Chapter Text
“People are not born heroes or villains; they’re created by the people around them.” – Chris Colfer
Still perturbed by the conversation with Don John, I stare through the crowd for a minute, not really comprehending anything or anyone in my way.
Words echo in my mind, spinning around me, making me dizzy.
“I trust this man with my life.”
“I would have you know what none other are willing to tell you.”
“...did prove himself in action with the truest bravery and acts of valor,”
“I have watched him dispatch men with glee, seeming to relish the violent task most men would dread to undertake…”
“Is such a man, noble in valor, kindest among his friends, and so venerating of your virtues, amorous to the point of despair without you, now not to be of your liking my lady?”
“Count Claudio is no such man.”
My head. I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my temples as the air around me seems to vanish. There is a tightness in my chest I am all too familiar with— a portent of what my father so affectionately calls my ‘fainting spells.’
What started out as a lovely evening has become strange and stressful beyond what I could have imagined this morning.
He seems to be a good man. I have heard him praised by princes and counts alike. My father likes him. Signor Benedick trusts him, and he is famously loathe to spend time with any he deems unworthy.
But what is worthy to a man and what is worthy to a woman are different things, are they not? Could it be that both are true, that Count Claudio— sweet, polite, handsome, Claudio— is both noble and not? Both giving and jealous, kind and cruel, honorable and angry? Can any traits exist in the same person at the same time?
No. It must not be. I know Don Pedro is honest and good; he has been known to my family and I my whole life. I trust that his judgments are sound. Don John is an angry man who has lost much in a short amount of time. It makes sense he would lash out, try to prevent something happy for anyone else, but especially a happy something his brother has a hand in organizing.
My choice stands.
I inhale deep and slow, counting in and out as Ursula taught me to do when I feel a spell coming on. Shake the cobwebs of distress from me. I open my eyes and look around.
“Lady Hero!” I turn towards the sound of my name to see the Prince himself beckoning me over to where he stands with my father, uncle, and Signor Benedick. The crowd is closely packed and hot as I make my way across the courtyard to them, bumping into more than one masked person as I go.
“My Lord,” I say, curtsying to the Prince. “My father.” I press a kiss to his beaming cheek. He grasps my hands in his own and holds me at arms’ length.
“Though it is not the match I had anticipated,” here he looks pointedly at Don Pedro, who merely laughs, “we are brought great honor in it. His highness tells me you have given your consent pending my approval?” I nod. Benedick makes a show of groaning and hanging his head in his hands.
“Well, I heartily give it! You do make me proud , Hero. I knew you could not be so lovely to do nothing of import for your family.” I feel my cheeks redden at his praise, and a glow deep in my chest. I push down the strangely shame-like emotion that comes with the second half of his words. He is proud of me, and I got to choose for myself . It is almost too much. I know my eyes are glistening as I beam back up at him.
Don Pedro claps him on the shoulder. “Fine, fine! A fine ending to a short intrigue. Now, where is the groom? We must tell him his suit is welcomed.”
“Is it fine though?” Benedick interrupts, his tone petulant and warning of humor not all will appreciate. “Wedded bliss is all flowers and sunsets and kisses for the elderly; but while we are young it is a waste of life! Surely there will be plenty of time to wed once we are all dead and in the ground.”
Father frowns at him, while my uncle guffaws. I must stifle my own smile. He is not correct, but he is amusing. And predictable.
“Signor, if you will not make yourself merry, at least make yourself useful and go and find Count Claudio for his bride.”
“Nay, you have the truth of it. I will not make myself marry, and I’ll turn silver with age before I do, but I will go and gather the blissfully condemned.” He goes, leaving us all tittering in his wake.
“He speaks such nonsense sometimes,” says Antonio.
“It is nonsense, but I fear he believes it to be true in the moment,” Don Pedro sighs, then looks excitedly at the crowd behind me. I turn to see it is my cousin who holds his attention, looking more frazzled and upset than when I had last seen her. Benedick must have said something worse than usual . He does seem to be in top terrible form this evening.
This does not seem to lessen her in the eyes of the prince however, who greets her with an enthusiasm belying the occasion. “How now, Beatrice? You seem displeased.”
