*I don't own Jane and the Dragon or its characters and I don't own the quote by Robert Frost
A short contribution to the story game, Arc2.
Hidden in the shadows, having passed a better part of the evening downing liquid sorrow, he began to make his journey back to the castle. There were roadways which he did not follow, and places which he dare not pass. Why, he was not better than peasant folk, though peasant folk knew him. Creatures of the night, trying to claw their ways into his fleshy heart, Moonlight nymphs singing his praises, everyday men lurking, like the strangers they were when daylight broke. In the sky, as brilliant as could be expected for this time of the month was the moon.
Cursed moon, with its many admirers, exclusive to the deserving, longed for by the undeserved. Cursed stars, what did they know? How dare they be so brilliant in his presence. How dare they exist in his very space. Him, the Jolly Jingler, Jester, the man with laughter in his hat and magic in his shoes.
Yet, a servant to the sun had easily became encumbered by the weakness of the flesh, of the drumming, irrational heart. Easily, he had become accustomed to the drink, though it was not enough to quench his soul. Knowledge, faith, the pursuit of happiness, and what was his reward? It had come crashing down, until his very bones struggled to keep him upright.
A rat crossed his path, almost causing him to take a misstep; not that he had not before. "Vile vermin, you know not who I am. Return to your filthy hole, or face the foolish wrath of Jester."
Indifferent to the fools place in society, he continued in his own way, as lowly creatures would. What good was a name half earned to the kings fool? May he be the fool of fools, scholar, teacher, full blood Romani, but how would one heal from the shame of loves battlefield? And as ever, wherever he walked, the moon would follow, shadowing him. "You know better half blood prince? Hero of men, lover of.." he paused. "no, champion of the sun."
Dare he choose to divert from his path, the fool may be the champion of women, and become the song of flower maidens, closer then woven gossamer. "Wicked flesh," he sniffled. "bruised soul. I….I...I whose flesh, strangled, and broken. Jester…who lingers in lukewarm blood, oh…heart…. what hath… what hath doth forsaken me to night."
Turning back, he returned to his activity, preferring the comfort of liquid sorrow, then the warmth of well dressed beds. "Heart…we… I am the darkness, I… see the monsters before me. Fool I am…I sin...I fall short. A fool, who dines with grand destructors. I…." he took one last glance upon the brilliant, shining moon. The taunter, the enemy, his friend. "I well know I am acquainted with the night."