Fic - Laugh At Love (1/1)
Jul. 11th, 2013 11:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99Title: Laugh At Love
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: Romeo and Juliet
Pairing/characters: Mercutio, Romeo, Benvolio, Prince Escalus. Unrequited Mercutio/Romeo
Rating: 12 - Mostly for vulgar wordplay
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they're all Shakespeare's.
Summary: Even as the Prince's kinsman Mercutio cannot declare his love for Romeo. He feels this is no reason to make everyone else miserable.
Warnings: 15th century views about gypsies.
Author's Notes: Originally written to an lgbtfest prompt - "Romeo and Juliet, Romeo/Mercutio, Mercutio can get away with a few things, being a relative of the Prince, but he still can't be open about why Romeo mooning over girls all the time is frustrating to him." The fic went wildly off-prompt.
~~~~
Escalus admitted that this problem of his, that he, and the rest of Verona, gave his kinsmen too much respect, was of his own making. But he couldn't, wouldn't consider another woman after Emilia’s death. His house would survive him, and Paris was a decent enough man. Of course, the local gentry were also overly-kind to Mercutio, because they thought it best to hedge their bets, the times being what they were. Thankfully, neither of his closest kinsmen could be flattered, Paris too sensible and Mercutio too clever.
It was that particular young man's unending search for the new and interesting that had caused the Prince to demand his appearance at his house.
"Father Angelo has once again come to me with grave concerns,"
"Give him more space for the graveyard then."
"About your behaviour." It always was. It was enough to make Escalus swear, frequently. Mercutio was bright, why could he not be sensible, even if only occasionally. The prince blamed Mercutio's upbringing, Mercutio had become head of his own household far too young, and there was never anyone there to beat him as he undoubtedly deserved. It would have done Mercutio good, Escalus was sure of it.
"I confess I am not grave, for I am alive and would not be otherwise."
"And your companions." That gave Mercutio pause. But only short pause, for pauses gave succour to your opponents, time for them to gather their wits, and the quickest way to stay ahead was with your wits. Mercutio would have no man troubled by association with him. His cousin carried on. "Gypsies, Mercutio. Father Angelo starts to talk of witchcraft."
"You no more believe in witches than I do."
"It matters not what you or I believe, but what the common man believes. We rule only as long as they will have us." The Prince's peace was hard won, and unsteady. He had to keep the noble families pacified, and they would mutiny if they had but half a cause. Would they use this as their reason?
The most likely cause of civil distemper was the uncivil quarrel between the two houses of Montague and Capulet.
And suddenly all became clear. Mercutio's uncle never quite lied but he dissembled a great deal.
Mercutio was short in his reply. "I hear you and understand, and will not walk the hills no more." Mercutio turned on his heels and left. Understanding and agreement were two separate matters, and Mercutio didn't feel like arguing the difference with his uncle.
The Prince could stand Mercutio consorting with gypsies or associating with the Montagues, not both. The world abounded with myths about gypsies, none of them positive. In the city itself, the Prince had to be even-handed with the two families. He could stand having one of his kinsmen play with the Montagues, although not the playing Mercutio wished, but not brawl with them against the Capulets. Mercutio had done little else these past four months, but the Capulet dogs would pick their fights when he was there, and no man who stood by as his friends fought could claim that title any longer.
It was an easy choice, this decision forced upon him, although it pained him to leave the company of the gypsies. Unlike everyone else in Verona, they had at least travelled, from the coast of Portugal to far off Constantinople. The furthest Mercutio had gone was Rome. There he'd learned about art, and architecture, and that there were men of the cloth who were solid flesh underneath. But travel was dangerous for a Prince's kinsmen in these parts, kidnap, ransom or death waited on every road if Mercutio went much further than Padua. But all of that, tales of places Mercutio couldn't go and the lives he couldn't live, it couldn't compare to Romeo. Nothing could.
He was pointlessly in love with the boy. Romeo cared not for men, and would bend Mercutio's ear endlessly over this month's girl, who he always swore eternal fidelity to. Mercutio and Benvolio had long since taken to rolling their eyes at every ridiculous utterance.
It would have been easier if Mercutio had loved Benvolio, stoic Benvolio, who could have loved Cleopatra reborn and not have said a word, but there was no poetry in Benvolio. Romeo meanwhile, Mercutio felt there should be sonnets to his face, stanzas to his smile and epic poems to the rest of him, some parts of which would have to be lengthy indeed. Romeo's hair, jet black curls that trailed down the nape of his neck, eyes as blue as the Midsummer Day sky, and a smile even warmer than that. Mercutio had earned his reputation as a wit, but could conjure nothing but cliché to describe the object of his affections. His love for Romeo had burned his wits to nothing.
