Escalus bros (of course) + “do you know what you’ve done?”
“Do you know what you’ve done?”
Mercutio thought it was a bit of a stupid question; he had told his brother only moments ago what he’d done.
He’d killed Tybalt.
“Is this a trick question?” he asked.
“Our uncle condemned dueling in the streets yesterday,” Valentine hissed. They were in Valentine’s chambers; Mercutio had scaled the wall after the fight. In hindsight, Mercutio noted, perhaps not the best idea. But he hadn’t known where else to go. “You’ve not only gone and done it anyway, but you’ve killed someone doing so!”
“That’s why I need your help!” Mercutio insisted.
“If what you just told me is true, and you did this in broad daylight with several witnesses, what the hell exactly do you think I’m supposed to do about it?” Valentine shouted, prompting Mercutio to shush him hastily.
“I -- I don’t know. But it’s us, right? We’ll figure it out -- we’ll --”
It was all falling apart now. He had been so sure of his course going into the duel; so sure that he was right. And now he was losing it all.
“You have to leave,” Valentine said softly. The anger had gone from his voice, but the grief that replaced it was worse.
“N-no, come on, we’ll think of --” His friends. His family. His home. He was losing it all.
“On pain of death, Mercutio,” Valentine cut across him, his voice steel again. “That’s what uncle said. If you want to live…”
Valentine inhaled sharply, a sound that shot a spark of pain through Mercutio’s heart.
“You have to leave,” he said again, voice breaking.
Escalus bros (and Paris if you want!) + “Unbind Me”
Valentine stumbled forward through the doorway, the man who had pushed him following closely behind. He had barely regained his balance when the man grabbed his shoulder and dragged him to the side. Gritting his teeth Valentine had no choice but to bemanhandled; even if his hands hadn't been tied behind his back he was only a skinny teenager. He doubted he could have done anything against his much older and stronger guard, but it still rattled to be pushed around without a care. Then Valentine looked up and forgot every thought of annoyance.
Mercutio was tied to a chair in the middle of the small room, his breath coming in pained gasps. His dress shirt had been white, but now parts of it was colored by a red that made Valentine's stomach turn. There wasn't much Valentine could actually see of hisface or body, because the man beating him still hadn't stopped. "Wha- what are you doing?" Valentine shouted, his voice rising into almost a desperate shriek at the last word. "Stop it, don't touch him!" "Val," Mercutio murmured, and Valentine could see him raise his head, see him spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, and when he spoke he sounded furious. "What's he doing here? He's too young to have any part in the family; he doesn't know anything. I alreadytold you that!"The man standing above his brother sounded far too casual, and Valentine decided he definitely, definitely hated him. "Don't worry, we believe you. He's your little brother, after all, and you would do anything to keep him safe, wouldn't you?" He paused and turned around to gesture towardsValentine. "A young, innocent kid. It's his brother's job to keep him that way, isn't it? Tell you what, I'll leave you two alone and let you have a little chat, and you think about how you can best keep him safe, hmm? Five minutes."
Valentine swore loudly and struggled, wanted to pull himself loose and run over to Mercutio, but his captor’s grip was too tight. He did get closer to his brother, but it was by being placed in a chair much like the one Mercutio was tied to. At least they didn’t bother with tying him to the chair itself, probably figuring that the way he was tied up already was enough.
He only stayed still until the two men had left the room—there was an audible click after the door had closed behind them, making Valentine roll his eyes—then he started fiddling with the rope tying his hands behind him. Mercutio sighed heavily, drawing some of Valentine’s attention, and he had to bite back a scream of rage as he surveyed his big brother’s state.
“Please tell me I’m still pretty,” Mercutio moaned dramatically, somehow managing to draw a smile, however short-lived, from Valentine. His face was showing more bruises and small cuts than clear skin, and if he could actually see anything out of his left eye then Valentine would do the hula. There was blood everywhere, making Valentine slightly nauseous so he quickly looked down on Mercutio’s feet instead.
“You’re prettier than you’ve ever been,” he answered lightly, then scoffed darkly. “So they want you to spill Uncle E’s secrets, then? Idiots, the lot of them. How long have they been at this now, three hours, four? You haven’t given them anything yet, and you won’t, no matter what they do. They should know when to give up.”
