Nightmares and Dreamscapes

Writers: Miriah
Date Posted: 2nd August 2012

Characters: J'ackt
Description: Jenackt dreams of the past
Location: Emerald Falls Hold
Date: month 9, day 4 of Turn 6

J'ackt

~ In his little stony alcove Jenackt dreamed. The images were hazy,
barely remembered…~

He didn't understand. Why was his mother crying? Why was she putting
his clothes into a bag? He hugged at her legs, her tears making his
own well up. Tugging at her skirts, he didn't understand. Could he
take Kitty? Why not? He loved Kitty! Mama? Stop crying…

Why was his Papa mad? Who were the angry men? He wanted his bed! He
wanted his Kitty! No! Don't put Kitty outside! She'll run away!

Mama? I'm scared! I want to go home!

~The dream shifted, the images fading, then solidifying into newer,
more solid ones.~

The funeral pyre still smoldered, the remains of his mother and his
stillborn baby sister were a mixture of char and ashes. The stench
seemed to permeate everything, from the slight breeze to his clothes
and his hair. But still Jenackt stood guard, refusing in his stubborn
youth to leave his mother alone. He felt the fresh tears blooming in
his eyes, but hurriedly wiped them away; he winced as his hand touched
his swollen and bruised cheek and then glanced over towards his father
to make sure he hadn't noticed.

Crying was pointless, he had been told. Stop wailing. You're a man
now. Act like it. When he had not been able to silence the wails of
grief, his father, Jenasom, had struck him into silence. Now Jenackt
stood, refusing to become a victim of his father's hard hand again,
but wanting desperately to weep for the loss of his mother.

His beautiful red haired mother… Gentle. Soft. Loving. A warm bosom
that enfolded him. She was gone. Jenackt, struggled with the
realization that she would no longer be there to comfort when his
father raged at the injustices of life. Jenasom had refused to try to
find a Healer. He refused to go near the Hold. Jenackt didn't know why
and in that moment, he hated him. If he had gone, maybe his wonderful
mother would still live. They would still be a family.

He couldn't help it. He turned to glare up at the figure beside him.
Jenasom, noticed and returned the childish glare with an arched brow.
"At least you've stopped your bawling." Jenackt's face flushed red
with embarrassment and anger as Jenasom continued coldly. "Well, boy?
Something to say? Or are you just going to start sobbing like a woman
again?"

The boy that he had been flung himself onto his father, fists
flailing. "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

~A flash of remembered pain and the dream dimmed again. Jenackt tossed
in his sleep, his body curling into a ball.~

The thud of metal against wood sounded loudly. Jensom's face in front
of him as the sword lowered to his throat. "You're dead. Now get up.
Do it again!"

He was exhausted. His arms hurt, but Jenackt pushed himself up and
gripped the heavy branch that served as his practice sword. He could
barely hold it steady, but he gritted his teeth. He would not quit. He
refused to quit. He would show him. Parry, block, thrust. An
unexpected kick toppled him. "Watch the feet! Get up! Again!"

He didn't want to. He was tired. The cool ground felt good. "You quit?
No son of mine will quit! Get up, you useless weakling!" A kick
against his hips and he groaned, forcing trembling arms to push
himself up before his father's foot could connect once again. He
wasn't a weakling. He would prove it.

~Jenackt's lips curled in anger as he slept and a foot struck out
wildly, reacting to the images now fading once again in his mind. They
shifted again, melding with new, fresher memories.~

Jenackt stared at the fire, next to a frail man that lay beside him.
Once robust, Jenasom's illness had wasted him away. His once vibrant
blue eyes were bloodshot and his pale blonde hair, once mirrored by
his son's locks, was now white and damp with sweat. Jenasom coughed,
holding his chest and Jenackt handed him the skin of water without a
change in expression.

Jenasom's eyes opened to peer at his son. "I'm dying." He coughed again.

"Probably." Jenackt poked at the fire with a long stick stirring it.

There was a long silence. "I did what I had to." Jenackt didn't
respond but his back immediately stiffened. It was enough of a reply.
"You can't be soft and be holdless."

Again, Jenackt didn't bother to reply. He added another log onto the
fire and his lips thinned. Jenasom continued. "Look at me, son."

At that, Jenackt started. Jenasom had always called him "Boy". His
brow furrowed and he slowly turned to gaze at the man that had raised
him. His face was stoic; Jenasom had made sure that Jenackt never
revealed "weak" emotions around him. Jenasom stared up at his son and
a trembling hand moved to lie on Jenackt's arm. "You'll do fine. Never
let them see you as weak. Ever. I'm…proud of the man you are. Strong.
Brave. Cunning. You're what you need to be."

Jenackt woke with a start, sitting up straight. His head pounded as he
glanced around his little alcove, almost expecting his father to be
beside him once again. Brushing a shaking hand against his brow he
exhaled and drew his knees up to rest his head on.

There was a burning in his chest and his throat felt clogged. His eyes
clenched tight and his teeth clamped together.

No tears came. He knew better than to cry.

Last updated on the August 11th 2012

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

Nightmares and Dreamscapes