," came the sharp, biting reply.

"Where are we going, anyway?" George spoke up.

"You'll see when we get there," Hyde spat back, "now keep quiet."

"Rude..." George glared at his back.

"Sssh!" Hyde growled angrily.

George kept silent as he was led down several alleyways before arriving at a brickwall.

Hyde knocked on the wall in a strange sequence of knocks, and then stepped back as the wall opened up.

"Woah..." George breathed in amazement. "Cool..."

Hyde led him through the opening and it quickly closed behind them. Hyde climbed up several staircases and then stopped at a small brown door. He pushed it open to reveal a kind of laboratory. Bookcases were in every corner, a metal table in the middle which was full of chemical apparatuses, and a drinks cabinet was placed in the top high corner. Several staircases led to higher shelves, and a long metal rectangle lay up high near the ceiling. Suspended on chains was a metal corridor that one could run across when moving around the laboratory. A grand chair rested in the right corner, with a lamp nearby for reading.

"Wow..." George looked around in wonder. "Call Dr. Jekyll and tell him that his stolen laboratory's been found.

Hyde scoffed and grinned in amusement. "This is Mr. Hyde's laboratory - I live here."

"You live here?! Where do you sleep?"

Hyde ran up a staircase and ran along the metal corridor, George following closely behind. The man then opened up a door and ran up the wooden steps, entering an attic. He climbed up a rope and climbed over the ledge. He turned on the lamp near a big oval window and climbed onto a bed. "If I sleep, I sleep here."

"In the attic?"

"Come on up, George," Hyde gestured.

George slowly climbed up the rope and over the ledge. He took Hyde's offered hand and was pulled up onto the bed.

"Cozy?" Hyde purred as he pulled the lad close to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, actually, I am. This is a nice place, I like it."

"I'm glad you do, because I want you to live here with me."

"What?" George whirled around to face him.

"When your school goes back home, you should stay here with me," Hyde repeated.

"I can't - I'm starting Sixth Form soon. I have to go and get my GCSE results when I get back home. I can't stay here."

"I had a feeling you'd say that..." Hyde growled, rolling his eyes and sighing in annoyance.

"It's true; I have to go back home." George looked around the room from where he sat on the bed. "This is your home - you understand, right?"

Hyde's eyes seemed to flash gold in the lamp light. "I don't have a home..." He whispered in his growly voice. "I don't belong anywhere. This is where I live, but it's not a home."

George's eyes widened in surprise. He took hold of a hand and squeezed it, saying, "Come with me then."

"With you?" Hyde growled in astonishment, raising a blonde eyebrow.

"You want to get away from the people who tortured you and Lennie, right? The people who brought you to life and abused you. Get away from them."

"They'll follow me to the ends of the Earth. Even now, they're spying on me or looking for me, wanting me back in their clutches and under their control."

"You can beat them, Hyde. You can't let them control you."

"I never liked obeying their orders: why should I be bossed around? Secretly, I longed for freedom."

"Then come with me," George repeated.

"And live in society? At least in France I can kill when I like and do what I like in the woods and forests."

George thought it over and nodded. "I know. Everyone thinks that Lennie is dead. If someone discovers that you and he are the same person, you could be taken away and experimented on again, just by different people this time."

"I should never have been born. I shouldn't even exist," Hyde said quietly.

"But you do..."

"Hmm... I'll think it through." Hyde shuffled forward on the bed and swung his legs over the ledge. "Come on, let's get you back for the competition," and he grabbed a hold of the rope and slid down it with ease.

George sighed deeply for a moment and followed him.

"Hal, do you think I'll make my father proud?" Mercutio asked the young monarch. "By doing this, will he be proud of me?"

"I know it, Merc," Hal replied, smiling.

"Just imagine that you're in a room by yourself in front of a mirror," Romeo added.

"Come on, Mercutio, you're never one to fluster in front of an audience. Have you ever had stage fright?" Benvolio asked.

