A/N: Welcome to another of my fics! This one has been a particular challenge, and may not be everyone's cup of tea. But if you liked my extreme AU stories "Teresa" or "Goldilocks and the Red Wizard" or "She Wore a Red Ribbon," you should have no problem reading this one. I promise it is not written in iambic pentameter, but I can't promise that our beloved characters will always be completely in character, so you have been warned. It will challenge your credibility and stretch your imagination. They are all out of place and time, but I love Shakespeare's play so much that I hope you can enjoy it just for the retelling in a different way, with the added bonus of imagining Jane, Lisbon and the gang in these beloved roles. Those of you who are familiar with the play may notice that some characters have been omitted, and some changed a little from Shakespeare's original idea.

Since this site doesn't allow fics to be written as plays or scripts, I had to adapt the story as prose. It follows the play in general, with my own dialogue ideas instead, although I admit to sometimes blatantly stealing from the bard. Thanks for taking the chance on this. It is my greatest hope that you will be entertained and amused.

Dramatis Personae

Don Minelli, governor of Messina

Teresa, niece of Don Minelli

Jane, gentleman soldier, and lord of Padua

Grace, daughter of Don Minelli

Rigsby, soldier and young lord of Florence

Kimball, soldier and friend to Rigsby

Prince Walter, of Aragon

Don Mancini, bastard brother of the prince

Craig, soldier and friend of Don Mancini

Wainwright, soldier and messenger of the prince

Summer, Grace's lady in waiting

Friar Bertram

Act I, Scene i.

Long ago, in Messina

The mid-summer warmth of the Italian countryside made everyone in the village of Messina lazy and uncomfortable. As with many such days, a small band of Don Minelli's family and friends-mostly women and older men-had retired in the heat of the afternoon to while away the heat of the afternoon beneath a grove of olive trees. There they gorged on fruit, sweetmeats and wine, reading poetry or telling oft-told tales to pass the time until the blessed evening coolness would summon them back into town.

Teresa, niece of Don Minelli and cousin to his daughter, Grace, was the first to notice the approaching horse. She was dozing in the shaded grass and, as she was close to the ground, could better hear the pounding of the animal's hooves. She sat up, adjusting her billowing linen sleeve back up over her shoulder, anxious for something—anything—to relieve the boredom of the day.

"Uncle, someone's coming," she said, shaking his leg a little. He had been sleeping deeply with his mouth open, his back resting against a tree trunk.

Don Minelli, a wealthy gentleman with twinkling blue eyes and a kind spirit, roused a bit at Teresa's gentle prodding.

"Hm? What is it?"

"Father," answered Grace excitedly from her perch in the tree above him, as she closed her small book of sonnets with a snap. "It's a soldier!"

All eyes went to the road, then to the gallantly clad member of the prince's regiment, who steered his horse toward the leisurely party beneath the trees. Everyone was excited to hear any news of the plight of their young men from the village, who were off fighting in the distant war. Grace was concerned about one soldier in particular; a tall, dark-haired man whom she'd met briefly last time the regiment was in town. She had always scoffed at love at first sight, but that was before she'd caught her first glimpse of Signor Rigsby. Her heart squeezed in suspense as the rider drew closer.

The messenger dismounted and rushed to a now-standing Don Minelli, who was smiling in welcome at the familiar young man.

"Signor Wainwright, is it?" said the don. "What news from the front?"

The man respectfully inclined his head. "Don Minelli, I have brought a letter from Prince Walter. He wished me to tell you that he and the rest of the regiment shall be here in Messina this very night."

There was a sudden, excited murmur among the group.

"Were there many casualties from their latest skirmish at the border?"

"No, sir. Very few, and no one from the village."

A general cheer went up from the small crowd beneath the olive trees, and Teresa approached her uncle and the soldier, mild amusement dimpling her pretty cheek.

"Pray, does Signor Jackass return with the prince, and is he still in fine…harness?"

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I know no one of that unfortunate name in the regiment."

"My cousin means Signor Jane, sir," explained Grace, having climbed down from the tree to join them. "Don't mind her. We all know she secretly worries for his welfare."

