Jasper Whitlock II
Jasper's presence in any village was never entirely explained, not in words, at least. He preferred it that way, allowing the villagers to come to their own conclusions about the quiet man who passed through their settlement from time to time. In truth, he had found a peculiar role for himself in these scattered communities—one that had arisen naturally from his needs and theirs.
After drinking the blood of the animals he hunted, Jasper often found himself with a surplus of meat, something he had no use for. At first, he had simply discarded it, but as he traveled through these desolate lands, he saw the hunger in the eyes of those he encountered. The remnants of the genocides led by the Dark Commander and King Theo before him had left these settlements struggling to sustain themselves. Coin and livestock were scarce, and many villagers lived on the edge of starvation.
He began offering the drained meat to those in need. Typically, humans accepted it gratefully, viewing it as a blessing in a world where such kindness was rare. Other times, they were more suspicious, wary of a stranger bringing gifts with no strings attached. In such cases, they would offer him coins, small tokens of value given not out of wealth, but out of a belief that it was bad luck to receive something for nothing. Jasper never pressed the issue; he understood that trust was a rare commodity here, and he accepted whatever they chose to give.
Tonight, his business in the village was much the same. He had hunted earlier, drained the blood from the animals, and now he carried the meat with him, wrapped in cloth. He wasn't sure how the villagers here would react—whether they would see his offering as a boon or as something to be feared. But he would try, as he always did.
If the Volturi were still around, or if his family were anywhere within reach, he wouldn't dare take such a risk. The idea of exposing himself in this way, of leaving traces of his existence, would have been unthinkable. But things were different now. He was alone, with only one other who had sworn off all connection with him. As things stood, there was little risk.
Besides, her methods had always been far less subtle than his own.
Jasper shifted slightly on the rough log he had chosen as a seat, feeling the uneven wood press against him through the layers of his clothing. The fire before him crackled and hissed, its warmth doing little to chase away the deep-seated chill that had settled in his bones—one that no amount of heat could ever truly dispel. His sharp eyes moved slowly over the faces gathered around the fire, taking in every nuance, every flicker of emotion.
The settlement was a quaint, the simplest refuge for those who found themselves needing shelter in the desolate landscape. The huts were hastily constructed, their walls thin and barely able to keep out the cold. The people within them were much the same—frail, weathered, held together more by sheer will than by any real strength.
Jasper could feel the weariness in the air, a palpable weight that hung over the settlement like a shroud. It was in the way they moved, the way they spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid that even their voices might provoke the world into further cruelty. Their conversations were muted, filled with the mundane horrors of survival—what little food they had managed to find, the sick and the dying, the ever-present threat of something worse lurking just beyond the firelight.
He could sense their unease, the low thrum of anxiety and sadness that vibrated through the group, almost like a wave. He knew the rhythm well, a constant of emotion in trying times that has been a staple for centuries. These people were stuck in a cycle—fear of the land that had turned against them, fear of the sickness that spread through their ranks like wildfire, fear of each other, as desperation turned even friends into potential enemies.
Jasper's connection to that fear was deeper than most could ever understand. It was the same fear that had driven him as a young soldier, barely more than a boy, marching off to war with dreams of glory and honor. It was the fear that had fueled his every action in Maria's army, as he became something far darker than he had ever imagined, his humanity stripped away piece by piece. Fear had been his companion through it all, a relentless force that shaped him, molded him, until he barely recognized the man he had once been.
Jasper's sharp ears picked up the murmurs of the villagers across the fire, their voices low and cautious as they discussed the latest rumors from Azgeda. He kept his gaze distant, pretending disinterest, though every word they spoke settled into his mind. This art was a Cullen family specialty he now perfected over the decades- appearing uninvolved while absorbing every detail.
"They say Roan just turned twelve," one of the villagers said, his voice gravelly with age and hard living. "Already taller than most boys his age. Strong like his mother."
Jasper's attention sharpened at the mention of Roan, and his thoughts drifted back to a time over a decade ago, deep in the woods, when he had encountered a heavily pregnant Nia and her retinue. He had been little more than a shadow then until the moment came where he could no longer stand by.
He remembered the night perfectly. The tension in the air, the scent of blood and fear, the way Nia's steely gaze had fixed on him as she gave birth to her son. He had seen strength in her, a ruthless determination that marked her as a leader, and yet, in that brief encounter, he had also seen the vulnerability of a mother bringing new life into a world even if only for moments.