"No," Mercutio thought about it and shook his head. "Never. This is different though. This is for my father's memory - I can't screw it up!"

Hal placed a reassuring arm around his friend and patted him comfortingly. "You won't fail. You could never screw this up. Just do what your instincts tell you."

"Thanks, guys..." Mercutio gave his three friends a small smile.

Loki and Thor stuck their heads around the doorframe.

"Room's empty," Thor noted.

"Perfect," Loki replied. "Get the black spray can."

Thor pulled out the black spraycan, which had a label that read "Property of Clarence" on it, and he sprayed black paint all over the bag of belongings on the bed.

Loki sniggered and Thor threw the can onto the bed. The two brothers then ran out of the room.

"Hey, George," Slim greeted the teen as he walked through the door.

"Hey, Slim," George replied.

"Where'd you go after the competition half an hour ago?"

"I wanted to go for a walk," George replied.

"Did you enjoy your walk?"

"Yeah. It's good to get fresh air after being in that hall all day..." George sat down in a nearby chair.

"George, have you met someone while we've been here in France?"

"What?" George frowned in suspicion. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, the fact that you have bite marks on your neck. The constant disappearings. The fact that you vanished after we arrived and we had to get the police to open up a missing person investigation that quickly turned into a murder investigation." Slim's eyes held the anger that his tone wasn't conveying.

"After we get back from France, I'll tell you everything," George lied. He could reveal Hyde to everyone, but he would take his origins to his grave. He would never tell anyone that Hyde had been created by him and was born earlier this year.

"Everything?" Slim raised an eyebrow in amazement.

"Everything," George repeated, a perfect mask of honesty stretched across his face. "And then everything can be fine again."

"Dad?" Richard spoke on the phone. "Dad, it's Dickon, how are you?"

"We're all doing fine, son," York replied. "Little Neddie is doing very welll."

"That's great to hear," Richard sighed in relief. "And how is Mum?"

"She's okay as well. We're all looking forward to seeing you come home."

"I can't wait to see you too, Dad."

"Is Ned behaving?"

"You know Ned, Dad..." Richard rolled his eyes. "But he's actually been okay so far in terms of his behaviour. Clarence too."

"And Edmund?"

"He's worried over Clifford coming after him."

"As long as I walk this earth, Edmund won't come to any harm," York replied fiercely. "I'll keep that scumbag away from him."

"We all will, Dad," Richard promised. "No Yorkist left behind."

"That's my boy," York spoke proudly.

Geoffrey picked up his phone and read the message that popped up on the screen. "Dad's planning to sell some of your old stuff from your room. I've locked the room by changing the locks so he can't do anything at all - Hen."

"Thanks," Geoff sent as a reply. "Keep me posted on what the bastard tries to do next."

"Will do," Hen replied. "Rich and I will keep watch."

"Alright, break's up!" Warwick yelled loudly. "Ned, Clarence, get out here!"

"But we're not even going on this time!" Ned called back.

"Yeah, Mercutio's the one going back on!" Clarence added.

"Ned, just get out here will you?" Warwick replied, frustrated. "Before this Christmas?"

Ned came out into the corridor to find his cousin waiting for him impatiently. "Yes?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Can you go round up the others, I need to speak to you all before Mercutio goes on stage."

"Uh, yeah, sure..." Ned turned around and began yelling: "Last one into the lounge has to sit next to Warwick on the coach back home!"

"Gee, thanks, Ned!" Warwick frowned.

There was a scampering of feet and the Gang came rushing down the corridor towards them, bursting into the lounge room.

"Aha!" Ned yelled, grabbing Harry by the collar. "Harry has to sit next to him!"

"Thank God, at least Harry is a nice boy to sit with!" Warwick grinned.

"Just what do you mean by that?!" Clarence retorted.

"What do you think?" the older man replied, smirking with glee.