Mercutio hummed, but didn’t answer. When Valentine glanced at him he had his eyes closed and seemed to be deep in thoughts. Valentine stilled, thoughts running through his head, then stood up and marched over to his brother, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders hard. The way Mercutio flinched at the touch made him immediately remove his hands, but he kept glaring.
“Don’t you dare! You can withstand hours of beating, and I don’t know what else, but they threaten me—don’t even do anything, just threaten—and you go fall over, just like that? I’m not some weak little thing that’ll crumble if someone lays a hand on me. I can take whatever they did to you!”
Mercutio stared at him, then started laughing. It was quickly broken off into a cough, and Valentine’s anger was replaced by worry as Mercutio gasped for air. “Ribs. Think at least one of them’s broken,” Mercutio said when he finally get enough breath in him to speak. “Damn, that hurts. You shouldn’t jump up and scare someone like that, you freaking mini Houdini. At least give a guy some warning next time, okay? Jeez, almost made my heart give out, I’m telling you.”
Crossing his arms Valentine rolled his eyes. Mercutio would be dramatic until his last breath, he knew that, but damn if his antics didn’t manage to lighten up the mood anyway. Not that Valentine would show that, of course.
“Okay. So. Val, kiddo, listen to me. Forgive my French, but I frankly don’t give a fuck what you say. I won’t let them touch you if I so have to suck their fucking dicks. I’ll tell them what they want to hear, and they’ll leave you alone. Uncle E’s an adult and he can take care of himself, and you don’t think the people surrounding him will take drastic measures the moment they find out we’ve been kidnapped? He’ll be okay. But you’re my brother. I have to protect you.”
Valentine was torn between hugging his brother close and slapping him. He settled for crouching and slapping Mercutio’s knee, then resting his forehead against it. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered. “Freaking idiot. Self-sacrificing jerk.”
“If you’re going to sing my tale for the people, make sure to tell them how very well-endowed I was and how men and women followed me in flocks, begging for a scrap of my attention.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Ah, but I don’t hear you saying it’s false.” Mercutio snorted at the dark look sent his way, then grimaced in pain before taking a breath and pretending to be unaffected. “Besides, we’ve been here for long enough now, I think. I should hope that there won’t be a chance for me to spill any secrets.”
Valentine frowned. “How do you mean? They threw away our bags and phones and everything when they grabbed us. I’m sure Uncle and the others will find us eventually, but this quickly?”
“Don’t worry, grasshopper.” Mercutio released a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “Should be here soon. Any time now.”
Valentine shook his head. “Either way, whether someone’s coming to save us or not nothing will happen if we just sit around here. You can stand, can’t you? We’ll think of a plan for when those bastards come back.” He reached for the closest of Mercutio’s hands, intent on untying it. “Just gotta get you loose first, and then- what the hell.”
It felt like a punch to the gut when he saw the mark on the back of Mercutio’s hand. And there were one more, half-way hidden under the sleeve that Valentine now saw was unbuttoned. Before Mercutio could do more than a protesting noise Valentine pulled up the fabric, then bit back a sob at the handful more marks along Mercutio’s arm. He reached out a shaking hand but stopped just before touching the skin.
Those bastards. Those bastards. They had burned him.
“You know my talent of angering people? Turns out I still got it,” Mercutio said lightly, but Valentine barely heard him. “Maybe, you know, you should focus on the untying me part? I don’t really know how much longer it will take before they come back, I don’t have a watch on me, see, and as you can see there’s not a clock in here, so I can only go by a guess, but I think it’s getting pretty close. Val?”
“They will pay for this.” Valentine numbly let go of Mercutio’s shirt and refocused on the rope, the rage inside of him burning so brightly he was almost surprised that the rope didn’t burst into flames. “They’ll pay. Trust me. They’ll fucking pay.”
Mercutio’s hand strained against the restrains for just a second before lying down motionlessly again. “Valenti-”
A loud bang made them both jump. Valentine jumped up to his feet and turned sharply towards the door, feeling his heart beat furiously in his chest. That had been the sound of a gun; he had been around firearms enough times to know the sound. Was it like Mercutio had said, had someone come to get them?
If so, who was trying to open the door? Friend or foe?
“Valentine, take cover! Get behind me, damn it!”
