Chapter Text
1. While They Do Dream Things True
The first full day that Benvolio spent living at the palace passed as if in a dream. Benvolio had heard that phrase often enough as a boy, and had assumed that it implied a situation of ecstatic happiness. But today he had gained a new understanding of those words. The day had indeed resembled a dream, but not a blissful fantasy. Instead, it had resembled the kind of dream where nothing seemed quite real, and even everyday activities seemed strange and foreign.
Benvolio and Mercutio had been left alone for much of the morning, apart from a brief visit from Valentine. They had not spoken much, but had opened Benvolio’s trunks. Now some of Benvolio’s things decorated Mercutio’s bedchamber, looking raw and unfamiliar in their new setting. Near midday, servants arrived to put Benvolio’s clothes away, and Mercutio was called to lessons. A page introduced Benvolio to the Prince’s secretary, to whom Benvolio was to be apprenticed. The secretary, an old man with kind eyes, showed Benvolio around his office, but made no move to teach him anything.
“There will be time enough for that,” he explained. “Better to allow you to accustom yourself to your new home.”
The surprise of being addressed as an equal instead of a child pierced the fog in Benvolio’s mind, and he managed a nod and a murmur of thanks. The secretary smiled at him, and Benvolio thought that he could learn to like this man.
The secretary summoned another page. “Show young Montague the house,” he commanded. Turning to Benvolio, he added, “We do not know where we will be summoned, or what we may be called on to record. Therefore, you should know this place as well as if you were a snail in its shell.” Benvolio suppressed a wish that he could crawl into a shell and hide as a snail did, then bowed and followed the page out of the office.
The tour was slow and thorough. The page allowed Benvolio to set his own pace, and they wandered through room upon room. At one point, they came upon the schoolroom where Mercutio and Valentine sat with their tutor. Mercutio flashed a quick smile when Benvolio peered inside, and a shower of warmth flooded through Benvolio. No matter how strange or disruptive his presence in the palace might be, one person at least was glad of it.
He wondered briefly if this was how a new bride felt upon delivery to her husband’s home after the wedding festivities, though he was no bride and there had been no marriage. Then he wondered what he was to Mercutio now. They were certainly still friends; even their clumsy dalliance just before dawn had not damaged that. The word “lovers” was not inaccurate, but did not quite seem to describe the change that had taken place when he and Mercutio had gone on their knees and sworn oaths to their Prince and their houses the night before.
Well, there was no sense in worrying overmuch. There did not appear to be any call to describe Mercutio just now. Benvolio indulged himself with one last glance into the schoolroom and then followed the page to the next wing of the palace.
It was at supper that the reality of Benvolio’s new situation truly began to sink in. Supper at the palace was an informal occasion for the royal family alone. The Prince presided over a table of small, elegant dishes from which family members received modest portions. Paris sat at the Prince’s right hand, along with his new bride Helena, who looked almost as nervous as Benvolio felt. Benvolio sat between Mercutio and Valentine, and Valentine’s dog Bembo sat politely nearby.
“He will beg thee for scraps because thou art new to this table,” Valentine said, “but he is not to have any until the meal is over.” Sure enough, Bembo did emit a hopeful whine upon seeing new faces at the table, but a firm “No,” from his young master hushed him.
Supper passed peaceably enough. Benvolio had had little appetite for the feast that had greeted his arrival, and now found that he was well able to appreciate the skill of the royal cooks. The Prince asked Mercutio and Valentine about their schoolwork, and Paris attempted to make light conversation about the daily business of Verona, but the atmosphere at the table remained subdued for the duration of the meal. Mercutio picked at his food, though a stern glance from the Prince caused him to eat nearly half of what was before him.
Benvolio found himself thinking back to suppers in his old home. Uncle Tiberio would sit at the head of the table with Aunt Susanna at his side. He would laugh and share tales of the day as Romeo and Benvolio ate. It struck Benvolio that those pleasant suppers were gone forever. Romeo and Juliet had a household of their own, and Benvolio had been given away; Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna would not call him home that night, or ever again. He gave a long, shuddery sigh, but was drawn from his reverie by a snuffle from Bembo, who had approached the table to investigate the possibility of a treat.
“Bembo, stay,” Valentine said, then turned to Benvolio. “My apologies. I believe that thou hast found yet another friend here.”
Benvolio managed a smile at that, and turned his attention back to his supper.