Teresa shot Grace a narrowed glance, but she didn't deny it.

"Aw, Signor Jane," replied the messenger with a grin of new understanding. "You will be pleased to know that he fought well and emerged a hero in his own right."

"Ha," Teresa scoffed. "He's one more likely to run away from a sword than to attack with it. Last we met, I told him I would gladly eat anything he skewered. Alas, I see you've come here empty handed."

Don Minelli shook his head at his chestnut-haired niece. "You must forgive her, Signor. My niece and Signor Jane are constantly engaging in a battle of wits, and none of us have a moment's peace whenever the two of them are together."

"Or apart, either," added Grace. "You are always so quick to think ill of him."

"I don't think of Signor Jane much at all, cousin, to tell you the truth. Or when I do, it's with the same intensity of feeling as I do when a grape seed becomes lodged in my molar. It pains me, Grace, it pains me."

"He is a great soldier, lady," young Wainwright felt compelled to say in defense of a comrade in arms. "Full of honor, valor, and loyalty."

"Oh, he's full of a great number of things," Teresa said airily, and the others laughed at her implied meaning.

"How close are they to Messina?" asked Don Minelli.

"Why, not more than a mile or two by now, my lord."

The women gasped. There was little time to get back to the village and properly prepare for the prince's arrival. They began gathering up the remnants of their picnic and putting them into baskets, chattering excitedly.

Teresa, however, seemed in no great hurry, nor did Grace, who was feeling shy about asking after the man who had unknowingly won her heart.

"Tell me, Signor, who has Jane taken as a protégé these days?" asked Teresa. "He loves to take in strays and tends to have a new one every time we meet. They are quite grateful when at first he takes an interest, but they quickly learn they surpass him in nearly every manly pursuit, and quietly leave in the night to avoid spending one more tiresome day in his company."

"He seems to keep company with the prince himself, which shows his great importance in the royal eyes, but often of late you will find him drinking a draught of ale with Signor Rigsby."

"Oh, not poor Rigsby," said Teresa in mock alarm. "The sad soul shall be swallowed up whole like poor Jonah into Jane's gaping maw, only to be spit out later when his appetite changes. He tends to do that with those he perceives as unimportant to his…advancement."

There was a bite of bitterness in her tone, but it was quickly hidden by her ready smile. One mustn't kill the messenger, after all.

Grace, her heart jolting at mention of the gentleman of her interest, smiled bashfully at the messenger. "So Signor Rigsby is well, then? He survived the battle unscathed?"

Signor Wainwright blushed a little under the direct gaze of Don Minelli's beautiful, flame-haired daughter.

"Yes, my lady, he is quite well. He proved himself the very model of courage, and is basking in the glow of the prince's favor."

"Thank you, sir. That is…very welcome news indeed."

But her polite reply was belied by the way she reached for Teresa's hand, giving it an enthusiastic squeeze, which Teresa returned with an indulgent smile.

"Well, then, we must get back to the village and make ourselves ready to receive our conquering heroes," exclaimed Don Minelli.

The foursome followed the others back to the road to Messina, Signor Wainwright leading his horse as they walked.

Scene ii.

In the courtyard of Don Minelli's palazzo, Prince Walter arrived with his train of gallant, war-weary soldiers to meet with his host. The two men, long-time friends, smiled and embraced as brothers.

"Aw, Signor Minelli," said the prince, "you do me great honor by welcoming me and my ragtag band to your beautiful home."

"Nonsense, my lord, it is certainly the other way round. And you are welcome to stay—all of you—for as long as you feel comfortable here."

"Again, my thanks."

The prince, tall, dark, and charming as a prince should be, turned his good-natured gaze upon the beautiful Grace, who stood modestly to the side in the company of her cousin, Teresa, and their ladies in waiting.

"Could this be your daughter, little Grace, who was in leading strings the last I saw her?"

Grace blushed but stepped forward to curtsy obediently to the prince.

"She is, my lord," replied Don Minelli. "or so her mother tells me."

