Chance Encounter
The boy roused; he turned onto his side and rubbed his bleary eyes. As his vision adjusted to the warmly lit room, he realized he was somewhere he'd never seen before. Surprised, he jolted awake and looked at his surroundings.
Soft light drifted in from a window on his left. The room was small with chalky plaster walls and thick panels of wood on the floor. Next to him was a high-backed chair with his sweater and pants draped over it. The bed he laid in was creaky as could be, and his blanket caused all his skin to itch unbearably; he eagerly pulled it off. As he did so, he noticed for the first time that the door was open.
He attempted to get up and leave, but only succeeded in lifting his head before flopping back onto the bed with a violent squeak, staring thoughtlessly at the cracked ceiling. His entire body felt sore and tired, as if it were made of lead. There was no doubt that he was experiencing the peculiar but unmistakable feeling of ill.
Empty-headed, he began drifting off, but he heard a gentle noise coming from not far off before he could delve into sleep once more. Almost as if it were reflex, his head turned lethargically to look at the source of the sound. A boy, noticeably younger than the one in the bed (though not to an extremity), stood peeking from the doorway, watching the teenaged stranger cautiously. After seeing that his elder did not react, the furtive child stepped inside. He stood still for a moment longer before quickly dragging a chair to the bed and sitting in it.
Their silence continued for some time more, but eventually, the elder spoke. "Where am I?" he asked. His throat ached upon speaking, but his voice sounded as it usually did.
The young one didn't respond. He looked down to the floor.
"My mom said I shouldn't talk to you."
The teenager cocked his head slightly. It was true that, for commoners, talking to a clasumb such as himself was bordering on taboo, but neither the woman nor the child should've known that he was of the highest of the upper class. "How come?"
"I dunno. That's all she said."
"Then why are you here?"
He fidgeted with his hands in his lap and looked in another direction. "Well, I felt kinda bad for you, so I wanted to check if you were okay."
The elder raised his brows. "You pitied me?"
He nodded. "Yeah. My mom found you sleeping in the woods, covered in rain, when she went mushroom picking. She was worried all morning, making sure that you weren't dead, or something like that. I guess I was worried, too."
"I appreciate your mother's help and your concern." He cleared his throat. "I must ask you, though: aren't you going to be in trouble if she finds out we spoke to one another?"
He shrugged. "I guess, but she's at the market right now. She prob'ly thought she'd be home before you woke up. As long as I can leave before she's home, I'm gonna be fine."
Though he still didn't smile, the older of the two seemed amused. "So, what's your name? Who are you?"
"How about you first?"
"I'm Jasper."
His eyes widened slightly. "Oh. Okay. Um, that's nice." He paused. "I'm Renith Stillwater."
"Renith? That's an unusual name."
"Is it?"
"Well, I've certainly never heard it before. It sounds like something from Old Obrid."
This time, he got nothing more than a shrug.
Jasper stuck his pale hand out to the boy. "Well, it is nice to meet you, Renith Stillwater."
He accepted the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Jasper F--"
But he didn't finish his sentence. He clenched his teeth as tightly as he could, but it was too late. Jasper furrowed his brows. "What was that?"
Renith, very obviously not paying attention, had opened his mouth only to unleash a string of obscenities under his breath.
"What--how did you... Huh?" He squeezed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Alright, what's going on?"
He looked at Jasper once more, stressed now. "Well, my mom thinks you're a Fitzroy. I dunno if that's true or not, 'specially since I've never seen one." He looked over at the chair with the clothes. "She said you were dressed too good. She said it was really funny that you thought taking off your fancy necklace and wearing a big sweater would hide that."
He processed this before responding with, "Alright, I suppose you're correct, but that means you know I'm a clasumb. Now, I wouldn't say anything about it, but why would you risk getting in trouble if I told anyone that you, a commoner, talked to me?"
"I wouldn't get in trouble!" he declared. "I'm an Abiril!"
Jasper stared, dumbfounded. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I am!" There was no humor in his statement.
"With all due respect, this," he gestured vaguely at the drab room, "is hardly the dwelling I'd expect of an Abiril."
"So? I'm still an Abiril, and my mom is, too."
"How about your father?"
He put his hand to his chin. "Dunno, don't care. Never met 'im."
His face dropped and he uttered some sort of sad noise. There was no more eloquent response his mind seemed capable of formulating.
"Anyway, I don't get why that matters. What I meant to tell you was that she told me not to talk for the same reason you said. She's kinda scared you'll tell everyone that we talked. Think she's overreacting, though. I'm not below you or anything."
This time, Jasper didn't offer so much as a sound. He had to admit that he knew little about the Abirils, but he had some basic grasp on the politics of nobility; they were largely the same from family to family. Assuming his suspicions were correct, he fully understood the position the child and his mother were in: even one step out of line spelled misfortune. Suddenly, he felt rather guilty for allowing the conversation to continue for as long as it had.
"Oh... I hope it's not rude for me to ask, but why were you in the woods, anyway?"
"I..." Jasper was at a loss for words. Not because his act was inexplicable -- it was quite simple, really -- but how could he justify being as ridiculous as he was? "Um..."
He sighed deeply. "Alright. I ran away."
