Rather than Resenting: Ch. 21

The Sign

Notes:

This is officially the chapter that is leading up to the climax-climax. Sort of. there are several chapters in between this and the climax, but this is a huge leap in the right direction.

Also the first portion is kind of random and not super vital to the story, but I wanted Janner to have a little more interaction with his kids.

*****

Janner was inexplicably thankful Kalmar had spared him the agony of sitting through meetings, at least for that day. He was going to use part of the time to catch up on diplomatic documents and trade agreements he would need to have knowledge of for any other meetings down the road. What truly made the day wonderful, though, was the plan to spend time with Evnia and Elquinn, though he was still a little uncertain as to how to make both of them happy at the same time. Their ideas of “fun” and “entertainment” were so starkly different that no one would ever guess they were twins based only on their hobbies. 

Yet even though Evnia was far louder and more enthusiastic about life as a whole (which somehow completely managed to contradict her easy-going nature as a baby) and Elquinn was far quieter and more contemplative (once again, very much a contrast to his tendencies when he was an infant), they loved each other dearly and complimented each other. Somehow.

Evnia would pull her brother out of his comfort zone (sometimes a bit too far, but it was never on purpose), and Elquinn would reign his sister in and keep her from sliding down the stairs on a platter (sometimes irritating her to death, but that was normal). 

Janner sometimes wondered if Elquinn was actually born first, not Evnia, especially when considering how much more calm and responsible he was, but any time he had asked, he had been assured that Evnia was the older child, not by much, but she was older.

Probably. Nia and Mother Madalana* both conceded a bit, saying they could have gotten it wrong.

As Janner forced himself out into the snowdrifts to have a snowball fight with his children — though it was really him dragging Elquinn onto his team “battling” Evnia with the promise of hot chocolate that would likely be too sweet and storytime that Evnia would find impossible to sit through — he found that he was having the same sort of “fun” he had had when their family still lived in Glipwood and he and Kalmar, Tink, at the time, had done the same sort of thing. He was still himself, as was Elquinn, and Evnia was Kalmar, no question about it. For a six-year-old, she was absolutely terrifying and utterly brutal when it came to a snowball fight. 

So much so, in fact, that he ended the game after only ten minutes and chose instead to guide his children in the art of building a snowman. Elquinn enjoyed that much more, though he still didn't like being cold, and Evnia enjoyed it much less, but she was cold and there was snow everywhere, so she was happy enough.

Artham and Gammon crossed their path in the middle of the building, the former offering very useful assistance and the latter taking the opportunity to thrill Evnia with his Florid-Swording skills.

“You know,” Artham commented as Janner took off his scarf and wrapped it around the snowman's “neck.” “If Kalmar and Galya don't have another child soon, it might be time to consider training someone who can be a Throne Warden for Laylynne.”

“Elquinn,” Janner said gently, knowing that enthusiasm would not be a motivator for him. “Could you go ask NiNi for a carrot for the snowman’s nose? She's probably in the kitchen.”

Nodding solemnly, Elquinn began his “quest,” — or at least it seemed like a quest based on the way he treated it.

Both children out of hearing range, Janner turned back to Artham. “Uncle Artham, I understand where you're coming from, but for starters, Kalmar and Galya may very well have another child, plus I don't trust Evnia to wield any sort of weapon. At all. Whatsoever.” He glanced over at Gammon and Evnia, who were “sparring.” She had gotten a wooden sword from who-knew-where — he swore if it came from Gammon, he was going to have a serious talk with him later — and was flailing with it in a rather dangerous manner.

“Well, she hasn't had much practice. There could be some untapped potential,” Artham offered. 

Janner looked at him witheringly.

Laughing, Artham continued. “Plus you could train Elquinn if you really doubt Evnia that much. Or even train both and see who is best suited for the role. Since we'd already be diverging from the normal pattern of things, it won't hurt to change that detail if it happens to fall that Elquinn has more aptitude for it.”

Janner sighed. “Again, my main point is that usurping Laylynne’s potential role as Throne Warden is the last thing I want to do. Would Kalmar and Galya even agree to it?”

Artham shrugged. “No clue. But you can at least suggest it after the hecticness from the Ball and the diplomats passes. Or I can suggest it if you prefer. It won't hurt anything.”

Janner half-way conceded with a bit of a nod, and in the same moment Elquinn appeared, proudly bearing a lovely orange carrot. 

“Daddy,” he called. “Once we put the nose of the snowman, can we go inside and read?”

Artham and Janner both laughed aloud. 