Hearing that the child he had delivered was now thriving brought an unexpected warmth to him, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of how much time had passed. It was hard to imagine Roan as anything more than the babe he had held for those fleeting moments. Time moved differently for him, the years slipping by like water through his fingers. It was only natural that he still saw Roan as an infant, just as he still saw Renesmee as the little girl she had once been.
His thoughts turned bitter for a moment as he recalled Renesmee's last words to him, the finality in her voice as she walked away from him and everything they had once shared. "I wish nothing to do with you or yours anymore... in this empty world." The words echoed in his mind, a painful rememberance. He thought he lost all when he lost his family most Certainly Alice, but… it wasn't till that moment that he felt truly empty. How ashamed Carlisle and Bella would be if they saw now.
Jasper shook his head slightly, pushing those memories aside. There was no use dwelling on the past. Not when the present demanded his attention, and so he refocused on the unfolding discourse.
"They say his father has fallen ill," another villager added, her tone quiet. "Something no healer has seen before."
The first speaker grunted, his voice thick. "Azgeda needs its king strong, especially now. With the sickness spreading, and the animals becoming harder to find… who knows what will happen if he doesn't recover."
Jasper's thoughts turned to the king of Azgeda, the man who ruled over such a fierce and fearsome tribe. He had never met the king himself, but if the stories were to be believed, the man was as brutal as they came. His mind drifted back to Nia, Roan's mother, and the cold, commanding presence she had exuded even in the midst of childbirth. In the short time they had spent together, Jasper had seen enough to know that she was a leader who wielded power with an iron fist, unyielding and ruthless. He wondered if the king of Azgeda measured up to her, or if she was surpassed by his brutality.
Nia had been the closest Jasper had come to encountering the higher echelons of leadership in this world. He preferred the shadows, staying in the small, disconnected villages far from the centers of power like Polis or Agra. There, he could observe without being observed, help without drawing attention to himself. But every now and then, he couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the leadership was like. Were they all as cold and ruthless as Nia? Or was there something more to them, something that the stories didn't capture?
His musings were interrupted by the low voice of a third villager, older and more weathered than the others. The man leaned in closer to the unsteady flames. "Good riddance, I say. That brutal king of Azgeda is no better than the Dark Commander was. Maybe it's about time he sickened."
The air around the fire seemed to still at his words. Jasper felt the sharp shift in the emotions around him—anger, fear, and a deep, simmering tension. The villagers who had been speaking fell silent, their eyes darting to one another in discomfort. The Dark Commander Sheidheda, unsurprisingly still haunted the collective memory of the trikru tribes. He wondered the scale of terror he inflicted on the survivors he left in the night…before Alice.
One of the few Trikru Jasper knew entered the picture at this point. Indra, a familiar face among the scattered tribes, was one of the enforcers of trade around the various Trikru settlements outside of Polis. She mainly managed the flow of goods from the villages back to the capital, though she also often handled trade between the smaller, more isolated communities. Jasper had come across her a few times during her travels. It had been maybe four months since their last encounter, and seeing her now brought a fleeting curiosity to his mind.
He briefly wondered what had happened to her young daughter, who often clung to her side during her visits to the settlements and along the roads. As he listened to Indra's sharp command, he pondered it further. Perhaps she had found somewhere safe for the girl to stay during her travels this time. Or, more likely, she had found someone to train her daughter in the ways of a warrior. Jasper didn't like the idea of children being molded into fighters. It seemed like so many steps back. He had seen enough of war, had lived through its horrors both as a human and as a vampire, to know that nothing good came from teaching the young to wield weapons before they could even grasp the weight of them.
People changed the world, but the world changed people as well—a truth he had realized long ago, one that still held true today in the most unfortunate ways.
Indra, who had just approached the fire with a young boy in tow, stiffened at the villager's words. Her gaze snapped to the man who had spoken, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. But beneath that anger, Jasper sensed something deeper, something darker—fear. It wasn't fear for herself, but for what such reckless words could bring upon them all. Indra was a warrior, trained to face any enemy with courage, but even she understood that some enemies were best left undisturbed.
