Jane and the Dragon; Jester/Jane

One-shot

Because I've always felt a little sorry for his nameless state…

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Jester, my name is Jester.

You know, if you replace the notorious 'J' with a borrowed 'P' you get Pester. Ironic, isn't it?

And when you take you're newly found Pester and remove the offending 's,' you have yourself a Peter.

Peter, my name is Peter.

Allow me to try again.

Jester, my name is Jester.

Jester rhymes with Fiesta, Tester, Rester, Pester….

If you take the 's' out of Pester you get Peter.

Peter.

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I find myself wishing I knew my name.

This doesn't happen often, mind you, just the occasional longing for something a little more personal; a little more human: Something to show that I am human.

Something to show that I am a man; a young man.

Something to show that I have feelings.

Something to show that I am a little more than the fool of the castle, the punch-line of the joke.

Something like a name.

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It's ridiculous, I know, to be nameless. Believe me, if I knew whatever became of my name I would search for it to the ends of the earth. It's a troublesome thing – to lose a name. It's the type of conundrum that leaves one thinking in a series of circles; going around and around till you are absolutely certain that you have gotten absolutely nowhere.

My parents left me at these stone walls when I was just a child. But even children know their names, and I am certain it had passed at some stage through my mother's lips. But all I remember, even from them, is Jester.

Perhaps if I had been less of a blubbering fool of a child, I wouldn't have earned the nickname from my parents, and I wouldn't be in this situation at all. Nevertheless, I was a blubbering fool of a child – In fact, I am sure I still am – and that has sealed my fate.

My dishonorable, lonely, nameless fate.

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"Jester," a red-head behind me calls, and because of my recent brooding, I almost trip over at the sound of the name. Or rather, half-name.

Jane smiles in her very Jane-like way. It's one of those smiles that would withstand an earthquake, typhoon, or horror of horrors – a dragon attack. It's given so freely and generously by this young woman, I wonder if she is even aware of it's affect on people; of it's affect on me.

I smile my not-so-wonderful-as-hers smile back, and even so, she looks grateful to receive the mess of my lips.

"You played very well tonight," she tells me, the ghost of the smile still lingering on her lips. Lingering. The combination of that word and her lips makes my stomach twist in a painfully pleasant way.

"Thank you," I tell her airily, and brush a way the compliment with a grand sweep of my hand, because I've always been one for theatrics. "I'm sure my name will never be forgotten within those four walls after my ballad for Dragon." I chuckle as I remember the look on Dragon's face. If I don't find my bedding scorched by fire tonight, I'll be very lucky indeed.

Jane chuckles beside me, and I feel a small victory.

"No," she returns to me, smiling again, "your name will never be forgotten here, no matter how far you travel to perform and jest."

Ah, so she has heard. Until recently, I had assumed I would always be at my King and Queen's pleasure, and only my King and Queen's. Apparently, though, as my King told me, I have further horizons to reach and larger crowds to entertain.

Which is funny, because the only crowds I ever wanted to entertain were the people sitting around me, and the closest I ever wanted to be to the horizon was on the roof of the castle, watching the sunset with Jane by my side.

At least concerning the latter I knew I was getting ahead of myself.

I couldn't hold back my derisive laugh at Jane's comment, no matter how much I honestly wished to.

"Jane," I told her fondly, "Jester will be a name forever hanging in this castle; many after me will bear it."

She frowned at me like she didn't understand, and perhaps she didn't. "You knew what I meant; there is no need to mock me."

I sighed before I could hold that in too. "I don't mock you Jane, it's just that I-" and it is here I stop, because I have no idea how to finish myself. It's just that I don't want to go? It's just that I will miss you all? It's just that I wish I had a real name for you to remember me by? It's just that I care for you? It's just that I care for you an awful lot?

There are just too many options – none of which I care to say aloud to her.

She's been looking at me, watching me while I battle within myself, and it disturbs me and excites me at the same time to wonder how I knew that. She watches my face, my hands, and my eyes. I'm even sure she watched my shoes at some point, though you could feed me to Dragon if I knew why.

"Jester?"

It's a statement more than a question, by the way she says it, but the furrow in her brow could counter that; when it comes to reading Jane, I truly am lost.

I turn to face her and am surprised to see we have stopped walking altogether. She's drinking me in; unashamed and unabashed, even with me staring intently back at her. Some part of me, some strange, new foreign part of me hopes that she may be having the same thoughts about me as I am having of her at the moment. You know - thoughts that would strike up a cunning match with the word lingering. I don't think I've ever heard a word I love in my life more than that one.

"Jester," she says again, and this time I am certain it's no question. She is simply saying my name; trying it out on her tongue (and we're back to lingering. I have an impulse to bash my head against stone simply to get that word out of my head).

"Yes?" I act as if it was an address, anyway, to distract myself. I sorely need distracting.

"Jester," she says again, this time firmly.

"Yes?" My question wavers, for where she has found courage I have surely quailed.

"I love your name," Jane says straight-faced, serious. Despite the intensity driving her words, it sounds like a confession, as well. If my emotion of outstanded wasn't so occupied with what she had just said, I would have been shocked as to how she could have possibly known my childish worries. I would have been embarrassed, had I been that self-conscious with Jane.

"I've always loved to call you that," she continues, reaching out to place a firm grip on my upper arm, emphasizing her words with a series of tight squeezes. "It suits you perfectly, I think. It's a lovely name. I've called you Jester yesterday, I've done it today, and I'll do it again tomorrow, Jester."

Why does my name sound so much more appealing when it comes from her lips? It's sweeter than any ballad I've ever composed. To make her say it again, I try to keep her talking.

"Jane-"

I'm cut off, because warm lips have attacked mine, and I'm sure I heard her whisper my name before doing so.

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fact of the day: I love Jester's hat. It jingles.

push the button below and Jester will let you wear his hat to school