“He's very much like you,” Artham commented, his eyes twinkling.

*****

A few days of meetings, some less dry than others, passed like clockwork. Mornings with Sara, Cerlon, Evnia, Elquinn, and those who happened to wander into their space, usually on purpose, were followed by lunch which was followed by meetings, the entire day concluding with the far-too-long and more than a little exhausting supper. 

Sprinkled in between all that was worry about Cerlon, worry about Amrah, worry about the speech he was still struggling to write, worry about everything. But that was normal. And not having to worry about anger dropping in made everything so much easier. It wasn't completely instantaneous that his anger and bitterness disappeared, but a good portion of it was. That which lingered was prayed over, asked about, spoken about. Constantly in his prayers were the words, “Show me how I will know, and then tell me what to do.”

He had yet to work up the resolve to go back into the dungeons, even with someone else. The fact remained that Amrah did worry him. He still didn't trust her, and, frankly, he doubted he ever would. He wasn't angry anymore, but he knew he had yet to forgive her. Tugging on his heart, pulling him in two different directions, was the want to do just that against the reluctance and concern of what would happen if he did. What if his forgiveness of her led to Kalmar allowing her to go free — since it had seemed as though that was what he wanted to do — and that eventually led to her wreaking havoc on the world again? Both times he had seen her she had profusely apologized, tears included, and both times he had been reluctant to believe her. If she was truly repentant, though, he had to believe her. He just didn’t know how he would be able to tell or how the Maker would show him.

He finally convinced himself to ask Kalmar to go with him after one of the longer meetings regarding matters of trade and commerce with Torborro. They would have an intermission for at least an hour so they could have a “respite,” though that was most likely so Haldrid could gather his thoughts and reasonable ideas that had been scattered hither-and-yon with Kalmar’s very odd suggestions and even odder responses from the Torborron representatives while being simultaneously reigned back in rather messily with Janner and Artham’s crude attempts to make something out of the disarray.

“Um, hey, Kal,” Janner grabbed his brother’s arm as he speedily made his way out of the conference room. 

There was a brief glint of irritation in his dark blue eyes as he turned around and a slight slump of his shoulders. Those disappeared fairly quickly when Kalmar actually looked at him, though, and were replaced by a gentle earnestness. “What is it?”

Wringing his hands, Janner hesitated, waiting for everyone, including Artham and Haldrid to leave the room, the former nodding encouragingly and the latter muttering to himself about something that had irritated him. “I’d kind of like to speak with Amrah again,” he said quietly. “And I was hoping you’d be able to come. You know, so you can shove me into a wall if I get mad at her or something.”

He had been attempting to make some form of a joke, but Kalmar failed to laugh or smile, which was quite unusual, considering how much of a jokester his brother was. “Do you think you’ll get that mad at her?” He asked evenly, eyeing Janner intently. 

Sighing, Janner shook his head. “No. Not like I did a few days ago.” He had prayed fervently over the past few days, focusing specifically on that, and he had become more and more convicted that he had to speak with her.

Kalmar studied him, chewed on his lip for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. But if things go sideways—”

“You have permission to shove me into a wall,” Janner finished. 

Kalmar rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Only if I have to.”

*****

“Amrah,” Janner found himself hesitating and fidgeting nervously. He was glad he had put a jacket on before coming down; it gave him pockets to slip his hands into and twist his fingers without anyone noticing  There was no way of turning back at that point, but he certainly wanted to. He glanced at her face briefly, seeing what could only be described as overwhelming patience amidst sorrow. He was still too worried to trust it, even if she was sitting on her cot with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders and looking about as non-threatening as a person possibly could. “I’m…I’m sorry about the other day,” he murmured, surprising himself. He hadn’t known what exactly he wanted to say to her even seconds before, and he still wasn’t certain in that moment.

Amrah shook her head. “There’s no need for you to be. I deserved it. I deserve anything punishment related thrown at me.”

Janner found himself struggling to resist the urge to verbally agree with her. She had done so much worthy of the worst punishment. But hasn’t everyone? The gentle words flowed into his thoughts, a warm breath of wind amidst the chill of winter. Everyone deserves death, Janner. No one deserves life. The only reason you or Kalmar or even Sara will be with Me someday is because I chose you. You are Mine. Repentance of sin is one step. Acceptance of forgiveness is the next. A life worthy of My Calling is the third.