"That's enough," Indra said, her voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade. It was a sharp command, meant to put a swift end to the subject of talk. "It's bad luck to mention his name."
The man who had spoken looked around, suddenly aware of the weight his words had carried. The glares from the others around the fire were heavy with condemnation, their eyes burning with a mix of anger and fear. He quickly looked away, his bravado shrinking under the collective judgment of his peers. He muttered something under his breath, but whatever defiance he had felt before was gone, replaced by a sullen regret.
Indra's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, making it clear that she would not tolerate such talk. Jasper could feel the authority radiating from her, a steady, unwavering force that demanded respect. Though there was more to it than that, Indra wasn't just protecting the honor of a rival leader; she was guarding against the darkness that such words could summon, a darkness that could easily spread if left unchecked.
The villagers shifted uneasily, their eyes downcast, as if by lowering their gaze they could avoid the consequences of the man's foolishness.
Jasper had long since learned to read people, to sense their emotions and adjust his actions accordingly. He would wait, observe, and then decide how best to approach them. Whether they accepted his gift freely or felt compelled to pay him in coin, it didn't matter much to a brief moment, he could offer them something—however pitiful—that might make their lives a little easier.
Jasper approached the fire a few minutes later, offering meat to the villagers, a familiar face looked up at him.
"Jasper," Indra greeted him, her tone edged. "What brings you to Roxlar's settlement? Last I saw, you were several leagues away in Aenon's settlement along the river."
Jasper met her gaze evenly, sensing the questions behind her words. Indra was not one to tolerate mysteries, and while she respected his actions, she always sought to understand the motives behind them.
"I travel often," Jasper replied, his voice calm and unhurried. "I live a nomadic life, moving from place to place. I've found that it allows me to help where it's most needed." He paused, then added, "When I heard that this village was in great need of sustenance and assistance, I made sure to head this way. Along the journey, I located adequate game to bring with me."
Indra studied him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered his words. She came across him enough to understand that he spoke the truth—at least, as much as he was willing to share with mere humans. Jasper had always been a man of few words, his actions speaking louder than anything he might say. But there was a consistency to him, a kind of reliability that she had come to recognize, even if she didn't fully trust him.
"You always seem to know where you're needed," Indra said, her tone thoughtful. "Not many live as you do—moving from place to place, helping those in need without asking for anything in return. It's a rare thing."
Jasper acknowledged her with a slight nod. "I do what I can. In these trying times."
Indra seemed to accept this, no doubt her mind was grinding away now, turning over the implications of his presence here. She was a warrior at heart, always thinking several steps ahead.
"You've brought more than just meat, then," Indra remarked, gesturing to the villagers who had gathered around to accept his offering. "These people need hope as much as they need food."
Jasper didn't respond immediately, letting the weight of her words settle between them. It was true, of course. The villagers were hungry for more than just sustenance—they needed to believe that there was something better ahead, that their struggles were not in vain.
"Perhaps," he said finally, his voice low. "But hope is a fragile thing. It needs to be nurtured carefully, or it can wither and die."
Indra nodded, understanding the truth in his words. "Just be careful, Jasper," she warned, her tone softening slightly. "Not everyone is as strong as they seem. And some might take more from you than you're willing to give."
It was both a warning and a reminder, one that Jasper appreciated more than he let if realistically no human force could best him under the current tech available. The word held truth —there were limits to what people could offer, and humans had to be mindful of those who might see kindness as something to exploit.
"I'll keep that in mind," Jasper replied, offering her a rare, faint smile.
Indra gave him one last, searching look before turning back to the villagers. Allowing Jasper to return to his work without further questions. It seems she knew he had his reasons, and for now, that was enough.
As she moved away, Jasper returned to distributing the meat, aware of the eyes that watched him, curious and wary. He wasn't here to be a hero, but if he could ease their burdens, even just a little, it was worth the effort. And perhaps, in doing so, he could find a way to ease his own loss as well.
A.N. It's been a long while hasn't it ive made it a priority to get back to some of my works i've neglected this one included next I plan to update my asoiaf/elden ring fic, and my dance era jace si.
With that said curious what you guys think of the chapters implications and my portrayals of characters. I was wanted to say that next chapter will be a fresh pov curious if anyone guesses who it is. (Its a character from the 100 though not twilight for a little hint)