isleofavalon | I'm never as tired

Entry tags:

I'm never as tired

🧙 WHO: Hendrik and Jasper
⚔️️ WHAT: Waking moments
🕒 WHEN: Post-event
🗺️ WHERE: Camelot
⚠️ WARNINGS: Nothing yet

[Jasper opens his eyes and nervously worries his lips about the flower on the bedside table. A spray of clemantis, with dark green leaves and a single star-shaped flower. He had not possessed it before awakening from that nightmare. Dressed in night clothes multiple sizes large, laid beneath a duvet in bed. Looking past the twig to the window reminding him, in fact, of not awakening at home at all. Beside him a thin candle offers light and comfort.

Breathe. He inhales through his mouth, filling his lungs for the first time in days. The last thing he remembers is awakening in that pond. The last thing he wants to remember is how he arrived here. Borne in Hendrik's arms or drowsing against his shoulder? Thoughts crawl in his attempt to relive the moment. His chest heaves and begins to sink and swell. It feels wrong and he cannot understand why.

He lies in silent for several minutes until exhaling angrily. The candle flickers and illumiates, air fuelling the flame. Feet slip outside the sheets and alight on a cold floor. Never before has he so badly lost his sense of balance and he teeters forward - stepping on a sleeping platypunk's tail. With its quack ringing his ears he groans and grumbles, hands rubbing against his forehead. Stomach bubbling as the accursed creature disappears in a flash to its master. One hand rubbing his eye moves to support his back, urging him to return to bed. To the stairs. To the door.

Fatigue dries his eyes as begins pacing back and forth, trapped between his desire to flee and a need to stay, stopping only when his path carries him past the window. It is startingly late, the sunset visible over rooftops and across the backstreets. He looks down at the yard and sees Hendrik working in his garden.

There is a flicker of emotion in his heart. Pride? He cannot know for certain.]

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[Seeing as it had taken Jasper quite awhile to respond to another of his text messages, Hendrik does not prod and instead goes back to chopping vegetables and preparing a meal. He's actually well into cooking the stew before he checks his phone again -- nearly a half-hour has passed.

He sets his jaw and tells himself to finish his current task instead of fretting. It's for the best that he gives Jasper more time, considering how heated things had clearly become.

By the time he shuts off the stove, over an hour has passed since he sent the text.

That's enough time. Without the distraction of cooking, he may be tempted to open up the journal again, and so he climbs up to the master bedroom to knock on the door.

Perhaps having something will actually lead to that door being unlocked.]

[Dreams hardly come easily for a man who relinquishes them. The memory of following them twists and turns him beneath the covers, throwing his arm in one direction and flinging his leg in another. Despite the uneasiness that lulls him to sleep, that same unease wakes him easily. Hendrik's rap upon the door filling him with nerves that jolt him awake in bed.

He takes a second to get his bearings and looks to the door. Surely Hendrik is not hanging around, is he?]

Are you still here?

[Sleep. Confusion. How long has it been?]

[Confusion on the other side of the door. Even with distance and the door muffling that voice, Hendrik can detect something there. Did Jasper fall asleep?

That would explain the lack of reply. It's certainly not a good sign, though; these lapses into sleep at odd hours the past few weeks are just a stark reminder that Jasper had trouble waking after what happened with that vernal pool.]

You were not responding.

[A groan of frustration followed by hollowed out murmuring. The thought his old friend cares for him like a child curls his lips instantly, his expression turning severe. Idly, he turns his attention to the confrontation that lies two steps ahead - and finds himself too exhausted to manage to care.]

I am not a puppet made to perform, Hendrik.

[His frustration turns only half towards the man on the other side of the door. His new life had been built on the assurance the old was full of lies and treachery but those dreams...]

What do you want of me?

[A deep sigh escapes Hendrik as he hears that comment. He should not say anything in response, given how incensed they can easily become with each other.

So he keeps to a bland reply.]

I have something of yours. A book. My familiar used it to carry out the broken vase.

[No reaction.

Jasper turns his face and twists to lie with his back to the door. In the haze of waking, where coherence and perception are a struggle, he mistakes what Hendrik is offering for a simple novel. He feels so sour about it that he sighs heavily.]

Really, Hendrik? You awoke me for that?

[A strange uneasiness that Hendrik has not felt in a long while flows over him as he glances down at the book in his hands. It's the almost foreboding feeling of knowing a confrontation is coming and it is entirely his own doing.]

I believe it is your journal.

[Oh. Oh.

Oh, well. Must he care? He should rather avoid this rising trepidation. How much has the man read?]

Do you not think it too early for jokes?

[Hendrik would not joke about this. That's the problem.]

[...Um. Hendrik double-checks his phone before responding.]

It is four in the afternoon, Jasper.

[Jasper grasps his nose and adjusts a leg beneath the mattress. Pulling it back, bending his knee. Much to his consternation, Hendrik still possesses a straight sense of humour.]

Goodness! How I ought have known.

[His tone is nothing but offended.]

[There is a tentative silence that follows before Hendrik clears his throat. The awkward air is palpable.]

I-- in any case. I would return this to you should you open the door.

[Though slight by anyone's standards, there is a shift in demeanour. With each passing second the uncomfortable air is lightened by curiosity but dampened by fear. One hand pulls back the covers and it is only five, eight, ten second later he steps out of bed.

