Rather than Resenting: Ch. 14

Choosing to Believe

Notes:

This "chapter" has bounced around A LOT. At first it wasn't even a full chapter and was tacked onto the one where Janner greets the diplomats. Then I decided it didn't fit, so I had it floating around without a home. In fact, I nearly forgot about it until today, when I was touching up on some things and working on future chapters that sprung into existence off of an idea. Which means the climax is being pushed back again. Sorry.

So now it's here. And I think...I think it turned out decently well^^

*****

Artham made his way to the Castle’s poor excuse of a dungeon, built epochs earlier. By “poor excuse,” he meant it wasn’t much of a dungeon, considering how few cells they had down there and how clean and free of rats it was. Not that he wanted anyone to suffer through rat-infested areas that were covered in filth and grime, but it was nothing like any dungeon he had ever been in. Not that he had been in many. But the one he had been in was pretty bad.

Rysen’s dungeons had survived the sacking, and the castle had been rebuilt on top of both it and the Fane of Fire. Having no other place they trusted enough to keep Amrah from doing something deadly — at least, Artham didn’t trust her, but it seemed as though Kalmar did for some odd reason he was struggling to fathom — they had deposited her there after bringing her back from the local port. Granted, she could barely stand on her own feet without assistance, but she was still considered a threat, even if she she had not technically committed treason: she had only made an assassination attempt.

The way Janner acted at the beachfront, after coming back for the meeting, and during the meeting was enough to convince Artham that something needed to be done immediately, and Janner's failure to attend the evening meal had spurred him onward to do something as soon as possible regarding Amrah. 

Not that I’m not grateful he actually chose to stay with Sara and hopefully get to sleep early, Artham thought as he took the stone stairs down to the dungeons. But he really didn’t need to be there at supper. 

There was the chance that something important had been discussed while they were eating, but if it was, he hadn’t noticed. He had been thinking about other more important things at the time. Of course, the fact that he had been eating and thinking in the same time slot meant the latter rather than the former was actually being done, and he was jolted frustratingly out of thought several times, either by one of the delegates asking a question, Gammon making a joke, or Arundelle telling him to eat. 

Despite the interruptions, he had managed to at least ponder several ways of righting or at least providing a remedy for the current malady that had decided to intrude upon his nephew’s life. The question was whether any of them would actually work or not. 

What made it even harder than addressing Amrah as the root of the problem now was that she was actually on Anniera soil, very near to him, in fact, as he took another set of switch-back steps down to the cells. She had also managed to feel guilty and have a need to repent and actually apologize for everything she had done, and while that made it easier in one way, Janner could easily interpret it as yet another ploy tactic of hers to “get at them.” His nephew tended to be that way, always a bit paranoid. Not that it wasn’t perfectly alright and completely expected, considering everything. 

In truth, Artham wasn’t quite certain of Amrah’s sincerity, certainly not as sure as Kalmar was. It was incredibly likely that if he doubted the truth behind her words, Janner would be completely deaf to it. Though if he were to determine that she wasn’t lying, there was a chance he might be able to convince his nephew a bit more readily than Amrah or Kalmar could. Of course there was the fact that Janner would put up a painfully stubborn front and it would be nearly impossible to get anything inside of him, unless Sara was doing it.

But that was where the Maker came in. The Maker was truly the only one Who could work on Janner’s heart the way it needed. Perhaps everything that had happened was just the Maker’s way of healing him.

In which case, Artham mused, slowing his pace. It seems almost wrong to intrude.

He thought about that for a few moments, then resolved he would speak with Amrah anyway, simply because he was genuinely curious. And unless the Maker specifically called him to do so, he would not tamper with Janner’s heart to mind, nor would he try to sway him one way or the other. 

“I need to know,” Artham said quietly once he was just outside the cell, though command was still evident in his voice. “Are you really here to get forgiveness, or are you planning something again?” Now that he was in front of her, his doubt and confusion rose to the surface once more. He weighed between whether he should disguise his distrust of the clad-in-black woman sitting before him on the wooden bench of a cell he knew was far nicer than the one she had held Janner and Kalmar in or not. She had done nothing to earn his trust, nor anyone else’s. All of Anniera would distrust her for what she had done thirteen years earlier, and Kalmar and Janner certainly wouldn’t trust her for what schemes she had carried out six years prior.