When supper was finished, the Prince assembled the young people of his household in the chapel for a brief blessing before sending them away to bed. In the corridor, Mercutio and Benvolio bade the others a good night and entered their shared bedchamber. Benvolio’s clothes and trunks had been put away, and the space was tidy and welcoming.
Mercutio retreated immediately to the balcony, where he flung the curtains open and raised his face to the heavens. “Come, see the stars,” he said. “See how they shine in their nightly dance. My tutor tells me that there is music in the spheres above; dost thou think that the stars dance to those celestial melodies? Great Jove himself is pleased to see their measures, I think. Would that we could visit them and join in their bouts, spend our nights dancing among such company.”
Benvolio approached, but did not touch Mercutio. Instead, he turned his own gaze to the sky. The night was clear, and a smattering of stars sparkled against the deepening darkness. Benvolio imagined Mercutio dancing, wearing a crown of those tiny, brilliant lights, and smiled, though his heart stirred uneasily, for he could not quite see how he would fit into such a picture.
“They take their strength from the moon,” Mercutio went on. “The vigor that they receive from Dian’s chariot permits them to spend all the night in their revels. They drain her to the last drop, but still she replenishes herself. And so the stars need never sleep. Their dance fills the night with joy, and it is only we mortals who have not yet learned to partake of it.” His voice cracked, and he drew in a breath that was almost a sob.
“Then let the stars have their joy,” Benvolio said softly, “and we poor mortals will take peace and rest from the night in its stead.”
Mercutio turned to look at him, his eyes wide in the gloom. “Wilt thou not dance?”
Benvolio shook his head. “Nay. The dancing tonight is for the stars alone.” He took Mercutio’s hand and tugged gently. “Come into thy chamber and don thy nightclothes. Thou needst not fear the night.”
Mercutio sighed. He gave one last, longing glance to the heavens, and then followed Benvolio inside. Benvolio turned his back and began to unlace his doublet. He pulled it off and laid it carefully over a chair, then stepped out of his shoes.
“Art thou unhappy?” Mercutio asked. “Have I given thee offense? I would never intend such cruelty, and I would make amends if I have sinned against such a sweet friend as thou hast been to me.”
Benvolio’s breast ached for a moment, but he smiled. He took both of Mercutio’s hands in his and kissed them. “Thou hast given no offense, caro,” he said. “Thou hast given me naught save thy kindness, thy welcome, and thy heart.”
“But thou dost desire me no longer.”
Benvolio closed his eyes and shivered as the temptations of the pleasures of Mercutio’s embrace warred with the memory of the shock and tears that had followed the act. He opened his eyes again. “I desire thee more than thou canst possibly know. My desire burns as the sun and tears at my very bones with a force that steals my breath away. But I desire thy love and thy trust as well. I will not have thee with fear, caro, and I will rather wait until such time as I may have thee with joy.”
The smile that Mercutio gave for a reply seemed a delicious reward. Benvolio kissed his hands again and released him. Mercutio went to a clothes chest, found his nightgown, and vanished into a small side chamber. Benvolio quickly changed into his own nightgown and slid into the bed. After a few moments, Mercutio joined him.
“It is a curious thing,” he said, “when a man will not take what is given to him by princely decree.”
Benvolio smiled. “The Prince has given possibility only, and that I have taken gladly. The rest is not within his power to bestow, so I will wait until that gift is given freely and with glad heart. Already I have more than I dared to dream of.”
Mercutio wriggled a little closer. “Then take from my lips a token in earnest of that which thou wilt yet refuse.”
Slowly, Benvolio pressed his lips to Mercutio’s. There was soft warmth, a brief click of teeth, and then yielding invitation. Benvolio was careful not to overstay his welcome, but retreated in good time, stroking his hand down the side of Mercutio’s face. A smile twitched beneath his thumb, and he counted himself well pleased. “Good night, caro,” he murmured.
“Good night, sweet friend.” Mercutio slipped his hand into Benvolio’s, and the two youths drifted off to sleep.
Mercutio woke in the depths of the night with a gasp and a shudder that pulled Benvolio from his dreams as well. By the time Benvolio had collected enough of his sleep-blurred wits to realize what had woken him, Mercutio was curled tightly on his side of the bed, shivering and crying.