Valentine spun around again, disregarding the shouting that started from further inside the building and Mercutio’s angry hisses, concentrating only on untying the rope as quickly as possible. The first one was done quickly, as he had already begun his work earlier, but he wasn’t quite done untying the other hand when the door flung open.
“Valentine!”
Mercutio’s shout was loud in his ears, but Valentine only registered the fear and panic in it. It was as though his body moved on it’s own, throwing itself over Mercutio and letting both him and the chair fall to the floor with Valentine covering him as much as possible. Wordlessly Mercutio shouted again, his free arm gripping Valentine tight, but Valentine clung to him harder, waiting for the shot that would surely find him soon. But he had to try to protect Mercutio, like Mercutio would do for him. Like Mercutio had done.
The gunshot made his whole body jerk and his ears ring, but he didn’t feel any pain. Must be shock, he thought. That’s what he had read before. Shock can make it so you don’t feel the pain at first. Yes. But since he wasn’t dead there would soon be another bullet coming. Before he started feeling the pain, he hoped.
There didn’t come another shot. Instead there were the muffled sounds of—was that running?—and then there was shouting, and someone trying to pull him away from Mercutio. Valentine clung harder. They wouldn’t make him leave his brother, they wouldn’t! They would have to kill him first!
Not until he realized Mercutio was stroking his hair with a shaky hand and talking to him did Valentine open his eyes and look around. Mercutio lied beneath him, paler than Valentine had ever seen him, but he looked almost calm. Next to them Paris was kneeling, one hand on Valentine’s shoulder, even as he kept looking over Mercutio with an expression that only grew darker.
“Paris,” Valentine said weakly. It was enough to get his attention, however, and Paris gave him a quick smile, meant to be calming.
“Hello to you too, kid. Do you think you can let go of Cutio now? We need to get him out of here and to a doctor.”
It took a moment, but then it all registered in Valentine’s head and he quickly scrambled to get off of Mercutio. With the help of Paris they made quick work of the remaining rope that tied Mercutio to the chair, and then Valentine watched as Paris slowly and carefully helped Mercutio stand, twinging with guilt every time Mercutio couldn’t quite hold back his pain.
“You took your good time,” Mercutio rasped once he was somewhat standing up. “Did you take lunch or a little break?”
Paris scoffed and jerked his head towards one of the men standing inside the doorway that Valentine hadn’t noticed until then. It was one of the men he had seen mulling about the business building, Valentine remembered, but he couldn’t think of a name.
“The biggest problem for anyone was realizing you had been grabbed instead of simply waltzing off somewhere as usual. When it was time for dinner and Valentine still wasn’t home either, that’s when we figured out something was wrong. You always make sure to let someone know if you snatch him away for long.” Paris helped Mercutio walk past the body lying on the floor, shot in the back. Valentine was the only one who looked at him, but even that was only to feel satisfaction, and he soon concentrated on Paris again. “After that, however, it was quick work. Your transmitter still works perfectly.”
“Wait, what transmitter?” Valentine peered up at Mercutio who gave him a tired grin and tapped the earring he was wearing.
“Specially made, you know. Only the best is good enough for me, and no one has figured it out. Not yet anyway.” Mercutio let his hand fall to his side and closed his eyes, letting Paris lead them. He looked like he was about to collapse, and Valentine knew that he would have if it weren’t for his stubbornness.
“It’s been a godsend, considering the trouble you get yourself into,” Paris muttered and shared a quick look with Valentine. Now at least Valentine knew how their uncle always knew where Mercutio was whenever something was going on.
Mercutio answered something, but Valentine caught a glimpse of another dead body being dragged away and interrupted them. “Those people in here, that took us... are they all dead?” He had to know.
They had to pay.
Paris studying him with a light frown. “Not all, no. Some are only wounded.” Valentine didn’t know what could be seen on his face but Paris’ face softened, and he added, “If you wonder if they’ll ever be a problem again, don’t. I can assure you they most definitely won’t bother anyone ever again, any of them.” There was no softness in his eyes, and Valentine didn’t miss the way Paris tightened his grip on Mercutio.
Valentine nodded and threaded his fingers with Mercutio’s, then kept walking, feeling lighter in his heart and body. Paris knew. He felt the same. He would make sure that those bastards paid. Good.