Keeping her head down, whether to indicate submission or to keep her lies from being seen, Artham was not certain, she responded in what sounded like humility. It could have been a guise, though. “I’m not here to receive forgiveness. I never expected it.”

An eyebrow raised suspiciously, Artham went for another route. “Fine. Are you here to make amends then?” Even amends could have dastardly deeds hidden inside them.

Amrah shook her head this time. “I can’t make amends for what I’ve done. No matter what I do, it would be impossible. For that matter, I don’t expect to make it out of here alive. King Kalmar has every right to end my life, and if he does, I accept it willingly.” 

Her voice broke on the last few words, and Artham thought he heard tears gathering in her voice. The question was whether they were real and she was genuinely upset that she “couldn’t be forgiven” or if they were yet another façade.

 Of course, the chances of Kalmar actually ordering her execution were very low, based on the way he had acted around her. Still, Kalmar’s actions and feelings toward Amrah did not dictate his feelings toward Amrah. And he wasn’t quite ready to trust her. 

“Janner atoned for a good amount of it thirteen years ago,” he stated, doing his best to keep the hard, grieved edge out of his voice. Janner had been the one to pay the price for it all with his death, and Artham was very grateful the Maker had given that life back to him. “But if you really want to try making amends, naming what you’ve done wrong could help out a little.” The words sounded cruel once they had escaped from his mouth, and he winced a little. He hadn’t meant for them to come across as they had. He had actually been trying to give her morally useful advice.

“Do you think I haven’t?” she cried out in grief. “Do you think I haven’t spent every waking and sleeping hour of the past few years remembering every horrible thing I’ve done?” She stood shakily, one hand on the wooden bench for support. “I have remembered every child’s heart I turned away from the truth, I have remembered every person I coaxed into bending to my will, I have remembered the cries and screams of those who did not want it but were convinced of it anyway by me. I weep for those I remember and for those I have forgotten.”

There was conviction, true, honest conviction in her words and tone. Those were something no one could fake, not entirely. Tears were filling her eyes, ready to stream down her cheeks. She was genuinely upset.

Artham felt himself softening to her, just a little bit. “What about what you did six years ago?”

Amrah closed her eyes, the tears rolling down her cheeks at the movement. “It was wrong,” she said in a tear-filled whisper. “It was so dreadfully wrong. I didn’t realize it until later. What Janner told me,” her words caught in her throat and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at some pleasant thought. “What he told me is why I’m here.”

His suspicion half-way renewed at the smile that had briefly played across her face, Artham crossed his arms. “What did he tell you? And when?”

“Right before,” she said softly before pausing, appearing as though she was thinking about what she was going to say and gathering her thoughts. “Right before I made the ceiling of Castle Throg fall, he told me about Davion. That he was loved. That he had a name. And maybe it doesn’t seem like much to you,” she added, likely in response to Artham shaking his head in doubt. “But it meant everything to me. It eventually told me how wrong I had been and how desperately I needed to repent.”

Artham looked at her quizzically. “I just don’t see how one leads to the other. It doesn’t make sense.”

She gave him a little smile. “I don’t completely understand either. I want to tell people, but I want Janner to know first.”

“And if he won’t listen?” Artham asked slowly, knowing how likely that really was. “What then?”

Amrah looked him directly in the eyes, and he saw fierce conviction burning there. “Then only the Maker will know,” she whispered sadly. “And that will have to be enough for me.”

Artham lowered his arms to his sides and sighed, knowing in his heart of hearts that Amrah was telling the truth and had been since she had come to Anniera. “I believe you,” he said softly. “But I want you to know Janner is going to have a hard time accepting it. I don’t know if he ever will.” I pray that's not the case, though.

“I know,” she replied quietly, her voice filled with tears. “I knew of that chance when I came. And every day I’ve prayed it will be otherwise.”

*****

Notes:

Was this chapter necessary? Eh, probably not. But I wanted it in here anyway...Maybe it's at least useful??