It takes several days for Mercutio to find the letters, but eventually he uncovers the drawer where Benvolio kept them hidden. With Benvolio’s downfall in hand, Julius is eager to be rid of him, but before he reveals his cousin’s betrayal to the Montagues, there was someone else he thought should know of Benvolio’s activities.

“Hand these over to Lord Capulet,” Julius says, holding out a stack of letters to Friar Laurence. “I want them in his hands directly.”

“And what are these? Death threats?” The Friar tries to take a peek at the contents inside.

“They’re for Lord Capulet’s eyes only,” Julius growls.

After Mercutio handed over the letters, Julius did a little tampering with the pages—adding Benvolio’s name where it was missing and extra words of love where it seemed appropriate. He even went so far as to mix in a few of his own letters from Romana. He wanted Lord Capulet to have no shadow of a doubt that the two had been meeting in secret. If his guess was right, given how overprotective the old man was, he would have had no idea that Benvolio and Romana had already met.

“Fine,” The Friar huffs, tucking the letters away.

With a short bow to Julius, the Friar heads on his way. He travels through the streets, cutting through the alleys and shadows, trying to come up with a good reason for why he would have these letters in his possession. 

“This is the part the boy never thinks of,” the Friar grumbles. “The fool. Did it ever occur to him how difficult it is to come up with a believable lie?” 

He wracks his brain, trying his best to find a solution as he arrives at the Capulet manor. He spots a maid on her way out, and an idea finally comes to him.

“What have you come for now, Friar?” Lord Capulet growls in place of a greeting when he is shown to the drawing room.

“Forgive me,” the Friar says, bowing, “but it was of utmost importance that I came to you about this right away.” He pulls out the letters. “As a neutral party between the Capulets and Montagues, it is my duty to keep the peace when I can. A Montague maid came across these letters you see, and though she did not mean to, she glanced at the contents and decided to seek my counsel. I was shocked when I saw the contents myself.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I thought it best that this be given to you directly.”

He watches as Lord Capulet’s expression turns from mild annoyance to hot anger, his face reddening with each letter he reads.

“That sniveling bastard!” Lord Capulet roars, tossing the papers to the ground. “He dare make a fool of me! I will have his head! I will—”

“Might I suggest a more civil solution?” The Friar says gently. “Death is not always the answer.”

“Get out,” Lord Capulet sneers. “You’re lucky I don’t have you hanged for bringing such trash before my eyes. Get out now!”

“As you wish, milord.” The Friar bows. “May god bless you.”

As he finds his way out of the Capulet manor, Friar Laurence can’t help but chuckle to himself.

“Now that you’ve riled the old man up, Julius,” he mutters, “I wonder what you’ll do next.” 

⬥⬥⬥

Benvolio pours over the pages in front of him, referring back to the notes of the last doctor he had sent to Romana. He had been worried Lord Capulet would have turned the remedies and doctors away, but was relieved when Tybalt informed him they had been received. He had been hopeful. With each failed remedy and apologetic doctor, however, he felt that hope dwindling. 

He sighs as he slams the book shut. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling them down to rub his tired eyes. How much longer must Romana suffer? Was there really nothing more they could do but wait? 

“I don’t understand,” he groans. “How can none of this be right? According to the doctor’s notes, she is suffering from some advanced form of the flu, but there is nothing that matches her symptoms.”

“Perhaps you should take a break, Master Benvolio,” Mercutio says, stacking up the books Benvolio has finished. “They say it's not good to overwork yourself.”

“I wish I could, Mercutio. Believe me, but I can’t afford to stop.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Romana needs me.”

Mercutio bites his lip, his heart breaking for Benvolio and the crushing guilt he feels toward him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Besides, I should be the one thanking you. I don’t know where I’d be without your help.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mercutio says. “I only did it because I wanted to.”

He can feel the bile rising up his throat. It is true that he wants to do whatever he can in his power for Benvolio, but he can’t forget the one actually pulling his strings. Even so far away from his cruel gaze, Mercutio can feel Julius’ presence like a phantom, lingering over his shoulder.

“Let me just put these back,” Mercutio says, grabbing the stack of books.

“Thank you,” Benvolio says with a sigh.

On his way to the bookshelves, Mercutio notices a maid enter the library, a letter in her hands. She looks around before spotting Benvolio and makes her way over. 

“This arrived for you,” she tells him. “The man said it was urgent.”

Benvolio takes the letter, his frown deepening when he reads the page. He rises to his feet, and heads outside.

A sense of dread takes over Mercutio. He hurries after him, leaving the stack of books on the floor in his haste. As Benvolio makes his way into town, Mercutio follows from a distance, his heart pounding. What could he do if Benvolio was truly in danger? he wonders. He couldn’t offer much aid in a fight, but perhaps he could call for help. His heart drops when he notices two men wearing the crest of the Capulet standing near the entrance to an ally. He watches helplessly as Benvolio approaches them and is let by.