"I don't mind, Sir," Harry replied. "I was last so I'll sit with you."

"It was a joke you know, Harry," Ned rolled his eyes in amusement. "I was just trying to get you all in here. Warwick has something important you need to know."

"You're bald?" Clarence piped up.

"No! I clearly have hair, you stupid boy!" Warwick sighed.

"Well, give, give!" Hal urged Warwick to speak.

"I just want to say how proud I am of all of you for working so hard for this competition. Whether we win or not is irrelevant: we have all worked hard to get here and you should be very pleased with yourselves. Despite many difficulties that have hurdled us along the way, you have all stayed together as friends, and that is something to be admired. You all deserve a good rest after this. Mercutio," he turned to the Italian youth, "good luck out there. You do your very best and I know that your father would be very proud of you if he were here to witness what you will about to do."

"Thank you, Sir," Mercutio nodded. Hal placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. "Knock 'em dead, Merc," he said.

"Lad!" Warwick grabbed a hold of George's arm as the last two people left the lounge after Warwick's speech. "Lad, are you alright?" He knelt down in front the small teen and took a hold of his hands. "That beast didn't hurt you did he?"

George stared down at him with fierce eyes. "His name is Hyde, Sir. Do not call him such names again."

"Who is he? What does he have to do with you?"

"He has everything to do with me," George replied simply and ambiguously.

"Is he a cousin? A distant cousin?"

"My cousins live in Australia and he is not one of them."

"Tell me who he is!"

"If I do that, then he'd have to kill you."

Warwick's eyes widened.

"Know that he is my family. He is the only true family left to me. I care not for any others."

"What about your friends?" the older man asked.

"They are good to me. You wouldn't understand, Warwick, so I suggest that you leave my personal matters to me. You know nothing of what Hyde's life has been like, nor do you know of mine. Leave me alone. Leave him alone. Leave both of us alone."

George yanked his hands out of the headmaster's grip and stormed out, leaving the man shocked and kneeling on the floor.

"George!" Warwick yelled out after him. "Don't let him own you! Don't be his toy!"

George stopped. He spoke up in a low voice. "You underestimate me, Warwick. I know who I am and I don't belong to anyone. I am no one's toy. I am not a piece of string for a cat to play with, nor I am a quivering mouse for it to torture. I am George Milton, an orphan, and no one will ever claim me again. Hyde knows that..."

"You can't care for him, seriously?"

"You don't know anything, Warwick. How I feel about him is my decision. As for how he feels towards me, I think that's pretty obvious, don't you?"

"You are the Lamb that he would lead to the slaughter-"

"And I am the Tiger that would fight back," George calmly interrupted him, his back to Warwick, eyes staring into the wall in front of him. "You think I am a weak child that needs to be wrapped up in cotton wool. I assure you, I don't need protecting. You think so little of me? Hyde does not. He, for one, admires my strength, for what it is, and I have grown in the short time that I have known him to respect his. At least he doesn't treat me like a vulnerable child."

George walked away, not listening to Warwick's pleas for him to come back. Though his eyes mainly stuck to the corridor ahead of him, he glanced a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking to the nearest window, he saw Hyde perched quite happily on a bin, eating an apple, watching their conversation.

Seeing the boy looking at him, the man gave him a smirk and winked at him. He threw the apple core into the bin he was sitting on and left as suddenly as he had appeared.

George turned to walk down the corridor again, whistling quietly as he went.

"Edward, no! You do not smear Mummy's lipstick all over the wall!" Bess yanked the lipstick out of her son's grubby hands and he wailed unhappily in response.

"Bad Mama!" Eddie pouted, reaching for his toy with stained hands, "Want toy!"

"No, Eddie, bad boy!" Bess admonished her son. She put the lipstick on the kitchen table and then scooped up the boy. "You are having a bath and then a nap, mister."

"No!" Eddie wailed. "Bad bath!"