She snorts— and though I know my father disapproves next to me, for snorting is not ladylike, I admire her all the more for it. After all, she is a lady. If she does something, it must follow that the action can only be ladylike. “ Displeased , indeed. Disaffected, discontented, and most ill-used. Do you know what Signor Benedick,” she practically spat his name, “has said of me, which I heard not from his own lips but from a stranger? ”
“I do not. Will you tell it me?”
“He has— urgh , it does not bear repeating! Suffice it to say it was childish, and conceited, and arrogant, and rude. Unacceptable!” She stamps her foot, reminiscent of a horse, but calms. I see her push down her anger and smile instead. “My lord, will you not call your faithful lackey in? As he is a soldier I demand a soldier’s satisfaction; as our sovereign and his commander, I petition you for its deliverance.”
Each of the men laughs at this, Don Pedro even harder than the others.
“Lady, if you tell me his offense, I may be able to exact some justice for you, but until that point I am unmoved by your tears.” She scoffs and shoves his shoulder playfully. No one but she could get away with such things.
It is at this moment Signor Benedick comes tromping into our circle, a sour and bemused expression on his face. His look does not improve on seeing my cousin’s brow arching at his unannounced presence.
Don Pedro steps in before either can come to blows. “Now, signior, where’s the Count? Did you see him?”
Benedick scoffs. “Troth, my lord, I have played the part of Lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a lodge in a warren. I told him, and I think I told him true, that your Grace had got the goodwill of this young lady, and I offered him my company to a willow tree, either to make him a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy to be whipped.”
The Prince looks as if he is torn between being amused and embarrassed by his friend’s cavalier words. In practice, he looks rather ill.
“As you will not take up arms in my defence, my lord,” Beatrice cuts in, “I suppose I shall away to fetch the blushing groom.” She turns, pointedly ignoring Signor Benedick. Her skirts swirl about her, giving her appearance an air of dignified outrage as she sweeps into the crowd.
I look to Don Pedro and note that he too is watching my cousin disappear into the throng like a righteous messenger, but with something more akin to admiration in his gaze than the affection in mine.
Don Pedro tears his eyes away from my cousin then, and looks at me. “Are you ready?”
My cheeks flush as I look down. “I’ faith, my lord, I am somewhat nervous.”
He laughs kindly and chucks me under the chin, tilting my face up to his. “Dear girl, you have nothing to fear. I’ll wager good money that when Claudio hears the turn of fortune’s tides in his favor he’ll near burst for joy. He has done more for less in the past,” he says fondly.
Hearing this lifts my spirits and calms my nerves somewhat, but before I can ask more about my husband-to-be, Signor Benedick chimes in, apparently unaware that another conversation was taking place.
“...unfounded entirely!” He says, apparently quite disgruntled, to my helpless looking father and uncle.
“The Lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to you. The gentleman that danced with her told her she is much wronged by you,” Don Pedro says.
Benedick splutters. “Wh- me?! It is she who has misused me past the endurance of a block! Oh, She told me, not thinking I had been myself, that I was the Prince’s jester, that I was duller than a great thaw, huddling jest upon jest with such impossible conveyance upon me that I stood like a man at a mark with a whole army shooting at me. Can you imagine? I ask you!”
None of us seem able to respond to him properly, each subduing laughter at his expense.
“Ah, but here she comes!” He exclaims, somehow louder, throwing an arm in the air.
My eyebrows raise and I follow to where his gaze has moved, butterflies suddenly making themselves known in my chest. Sure enough, winding through the crowd, pulled by Beatrice, is Count Claudio. He is to be my husband .
“Please,” Benedick prostrates himself on the ground before Don Pedro, dramatically grasping his hand between his. “Send me on any errand, bid me fulfill any wish to take me away from here.”
“I have none but to desire your continued company,” his majesty says, a smile broad on his lips.
With a cry that I think must be mostly intended for our amusement, he hurls himself away from the group, narrowly avoiding knocking into Beatrice and Count Claudio both.
My eyes move to me almost-fiancé. I take him in, his long coat shed in the heat of the evening leaving him in just his shirt and trousers, his chiseled features more angular and becoming under the glow of the candles. Let him be a handsome fellow, cousin , Beatrice had said only an hour earlier.
I think we shall both be pleased in this.
But… he’s not looking at me. I try to catch his eye as they walk closer, but it almost seems he is deliberately avoiding looking my way. The only one he does look at for a moment is Don Pedro, and it’s an expression that doesn’t seem to fit with what I had anticipated.