Benvolio approaches Lord Capulet and Tybalt, bowing before them.

“You asked to see me, milord? I—”

A loud crack bounces off the wall, a cry leaving Benvolio’s lips as he falls to his knees. His head stinging, he isn’t given time to recover as something slams into his cheek knocking him to the ground. He has just enough forethought to curl in on himself as the onslaught continues, punches and kicks riddling his body.

“Enough,” Tybalt says.

Benvolio looks up, his vision swimming as Lord Capulet comes closer.

“Wh-why?” he croaks.

“Why?” Lord Capulet’s voice trembles with rage. He tosses a few sheets of paper at Benvolio, the pages falling like rain over his battered body. “How dare you approach my daughter behind my back? Do you believe me a fool? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I—”

A kick to the jaw silences his reply. Lord Capulet steps on his chest adding pressure until Benvolio screams.

“I have every right to kill you where you lie,” Lord Capulet hisses. “Consider this a warning. Approach me or my daughter again, and I will make sure you’ve breathed your last.”

Lord Capulet walks away, leaving Tybalt and his men behind. Tybalt stands over him, pity in his eyes. 

“I tried to warn you,” he says softly. “Maybe now you’ll heed my words. Leave this place and don’t ever come back. Free yourself while you still can.”

Hurried footfalls follow Tybalt and his men’s retreat.

“Master Benvolio!” Mercutio cries, kneeling by his side. “Are you alright?”

 Benvolio groans—head pounding, body aching—as Mercutio helps him sit up. He glances at one of the sheets of paper lying near him, and recognizes Romana’s handwriting. He pulls a sheet closer, his heart dropping as he reads it. It’s one of Romana’s letters to him. How did Lord Capulet get a hold of them? They should have been safely hidden in his chambers, but—something was wrong. He squints, his vision refusing to focus. He could have sworn something was wrong with the letter. Something wasn’t—

“Dear lord! Is that you, Master Benvolio?”

Mercutio and Benvolio watch as Friar Laurence approaches.

“What happened?” he asks, his worried gaze sweeping over Benvolio.

“He was attacked by Lord Capulet’s men,” Mercutio says.

“That’s horrible.” The Friar shakes his head. “What could you have done to warrant such a thing? Well, let’s get him back to the manor where he’ll be safe. Can you stand?”

“I-I think I can manage.” Benvolio stumbles. 

“Here,” the Friar says, grabbing his arm. “Lean on me.”

Mercutio quickly gathers the scattered letters, tucking them in his pocket and hurries to support Benvolio’s other side. Together they move through the shadows, supporting Benvolio’s weight until they arrive at the Montague manor.

“Call for the doctor,” the Friar tells the guards on their way inside.

They lay Benvolio in his bed, Mercutio fussing over his comfort while they wait for the doctor. Friar Laurence stands back, a protective hand over his pocket. He grins wickedly before schooling his features into one of concern when the doctor and the Lord and Lady arrive.

“What happened?” Lady Montague demands.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” the Friar says, glancing at Mercutio. “He was like this when I happened upon him.”

“And you?” Lord Montague snaps, turning to Mercutio. “Where were you when this happened?”

“I-I—”

“He was with me, milord,” the Friar interrupts. “Our paths crossed while I was in town and I invited him to walk with me awhile. Neither of us bore witness to who did this.”

“How is he, doctor?” Lady Montague asks, clutching her skirts.

“A few of his ribs are fractured, and his body is heavily bruised, but he’ll live.”

“Thank the heavens,” she sighs.

“Guards!” Lord Montague yells. “Search for witnesses! Do not rest until the culprits are brought before me!”

While the Lord and Lady are distracted, Friar Laurence calls Mercutio over. 

“Let’s keep the Capulet’s involvement between us,” he whispers. “Wouldn't want to start a fight.”

“Of-of course not,” Mercutio says, eyes on the ground.

“Don’t just stand there, Mercutio!” Lord Montague barks, making him jump. “Hurry and fetch whatever the doctor will need!”

“R-right away, milord!”

As Mercutio hurries from the room, the Friar addresses the Lord and Lady with a bitter smile.

“I”m glad Master Benvolio will survive his wounds,” he says. “Me and my disciples will pray for his swift recovery as well as your peace of mind.”

“Keep your prayers,” Lord Montague growls. “I’ll rest when those responsible are prone before me, begging for their lives.”

“Thank you for bringing him home, Friar,” Lady Montague says.

“It is nothing, milady. I only did what was right.”

With a final bow, he leaves the room. He heads down the hall, and knocks on Julius’ door. Julius answers, his surprise turning into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses.

“A delivery.” He passes Julius a slip of paper and bows. “Have a good day, young lord.”

Julius opens the paper, a giggle bubbling up his throat. In his hands is the last piece of evidence he has been waiting for.