I know this is totally random but I follow queershakespeare and I saw your ask talking about your ASL queer student film. That sounds super awesome! I'm Deaf, so I'm always thrilled when I hear about stuff like that. c:
omg hi!!! I think it’s gonna be super cool. I’m so glad a Deaf person saw that ask, that makes me so happy!
Mercutio groaned and pushed his face deeper into—whatever it was he was lying on. It was soft, anyway. Also smelling pretty badly, but he really didn’t have it in him to care about that.
“Okay, that was either the last breath leaving your body or you are actually conscious, which would be a miracle, if I’m to be honest. I know how much you drank.”
If only that annoying voice could go away then Mercutio could just relax and slip away, and leave what little of his consciousness remained behind. Unfortunately for him that wasn’t happening.
“I’d love to leave you here, cuddling into a couch I would honestly hesitate to touch even with gloves, but Uncle specifically asked me to make sure you were taken home. Besides, you’re family. I wouldn’t leave any of you behind in this sort of place, not even great uncle Alberto. Now, are you going to wake up by yourself or will I have to force you?”
Mercutio gathered enough consciousness to make a snort, then let it slip away again. Paris—because that was Paris’ annoying voice—could do whatever he wanted. Mercutio was fine right where he was.
“Honestly, Cutio? You’re choosing the hard way, then?” Paris groaned, long and loud, as if making a point. “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way then. But I will make you buy me new gloves tomorrow, I swear to you.”
Mercutio had slipped away so much that he didn’t realize what was happening until he felt himself rise into the air. The movement made his head swirl, and he clutched to whatever was near with a whimper that would have made him embarrassed if he’d been aware enough to notice it.
“No, no, Mercutio, that’s my neck, don’t- you’re pressing too hard, can’t breathe- there, that’s better. But I am not going to carry you, so I will give you five seconds to stand up before I drop you on the floor.”
“Can’t we just go home now?” Mercutio’s voice was barely more than a mumble, and he pressed his face tighter into the warm figure holding him. “Please?”
There was a long moment of silence, and Mercutio had mostly dozed off again, and then Paris sighed. “You’re impossible.”
Mercutio hummed softly as Paris started walking, and when they went through the door and met the cold air he had already fallen asleep.
No one had been down to the caves in ages. After Merlin’s… disappearance - as they’re all tactfully calling it - Vivien set up her own quarters in the southern wing of the castle. Neat, above the ground, and far more approachable. A ruse, as far as Mordred was concerned. She could dress it up as nicely as she wanted, but she was no different from the wizard she’d replaced.
Mordred found himself wishing for Morgan beside him. His aunt’s magic wasn’t any different, but she never sought to hide the ugly bits behind pretty shows. Mordred preferred the cruel honesty to gentle lies.
Gentle lies, like the way Arthur was always too-courteous to his bastard son, as if no one knew that he’d once tried to kill Mordred.
To be honest, that was why Mordred was down here. He needed some sort of answers. Arthur had always claimed that Merlin alone was responsible for the May children, and Mordred had never had the courage to ask the sorcerer himself while he was alive. Assuming he could have even gotten Merlin to tell him the truth.
”What are you doing down here?”
Mordred jumped at the sound of another voice and turned quickly to face Sir Galahad.
“I think the better question is what you’re doing down here,” Mordred drawled, praying that his shaking voice wouldn’t give him away.
“I followed you,” Galahad told him. “I’ve been worried about you. Is that a crime?”
“Ask the king,” Mordred snapped. “For all I know it might be.”
Galahad laid a hand on his shoulder, and Mordred struggled not to melt into his touch.
“What happened while I was gone?” Galahad asked softly.
“I grew up,” Mordred snapped. “Maybe you should do the same.”
“You know I can’t.”
Mordred finally snapped, crumpling to the floor. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes, and for once Mordred couldn’t blink them away.
Galahad was dead.
Oh, the official story went that he’d found the Holy Grail and ascended to heaven, but Mordred knew that was a fairy tale. A pretty lie meant to soften Lancelot’s guilt. It did nothing for Mordred’s grief. Even if it was true, it still meant that Galahad was forever out of reach, except for the moments when his mind took pity on him, creating illusions that he could almost pretend were real.
When Mordred finally looked up, the hallucination was gone.
