Rather than Resenting: Ch. 16

Confrontation in the Dungeons

Notes:

Hello! Posting is now resuming! There may be a day in the recent-ish future that I say I'm waiting a day just so I can catch up on things, but that is not this day! (lol, intentional LotR reference)

Anyway, this chapter originally had another part to it, but that ended up being all of Ch. 17 because that was what it felt like doing \_O_/

*****

Janner was hesitant to actually go though, so instead he went into the section of their apartments that was completely separate from everything else: his study. He wanted to write, and he was itching to put his thoughts into some sensical manner before either burning them in the fire or hiding them where they could never be found. 

He found himself unable to write about what he really “wanted” to, though. Instead, only discomfort and guilt filled his heart. If he was completely honest, he felt terrible for being the reason Sara had woken up multiple times during the night again. Every time he had jolted awake out of some distorted image of Cerlon not breathing or of Amrah staring into his eyes hungrily or of Kalmar bleeding to death in the snow, she had been awake too. She had murmured softly to him, words that he didn’t exactly understand, words that he couldn’t really comprehend in his panic, but they were words and they were hers, and they were a lovely comfort. 

He kept telling himself that it was her choice, that she had been the one who wanted to do it, who had said she would do it, who had done it willingly, but it still made him feel uneasy. She was the one who had been sick for months, and even though she was doing so much better than she had been then, she wasn’t completely back to normal. She wasn’t perfectly alright. She needed sleep that he had taken from her. That was wrong. And even if it wasn’t wrong, it felt dreadfully wrong.  

His mind apparently decided not to write and chose to dwell on that which he was incapable of changing — though there was always the option of sleeping in a different room where she wouldn’t know he had woken up from a nightmare. Perhaps he would think about trying that at some point — and in an effort to distract himself, he cast his gaze about the tiny alcove. As he did so, his eyes drifted to the spare set of clothes he kept folded neatly on a shelf, and he decided to go through with it: something spontaneous that was likely going to end terribly. He shrugged his shoulders. At this point, everything was going to end terribly, so it wasn’t as if he was calling to the impossible. He got dressed as noiselessly as possible before leaving the room and heading out into the hallway, grabbing his sheath and buckling it around his waist on the way out. 

Going down the steps and taking the passageway that led from the private section of the castle to the public section, Janner was surprised to hear someone else awake and making noise in the throne room at such an early hour.

It was Kalmar, who appeared to be having a bit of a quarrel with one of the guards at the exact location that Janner had been heading for. He smiled a little. It appeared something along the lines of what both he and Kalmar were thinking was meant to happen.

He quickly made his way toward his brother, the conversation entering his ears at the words, “Your Majesty, it simply isn’t safe.”

Kalmar huffed a bit, clearly vexed. “I’m the King, aren’t I? I want to go down there. Now please, move!”

“My King,” the guard murmured this time, glancing at Janner as he did so. “I would prefer that you have some protection while you’re down there, considering what happened last time.”

Janner stiffened at the words, “last time,” and knew that if the guard was not fairly new and had been more privy to secrets they had tactfully kept within the palace walls, he would have known that he was technically the reason why anything had happened to Kalmar “last time.” 

Despite his irritation, Kalmar managed to notice the guard was speaking of someone specifically who was in the room. He whipped his head around quickly and gave a half-smile and a nervous chuckle when he saw Janner. “Oh. Hi. Um,” he appeared to be at a loss for words. “I was just planning on…”

“Heading down to see Amrah?” Janner asked, finishing his brother’s sentence for him. 

Kalmar nodded, looking a little guilty. 

“Why don’t we just go together?” Janner suggested. That had been his main goal in the first place. Not that he wanted to see her to goad her or anything like that, but he knew he would have to see her at some point and would rather it be on his own terms than someone else’s.

Looking slightly baffled, Kalmar said, “Sure,” faintly, and the guard immediately stepped aside from the door leading to the dungeons, opened it, and bowed as they passed through.

