tycutio + "you can trust me"
A greater lie Mercutio had never spoken: a feat for one who dealt in lies with as much skill as any artisan at his trade. He grinned at Tybalt, all teeth, and leaned in for a kiss that ended with Tybalt’s hand at his throat. His laughter was high and manic, his too-bright eyes void of the fear any sane man would feel in such a position. A sane man Mercutio was not, for no sane man would taunt Tybalt of the Capulets for what seemed to be the pure joy of driving him into a rage. Yet it was this very lack of fear that deadened the anger in him, though he could not have said why.
Tybalt turned Mercutio’s words over in his mind, considered what was being proposed. A great ruse, the Prince’s kinsman claimed, a great game. He was certain that Romeo’s infatuation with the Capulet girl, Tybalt’s cousin Juliet, was no more than any other mooncalf obsession — and this, Tybalt was almost too willing to believe. So he agreed to this ruse of Mercutio’s, if only to prove to Juliet that a Montague would do nothing to her heart but abuse it.
The trick would be played thus: Tybalt would seek to challenge Romeo to a duel, to which Mercutio instead would answer. The mock duel that followed would be won by Tybalt, and with this perhaps Juliet would see Romeo for a coward; she would repudiate him thus. Romeo would weep over it, and quickly be back to himself. All sides would be the better for it.
It ought to have gone according to plan: “You can trust me,” Mercutio promised. A greater lie he had never spoken, for he had meant it as truth. He hadn’t known he was lying until Tybalt’s sword pierced his breast, exposing him for the oathbreaker he was. There ought not to have been any harm in their game, and Tybalt — how afraid he looked! — had trusted him. It didn’t hurt until the blade slid free of his body, dropping to the cobbled street with a distant clatter. He could only watch as Tybalt ran, leaving his sword like a coward. Damn him.
Yet what better lover than a coward, for a liar such as he?