Lizzie, her was sat in her room reading a book, watched as her mother and brother entered the bathroom, Eddie wailing loudly in protest.

"Eddie, be quiet or you will wake up your brother!" Bess turned on the bath water and plonked the toddler in the sink.

"Don't care!"

"You will when I make you have a long time out!"

"No time out!"

Lizzie sighed and put her book down. Hopping off her bed, she walked out of her room and down the corridor to her baby brother's room. Dickon was fortunately fast asleep, undisturbed by his elder brother's tantrum. Lizzie slowly closed the door shut and headed over to his crib. Sitting quietly beside him, she gently stroked a tiny hand that was poking out of his white crib. He did not stir, peacefully sleeping with his yellow dummy in his mouth.

Bess, in the meantime, had finished running the bath and proceeded to take off her son's stained clothes. She picked him up and plonked him firmly into the bath, before wetting his head and putting shampoo on his hair.

"Close your eyes, Eddie, or it will sting," she told him.

The toddler pouted and proceeded to close his eyes, sulking but no longer wailing.

Lizzie gasped a little when she saw that Dickon's eyes had opened and he was clutching onto her pinky finger with his tiny fist. However, the baby simply stared at her, not crying at all. He snuffled slightly and wriggled his tiny body ever so slightly.

"Do you want feeding, Dickon?" Lizzie whispered to him.

The baby snuffled and closed his eyes, falling asleep again. Clearly he didn't want feeding just yet.

"Eddie, stop fussing! The sooner you sit still, the sooner you can get out." Bess's voice echoed down the corridor.

Lizzie sighed and about 10 minutes later she saw her mother come out of the bathroom with a toddler wrapped up firmly in a bathrobe. Eddie was wriggling to be free and protested as his mother dried him and put on a nappy and a pair of fresh clothes.

"No bed!" Eddie yelled.

Bess ignored him and picked him up, putting him in his bed and then closing his bedroom door behind her.

Banging could be heard and cries of "No bed!" followed her down the stairs.

Hospital machines beeped and buzzed constantly in the private hospital room of Edouard Lancaster. His mother sat in a chair nearby and his three closest friends stood watching over him.

"What have the doctors said today, my Queen?" Clifford spoke up.

"There has been slow progress in his condition..." Margaret sighed from the chair where she uncomfortably sat. "They say that it is likely that he might not wake, and if he does, then he probably will be delayed physically and mentally."

"But there is a chance of him waking up, right?" Somerset asked nervously.

"Yes, though he'll probably be as catatonic as his father's been."

"God forbid..." Northumberland quickly crossed himself.

Clifford stared at the form of his prince for a very long time before speaking up quietly, "Whatever happens, we shall avenge what has been done to him. Rout the Yorkists when they least expect it and attack them while they are weak. We will get York and his hoard of sons and his grandchildren. No amount of blood in their veins could put to right the amount of blood that they shed of my father."

"And that of mine!" Northumberland growled loudly. "Until all of York is dead do we live in hell. No amount of blood could atone of what they have done to me and mine."

"Hush, Northumberland!" Margaret admonished him. "Your time of vengeance shall come soon enough. We wait for the right time to strike and then strike with all of the might we have. Soon our prince shall awaken and when he does we will get rid of the House of York and all of their friends."

"Even Hal? Bolingbroke's boy?"

"As tempted as I am to remove my beloved Harold's nephew from this earth, we cannot harm him. He's popular and many people follow him and back his claim to inherit his father's lands. He has not been crowned yet, but we shall have to strike before he is. Then, we can place our Edward at the head of all of Lancaster properly once and for all."

"Tudor? Harry? What of them?"

"Henry Tudor is Harold's favourite nephew: he won't be harmed. Harry I will probably send to a monastery and let him be forgotten about entirely. They are heir to Lancaster should anything happen to our boy."

"God offend," Northumberland crossed himself again and shuddered at the thought of the lesser Lancastrian cousins ruling their house.