The walls were illuminated with plenty of torches, so there was no need to worry about not being able to see. The torches were always lit while a prisoner was kept in the cells, simply for common courtesy. Among that list of common courtesy was a warm blanket, a chamberpot that was emptied once a day, regular meals, and a book or so, if the prisoner had good behavior. Annieran prisons had always been far better than those at, say, Throg, and Janner and Kalmar had personally taken it upon themselves to advocate for similar requirements throughout Dang and Skree after being kept in a horrible cell for far longer than they would have liked.

“Uh, Janner,” Kalmar finally addressed him after they had been walking down a flight of steps that would soon become a switchback for a minute or so. “Are you sure you want to see her? It didn’t go so well yesterday.”

Janner shuddered at the memory of it, and though Kalmar noticed, he only knew half the reason why he was so horrified: one part (the part Kalmar knew) was that Amrah had appeared at all. The second part was that Janner had wanted to end it as soon as he looked at her, and it sickened him and relieved him at the same time. 

“I have to do it at some point,” he said after a moment of thought. “I figured I might as well get it over with.”

Kalmar shrugged in response. “Alright, but please don’t use your sword on her. Why did you bring it anyway?”

Janner glanced down at his sword that was nearly always sheathed to his side, ignoring (sort of) the fact that Kalmar’s right arm did not swing into his vision and bounce as he did so. “I’m your Throne Warden. I can’t not have it. Besides, the guard never would have let either of us down here if I wasn’t armed. Maybe you’re not worried about Amrah, but everyone else is.”

His last sentence had rather a biting edge in it, and he wasn’t too surprised when Kalmar failed to respond for a little bit.

“You’re right,” he said finally, rounding yet another corner. “I’m not worried about Amrah. I think she is actually sorry and that she deserves forgiveness. Well, she doesn’t deserve forgiveness, but I’m going to give it to her anyway. I mean, I already have, just not to her face.”

Janner felt his entire body tense with confusion and anger and frustration and grief as his brother said those words. So nonchalantly did he say, “I’m going to give her forgiveness anyway.” It was as if it was the simplest thing in the world to him! For the life of me, Janner fumed inwardly, his right fingers brushing his sword hilt on of their own accord. I don’t understand why he finds it so simple. I just don’t.

“There’s no way for you to tell that she means it,” Janner replied, trying to sound logical. “It’s not like you can read her mind. She did a pretty good job leading all of us around in circles six years ago. Maybe she’s just doing it again! Maybe it’s just another act, another plot she’s unfolding. And likely, by accepting her apology and giving her such willing and generous forgiveness, you’re playing right into her hand.”

Kalmar stopped dead in his tracks, practically mid-air, and glared at him. “Janner,” he said calmly, but his tone was menacing. “I’ve been a Fang. I’ve been a Cloven. I’ve said “sorry” and apologized sincerely and not sincerely more times than I can count. I know how and what a real apology looks and feels like, and I know how and what a fake one does, too. I promise you this: she’s being honest.” He fixed Janner in a gaze so serious and firm that he had to look away. “She has actually repented. She came here knowing I could have her executed on the spot if that was what she wanted, but she did it anyway. How can you not believe that?”

Having no answer, Janner said nothing, and they continued walking on down the many flights of steps and hallways. Eventually, they reached the steps that led down to the actual cells. Amrah had been placed in a cell fairly close to the entrance, so it was only a few seconds before they spotted her.

Janner was a little surprised when he saw her. She wasn’t asleep, and despite the fact that there was a cot with a thin mattress inside her cell, she wasn’t on it. She was sitting on the ground, hunched over a little bit, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Kalmar hesitated briefly before calling out, “Amrah?”

She turned her head toward them slowly and smiled a little. “Is it time?” she asked.

Shaking his head, Kalmar fished what turned out to be keys out of his pocket and fiddled with the lock on the cell door until he found the right one. Janner’s mouth dropped open when his brother stepped inside the cell — he desperately tried to convince himself to rush forward and pull Kalmar out, but he couldn’t move — and helped Amrah up from the position where she was sitting. She smiled at him gratefully as he eased her onto the cot and continued to do so as he left, shut the door, and locked it again.

Kalmar came back to stand beside Janner, the latter of whom was completely astonished and speechless, to the point at which he literally could not find the words to express what he was thinking. Why had Kalmar done that? What hadn’t Kalmar feared her? Why hadn’t Kalmar worried when she smiled at him so readily? Why, why, why, why? It just didn’t make any sense.