From out of the prince's shadow stepped the man who had haunted Teresa's dreams. Hair streaked golden blond by the Mediterranean sun, sea green eyes crinkled by lines of humor, and a smile that rivaled that very sun in brightness—Signor Jane joined in the conversation without the least sign of intimidation. Teresa's breath caught involuntarily at the sight of him.

"You were in doubt the child was yours?" teased Jane.

"I'm sure he was not, Signor Jane," replied Teresa on her uncle's behalf, "for at the time you were much too young to have seduced my aunt."

Everyone laughed at Teresa's ready rejoinder, and Jane focused at once on Teresa, his back stiffening in preparation for the continuation of their ancient war, while their witnesses settled in for an amusing battle of wits.

"She speaks! Oh, speak again, Frightening Angel!" Jane cried dramatically, purposefully mangling the bard's romantic words. He cringed in mock disgust. "Still plaguing your uncle's house, I see."

"If there is any disease in this house, Signor, it is the remnants of your last visit."

Their audience chuckled and made whispered wagers as to who would get in the last word this go-round.

"You know, all the ladies love me, save you, dear Teresa. How can one so beautiful be so unwise?"

"On the contrary, perhaps I am the only wise one among many, for I have yet to have a taste of the lotus flower that has made other ladies lose their heads over you."

Jane's eyes narrowed and he took a step closer to her. "Now, Teresa," he whispered, so that no one else could hear. "We both know that is not true." He gave her an infuriatingly smug grin, and his voice rose once more to normal, infuriating levels. "But you needn't be too jealous, my lady, for I have yet to find a woman worthy enough to risk loving."

Teresa, still shaken by his reminder of their painful history, rushed to clear her mind enough for a scathing reply. "And on behalf of the women of the world, I thank you heartily. As for me, I'd rather hear a tom-cat caterwauling beneath my window than a man telling me he loves me."

"And on behalf of mankind, I shall breathe a sigh of relief, for they are safe from life married to a sharp-clawed harpy."

There was a gasp from the crowd. From the mumbling of the women, some believed that Jane had gone a step too far this time.

Teresa felt her spine bristling like a porcupine's.

"Oh, one need not be married to me to feel my claws, Signor."

He grinned. "How well I know that. But give me leave awhile to rest my bones before we continue this. I've just returned from war, woman!"

There was a smattering of applause at the postponement of their battle, and Jane abruptly turned back to the men.

"You always manage to slip out of the noose just as I'm about to tighten it," she muttered to herself, staring in annoyance at the back of his golden head.

Grace stepped over to her cousin to offer her a consoling embrace. She knew how much Teresa really was affected by Jane's careless words, and Teresa found her eyes unaccountably water at her kindness. She blinked rapidly however, and put on her usual carefree smile.

Her uncle was speaking to another man who had been standing in the shade of an awning. She hadn't noticed him earlier, so wrapped up was she in her contest with Jane, but when she recognized him, the frown returned to her face.

"Who is that?" Grace whispered to Teresa.

"It is Don Mancini, the prince's bastard brother. They don't get on, or haven't in the past. He was jealous that his brother will be king someday, and he is denied it through fault of his parents' indiscretion, and not his own. He challenged Prince Walter's right to the throne of Aragon, but was put down."

"It somehow dismays me to even look on him, his countenance is so…dark and angry."

Teresa shared in her cousin's disconcertion.

"You are welcome here as well, Don Mancini," said Don Minelli. "Please, make yourself at home,"

Don Mancini bowed his head stiffly. "Thank you," he said simply.

Don Minelli turned to his people. "And more good news: our benevolent prince and his men have agreed to stay with us an entire month!"

Everyone cheered at this announcement. The presence of the prince's regiment would mean feasts and music and dancing—welcome distractions from the long, hot summer days.

"Please, show them every kindness. Your Grace, let us get out of this blistering sun and come into my home. We have cool drinks and soft beds for you all to refresh yourselves!"

"Thank you, Don Minelli, for your hospitality."

