Ciao readers,
Uber sorry for the wait…
Yes. This is indeed the final chapter. I'm gonna miss this story!
I dedicate this entire story to my wonderful, wonderful reviewers, who always reviewed so quickly after I posted. You were all helpful. Thanks so much, and much love.
Also, I dedicate this to, well...much love.
If you liked it, tell your friends; if you didn't, tell your enemies.
Thanks for reading, and please expect side stories,
Cornadopia
P.S. Enjoy!
. …
It was at this time of year that Allegra used to smile the most. Venice was hot every day, but this time of year, Mercutio's lust for water was never satisfied. When they had first bought the house, six years ago, he would let the hot days pass him by smoothly while resting on the steps of his home, the steps that led to the street. Mercutio hated being hot; all he would do was sweat, and he would be too hot to move, and he had to move around, for that was who he was. However, Allegra always loved the heat, and Mercutio loved to see her loving things.
He sat, now, on his favorite steps, shortly before night would come. He saw the sun peeking out from beyond the tops of homes and reflecting in the water, shining with its summer orange glow. It was nice. Mercutio was not poetic – not in a serious way. Yet, this struck him as the most beautiful thing he had seen in –
Over two weeks, was it? He rubbed his temples. Where, O Lord, had the time gone? Only three weeks ago, Allegra had been well. She had been as lively and lovely as ever, never frowning. She had been the happiest lady in the world, surrounded by the kindest friends, the kindest family. Then came that day, when all of a sudden, she had collapsed onto the floor of the parlor. Everyone worried. Bruna was not worried, though, at first, for she thought perhaps Allegra was with child again. Soon, though, Allegra's cough came and she complained of a pain in her chest. Mercutio saw her shortly before she was diagnosed with pneumonia, and since then, never again. He hungered for her in such a way that he could not describe.
It was nearly nightfall, judging by the wind's getting colder. Valentine was supposed to come that night with Eva and their young son, Samuel. Benvolio had invited them, though Mercutio had not been in favor of it. Of course, Allegra was left isolated in her bedchamber and the rest of the house remained uninfected, but Mercutio, somehow, felt this had to be a night where his family (and Benvolio) would be left alone. He sensed the worst, and as much as he wanted to look up, his thoughts were forced back down again.
He was shocked to have the door open on him, shooting a hard knock up his back. He moved out of the way, and Bruna (having aged dramatically over the last six years) came out, her eyes wide in something like terror.
"I beg thy pardon, Master Mercutio," she said, hardly looking at Mercutio. "I meant not to hurt thee."
Mercutio ignored Bruna and sprang onto his feet, ignoring the obvious fact he almost shouted in all his eagerness. "What of Allegra, good Bruna? What of my wife?"
She chewed her lip. "I had feared telling thee this," she breathed, massaging the area of her chest that beared her heart.
There was a sensation in Mercutio's heart that felt like the earth was shaking beneath him. "Tell me she liveth, I pray thee!"
Bruna stumbled and fell onto the steps. Mercutio jumped and caught her, sinking due to the weight. She clung onto him, burying her face in his chest and weeping. He hushed her as gently as he could, though he could not calm himself.
"H-how I should like t-to say those words, to say she liveth," Bruna hiccuped. "Oh, ay, she liveth presently, Master Mercutio, but breatheth painfully Her fair young breath soundeth like that of a lady my age, hoarse and rough as though she doth choke. And she is but twenty! Ah, she's young yet!" Bruna's sobs doubled. Mercutio held her close. She wiped her tears on his clothing, and added in an outburst of sobbing, "My poor little mistress!"
Mercutio hushed her again. He rocked the elderly lady to sooth her crying, just as she had done to him when he was an infant. Mercutio knew his eyes had widened in fear, and was glad Bruna could not see.
Eventually, Bruna sniffled, gazing at Mercutio with red eyes. "Master Mercutio, thou needest not be a hero now. Weep, if thou must."
Mercutio had not heard. "Alas, my lovely Allegra, sweet Allegra." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the burning feeling in his heart. Instead of weeping, he only sighed. "What force doth make it Allegra the one who is ill and not I?"
Bruna had attempted to sit up, her cyring over. She inhaled sharply. Still, her voice was paper-thin. "The force of fate, Master Mercutio. Thy lady wife is in its gruff hands to-night."
She gave him a soft kiss on his disorderly head of hair. He still spoke, but she climbed the steps with ghostly footsteps and went inside.