And nothing was what would come of it. Mercutio was not a man to push in where he was not wanted, and there were plenty more that would have him. Finding another Romeo would be difficult though. Mercutio was not one of those pious fools who lied and said 'nay, my love is not of the flesh, it is a higher thing", his reasoning oft came from lower sources, but if one were faced with a body like Romeo's, the greater sin would be to not worship it, like an antic statue it would make a dead man stand fast.
But, notwithstanding Romeo's beauty, and Mercutio knew full well he couldn't withstand it, Romeo had a brain too. Few men could keep up with Mercutio’s wits, but Romeo could, he could trade Mercutio joke for jape, and gibe with him without pause. Better than that, when Mercutio's mind raced too far and too fast, Romeo was the only man who spoke "peace" to him. All else had learnt to talk over him or around him, and he could not blame them for his whirling thoughts could knock over a man, but Romeo, oh Romeo, he stopped and held Mercutio, poured spoken balm into his ear.
Mercutio loved Romeo for his kindness, his care and his consideration.
But Mercutio was not love's fool. He did not pine, and he didn't make his friends suffer for him. He did not sigh for lack of love returned. Being without a lover's attention never killed any man. Men had claimed to die for love, but it was mostly love of gold or land, or possession of a person. Love was blameless as well as blind.
Not that he could dare to sigh for Romeo, even if he were such a milksop boy. He knew Father Angelo suspected. Churchmen were a dangerous breed, because it was not as though Mercutio could simply challenge the man to a duel. Anyone else and he would have done. Mercutio knew fighting prowess and innocence had no true connection but it would at least quieten the priest's chatter. Mercutio had no fear of duels, at swords-point he was the equal of any man in the city, save perhaps Tybalt, and Tybalt was a man who had spent too much time with his own blade.
Then again, Mercutio was never a man to worry about troubles before they happened, and as long as the meddlesome man has no proof Mercutio knew he was safe. He was the Prince's nephew and could not be denounced without evidence. His pleasures would not leave issue, and he had the sense not to write love letters. It would be alright.
Mercutio left such dark thoughts behind him. Of course, the surest way to lay those kinds of worries was to sing a lay of a different kind. Sadly his preferred song could not be sung for he feared that his Uncle's master of horses was busy, for it was the feast of St Zenone's translation this Sunday and Prince's horses must look their best for that. Giancarlo was a man of Mercutio's age, a man who understood pleasure, and he rode better than many gentlemen that Mercutio knew. But Giancarlo was a horseman first, and Mercutio respected that.
But if it was time for the procession of St Zenone's relics then there would be a fair and the tumblers would be in town. With fair winds in his favour, Guglielmo would be amongst them. Guglielmo was a jackanapes who would prefer to steal kisses than to be given them, and as such delighted Mercutio. Mercutio would find him in a particular tavern in the old town. There were such taverns where a man might slake his thirst for things other than drink, and between them the taverns covered all possible tastes. A man with Mercutio's own, exquisite taste could drink his fill there without fear of discovery, because who could denounce him without himself being exposed.
He'd seek Guglielmo out tonight.
Mercutio hadn't intended to walk home past the Montague's house, but it wasn't so far out of his way that it troubled him. Spending time with Romeo was no trouble at all.
As he passed the gates of the house Mercutio heard a sharp whistle and looked over. It was Benvolio.
"Come, brave Mercutio, and save me."
"Save thee from what?"
"Romeo is in love."
"Romeo is always in love."
"This time, she's the one and only woman for him." Mercutio could hear Benvolio's weariness and his humour. The first two weeks of Romeo's infatuations were always the worst, and for the first week he would talk about nothing but his latest lady love. Mercutio and Benvolio had heard it all before.
By this time Mercutio had come through the gate. Benvolio carried a bored look and was probably hoping that Mercutio would rescue him from many more hours of this.
"I thought Isabella was the love of his life."
Romeo heard him and replied. "I was a young fool. I know now that I was wrong. Sofia is the only woman for me."
"Hark at him. The green boy thinks he's a grown man." They had tried to improve Romeo's lot in this, to show him that a man may drink of a woman without oaths of eternal fealty, or least without bending the ears of his friends all hours of the live long day, but Romeo had said no, he would remain chaste until marriage. He was the most faithfully faithless person Mercutio knew.
