After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 46

Anniera at Last

Notes:

"You're quiet today."

"Not much to say."

"🎶Deep down—🎶"

Yeah, basically I have no notes :D (also I didn't write those lines. I can't take the credit)

*****

Regarding the Overseer, Janner had only what others told him to rely on, since no one would actually let him out of his cabin. Before it had been a joke, now they were serious.

Sara wouldn’t do anything more than shake her head and whisper, “Artham took care of it.” The look in her eyes was haunting, and the thought of hurting her anymore was so detestable, Janner never pressed. 

All Nia said was, “your uncle did with him what he thought fit,” but with the way her lips pressed into a hard line, Janner couldn't help but think she either didn't approve or wasn't sure what to make of it.

It was the most uncomfortable with Artham, in terms of his explanation. His eyes darkened, and in a quiet, steady, voice, he said, “It doesn't matter what happened, Janner. You're safe now. Sara's safe now. He's never going to hurt you again.” There was a sinister tone slipping in between the words that chilled Janner's heart.

From Jebsun came the closest thing to the truth. “Artham punished him,” he said carefully. “He didn't torture him, certainly not. But the Overseer did not die a peaceful death. Artham made sure he knew pain and fear, and you needn't burden yourself with any more than that. Rest, please.”

Somehow, Janner managed to listen to Jebsun. He didn't burden himself with thoughts of the Overseer, at least none regarding the methods of his execution. He felt nothing regarding it. He felt neither worry nor relief, joy nor sorrow. It simply happened.

*****

What Janner dreaded most was the thought of coming into the port and being swarmed by throngs of Annierans. They would be waiting, logic stated they would be waiting, everyone knew they would be waited, and the thought of it terrified him. He couldn’t face a crowd of people; he could hardly breathe around the crew at suppertime. Granted part of that was due to the constant pain in his chest, but regardless, "facing a crowd of people" was not on his to-do list.

“What if Janner, Sara, and I row in?” Artham suggested when Anniera was in sight. “We can go around the Isle and land on the small beach, the one near Rysen with the path leading up to it.”

Pure relief flooded over Janner at the thought, and even the knowledge that the path sandy and inconvenient and would hurt to trek up did not dampen the moment.

That was what they did before they sailed into port: he, Sara, and Artham climbed into one of the small boats stored on the side of the ship, and the crew lowered them into the water. Janner watched Nia and Jebsun, who remained on deck as they distance separated them, and the way they held each other sent warmth inside his heart despite the frigidity of the water and air. 

Artham rowed carefully, but the oars’ effort and the slight waves sent sprays into the boat, cold sprays that stung Janner’s face like icy needles. He tried pulling the hood of his cloak over his head to shield him, but it worsened the pain in his chest. Hearing his light gasp of pain, Sara turned, smiled, and pulled it up for him, making sure he could disappear inside it. He mouthed thank you and closed his eyes, knowing he hid more than his face from the stinging spray. He hid from Anniera, from Castle Rysen, from facing society, because Maker knew he’d have to do it soon, he’d have to talk to them soon, and considering something as simple as thinking about it sent him into a silent panic, he didn’t know if he could.

His hand was squeezed suddenly—Sara, no doubt—and he couldn’t help but wonder how even when they were both out on the frigid sea, her hand was still warmer than his.

When Artham moored the boat at the tiny dock on the beach, no one was there waiting, ready to swarm them in an instant. They were alone, mercifully alone, when they began the slow, painful walk up the hill to Rysen. With no steady ground to catch the cane, Janner kept slipping, stumbling, and nearly falling. It was only a nearly because Artham kept a steady grip on him.

“Let’s stop and rest,” Artham suggested once they had reached the top of the hill, as if they hadn't already stopped countless times while walking. 

Janner let out a shallow, shuddering breath and relied on the cane rather than the tempting stone just a step away. Sitting down again would bring more pain, and he didn't want to deal with it, not anymore. The more-than-dull ache consuming his chest was just barely tolerable, and he didn't want to make it worse. But why was everything so hard all the time? His mind wouldn’t stop rocking from their time at sea, and he barely had the resolve to walk up a tiny hill. And Rysen was still so far, not in actuality, but if they moved at the same pace they had gone up the hill, it was.

The stiff grass crunched beside him, and Janner glanced up, unsurprised to see Artham standing there. “Do you think you can make it the rest of the way?”

Janner hesitated, then warily replied, “Probably.”

Shaking his head, Artham said, “Lean against me. It has to be better than standing on your own.”

Accepting gratefully, Janner allowed himself to rest against Artham, and for the first time in months, he remembered what it felt like to regard his uncle as a sort of father.

After a while, they moved on slowly and painfully (at least for him) but surely.

He watched Sara as they crawled along: she stared straight ahead, her face barely visible—but it didn’t look like she was smiling. Something was wrong, he had a very decent guess as to what that was, and he once again remembered why he didn’t inform people when something was wrong with him.