It doesn't make sense. He paces across the floor and finds himself staring at shelves. Why do they remind him of his quarters so much? And what is he expected to say?]

Why should I desire it back?

[He stands near the door, not quite willing to invite this discussion into his life.]

[Why? Once again, Hendrik looks down at the book in his hands. He thinks intensely about the little snippet he had read in this written record of his former friend's feelings.]

You had it for a reason.

[It is perhaps a weak response, but it is the first thing to come to mind.]

[The comment passes with Jasper spending the entire time staring at Hendrik behind the door. A little lost in reverie, a little lost in worry. Thoughts turn towards the journal a tad more. He questions its sudden appearance and remains suspicious of its timing.]

One reason forgotten out of many. A fact you recognise, surely?

[The deflection simply makes Hendrik think more on the glimpse he saw at Jasper's past. The less-structured Why? changes into a more lengthy question: Why could you not share any of these thoughts?

But he refrains. What he says instead is meant to elicit a different response.]

If you do not want it, I will hold on to it.

[If anything, that suggestion makes Jasper pause. The worry hollowing his chest develops into a fear of being understood, of receiving compassion. Despite words slung and shared, in the past they had always come together. Perhaps what he fears now is what he has always feared - being left behind and forgotten.

He continues staring at the door. Every second his heart beats faster, pulse racing until he unlocks the latch and steps away. Hunched on the edge of the bed; focused on his predicament with his feet on the floor. His demeanour is pronounced enough that it can be easily read. His brow furrowed and his mouth turned down into the most severe of frowns.]

This is most awkward.

[The journal or Hendrik? His feelings, perhaps? Maybe everything put together?]

[There is an almost tangible relief when the door is unlocked, and Hendrik slowly enters the bedroom. The room is ... not as tidy as he would have liked it, especially with so many books on the floor and his very basic curtains drawn over the windows. But what keeps his attention the longest is of course the sole other person in the room, who looks more disheveled than he has ever remembered him appearing.

The awkwardness of course ties into that fact, and Hendrik reminds himself why he is here. He enters the room and crosses it in only a few strides, presenting the book to Jasper.]

There is no shame in wanting something back.

[Jasper remains still until the last second, raising his head with a frown. He runs his hands through his hair and knits his brows before clasping his hands on his head. Despite the gentleness of his friend, there is a shame that roots internally. It forces his head between his knees and clings to him more than it might anyone.

Much to his consternation, he knows the reason behind his discomfort. After sixteen years of being forgotten, it is not his journal he wants back.]

That is simply your opinion.

[Even with time having passed, Hendrik still finds himself inwardly affected when he's pinned by those red eyes. It's foolish, but his mind turns to fretful thoughts of someday being used to his former friend's changed form, forgetting how he once was.

He takes a breath, continuing to hold out the book.]

I know. There was once a time when you did not simply dismiss it.

[The frown darkening Jasper's lips curls at some unwelcome memory. Times when he approached his friend and fellows about His Majesty only to have his opinion disregarded. He can remember sitting behind his desk, waiting for his friend's appearance to discuss military affairs, his unease with his new responsibilities obvious. He recalls his feelings being ignored and being abandoned - and a jolt rocks his shoulders without permission. People had looked towards Hendrik for guidance, and the man had noticed little except his own meteoric rise.

He snatches the journal and carelessly throws it on the bed.]

Better to dismiss an opinion than a person.

[Upon reflection, he isn't free of anger.]

[Hendrik lets his hand drop to his side, his eyes followed the journal as it comes to rest in the middle of the bed. Agitation? Genuine lack of care? He's briefly left wondering before he move on, deciding the answer to that question isn't as important as pursuing others.]

If that is how you feel, I will not argue. It is clearly a failing of mine that any my actions would be perceived as dismissal.

[He lets those words hang before speaking more.]

It pains me to know that is what you thought when it cannot be further from the truth.

[Jasper looks to his journal. A tense glance, a nervous peek. There is no need to read through the pages carefully when looking is enough to vividly remember its contents. His eyes rise towards Hendrik but come to rest on the far wall.]

Then I will not ask for the truth.

[His gaze does not falter.]

I cannot accuse you when I myself hold my own confidence, I must admit.

[This is really more than he had dared to hope when he approached the bedroom door with the journal in hand, so Hendrik allows himself to relax -- just a fractional amount, but he can feel it.]

If you do not want the truth, then I suppose I have a different question for you.

[He thinks about those written words, never given life beyond those pages.]

When did I lose your trust?

[If anything, that earns a glance. One sharp and stinging glare that conveys damage and pain. Jasper directs himself to stare at Hendrik's feet and scarcely knows what to think. He struggles to measure up and clenches the sheets, their differences a reminder of being left behind - in physical stature from an early age.]

I reckon you know the answer. You would hardly stand here otherwise.

[One hand itches to reach for his journal but curls in his lap. His trust low enough that he cannot imagine this man affording him privacy. How he must have poured over every sentence.]

[Hendrik averts his eyes as Jasper also looks away, frowning. How can he reply to that? Jasper's beliefs about himself are so ... poisoned as a result of holding on to them for so long. No doubt Mordegon also had a hand in there somewhere, even if that's unclear to him.

Not wanting to repeat himself about not arguing what Jasper believes to be true, he instead asks another question.]

If I know the answer already, why do you think I am asking you?

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