A/N: So after who knows how many years, I am back to FFNet! With a new story. Now before you can hastily escape from cto10121-the-horrendously-bad-updater-of-fanfiction and dismiss this completely, I'd like to take a moment to say that this story is finished. Complete. Finito. Nothing more to write (only edit). For once! Isn't that a relief? There will no periods of agonizing wait (hopefully), of fearful uncertainty. Will cto10121 finish this fic? Has she abandoned it when she has abandoned all others? THIS GIRL IS KILLING US SOFTLY WITH HER LAZINESS, etc, etc.
Now, this doesn't mean that I am not done with writing chaptered fics. In fact, I'm almost confident this is my last chaptered fic, except if I suddenly get into a whirlwind of inspiration and write like the dickens. I won't upload a story more than a chapter unless it's completely finished, however. I had learned my lesson before. Finally.
But when am I going to upload? When the splendid rileylawrence rids my chapters of their spelling errors, grammar mistakes, etc and/or once a week. Of course, this is just a plan; I'm sure there will be other factors involved somewhere.
Oh, and one last thing: This is of course a Roméo et Juliette fanfic, so there will be loads of references and things that a uninitiated R&J Shakespeare fan would not be familiar with. However, I would like to assure the latter group that the events of the musical follow very closely with that of the original play, and I don't really think that the uninitiated would be lost much, since this is post-musical. Still, if anyone who stumbles inadvertently onto this fic and is confused on something, send a review and clear it up with me. *wink wink* And as for the initiated, this fic is almost purely based on the original French version with the original cast, etc., etc. No offense to the Hungarian version and its fans. That was just the way the cookie crumbled.
So without further ado, I present to you…LE ROI DU TEMPS.
Hope you enjoy and review! :D
Summary: It's the 17th anniversary of the day Romeo and Juliette first met and Benvolio, feeling the residual anger and bitterness of the years, impulsively wishes for another chance at saving them. When he awakes the next morning, he finds out things are not only different, but that he had travelled back in time, thus given a second chance to right past wrongs. As Benvolio struggles to alter events, he finds himself caught between a celestial battle for power between Time, Love, Fate, and Death, and Verona is their playing field. Will Fate and Death triumph in the end or will Benvolio be able to save Romeo and Juliette and change the whole course of the famous story…for good? AU, Romeo/Juliette, Benvolio/Muette. Based on Gérard Presgurvic's original "Roméo et Juliette, de la Haine à l'Amour".
Disclaimer: Gérard Presgurvic owns "Roméo et Juliette, de la Haine à l'Amour", William Shakespeare owns Romeo and Juliet, and Danni34 owns the idea. I own a stuffed pig and the words on this page.
Prologue – If Only
A gentle wind blew through the soft plains of the cemetery, the benign sun shining its gentle rays on the city of Verona. The air was sweet with the smell of spring. Yet inside Benvolio there was a torment of emotions raging inside him in total juxtaposition of his surroundings. Surely, he thought darkly, a cemetery, of all places, would be gloomier, the sun more subdued, the air stuffy? But then again, nature was its own force, unwitting of mortal whims and whiles.
One lone tombstone stood in the shade of a great oak, for only one sufficed for the two bodies. Romeo Candore Montaigu and Juliette Fiammatta Capulet. Together at last, immortal forever. Who wrote that inscription? Certainly not him, for it expressed hope in what was nothing but a tragedy. But Benvolio supposed it didn't matter. Words could not bring his brother and his beloved back.
It wasn't as if Benvolio felt the same heartbreak as [he felt] when he first saw their dead bodies caked in blood in the tomb. That pain had lessened over the years, its sharp knife edge whittling down to a dull ache. Many times Benvolio has had managed to forget their deaths or indulge on warm memories of him and Mercutio, as well as remember Juliette as he first saw her, in all her glory and meeting Romeo for the very first time. But not today. For today was the anniversary of when they met and the old anger and bitterness was slowly starting to come to Benvolio.
Seventeen years had passed. Time had been kind to Benvolio. Of course he was owed that, given that his two friend-brothers were dead along with Juliette and Tybalt. He had met a wondrous creature and married her and now their child, having blossomed safely into adolescence, was secretly being courted. Benvolio didn't know by whom; he was afraid to confront her and afraid to know. Every single detail was, of course, told faithfully to Romeo and Mercutio – or at least to their tombstones. They listened to his nonsense as the faithful friends they were, and Benvolio even amused himself by imagining some of their responses in his head. Romeo rolling his eyes and Mercutio's hyena laugh at his moments of insanity. Romeo's warmness and Mercutio's frankness at his time of need. Their helpful reassurances at his panic. Yes, they were all there. Juliette the innocent and Tybalt the unfortunate victim. They were all victims, including Benvolio, all marionettes of fate and objects for death.
Benvolio didn't know how long he had stood there until he realized that the warmth of the sun had receded and the air had cooled considerably. The sky turned into a myriad of reds, oranges, and golds. It was time to part again.
He hesitated. He looked at the fresh bouquet in his hands. Usually he left forget-me-nots to Romeo and Juliette's grave and pear blossoms and rosemaries to Mercutio's. The old bitterness welled up inside of him then. He put aloes and marigolds on their graves while wiping his suddenly wet eyes on his sleeve as he left.
La Muette knew where he had gone. Benvolio was sure of it, as sure as he was ever certain of anything. She was always silent, but the fact that she did not pester him with a flurry of hand signs and a worried countenance meant a great deal. She knew him, Benvolio mused, too well.
Paola, thankfully, did not notice his pensive mood. She, at her fifteen years tender was spending an unusual amount of time in the clouds rather than at earth. Benvolio was for once glad that whoever or whatever it was that kept her so pensive was keeping her from noticing her father's unusual silence. He retired early with La Muette's steady gaze on his back.
He laid there in bed, his mind remembering the majestic Capulet ball where they met, where the nightmare had begun. Why did they attend anyway? Out of youthful ignorance and naïveté. Yet it was no use blaming their younger selves when the folly was distributed evenly to everyone involved. To have known beforehand was impossible. Only Romeo, with his head so often in the clouds, had felt that brief moment of hesitation as he felt that foreboding fear about his impending fate. And even he, like Mercutio and Tybalt, had dived in recklessly, trusting in whatever entity held power over his course. Ah, poor fool!
If only I could go back, he thought vehemently, almost furiously, as the darkness of the night settled into the silent room. And set things right. Romeo and Juliette needn't – shouldn't – have died, nor Mercutio and Tybalt. If I only had that power. If only…
The faces of the past pressed behind his eyelids, warping and forming into colorful vague images of the dreams Benvolio would forget come the morning light.