They stopped for another break, and as Janner tried and failed to get his breath back in a not-painful manner, he resolved to talk to her, at least as much as he could manage.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as they resumed their slow journey. He would have preferred to ease her into conversation a little more gently, first asking her if she was alright, then pressing a little more after that, but he didn’t have the time to do all that before he lost his breath.

She smiled at him, not a happy smile but a sad smile, and responded uncharacteristically quickly. “I’m worried about you, that’s all. Worried about you actually getting your strength back—what if you don’t?—worried about you having to talk to everyone—it’s inevitable, and I don’t know if you can handle it—worried about you going forward, if everything you’ve dealt with the past months is going to hurt you in ways we can’t foresee. I’m just…worried. Quite a bit.”

Janner resisted the urge to laugh nervously. He didn't want pain shooting into his chest. “I wasn’t expecting…so much detail,” he began, pausing rather often in the phrases that followed. “Not that detail is a bad thing, it's a good thing—a wonderful thing. I'm thrilled you told me in so much detail. It just...it's not exactly normal.”

Sara sighed. “Everyone’s been forcing you to share what’s happening in your mind, what you’re feeling physically and emotionally, what you’re struggling with, and I think it’s only fair that I respond honestly. But, please, don’t feel guilty about it. I know you feel guilty when I’m worried or upset or anxious about you, and I want you to try not feeling like that. Janner, I worry about you because I love you. That’s like me feeling guilty about you being worried about me. Which I suppose I do feel a little guilty, since you’ve far more things roiling in your mind than that, and you don’t need another.”

They lapsed into a slightly awkward silence, until Artham jumped in. “Neither of you should feel guilt regarding the other,” he began. “There’s no reason for you to feel it, it doesn’t help anything—in fact, it makes everything worse and makes both of you more stressed, and Maker knows Janner doesn’t need anything else to be stressed over—and it’s just not healthy. Guilt isn’t the sort of thing that goes away on its own, though,” he added, his eyes thoughtful, looking into the past. “It’s the sort of thing you have to pray about, and I highly recommend doing so.”

After that, it was quiet once again, and yet Janner knew more was wrong with Sara than just her worry. He didn’t think anyone had asked her about it, though, and he hadn’t asked her about it either. He did feel guilty for that, and it was the sort of thing he was allowed to feel guilty for. Because by not asking her, he had wronged her. He couldn’t ask her now, though. Soon. Very soon. 

Rapid motion caught his gaze, and he looked up, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of Leeli running toward them, no cloak around her shoulders, her light hair flying behind her. She nearly threw her arms around him and nearly gave him a panic attack, but Artham stepped in front and said, “Be gentle. Wait. Maybe just don't; it's a matter of broken ribs.”

That was enough to turn Janner's cheeks crimson, but Leeli nodded understandingly and instead broke through the privacy of his hood and kissed his cheek and whispered, “Janner, that slip of paper you tucked in Sara’s letter was filled with some of the most obvious lies you’ve ever told, but I’m so glad you’re back that I’m not going to be angry about it.”

Janner smiled awkwardly. “Um, thanks? I think?”

She hopped over to Sara next, nearly crushing her in the embrace. Janner's heart ached with the knowledge that she had wanted to do the same to him, but she couldn't. They exchanged something in murmured words, something Janner didn’t quite catch, but it gave him the chance to see Arundelle and Ilana—both wearing cloaks—coming toward them, Ilana running, Arundelle following at a more ladylike, but clearly eager, pace. 

Artham caught Ilana as she flew into his arms and spun her around, kissing her on the cheek. “Hello, sapling,” he laughed, bringing her in for a hug. “You couldn’t run with your mother?”

Ilana shook her head, her brown braids swinging. “I didn’t want to wait! Besides, I wanted the first hug.”

Artham talked to her as they waited for Arundelle, and Janner turned his attention back to Sara and Leeli, the latter of whom was now surveying them with a glaring intensity.

“Do you two have any idea how tired you both look?” she asked, not mincing words. “I mean, you actually look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?”

Janner glanced at Sara awkwardly. “Sometimes,” he offered while she, guiltily murmured, “Sort of.”

Leeli threw up her hands, exasperated. “Okay, first things first: you need to sleep. And then after that you can tell me about getting engaged, but please sleep first.”

She began dragging them toward Rysen—rather, she grabbed Sara’s hand and pulled her until she laughed and complied and went in the right direction, and she slid her arm behind Janner’s back and guided him toward Sara.

They passed Arundelle a few seconds after Leeli convinced them forward, and Janner couldn’t help but smile at the light and tears in her eyes, at the trembling smile painted across her lips. Finally, she would be with Artham again, and when the sound of them embracing and greeting each other and laughing reached his ears, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Finally, a relationship put to right. If only…he glanced at Sara, the sadness and distance still glistening in her eyes. If only he could pick up the pieces of theirs as well.

*****

Notes:

So not exactly happy but not exactly sad. I promise, the next chapter I would actually consider happy or at the very least comforting.

Let me know if there's anything wonky or noncanonical or strange^^