"Ay, gruff hands," Mercutio was saying. "What a fool I am for believing once that they were gentle. Alas, my Allegra was sickly all her life."
There was the breeze again. Too soon, he let it slip through off his body and back into the warm Venice air; he had scarcely taken it in. He let out the breath he had been holding in. His mind was still and moved slowly, unusually, and it was somehow not a nice change. He sat still for once, the dark, throbbing worry eating his heart away. Whatever hope he had, he knew, he needed to hold onto it.
He hugged his knees, squeezing out his pain on them. It hardly relieved him. He groaned.
If I only had been trained in medicine, he thought. Thankfully, before the weight of hefty pain could take its effect on him, he heard footsteps creeping up behind him.
"What, wilt thou scare thy father to death, boy?" he said, suddenly finding a reason to smile.
He turned to see the little boy frozen in what was supposed to be a frightening position. The boy clawed his hands.
"ROAR!" Mercutio II yelled in his tiny voice, pouncing on his father's back and supporting himself by holding onto him. He ruffled his father's hair, mocking his father for always doing that to him. Mercutio laughed, then swung his son around.
"Father," Mercutio II said, calming himself down and jumping up to stand beside Mercutio, "when I nearly scared thee, thou lookest very sad." He cocked his head.
Mercutio grinned at his only son. "Ay, I am sad. My son, thou hast a good heart."
The boy shrugged at this, not knowing how to respond. He sat down on the railing and slid down, before attempting to turn a cartwheel and falling headfirst into the street. He huffed, discouraged, but his father applauded him.
"I have never seen thee sad, Father," Mercutio II said, clearing away the unruly yellow hair that had landed in his face.
Mercutio sighed. "Alas, thou art young."
His son stood up, arms crossed, insulted. "Nay, not so!" he insisted. "I've five years, Father. That is plenty!"
Mercutio struggled not to laugh at his son for this. "Marry, thou art not an infant, but thou hast years of growing to do before thou knowest life as well as I."
Mercutio II thought about it. "Ay, thou art right, Father. I am not an old man like thyself."
"Old man!" Mercutio repeated, laughing. "Sharp tongue have we! If I am an old man, thou art one of the hounds."
Mercutio II howled.
"Silly boy." His father shook his head. "Thou didst not stray too near thy mother's bedchamber, didst thou?"
Mercutio II shook his head, his big blue eyes wide with interest. It was natural he longed to know what was going on. His father beckoned him, and he went to sit on his lap.
"Have I ever told thee of Verona?" Mercutio asked his son.
"Ay," Mercutio II said. "Four times. The last time was when we prayed for Signor Romeo."
Mercutio did not think his son had remembered the day they had prayed for Romeo. The infamous news of Romeo's death had spread over Italy as soon as it had happened. Mercutio and Allegra prayed espiecially for Romeo and his wife, Juliet, every year on the anniversary of their deaths. Other than that, to speak of Romeo, Juliet or Verona was nothing the family did on a regular basis. Mercutio, somehow, thought it only fitting to bring it up now.
"I think I have yet to tell thee this," Mercutio said. "Thy mother was there all along. Five years my junior... she was there all but five years of my life...and all the time, until only six years ago, I did not know she was there. We could have had each other forever. My son, I know thou art young, I know thou must not yet understand this... Mercutio?" He turned. "Mercutio the Second - oh, come now."
Mercutio II had made a funny face, with two fingers stretching out his mouth. His father (though a normal father would have scolded him), laughed out loud.
"What?" Mercutio II asked, shrugging. "Thou lookest sad, Father, I wanted only to cheer thee."
Mercutio knew that holding back a smile was impossible. He was not annoyed. His son screamed with laughter as he was again tickled.
"No - no - I cannot breathe!" he laughed.
"Thou breathest well!" Mercutio insisted, and tickled him harder yet. Mercutio II continued to laugh.
There was a rustle at the gate and Benvolio burst out. Mercutio did not notice the darkened skin under his eyes or the paleness of his skin. Benvolio smiled upon seeing his friend and godson at play at this time.
"His feet, Ben!" Mercutio called. "Grab his feet!"
Benvolio laughed. "Of course, Mercutio! His feet are the most ticklish!"
"Nay, Benvolio - whose side dost thou take?" Mercutio II screamed with laughter again as Benvolio tickled his feet. For a few bright moments, the three of them forget about Allegra. This ended when the door opened behind them and a servant stepped out.