Mercutio always felt a peculiar jealousy at these times. That Mercutio knew it was being in love that Romeo was in love with did not ease his mind. One day there would be a woman with enough sense in her to love Romeo back and then there would be trouble, of the lawfully wedded type. That black day was a long way away; Romeo had a talent for choosing women who had no interest in him. Mercutio, a biased witness for sure, gratefully decided all Romeo's women were mad. A more foolish man would find hope in Romeo's poor aim but Mercutio knew it was more out of a fear of having his affections returned. Romeo feared love as much as he loved it, for reality could not measure up to his fanciful dreams.
Mercutio pulled Benvolio over to him and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Say Romeo, what's her name? What's her family? Benvolio and I should run more experienced eyes over her."
"Thine eyes are jaundiced."
Mercutio laughed. "I like the lady already. He cracks jokes now. When he pined for the last Maria, he was sour as lemons for a month." That had been an unbearable a month. "No more noviciates I say."
Romeo waved away Mercutio's complaints. "She has the soul of an angel."
Mercutio would temporarily forgive Romeo the somewhat confused theological statement. "Never mind her soul, tell me of her aspect, her face, her bountiful acres." The last question was accompanied by an explicit gesture to indicate what land Mercutio spoke of. He didn't worry about going too far; Benvolio would stop him before he fell off the edge of taste.
"I'faith, Mercutio is right, the face of your last lady love would have shamed a Gorgon." Or perhaps Benvolio wouldn't. Mercutio considered that Benvolio would have had to listen to Romeo's love-sick sighs for all of the day, which would have tested the patience of a saint, and patience was Benvolio's weakest virtue. On one occasion, Romeo's droning of love had driven Benvolio to dunk him in the Adige. At least Mercutio merely teased Romeo, which was only fair.
And now he would be called upon to separate Benvolio and Romeo, for Romeo was trying to box Benvolio’s ears for the insult, since, as all within earshot could attest, all of Romeo’s loves were as fair as Helen. Benvolio had lifted his slighter cousin and was about to throw him over his shoulder, and thence, possibly back into the Adige to cool Romeo’s ardour. It was not the worst way to spend his time before tonight.
Romeo was a fool for love, and love would fain make Mercutio a fool for Romeo but Mercutio knew love's tricks. Love was whore who let every man enter her delights, for a price. It was a price Mercutio couldn't afford, incapable of paying court to Romeo, not at the cost of his life. But he's a cheerful beggar so he would look love in her pretty face and laugh.
Author: Red Fiona
Fandom: Romeo and Juliet
Pairing/characters: Mercutio, Romeo, Benvolio, Prince Escalus. Unrequited Mercutio/Romeo
Rating: 12 - Mostly for vulgar wordplay
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, they're all Shakespeare's.
Summary: Even as the Prince's kinsman Mercutio cannot declare his love for Romeo. He feels this is no reason to make everyone else miserable.
Warnings: 15th century views about gypsies.
Author's Notes: Originally written to an lgbtfest prompt - "Romeo and Juliet, Romeo/Mercutio, Mercutio can get away with a few things, being a relative of the Prince, but he still can't be open about why Romeo mooning over girls all the time is frustrating to him." The fic went wildly off-prompt.
~~~~
Escalus admitted that this problem of his, that he, and the rest of Verona, gave his kinsmen too much respect, was of his own making. But he couldn't, wouldn't consider another woman after Emilia’s death. His house would survive him, and Paris was a decent enough man. Of course, the local gentry were also overly-kind to Mercutio, because they thought it best to hedge their bets, the times being what they were. Thankfully, neither of his closest kinsmen could be flattered, Paris too sensible and Mercutio too clever.
It was that particular young man's unending search for the new and interesting that had caused the Prince to demand his appearance at his house.
"Father Angelo has once again come to me with grave concerns,"
"Give him more space for the graveyard then."
"About your behaviour." It always was. It was enough to make Escalus swear, frequently. Mercutio was bright, why could he not be sensible, even if only occasionally. The prince blamed Mercutio's upbringing, Mercutio had become head of his own household far too young, and there was never anyone there to beat him as he undoubtedly deserved. It would have done Mercutio good, Escalus was sure of it.
"I confess I am not grave, for I am alive and would not be otherwise."
"And your companions." That gave Mercutio pause. But only short pause, for pauses gave succour to your opponents, time for them to gather their wits, and the quickest way to stay ahead was with your wits. Mercutio would have no man troubled by association with him. His cousin carried on. "Gypsies, Mercutio. Father Angelo starts to talk of witchcraft."
"You no more believe in witches than I do."
"It matters not what you or I believe, but what the common man believes. We rule only as long as they will have us." The Prince's peace was hard won, and unsteady. He had to keep the noble families pacified, and they would mutiny if they had but half a cause. Would they use this as their reason?