For a moment, Benvolio nearly let out his own wail of despair at the thought that he would never again have a night of peaceful, unbroken sleep. But then he considered that it would be far worse to be stricken with the actual nightmares. After a moment’s hesitation, he moved a little closer to Mercutio, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, but not quite touching.
“Caro, caro, why dost thou weep?” he murmured. “What dream has Mab brought to thee tonight?”
“There was pain . . .” Mercutio gasped. “It shot through me as a quarrel from a crossbow . . .” His voice trailed off, and he said nothing more about the pain of his dream.
He seemed to be wakeful enough to know Benvolio, and would likely not strike blindly at a touch. Slowly, Benvolio placed his hand on Mercutio’s shoulder. When no struggle or blow resulted, he moved closer so that his body curled around Mercutio’s, providing warmth and support, but no threat. He stroked Mercutio’s hair and made soothing noises in his throat. After a few moments, Mercutio’s sobs quieted, and his shivering began to ease.
“Did I not tell thee that thou needst fear the night no longer?” Benvolio said. “Thou art no longer alone. When thou dost wake in the night, I will be at thy side, and then thou wilt know that thou hast a sweet friend to cherish thee and keep thee from harm.”
“I cannot see,” Mercutio replied. “I woke, and I knew not where I was, nor what was real.”
“I am real, caro. Thou mayst trust in that, at least. Take thy comfort from thy friend, and sleep again, for I shall let nothing evil befall thee.”
Mercutio nodded, and pressed himself more firmly against Benvolio. Benvolio allowed his embrace to remain loose and gentle, and continued to stroke Mercutio’s hair. An old lullaby of his childhood emerged from the darker recesses of his memory, a soothing rhyme that Romeo’s nurse had sung to him in the terrible weeks following his parents’ death. He began to sing it now, softly and with more air than melody.
As Benvolio sang, Mercutio’s tremors finally stilled. His body relaxed, and his breathing grew deep and regular. After a while, Benvolio stopped singing and simply watched Mercutio sleeping calmly. It struck him that he had been instrumental in bringing about this state, likely far sooner than if Mercutio had been left to soothe himself back to sleep, and he smiled at the thought.
He lay down behind Mercutio and pulled the covers higher over both of them. The night seemed different now; there was a bond between them that had not been there before, even after their morning encounter. Just before he returned to sleep, Benvolio entertained two thoughts. The first was an idea for easing Mercutio’s night-time fear, and the second was the realization of what Mercutio truly was to him.
The next morning was Sunday, and there was no secretarial work to be done. Benvolio accompanied the royal family to Mass at Saint Peter’s church, where he was stung, but not surprised, when Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna refused to meet his eye. He was glad to see that Romeo had no such quibbles, though, for Romeo caught his glance several times during the homily, and Juliet favored him with a small wave of her hand.
After Mass had finished, Benvolio greeted his cousin and his wife, then left Mercutio to entertain them, for he had some business of his own. One of Verona’s peculiarities was its Sunday market, at which one could purchase small crafts as well as food. There was one vendor in particular that Benvolio had in mind, and he was pleased to see that the man had set up his stall that day. He made his purchase quickly, then returned to his friends.
That night, before Mercutio prepared for sleep, Benvolio brought out the little package.
“I know not if this is proper,” he said, “but I felt it fitting. I took something from thee yesterday before dawn, and I have not paid that debt. Perhaps the custom of the morning gift should not be heeded where there has been no marriage, but still I would bestow this token upon my dearest consort.”
Mercutio accepted the gift and pulled the wrapping away with a child’s eagerness to reveal a bracket of alabaster carved so thin that it was translucent. In the bracket was a thick candle. “It is lovely,” Mercutio said.
“Thou didst tell me that thou art stricken with fear when thou dost wake at night and canst not see,” Benvolio explained. “This will give thee just light enough to see that thou art safe in thy bed, where the terrors of thy dreams cannot reach thee.”
“How can I thank thee for such kindness?” Mercutio said with a smile. “Thou art ever kind to me.” He ran a gentle finger down the center of Benvolio’s face, and then called a servant to hang the bracket and light the candle.
Night fell swiftly, but the darkness in the bedchamber was no longer absolute. The glow of the candle behind its alabaster shield lightened the gloom, but was not bright enough to prevent sleep. Benvolio drifted off with Mercutio’s fingers laced through his own, dreaming of tomorrow and the next day, taking his place in the world with his consort by his side.