"Rutland," Clifford spoke up. "When we strike them, he shall be mine. And York too."

"Nay, we shall all have York to ourselves," Margaret replied. "We shall kill him slowly for what he has done to all of us, but yes Clifford, you can have the Rutland boy."

"I'll have March! And his deformed brother Gloucester too!" Somerset added.

"No, Edouard will have Gloucester," Northumberland shook his head. "You shall have March only and I will get Clarence."

"Then we shall smother all of the York children in their beds," Somerset responded.

"That, or slit their throats," Clifford grinned manically, 'if we are unable to smother all of them..."

"My lords, let us go," Margaret said. "Visiting hours will be over soon and we will have overstayed our welcome." She rose to her feet and approached the men. "Goodnight to you all and I shall see you on the 'morrow."

"Your Grace," the three lords said simultaneously as they bowed to her when she exited the door.

"Come, my lords," Clifford spoke determinedly, "we have much work to do."

Heathcliff twirled a sprig of heather in his hand absentmindedly while sitting in his usual spot on the Yorkshire moors. He was sat underneath Penistone Crag, the make-believe 'castle' that both he and Cathy had created together as children, and stoically gazed out into the never-ending distance of the scenery. Thoughts of vengeance stewed over in his mind over and over again. He was sick of having to act like the dog to both the Earnshaws who had made his life hell; the physical dog as Hindley's servant and the emotional lapdog to Cathy's mercurial moods and opinions.

If he weren't some abandoned, good-for-nothing stowaway then he'd leave this dreary God forsaken place and cut all ties with the Earnshaw family and all who knew them. He'd go off to a far-away land and make himself a living. He'd work so hard that no one would care about the fact that he was some kind of gypsy boy and rather they would respect him for being such a good worker. He'd make himself rich, become a respectable gentleman of society, wear nice clothes and do all the nice things that they would do. Happiness wasn't part of the bargain, though; he wouldn't be doing it to make himself happy, he'd be doing it to prove a point to everyone who looked down upon him, like he was some disgusting piece of filth. Maybe then Cathy would look at him with contentment rather than embarrassed disdain for how he looked, acted, or tried helplessly to dance in the way that those stuck-up Lintons all seemed to dance.

Effectively, he would take all that he was and throw it away, becoming a hand-crafted, perfect gentleman of society: a soulless robot. It was just like in all those old novels that showed the process of someone hiding who they truly were behind a mask of perfect behaviour. It would please society but it would never please the individual. It was either conform and get somewhere in life, or be true to yourself and suffer for it.

Sounds pretty pessimistic but that's what it all boils down to in the end: human socialisation, how disgusting...

Heathcliff knew that he and Cathy would never be truly happy: they were too dependent on each other, too destructive and passionate and deep down he knew that this plan would never work. It would in the end just make him look like a fool for trying to prove that a gypsy dressed up in nice clothes could pass off in anyway as a decent looking and behaving man. It was like dressing in ape up in smart clothes and briefcase and trying to pass it off as a lawyer. Pathetic and completely pointless.

It was a Catch-22 situation; he was damned if he do and damned if he didn't.

Still, he was adamant that he was not going to be a dog anymore, not to the physical beatings or to the human weakness of his heart and sympathy. He was sick of following Cathy around to her every who. If she truly wanted to be in his company, then, for once, she was going to coe to him, to his call.

For once, she would have to find him, and Heathcliff was going to make that very hard for her, he was sure of that.

They'd all suffer for what they'd done to him.

The young man stood up and walked down the slope to head back to Wuthering Heights as a dark storm rumbled ahead in the distance and quickly came rolling in, the murky sky going almost black with dark, rain-filled clouds. Heathcliff smiled darkly as a burning fire blazed through him and shimmered through his eyes and body like raw electricity.

Oh yes.

The clock had now started ticking and time was on his side.

Perfect...