The most likely cause of civil distemper was the uncivil quarrel between the two houses of Montague and Capulet.
And suddenly all became clear. Mercutio's uncle never quite lied but he dissembled a great deal.
Mercutio was short in his reply. "I hear you and understand, and will not walk the hills no more." Mercutio turned on his heels and left. Understanding and agreement were two separate matters, and Mercutio didn't feel like arguing the difference with his uncle.
The Prince could stand Mercutio consorting with gypsies or associating with the Montagues, not both. The world abounded with myths about gypsies, none of them positive. In the city itself, the Prince had to be even-handed with the two families. He could stand having one of his kinsmen play with the Montagues, although not the playing Mercutio wished, but not brawl with them against the Capulets. Mercutio had done little else these past four months, but the Capulet dogs would pick their fights when he was there, and no man who stood by as his friends fought could claim that title any longer.
It was an easy choice, this decision forced upon him, although it pained him to leave the company of the gypsies. Unlike everyone else in Verona, they had at least travelled, from the coast of Portugal to far off Constantinople. The furthest Mercutio had gone was Rome. There he'd learned about art, and architecture, and that there were men of the cloth who were solid flesh underneath. But travel was dangerous for a Prince's kinsmen in these parts, kidnap, ransom or death waited on every road if Mercutio went much further than Padua. But all of that, tales of places Mercutio couldn't go and the lives he couldn't live, it couldn't compare to Romeo. Nothing could.
He was pointlessly in love with the boy. Romeo cared not for men, and would bend Mercutio's ear endlessly over this month's girl, who he always swore eternal fidelity to. Mercutio and Benvolio had long since taken to rolling their eyes at every ridiculous utterance.
It would have been easier if Mercutio had loved Benvolio, stoic Benvolio, who could have loved Cleopatra reborn and not have said a word, but there was no poetry in Benvolio. Romeo meanwhile, Mercutio felt there should be sonnets to his face, stanzas to his smile and epic poems to the rest of him, some parts of which would have to be lengthy indeed. Romeo's hair, jet black curls that trailed down the nape of his neck, eyes as blue as the Midsummer Day sky, and a smile even warmer than that. Mercutio had earned his reputation as a wit, but could conjure nothing but cliché to describe the object of his affections. His love for Romeo had burned his wits to nothing.
And nothing was what would come of it. Mercutio was not a man to push in where he was not wanted, and there were plenty more that would have him. Finding another Romeo would be difficult though. Mercutio was not one of those pious fools who lied and said 'nay, my love is not of the flesh, it is a higher thing", his reasoning oft came from lower sources, but if one were faced with a body like Romeo's, the greater sin would be to not worship it, like an antic statue it would make a dead man stand fast.
But, notwithstanding Romeo's beauty, and Mercutio knew full well he couldn't withstand it, Romeo had a brain too. Few men could keep up with Mercutio’s wits, but Romeo could, he could trade Mercutio joke for jape, and gibe with him without pause. Better than that, when Mercutio's mind raced too far and too fast, Romeo was the only man who spoke "peace" to him. All else had learnt to talk over him or around him, and he could not blame them for his whirling thoughts could knock over a man, but Romeo, oh Romeo, he stopped and held Mercutio, poured spoken balm into his ear.
Mercutio loved Romeo for his kindness, his care and his consideration.
But Mercutio was not love's fool. He did not pine, and he didn't make his friends suffer for him. He did not sigh for lack of love returned. Being without a lover's attention never killed any man. Men had claimed to die for love, but it was mostly love of gold or land, or possession of a person. Love was blameless as well as blind.
Not that he could dare to sigh for Romeo, even if he were such a milksop boy. He knew Father Angelo suspected. Churchmen were a dangerous breed, because it was not as though Mercutio could simply challenge the man to a duel. Anyone else and he would have done. Mercutio knew fighting prowess and innocence had no true connection but it would at least quieten the priest's chatter. Mercutio had no fear of duels, at swords-point he was the equal of any man in the city, save perhaps Tybalt, and Tybalt was a man who had spent too much time with his own blade.
Then again, Mercutio was never a man to worry about troubles before they happened, and as long as the meddlesome man has no proof Mercutio knew he was safe. He was the Prince's nephew and could not be denounced without evidence. His pleasures would not leave issue, and he had the sense not to write love letters. It would be alright.
