Author's Note: So I was really, really, REALLY trying to write a fic in third person. It's a point of view that I don't have a ton of practice in and I really wanted to try it out. It was hard. It was really, really, REALLY hard for me, and I really like this fandom and this story so I really wanted to just let the story flow out before the show totally cannonballs me. So I will be switching to alternating first person. Which is what I write practically everything in. (There are reasons I will never be a great writer folks, this is only one tiny little minor one.) I hope you're all enjoying this - if you have NO idea what Still Star Crossed is, it's this tiny little show on ABC which is...underfunded. And not advertised. And the writing could use some work as it's more predictable than watching paint dry. BUT IT'S STILL AMAZING! And how awesome is it that Shakespeare is getting an update? And if the viewing goes up and we support the show, it will get more attention from the network and it will become the AWESOME show it deserves to be! Please watch! It's at 9pm on Monday nights on ABC and I NEED THIS SHOW IN MY LIFE PEOPLE. Anyway... onto why you're really here... my next chapter:)
Rosaline
Our halls were crowded with people. The injured had migrated here, just as the Montague had suggested, but there were also a small horde of doctors and maids, sent by Lord Montague to tend to the people's needs. Both houses seemed intent on outdoing the other in kindnesses shown to the people and if this hadn't been such a precarious mission, I would have laughed at the sheer spectacle of it. I glanced over to Benvolio. He was helping care for a lovely blonde woman, who was looking up at him mournfully. He had taken a bandage and was wrapping it delicately around her arm. Their eyes met. A look was exchanged between the two. Ah. I supposed I should have assumed that Benvolio had someone else too. Escalus and no longer had the capacity to be anything. I couldn't trust him, and he had made it very clear that while he cared for me - loved me maybe, as he claimed - he didn't put me first. And that meant that if it came down to it, he would trade my happiness or well being again. It wasn't the worst trait in a man. It wasn't even unexpected. He was a prince. he had to put Verona first. But marrying him - that would mean signing over everything, becoming his property, and if I couldn't trust him to put me first, then I couldn't give him myself in marriage.
I noticed the ambassador to Rome looking Benvolio's way as well, a stern frown on his face. I hastened over to Benvolio's side and knelt down, hugging the woman.
"My dear Benvolio! Thank you so kindly for tending to my dear friend." I announced. He glanced up and noticed our audience.
"I knew you'd be worried for Margaret's safety." He replied.
"Indeed!" I turned back to her with a sad smile and motioned to the man who watched us with my head.
"Margaret, my dear. I was so worried when I couldn't find you." I pulled her in for another hug and whispered in her ear.
"I'm sorry." I breathed. "I understand. I love another too and while I could never be with him, I have a plan not to wed Benvolio either." I swore to her. "Forgive me this scene. We're being watched." When I pulled away, she too glanced at the ambassador.
"Your betrothed has been too kind, tending too me in your stead." She replied. "I am much better - I was barely hurt at all. I mostly wanted to be assured that you were alright." She spoke as if to me, but I knew her words were intended for the Montague.
"I am fine, so long as you are fine, my dear?" I asked him, parlaying her question on reasonably well."
"As well as can be." He replied, honestly.
"Very well. Then I shall away." She stood, and I mirrored her, but Benvolio stayed on his knees.
"I thank you for your honesty." She said. She must have been referring to something Benvolio had spoken of before I'd arrived. "I find that I am in agreement." She turned to me with a smile. "Thank you. Truly." And with that she was off.
Still, the Montague remained on his knees. Our audience had long since found something else far more interesting but anyone else might find his actions suspicious regardless.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "You shall see her again soon if our plan succeeds." I murmured in his general direction.
"I shan't, actually." He replied, his head turning up to look at me. "We have cut off our acquaintance."
"I dearly hope not for my benefit. I know you know I don't care a whit for that nonsense."
"She was a part of my old life." His life with Romeo and Mercutio. That was what he really meant. "I'm not that man anymore. It wouldn't do me any good to hang onto him, or to her." I nodded.
"I understand."
"Do you?" He asked, sarcastically.
"You aren't the only one who lost people." I hissed back. "Loss changes you. And try as you might, you can't go back to before you felt it. The only thing you can do is move forward, and try not to do anything terribly stupid."
"You think I'm about to do something stupid?" He asked, a grin starting to slide onto his face.
"No, I think that in my personal experience, when I've lost people, I hold it all in and then when I finally let myself feel it all, it's like a dam has broken and I rush about acting rashly and I always end up doing something stupid."
"Now that is a story I am desperate to hear, Capulet."
"Never." I swore. "Get up off your knees, you look as though you're proposing to me." I commanded, rolling my eyes.
"Or composing poetry to your beauty." He teased.
