Sword Crossed Lovers

Tybalt's Vows

"It has been too long, Romeo.  At last, the Montague Prince stands before the male heir of the Capulet House.  This day has been long coming," hisses the voice.
"Ah, Tybalt Capulet!  I should have known it was you behind all this chaos."
"Well, they have always said I am the proud worshiper of one God and he be Ares," taunts the Prince of Cats, strutting out from behind the main alter at the heart of the chapel.

Romeo can see the Capulet now, decked out in red armor and already wielding a long fencing blade.  With each stride, he gains on the Montague, stretching out his short legs to their full potential.  Within seconds, the two are pressed up against a pew as Tybalt draws a knife against Romeo's flesh.
"I swore never to let thee live.  My mind was clouded when we last met but this time, only one of us shall walk away from here," the Capulet hisses, claws bare.  The Montague grunts and presses back against his foe.  Yet, something inside him feels wrong.  The way Tybalt is fighting already seems off.  Surely he is the better fighter and would have already killed his foe.  Why is Tybalt holding back?

Romeo sees the hesitation in his enemy's eyes and takes his advantage.  He throws his weight against his attacker and presses him back.  Did Tybalt see something in his eyes?  Or is the Prince of Cats finally afraid of a foe he does not know he can beat?

Tybalt draws in his breath.  He knows what he has to do.  He can already see the ring on the Montague's finger.  So...  the deed has been done.  Romeo Montague is no longer his foe.  Yet, that cannot be right.  As a boy, he was bred to kill him, always has been.  It was expected of him, expected that he be the one to end the Montague heir's life.

Silencing his loud mind, he snaps the blade between his hands and presses it against his thigh.  "No more waiting, bastard!  Thou wilt die tonight!" he yowls, rushing at Romeo.

The two clash hard against one another.  He raises up his blade and Romeo draws the dagger at his hip to defend himself.  As they meet in the middle of the pew, Romeo speaks with urgency, "Halt, Tybalt!  I cannot fight you!"
"Then die!"
"Please!" utters the Montague, his voice breaking with pain.  Tybalt pauses just for a moment and Romeo kicks the Capulet's leg out from under him.  Crashing to the ground, the Prince of Cats curses to himself.  He should never had let that scum make him feel.  It was simply a trick.  He had gotten soft over these years.

"Tybalt!  I love thee in a way I cannot explain," gasps Romeo, extending a hand towards his fallen cousin-in-law.

In shock, the Capulet draws a slow breath.  He grips the fencing blade tighter and forces his mind to stop thinking.  He had never been trained for this.  What should one do when your sworn enemy admits of a certain love for you and refuses to fight you?  What honor is in this if Tybalt strikes him dead?  Yet again, Tybalt has done things so dishonorable that the Devil might turn from him in a fight.  But something about this feels different.  This kill would hold no power to his name, no glory, no satisfaction.

Still waiting for the Capulet to make up his mind, Romeo calmly turns his back on the man before him.  Having always been told never to let a Capulet out of your sight, he breaks yet another one of his training vows.  Today, he had broken away from all of his past vows with just one and he was never going to look back.  Ever.

Suddenly, Romeo feels something hard crash against his back.  He feels something sharp enter into his body and press his tissue aside.  The blood begins to pour down his clothes and stain his blue vest.  Immediately his arms find the source of the pain: a blade protruding from his abdomen.