“Why have you come if it isn’t time?” Amrah asked after the silence had become awkward. 

Kalmar looked her straight in the eyes. “Because there’s something I want you to know. You apologized to me yesterday because of what happened in Throg, and I didn’t really have words at that time, which is why I didn’t answer.” He took a breath. “But I figured out my words now. And I want you to know that I forgive you. As hard as everything was,” — Janner heard his brother's voice break a bit at those words, and he himself was launched into memories of Kalmar’s tears and frustration and struggles to write and draw and really do anything, which only solidified his personal fury towards Amrah — “I forgive you. For everything. And—” He hesitated, turning back to Janner. His voice was low, so low that there was no way Amrah could hear. Janner heard it, though. He heard it as clearly as if it had been shouted from the rooftops. Kalmar had said, “Do you think I should let her go free?”

Through the ringing in his ears, Janner was able to see a soft, lovely smile still spread across her time-worn and wrinkled face from hearing of Kalmar’s too-generous forgiveness, her eyes lit up in a way that only those of one who had melded could. Her mouth moved as if she was speaking or saying something, but he couldn’t hear it at all. It was completely drowned out. He felt sick at the sight of her smile. It was the sort of smile and the sort of light where there was no real way of telling whether it was genuine or fake. 

“Janner?” Kalmar’s words seeped in, but they were still muffled. At least they took his mind off of analyzing whether Amrah’s smile was a fraud and whether or not Kalmar had actually lost his mind.

“Yes?”

His brother waited for a moment before saying anything, pursed his lips, and eventually spoke. “Why did you come? What did you want to say to Amrah?” Apparently he had decided to drop the idea of releasing Amrah, at least for the time being.

Janner did not speak for several minutes. There were so many words he could use to answer that question, but they were words no one should have ever heard, words that came from raw grief and anger inside his heart. At the same time, his brother’s question burned and seared him, forcing him to give some sort of answer.

“I just have one question,” he asked Amrah, stepping closer. He was surprised at the tightness and seething anger in his voice, and while it appeared that Kalmar was surprised as well, Amrah was not. That only made him more angry. He clasped his hands tightly behind him in an effort to keep either of them from moving toward his sword hilt. 

“Why did you do it?” he asked, his tone vehement. 

She sighed and looked down at her hands. “I was angry and grieving. I wanted vengeance. I thought it would make up for the places where my heart had been destroyed. It was wrong, and I can’t stand that I did it.”

“Why did you want break us?” Janner hissed. He knew anger was written on every feature of his stance and he didn’t care. He was also far too aware of the fact that he had stopped clasping his hands behind his back and had instead let his left hand drift dangerously close to the hilt of his sword. He knew he was going to choke on his next words. “Why did you want to kill Kalmar? Why did you want to destroy our family yet again? Haven't you done it enough times already?!”

Kalmar gasped. “Janner, what is wrong with you? Calm down!”

Amrah shook her head in what was probably an attempt to pacify Kalmar, but it only made Janner angrier. “I wanted to hurt your family as I had been hurt,” she said softly, tears in her eyes. “I thought it would help. But it didn’t. I only felt worse after I—” her breath hitched, and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “After I did it. And it took me so long, so long to find the Maker. And it was your words! But finally I did and then—” more tears came now, and she was weeping to the point at which she couldn’t speak. 

Janner could see Kalmar out of the corner of his eye, looking between him and Amrah, trying to decide what to do and who to go to. Finally he mumbled some sort of an apology and grabbed Janner’s hand, literally dragging him out of the dungeon and into the stair well above it.

*****

Notes:

Kalmar IS going to ask permission before he releases (or doesn't release, you never know, hehe) Amrah, don't worry! I figured it all out when I was up at 2 a.m. in the woods in the dark with a flashlight on fireguard^^

Also, I've had an AO3 reader ask about why Janner is angry towards Amrah when that would have been resolved with the Water after he was brought back to life. My answer to that is that portion was taken care of, but SSitS was a whole slew of new things that Janner did not receive any First Well Water for.

Oh, and please let me know if anything seems weird or wonky or is inaccurate^^