Renith's eyes widened. "You ran? You're rich and in a mansion, and you ran?"
"I know. It sounds completely absurd coming out of my mouth, doesn't it?"
"I mean... Yeah, a little. I have no idea why you'd do that."
A small laugh. "I wish I knew, too."
This was a lie. He knew exactly why he fled.
...
Yesterday was not particularly special in any regard. As usual, he woke up early to be lectured on whatever subject his parents thought necessary for him and his siblings to learn before taking the mantle of the family, no matter how archaic or pointless. He spent much of his day struggling with the complicated Žaplávan text he was reading, stumbling over the strange words and syntax. Of course, his elder sister quietly lamented any mistakes he made in reading it aloud to their tutor -- which were more than a few. He'd generally grown used to her derision over the years -- she'd been this way towards him for the four years since he'd turned ten -- but he swore she was particularly vitriolic today.
In his stressed state, he'd briefly admitted to her at lunch that he'd much prefer to hide away for the remainder of the hours and focus on his paintings. He quickly came to regret this, hearing a lecture from her ("A Fitzroy should not have such thoughts," she'd said), and later his parents who'd overheard her. Of course, he'd heard the same remarks from them as he always did about his art and his educational struggles: "Those pursuits aren't useful; you're just wasting your time." "Maybe you should focus those efforts into your schooling instead." "If only you weren't so slow." The like.
He hadn't even done so much as opened his mouth to respond when he'd been told these things. However, that night, as he laid in bed, his tightly coiled emotions overwhelmed him. Thoughts, invasive and bizarre, streamed through his mind.
I could run, he thought, maybe I'd see if they'd look.
Of course they'd look. With Kendrick's disappearance six, no, seven years ago now, I'm their only other male heir.
Comical. Why does that matter so much, anyway? I know Celestine has far more wits and ardor than I. She'd be glad to have her competition gone.
I-it doesn't matter! I'm being insane. I know they'll look for me because I'm their son. Their child!
He could not rest as long as his mind raced like it did. He paced the wide, polished floors of his bedchamber, back and forth, over and over, a never-ending debate shouting the same arguments back at one another ad nauseam. Growing mad from the din in his head, a strange resolve overcame him. Without thinking at all, now, he hastily clothed himself and grabbed an old lantern. He traversed through the dark, labyrinthian structures of his home, making little effort to be quiet. He wasn't trying to evade capture -- truth was, it would be pleasant to fail.
Still, he managed to leave. At a brisk pace, he began moving to wherever his legs took him. He avoided the streets out of instinct, seeking seemingly isolated places instead. Nothing at him questioned whether this was dangerous or irrational, nor did he stop to consider whether the cold rain pelting him might make him ill. He was moving, purposeful yet utterly lost, as far as he could.
He did not know how long or how far he wandered when he'd reached the dark woods. He creeped along through the trees, his lantern's warm light illuminating bronze and gold leaves, the only thing he could see clearly now in the abyssal blackness. His breath billowed into the cold, damp air of the night.
There is nothing for me here. I've run far enough.
Regardless, he pushed forward.
Stop it. I'm filthy and soaked. This is pointless.
His tired legs still carried him along.
I'm exhausted. At least let me rest.
This was the one command his body seemed to acknowledge. Suddenly, he collapsed to the ground, dying foliage his bed, and crickets his mournful lullaby. Though his body ached and the rain still barraged him, he soon drifted off into an unrestful, dreamless slumber.
...
Jasper sat upright and stretched. "Well, I appreciate the kindness you and your mother have shown me, but it's time for me to depart."
"You're already leaving? You just woke up."
He slowly got out of the bed and walked to the chair with his clothes. "Well... Yes, if I have to be honest, I would like to stay a little longer. Even though I'd prefer spending my time here to my own home, I can't imagine your mother would be too happy with that."
"No, she wouldn't," Renith mumbled.
"Exactly." He buttoned his pants. "It cannot be much longer before she returns. Thus, the sooner I leave, the better." He pulled his sweater over his head. After pulling his long, dark hair out of the neck, he moved to the door.
Renith quickly stood to follow him. "Y-you can't go alone. You won't know where you're going!"
Jasper had already found his boots and began putting them on when Renith had said this. "It's alright," the elder said, "I can probably find some coachman in the nearest town over and ask him to drive me home."
"...Well, you won't know how to get there!" he retorted.
He shook his head. "I'll be alright. I have always had a good sense for matters like these."
Renith slumped. "Fine. I guess I'm not supposed to be going with you, anyway." He paused. "Good luck, though."
Jasper nodded. He opened the door and walked out into the sunny clearing in front of the small home, dewy and crisp from last night's downpour.
"Oh, one more thing!" the young boy called."Uh... I know my mom wouldn't like that I said this, but I think you're kinda nice. I hope I get to know you better someday."
Jasper looked behind himself. The younger boy stood in the doorway, watching, waiting for some response. So, for the first time, he smiled warmly back. "I do wish to meet you again, too" he called. "May circumstances draw us together once more, no matter how from today it might be!" He got one more glance at the scene before turning round once more to continue on his journey back.
"...Of course. You too."
The last image in his mind of Renith was him smirking and waving him farewell.