Mercutio left such dark thoughts behind him. Of course, the surest way to lay those kinds of worries was to sing a lay of a different kind. Sadly his preferred song could not be sung for he feared that his Uncle's master of horses was busy, for it was the feast of St Zenone's translation this Sunday and Prince's horses must look their best for that. Giancarlo was a man of Mercutio's age, a man who understood pleasure, and he rode better than many gentlemen that Mercutio knew. But Giancarlo was a horseman first, and Mercutio respected that.
But if it was time for the procession of St Zenone's relics then there would be a fair and the tumblers would be in town. With fair winds in his favour, Guglielmo would be amongst them. Guglielmo was a jackanapes who would prefer to steal kisses than to be given them, and as such delighted Mercutio. Mercutio would find him in a particular tavern in the old town. There were such taverns where a man might slake his thirst for things other than drink, and between them the taverns covered all possible tastes. A man with Mercutio's own, exquisite taste could drink his fill there without fear of discovery, because who could denounce him without himself being exposed.
He'd seek Guglielmo out tonight.
Mercutio hadn't intended to walk home past the Montague's house, but it wasn't so far out of his way that it troubled him. Spending time with Romeo was no trouble at all.
As he passed the gates of the house Mercutio heard a sharp whistle and looked over. It was Benvolio.
"Come, brave Mercutio, and save me."
"Save thee from what?"
"Romeo is in love."
"Romeo is always in love."
"This time, she's the one and only woman for him." Mercutio could hear Benvolio's weariness and his humour. The first two weeks of Romeo's infatuations were always the worst, and for the first week he would talk about nothing but his latest lady love. Mercutio and Benvolio had heard it all before.
By this time Mercutio had come through the gate. Benvolio carried a bored look and was probably hoping that Mercutio would rescue him from many more hours of this.
"I thought Isabella was the love of his life."
Romeo heard him and replied. "I was a young fool. I know now that I was wrong. Sofia is the only woman for me."
"Hark at him. The green boy thinks he's a grown man." They had tried to improve Romeo's lot in this, to show him that a man may drink of a woman without oaths of eternal fealty, or least without bending the ears of his friends all hours of the live long day, but Romeo had said no, he would remain chaste until marriage. He was the most faithfully faithless person Mercutio knew.
Mercutio always felt a peculiar jealousy at these times. That Mercutio knew it was being in love that Romeo was in love with did not ease his mind. One day there would be a woman with enough sense in her to love Romeo back and then there would be trouble, of the lawfully wedded type. That black day was a long way away; Romeo had a talent for choosing women who had no interest in him. Mercutio, a biased witness for sure, gratefully decided all Romeo's women were mad. A more foolish man would find hope in Romeo's poor aim but Mercutio knew it was more out of a fear of having his affections returned. Romeo feared love as much as he loved it, for reality could not measure up to his fanciful dreams.
Mercutio pulled Benvolio over to him and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Say Romeo, what's her name? What's her family? Benvolio and I should run more experienced eyes over her."
"Thine eyes are jaundiced."
Mercutio laughed. "I like the lady already. He cracks jokes now. When he pined for the last Maria, he was sour as lemons for a month." That had been an unbearable a month. "No more noviciates I say."
Romeo waved away Mercutio's complaints. "She has the soul of an angel."
Mercutio would temporarily forgive Romeo the somewhat confused theological statement. "Never mind her soul, tell me of her aspect, her face, her bountiful acres." The last question was accompanied by an explicit gesture to indicate what land Mercutio spoke of. He didn't worry about going too far; Benvolio would stop him before he fell off the edge of taste.
"I'faith, Mercutio is right, the face of your last lady love would have shamed a Gorgon." Or perhaps Benvolio wouldn't. Mercutio considered that Benvolio would have had to listen to Romeo's love-sick sighs for all of the day, which would have tested the patience of a saint, and patience was Benvolio's weakest virtue. On one occasion, Romeo's droning of love had driven Benvolio to dunk him in the Adige. At least Mercutio merely teased Romeo, which was only fair.
And now he would be called upon to separate Benvolio and Romeo, for Romeo was trying to box Benvolio’s ears for the insult, since, as all within earshot could attest, all of Romeo’s loves were as fair as Helen. Benvolio had lifted his slighter cousin and was about to throw him over his shoulder, and thence, possibly back into the Adige to cool Romeo’s ardour. It was not the worst way to spend his time before tonight.
Romeo was a fool for love, and love would fain make Mercutio a fool for Romeo but Mercutio knew love's tricks. Love was whore who let every man enter her delights, for a price. It was a price Mercutio couldn't afford, incapable of paying court to Romeo, not at the cost of his life. But he's a cheerful beggar so he would look love in her pretty face and laugh.