Blinking back tears and breathing in a shuddery breath, Janner forced himself to keep going. “I was furious with you for a really long time,” he continued quietly. “Ever since…ever since I thought Kalmar was dead,” — he swallowed the lump in his throat at those words. Kalmar’s quiet gasp of surprise was enough to let him know that his brother had never actually been aware there had been a time like that. But there had been. It was muddled and distorted and riddled with heat and cold and pain and nightmares. It had lasted for far longer than he would have liked and was, in truth, the real spark of the bitterness** — “And that doesn’t make it right. But it happened. I want to apologize for it. It was wrong.”

“I think,” Amrah spoke quietly, sounding as though she was doing her best not to intrude. “It’s completely justified. Anything anyone harbors toward me makes perfect sense, but I made it a point to hurt you! You have every right to be angry.”

Janner found himself struggling between what the Maker had placed on his heart and what Amrah had said aloud. The Maker had told him not to hate her, yet Amrah herself had given him permission to. Why did it feel as though it would be so easy to simply give up what progress he had made in the past few days and go back to that burning anger? He hadn’t enjoyed it. It had felt terrible. Yet still it persisted. Maker, please help me.

He closed his eyes in an effort to stop something and felt Kalmar’s hand squeezing his shoulder. “Do you need to leave?” were the words gently whispered in his ear.

Janner shook his head. “I’m okay.” He opened his eyes and looked at Amrah again. He had chosen not to harbor any anger toward her, not even by invitation, but the resolve had cost trust. He found himself trusting her less than he even had before, what with her suspicious offer. Perhaps she had uttered it in an attempt to make things better, or perhaps she was just like the voices, trying to convince him of something that was only a bit true. Whatever the case, he was now even less certain of her innocence than he had been only minutes earlier.

“I’ve lost your trust even more now, haven’t I?” Amrah asked softly, not waiting or expecting a response. “I’m sorry, I truly am. But,” she paused. “I wanted to give both of you these anyway.”

Janner started out of worry when she turned around and pulled something out of the shadows. His left hand went to his sword hilt out of a need to protect, not because of anger. He knew the difference. It turned out it was unnecessary, though, because the only thing Amrah did was retrieve the dark satchel she had had when she found them and place it in her lap.

“You first, King Kalmar, because I know you can’t wait,” Amrah said softly, apparently noting that Kalmar was shifting very excitedly from one foot to the other. Janner thought he was being a bit too enthusiastic.

Out of the satchel came a thick, red book that had golden trails of vines around all the edges. Janner didn’t recognize it in the slightest, but based on Kalmar’s gasp, he did.

“My sketchbook,” he murmured almost reverently, taking it from her as she passed it between the bars of the cell. He began flipping through it, and Janner caught glimpses of sketches and colored images of Galya, of Sara, more of Galya, of a young child, and even a few of himself.

Apparently realizing that he was confused, Kalmar finally whispered out of his daze, “It’s the sketchbook she gave me when she took me to Throg.”

“I’ve held onto it for you ever since you left,” Amrah noted, looking a little pleased to see Kalmar so completely enthralled. 

Janner wasn’t quite certain what to make of that. Frankly, he was a little disturbed Amrah had carried it around for so long.

“I didn’t forget you,” she murmured quietly, breaking into his rather short reverie.

Looking at her intently, Janner frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anything, but...okay.”

Amrah slipped her hand into her satchel, closed her eyes and tilted her head as if she was considering something very important, and with a sigh pulled her hand back out again. She stretched it through the bars. “Here,” she said quietly. “Please, take it. It belongs here. It isn’t mine. And it never was,” she added, her voice breaking.

Janner simply stared. He knew it was wrong to stare without accepting and that it was even more wrong and completely unchivalrous, considering how elderly Amrah was, but he was struggling to convince himself to do anything else. It was another minute before he took what lay in her outstretched palm, and yet another before he actually whispered, “Thank you.” 

He wasn’t only speaking to her, though. He was speaking to the Maker as well. In His own perfect and seemingly impossible Way, the Maker had answered both of his prayers in the clearest manner possible. 

He knew he could trust Amrah. And he knew what he needed to do.

*****

Notes:

*I wrote a one-shot (it's on Ao3) that covers Evnia and Elquinn's birth (sort of...it's super indescriptive, actually and has almost no information in it 😅). Anyway, Nia and Mother Madalana were there. Madalana is the name I settled on for Mother Mungry (the cloven who was obsessed with feet, remember?).

**What Janner is referring to is the section of time in SSitS between when, on being greeted by Sara, he mistakenly assumed Kalmar had died and later when he was coherent enough to realize Kalmar...wasn't actually dead.

Anyway, you've probably inferred what exactly it is that Amrah gave him^^