"Dear God, please tell me you didn't actually write that garbage."
"You wound me, my dear."
"You can't compose a sonnet." I spoke, assuredly. "Especially not to me. You would die first."
"Do you doubt my sincerity, or my skill?"
"I am quite sure I know exactly where your sincerity lies, however in this situation, I was referring to your likely lack of skill." I turned to walk away but he reached out and gripped my hand. "What are you doing?" I asked, panicking. He cleared his throat.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds,"
"Seriously, Benvolio, what are you doing?" I hissed. But he continued, with the cockiest smile fixed upon his face.
"Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."
A small round of applause began to go up from those near us. More than one woman sighed out in romantic appreciation.
"You did not just do that." I deadpanned at him.
"I did. I wrote a sonnet, just for you." He whispered back, standing and kissing my cheek.
"Yes, because my cheeks are rosy. That's sort of a white girl thing, Montague." I replied, my lips still close to his ear, my voice out of the hearing range of anyone else.
"Your cheeks blush." He said, indignantly. "They were perfectly rosy when we returned from our ride. A darker, prettier rosy, but still. Rosy." Prettier?
"How delightful." The ambassador from Milan smiled at us. "A pledge to love you through any disaster. Very fitting for the events of today." I smiled at him kindly.
"Haven't you heard?" I asked gaily. "Benvolio is often composing sonnets at the drop of a hat. Very romantic, he is." The Montague pinched my arm and I had to hold back a laugh. "Sonnets, fantastical poetry, even a song from time to time. My betrothed is quite the song bird!"
"I must admit, that does surprise me, Lady Capulet." The ambassador admitted.
"It surprised me as well. But it was those little romantic things that won me over in the end." I looked up at Benvolio, a fake smile of lovingness plastered on my face. "Wasn't it, darling?"
"Nonsense. It was my dashing good looks and manly heroism." He turned to the ambassador with a charming smile. "Don't let my fiancee try to convince you of anything else. If you'll excuse us sir, the excitement has been a bit much for dear Rosaline, and we'd like to take a walk to process." The ambassador smiled.
"Ah, yes. I remember those days. A breath of fresh air, alone may be just the ticket." His grin suggested that he thought a breath of air was the last thing we were looking for just now. Slowly, we nodded, unsure of how to respond, and I took the Montague's arm and allowed him to lead me away."
Benvolio
A sonnet. I'd just composed a sonnet for her. Well not for her obviously. Just a sonnet in general. About the situation. From the point of view of a besotted fool to his beloved. Not from me to her. Obviously. When it had finished and she had engaged the ambassador in that ridiculous conversation, meant largely, I assumed, to mock and humiliate me, I couldn't help but glance away, ignoring her taunts for a moment. It was then that I saw the steely eyed gaze of Prince Escalus resting heavily on me. He looked, furious. Or a bit constipated, I couldn't quite tell which, but given the context clues, furious was a safe bet. Involuntarily, I wrapped my arm around Rosaline, claiming her for all to see, to cement our story, of course. I made up an excuse, one which mocked the feminine sensibilities that I was quite certain she didn't actually possess, in an attempt to free us to leave the gaze of everyone present, to stop this charade if only for a few moments. To get me away from the Prince, who looked as if he'd rather cut off my arm personally than allow it to stay around Rosaline's back.
Of course then the ambassador implied that we were off to engage in some elicit pre-marital activities and we were a touch too confused to reply properly. She took my arm and I led her away. As soon as we were out of the courtyard, she took charge once - as per usual - and led me to a small garden with high climbing trellises as walls. Once inside we were out of sight of everyone. Most lovers would take this as an opportunity to engage in, at the very least, kissing, but we, being who we were, took the chance to let go of one another and stand further away than we'd been allowed to in weeks past. After a few moments of quiet breathing she turned to me and spoke.
"So really, who was the sonnet for, Margaret?"
"Her name wasn't actually Margaret. She's... She's a woman of ill-repute, and I didn't want an association to tarnish your reputation or drag her into my uncle's wrath."
"That makes sense. She didn't look like a Margaret."
"Excuse me?"
"The sonnet, was it for her? Rosy cheeks, the marriage of true minds, all of that?"
"No. I composed it. Just then."
"You're lying." I sighed at her proclamation.
"The reason my uncle had a sonnet written for you, is because he knows that I quite like to compose sonnets. I like poetry. A lot. And he thought it would lend to the credibility of our romance. There are many Montagues who would not believe me in love if I were not sprouting out poetry. Then again, whomever he commissioned to write it was rather terrible. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate? First of all, anyone who knows you at all, knows you are the exact opposite of temperate, and anyone who knows me very well, knows I write far better than that." She shrugged.