He doesn’t look happy at all. He looks upset.
I am not the only one to notice it.
“Why how now Count, wherefore are you sad?”
His reply is gruff, just barely the right side of respectful. “Not sad, my lord.” He still has not looked at me once. I try to catch his eye but his gaze remains firmly above Don Pedro’s head. Look at me .
“How, then, sick?”
“Neither, my lord.” His fine jaw is clenched as he speaks, resolutely avoiding anyone’s eyes. Allow me to avail you of a man who holds his love for you desperately, Don Pedro had said. The words seemed sweet and promising; this is the man who felt such?
Beatrice breaks in. “The Count is neither sad, nor sick, nor merry, nor well. b\But civil count, civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.”
Don Pedro’s expression shifts to one of understanding. “I’ faith, lady, I think your blazon to be true, though I’ll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit is false.—Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name, and fair Hero is won. I have broke with her father and his goodwill obtained. Name the day of marriage, and God give thee joy.”
Father steps forward, shoulders proudly set. “Count, take of me my daughter, and with her
my fortunes. His Grace hath made the match, and all grace say “Amen” to it.”
Count Claudio’s face changes slowly, like the dawn cresting the horizon, as he looks to his Prince, then my father, and finally, finally me. Butterflies take flight in my stomach as our eyes meet again and yes , there’s the man I have heard tell of. This is the man whose eyes seemed as light as the stars this morning, who blushed in my sight at dinner. This is a man I can believe is in love with me.
His full lips part and he gazes in apparent continued wonder. I must look no better, for I can feel the heat rising to my face, the strange sensation of my heart trying to escape my ribs rearing inside me.
“Speak Count,” Beatrice’s amused, exasperated tone is as familiar to me as my home. “Tis your cue.”
I see Count Claudio swallow as he steps cautiously toward me, as if one false move might shatter the reality he dreamt up. His hand trembles, ever so slightly, as he takes my hand delicately in his. Goosebumps erupt up my arms as he trails rough fingertips softly over the back of my hand, turning it over and mapping out my palm with equal care. I am breathless as I study his face: he’s looking at my hand in his wondrously, as if he cannot believe it.
My heart skips in my chest as he tips his gaze up to meet mine, fingers still caressing my hand.
“Silence,” he breathes, and his voice is stronger on his next words, “is the perfectest herald of joy. I were but little happy if I could say how much.”
His fingers cease their drawing as he grasps my hand firmly between both of his. My hand is swallowed in his, and I marvel at how warm, how safe, they feel.
“Lady, as you are mine, I am yours. I give away myself for you and dote upon the exchange.” Slowly, tremulously, he smiles at me. What can I do but smile back?
Distantly, I am aware of the party carrying on around us, the voices of my family and honored guests cheering and saying things, but I don’t mark any of their words; all at once, my ears are but made to hear his gentle praises and declarations of love. I float within my own body, vibrating with the warmth of his stare, his hands around mine, the promise of our future together.
There are hoots and whistles as he raises my hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles there without breaking eye contact, and I didn’t think I could blush more, but my face grows somehow hotter. His beautiful eyes sparkle with something unfamiliar and exciting.
We go about the rest of the night side by side, my arm tucked into his. We— for we shall be a unit now, tied as a ‘we’ until distant death— accept congratulations from neighbors and soldiers alike, we endure the gentle ribbing of our friends, we exchange pleasantries with my family. So occupied with receiving well-wishes that we do not get the opportunity to dance together, and my heart saddens a moment, before I brush away the notion. We shall have the rest of our lives together to dance.
As he holds me gently to his side, I revel in the feeling of touching someone for the first time, for truly, I’ve never held hands with anyone other than Beatrice or Ursula, and those were in far different contexts. While we walk around the courtyard, thoughts of before bounce between my excitement and the novelty of being engaged.
“I know you will not disappoint me.”
“Wanting to be happy is not selfish.”
“You do make me proud.”
I have the prince’s approval, the security of my home and its inhabitants assured, the approbation of my father, and the warmest, most tender gaze from this man who I am to marry. Everyone is pleased with me and no one is disappointed.
I think this warmth bursting inside of me must be happiness.
“I know him to be a jealous man dangerously possessive of that which he feels is his, who is quick to anger and fast to accuse.”
I push those words aside and lean more firmly into my fiance’s side. He smiles at me and I feel giddy as I smile back at him.