Everyone moved to follow the prince and his host out of the courtyard and into the stately palazzo, but Rigsby pulled Jane aside. Jane looked longingly toward the coolness of the house, but stood politely to listen to his young friend.

"Jane, did you notice Don Minelli's daughter?"

"I saw her, but didn't pay much attention. Why?"

"Do you not think she is the most beautiful, angelic lady you have ever beheld?"

"You want me to tell you the truth," he said ominously, though his eyes sparkled with mirth. "You know well how I much I disdain the fair sex in general."

Rigsby, so occupied by his own amorous emotions, failed to note that Jane was teasing him.

"Of course you must be truthful. That's why I asked."

Jane sighed in mock impatience. "I suppose she is beautiful enough, though I have a roan pony that has finer hair. And her eyes did seem to shine brightly, though last night's stars on the road to Messina gave me much more pleasure to admire."

Jane smiled inwardly at the young man's disappointed expression.

"On the one hand," he continued, enjoying himself immensely, "I have yet to hear her speak, so that is definitely a good sign in a woman, but on the other hand—and this is the greatest strike against her—she seems to be a closely-knit cousin to the not-so-silent Teresa. Who knows what bad influences that particular lady might have had on the young and innocent Grace?"

"Please don't let your old and dead relationship with Lady Teresa influence your opinion of Grace. I'm in love with her!"

"With Teresa?" he said, purposefully misunderstanding. "Are you feverish? Perhaps you should sit down."

"No, you old trickster," said Rigsby with a laugh, belatedly recognizing when he was being played a fool. "I'm in love with Grace, of course."

"And does this mean you are planning to marry her?" He looked heavenward. "Is there no gentleman left in this world save me that sees the folly in love and marriage? Will I alone be a merry bachelor to my dying day? Go ahead and marry the girl, but don't come running to me when she strays or when you find she is less beautiful than you had hoped when you leave the candles lit on your wedding night."

Their comrade, Kimball, returned then, having missed his friends inside the palazzo.

"There you are. I was wondering what kept you from following us inside out of this heat."

"Young Rigsby here seems to be much hotter for Don Minelli's daughter."

"Jane—" He had told his feelings to his friend in confidence.

"Grace," said Kimball in dry amusement. "I suppose she's just as good as any other lady."

"Ha!" scoffed Jane. "I have never in my experience found a woman worthy of more than seeing to a man's most personal needs, and even that becomes lacking once the bloom is off the rose. Keep yourself free to find the next flower in the garden, I say."

"Not one for a love story, are you," said Kimball, known (and much-maligned) for his fondness for Shakespeare's romantic plays and the sonnets of Petrarch.

"No, indeed I am not. You're one to talk, Kimball. You've flitted around like a Hybla bee yourself, plying young ladies with your honey but never taking them back to your hive."

"I'm waiting to fall in love first."

Jane rolled his eyes at that. "Never, upon pain of death at my own hand, will I succumb to the dark art that bewitching women and jigging poets pass off as love."

Rigsby exchanged a knowing glance with Kimball. "Those are usually the fateful words of a man next to fall prey to the tender trap himself."

"I might fall off a cliff, fall over a log, fall in with the wrong crowd, or even fall off my horse if I'm drunk enough, but never will you witness me falling in love."

"Mark this down, Rigsby," said Kimball. "We'll have something to use against him later."

"If that ever happens, feel free to shoot an arrow into my wretched heart to put me out of my misery."

"Agreed," said the two men in unison.

Prince Walter then emerged to join his missing party.

"What's this? Making devious plans without my input?"
"No, my lord, it is Rigsby who has made the most devious plan of all," said Jane. "He wants to marry Don Minelli's daughter."

The prince raised a surprised eyebrow. "Oh, truly? She is certainly a worthy young lady from a fine family."

"Here we go again," said Jane in exasperation. "Please forgive me, my lord, but all this talk of love is giving me sharp pains in my gut. I'm off to find some fortifying ale."

Prince Walter nodded his dismissal and turned with interest again to Rigsby.

"So in all sincerity, Signor Rigsby, you wish to marry the beautiful Grace?"