"The second one was a touch better." She admitted.
"Anyway, I've remedied our situation. People heard me recite quality poetry which actually hinted at our real situation. Believable. It's all credible now."
"Lovely. I'm so glad you fixed everything." She replied sarcastically. I ignored the implied jab. She sighed. "Thank you."
"For which part, the part where I referenced your intelligence, or the part where I called you pretty?"
"Neither." She narrowed her eyes at me and I found that I couldn't even play it off as though I'd been joking, the way I'd spoken. Damn it man. Pull it together.
"My uncle agreed to raise my sister's standing back to a lady if I convince everyone we're in love."
"That's why you didn't run."
"I couldn't condemn her to live as a servant while I got to run away and be free."
"Most women wouldn't consider a convent to be free."
"No, but those same women would consider marriage to be free and those women would be wrong."
"I didn't realize it was marriage in general which offended you so, I thought it was just marriage to me." She shook her head.
"If I didn't oppose the idea of marriage in general, I would still oppose the idea of marrying you, Montague." She insisted. "But don't feel too terribly, it could be anyone in your place and I would oppose it."
"Anyone? Even someone you loved?"
"If a woman truly loves the man she's to marry, I understand why she feels it an acceptable course of action, but it would have to be more than that for me. I would have to trust them implicitly. For a woman, you are basically selling yourself to another. Your uncle bought me earlier today. 40,000 ducats and I now belong to you. You can do as you wish to me the moment we are married. You can command me to do anything you like and I must obey or face your wrath. Even the law wouldn't protect me, if your anger deemed it necessary to strike me, as my husband that would be your right. If you wished to force me into your bed, there is nothing I can do about it. If a woman truly trusted that the man would put her before all else, that he would never do something like that to her, then I suppose, it might make sense to me that she marry." I was silent for a while. I had never thought about it like that. I wasn't the sort of man who would force an unwilling woman - of course I also wasn't the sort of man for whom most women were unwilling - and I certainly wasn't the sort of man to use my physical strength against her, no matter how angry I might become. My father had taught me better than that.
"Rosaline." I began softly. She turned back towards me, a slightly nervous look in her eyes. I cleared my throat. "If our plan doesn't work-"
"It will work." She insisted.
"Yes, of course, but just in case it doesn't. Or if it does and they still force us to marry..." Nervousness went out the window, her face no betraying an emotion far more intense and terrified. Great. She was terrified to be my wife. Wonderful. "I just want you to know you needn't be afraid of me. Love of no love between us, I would never force you to..." I trailed off. "You know. And I would certainly never hurt you."
"What man would willingly admit their intent to assault their future wives?" She asked, still not quite believing me.
"Many, actually. But I mean it. We will be allies, if nothing else, and perhaps one day I can count you among my friends, but Rosaline, even if we end up hating each other more than we've ever hated each other before, more than anyone in our families has ever hated the other before, I'm not the sort of man to hit a woman or to force her into my bed. I can see in your eyes that you don't quite believe me, so I shall simply have to prove my character to you."
"Nephew." My uncle's low voice penetrated even the thick wall of foliage. At once, both Rosaline and I leapt towards each other in case someone was with my uncle. With her wrapped gently under one arm, my opposite hand clutching hers, I cleared my throat.
"Yes, uncle?" His head pocked into the garden, looking around, confused.
"I've been looking for you."
"You've found us."
"It's just me, you don't need to bother with all of that." He said, gesturing to our embrace. Instantly, we released one another. Huh. She'd been so warm against my side. It wasn't that I was missing touching her per se, but I certainly missed the feeling of a woman tucked under my arm, warming my side. The breeze that touched my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt reminded me of her absence. I frowned. "Though I must admit I am genuinely touched at both of your dedication to our cause."
"I've too much to lose should we fail, Lord Montague." Rosaline admitted with a curtsy. "You needn't worry about my level of involvement."
"And you nephew? Where has your sudden acquiescence arrived from?" There was a small twinkle in his eyes and I couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed at the insinuation.
"My deep abiding love for Verona, of course."
"Hmm." He replied, clearly unbelieving. "I came to alert you to a pressing matter."
"What is that, uncle?"
"The lady Capulet never finished her betrothal vow. You are technically still unattached. We plan to finish the ceremony at the castle this evening. Prepare yourselves accordingly."
A/N: I know that this fandom is small and there aren't a ton of you reading this, but PLEASE review! The more reviews this fic gets, the more people who will read it and learn about Still Star Crossed, the more people who will go on to watch Still Star Crossed, the less likely that ABC will cancel the show! Pretty please! (Also I love to hear from you people!) xoxo - E
P.S. The Sonnet - for those of you who didn't recognize it is another one of the Bards. One of my favorites!