"Signors, I pray you pardon my interuption, but Master Mercutio, thy brother hath just arrived."
Mercutio II jumped up. "Uncle Valen-time!"
He took off running through the door and down the hall, calling his uncle's name. Benvolio laughed.
"A moment, I pray you," Mercutio said, and the servant left.
Benvolio's laughter was beginning to die down as he saw Mercutio's face go back to the way it was before his son had come out. He cleared his throat.
"Mercutio, look not that way, I pray thee," Benvolio said, patting Mercutio's shoulder. "'Tis only a part of thy life. It will pass in time, will it not? Mercutio?"
Mercutio had tried to listen. At the same time, he had stood and propped himself against the marble side of the front porch. The night had just begun to pass by and the air had turned colder yet; Benvolio felt it, as did his friend. He went to stand beside Mercutio.
"'Mer -"
"All is well." Mercutio looked up at Benvolio and grinned. "Ay, thou speakest truly. 'Tis just a part of life. Is that not what I said when Viridia went home to the Lord?"
Benvolio sighed at the name of his lost love, who had drowned shortly after they had pledged their love. "Three years this August. But no matter. I shall be with thee, just as thou wert with me."
The two of them shared a stare. They both knew they thought of the same things.
"We shall only hope," Benvolio said.
Mercutio shook his head. "To-day my son spoke to me of Verona. Verona."
Benvolio raised his eyebrows. "This is news? Verona is as much a place to speak of as any other in the world."
"Nay, thou knowest thou speakest wrongly." Mercutio frowned. "Of course 'tis important. He hath not spoken to Allegra -?"
"Nay, he hath not," Benvolio said gravely. "None of us have."
Mercutio sighed again, but the sound of his breath was lost with the wind.
"However, he hath spoken to me," Benvolio added. "I reminded him of Verona," he confessed when Mercutio looked shocked.
Mercutio did not know what to say.
"Mercutio." Benvolio lowered his voice. "The feud hath been over since before thy son's birth. Allegra said every day she longed to return." He paused. "We will not run forever."
Mercutio felt a jolt of anger in the pit of his once-proud heart. He turned to his friend, ready to snap in retort, when the door, again, opened. Bruna rushed out.
"Master Benvolio," she said, out of breath. "Thy medical help. I pray thee!"
Benvolio (who was in the process of studying medicine) rushed after her, leaving Mercutio alone.
"What happens?" Mercutio called.
Bruna stopped for a moment and stared at him. "We must pray."
Mercutio understood.
He closed his eyes.
This was the moment. It was a warm, beautiful summer night – it felt like a winter night. He ignored the pain. He ignored the fear. He thought of the future. He would go back to Verona, Allegra too. Mercutio II, Benvolio, Valentine, everyone – he would not face it alone. He would stop running, he would face the past, the ghosts of those that had nearly killed him – he would go back – if only she would live –
The door opened yet again, slower than before. Mercutio opened his eyes and turned, holding onto his hope.
Benvolio, white as a sheet, was looking at the ground. He shook his head. Mercutio knew immediately what he meant and flung himself into his friend's arms.
"'Tis all right, Mercutio," Benvolio whispered, fighting tears for his friend. "'Tis all right."
Bruna emerged, as did Valentine and his family. Bruna was in tears, as was Eva. Valentine crossed himself. Samuel and Mercutio II exchanged clueless glances.
"'Tis all right." Benvolio was in tears by now. "'Tis all right." He felt Mercutio wriggle out of his arms, expecting to see him weeping. Mercutio had never gotten the chance to say good-bye.
To everyone's surprise, Mercutio was not in tears. He was the warrior-figure, the stain-glass hero, the river after rain. He was calm. He did not weep.
"I know 'tis all right," he replied. "And I think, now, we should do as my late wife hath asked and return to Verona. We have kept ourselves away too long."
He never did weep. He would move forward, never again running from his past. The feud was long over, and never did return. Mercutio forgave everyone, even Tybalt. He returned to Verona.
He never did love another, and he never did forget her. He loved her just as much as he had when she had still been with him. No one who had known Allegra, courageous Allegra, would ever forget her – especially not the man she had watched from afar all those years, the man she eventually called her only love.
Mercutio would not die with her. She depended on him. He never wept. He was not distressed.
For there have, indeed, been tales of more woe
Than that of Allegra, and her Mercutio.
Fine