"Yes, my lord. I saw her before we went off to war but knew I might not return, so I didn't pursue her. But now that we are back, safe and sound, I find myself dying to make her my own."

"He's too cowardly to tell her," added Kimball.

"I am not!"

"He is," said Kimball, for he knew his friend well.

"Well, perhaps I can help," said the prince. "What if I were to ask her disposition to marry in your place? There is a masque tonight, and I will disguise myself and find out if the lady is welcome to your suit. If so, I'll arrange your betrothal with Don Minelli on your behalf."
"Oh, would you, my lord? I am more grateful than I can say."

"And relieved you won't have to ask her yourself," said Kimball.

Rigsby blushed, but didn't deny it.

"Tonight's revels will begin your life anew, young man," said the prince. "Now, both of you, go wash away the dust from the road and make ready to make merry. And once your betrothal is stitched up, then we can turn our sights on Jane."

"Jane?" said Rigsby. "I just had to listen to him vow he would die before he wed."

"I will hatch a plan that will lead Jane to a wedding the very day after yours."

"Impossible," said Kimball. "What woman would have him?"

"Why, Don Minelli's niece, Teresa, of course."

"Forgive me, my lord," said Rigsby, "but are you a magician to perform such magic, or an angel come from heaven to render a miracle?"

Prince Walter laughed. "I am only a man, my friends, but it does not take a soothsayer to see what the future holds for Jane and…Lady Teresa."

"What?" said Rigsby, aghast. "Pardon me, but you must be mistaken, my lord—Jane and Lady Teresa would kill each other on their way to the altar."

"Only because they think the other would draw his dagger first. If they could see one another in a changed light, it might change their hearts as well."

"If you say so, my lord," said Kimball skeptically.

The prince smiled. "I do, Signors. I most assuredly do."

Scene iii.

Craig snuck away from Don Minelli's courtyard to find his lord and friend brooding in his borrowed rooms. Craig was not surprised to find Don Mancini had not joined the revelers in the banquet hall. He was sitting at a table, already drinking his ale.

"Why aren't you with your brother and the rest of the party at the banquet? It is a fine repast on such short notice," Craig said, in his usual familiar way.

"I hate to be in places where I have to pretend to be enjoying myself. I'd rather be alone than be someone I am not."

"But your brother has finally forgiven you for trying to overthrow him. You don't want to stir his suspicions again."

"True, but he is right to be suspicious. If I find another way to be rid of him and assume the throne in his stead, I'll do it, and gladly."

"On that note, my lord, I bring some news that might interest you."

"Well, what is it?" he asked, his tone clipped. He became even more dour when he'd been drinking.

"I was standing behind the hedgerow in Don Minelli's courtyard, and heard Jane, Rigsby, Kimball, and your brother talking. It would seem Rigsby, with the prince's help and blessing, seeks the hand of Don Minelli's daughter."

"What's this?" It was as if someone had suddenly lit a bright candle, so much lighter became Don Mancini's expression. "Rigsby, my brother's darling, stands to find happiness, before I do? Well, we can't have that. If Walter becomes king someday, he will take that chicken-headed boy to stand beside him at the throne, while I wait, unsatisfied, for the vain possibility of my own ascent. And God-forbid Walter has a son one day. You were right to tell me of this, Craig. Something must be done to thwart Rigsby's marriage plans. While it won't guarantee I take his place, it will feel gratifying to do something to make my brother as unhappy as I am, and perhaps embarrass him along the way as a boon."

"Very good, my lord. Do you have a plan?"

"Not yet." He stood suddenly, slamming down his drink in inspiration. "On second thought, I will go to that damnable masque tonight. Perhaps there I can learn more to help develop a scheme to suit my purpose, as well as plant a few seeds of doubt where I may."

"Excellent. I shall do whatever you ask to speed your progress, my lord."

Don Mancini's eyes narrowed. "Tell me true, Signor Craig-whatever I ask of you?"

"Yes, my lord—anything."

A/N: So, what do you think? I really am unsure of how this will be received, so your thoughts will be invaluable to determine if I continue. Thanks again for reading!