Rather than Resenting: Ch. 7

Not Yet

Notes:

This chapter is a rollercoaster of emotions, just so you know. And my sister was complaining about it because she thought it was ridiculous because she doesn't like any male expression of emotion!!!! 😤

Also this is really long. It was shorter, and then I decided to give the twins more dialogue^^

*****

Everything moved in pieces, so many pieces. Voices, footsteps sounding as though they came from underwater. A breath. The rise and fall of Cerlon’s chest. Not natural. Someone screamed. Another breath. Still not natural. Someone lit a lamp, another someone said a name, but he wasn’t sure who said it or whose name was said. Blue. Three more breaths, then pressure on his son’s chest. One compression, then another. Someone was crying. More compressions, counting, thirty, two breaths. Someone was speaking frantically. Ten, more tears came through, thirty, two breaths, not Cerlon’s but they still made his chest rise and fall, resuming compressions, oh thank the Maker, movement, a choking gasp, another, a breath, a real one, more tears but these were joyous ones, blue was leaving.

Someone said his name, asked him a question, but bile was rising in his throat. He shook his head and ran, stumbling, because he was ready to cry and about to be sick and he wasn’t going to do that in front of Sara or anyone else, he just wasn’t. 

The stairs were treacherous but he somehow made it down them without falling, down the hallway, into the kitchen. He fumbled for the kitchen door knob that led outside and opened it, then fell to his knees, halfway registering the spattering on the snow and the cold tears running down his cheeks and the horrible feeling of being sick and the trembling and terror that was running through his veins faster than anything should have been able to.

And then someone wrapped him in a warm embrace and wiped his face with something soft. The arms were holding him tightly and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get away. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his tears in much longer and he didn’t want anyone else to see them. He tried holding them back, but then the quiet, soft, caring words Artham uttered, “I have you. Just let it out, please,” made it seem like an invitation he was incapable of refusing.

They were more than enough to coax the floodgates of pent-up tears  to flow, though not much coaxing was necessary. He buried his face in Artham’s shoulder because he knew it would not hurt him, and amidst the roiling emotions crashing over him, the random thought that Artham was far broader and a better comforter than he ever would be, and no matter how much he wanted to change that, it was the way it was.

He cried far longer than he thought he needed to, because every time he tried to stop and speak with Artham about it or try and stop himself from weeping, his breath hitched and he stuttered, making it impossible for him to get more than a word or two in or pause for more than a second or so before Artham shook his head as if to silence him, whispered, “Just let it out,” and he listened.

Kalmar arrived on the scene after a little while, and through his tears, Janner could tell that he wanted to say or do something but wasn’t sure what. The anger he expected to feel towards Amrah when he looked at his brother did not come, and if it did it was drowned out by the torrential tears of grief he shed for everything that had happened over the course of the past few months.

The sky had turned the color of sunrise by the time he finally stopped, the tears reduced to an occasional hitch that didn’t seem to want to go away. He would have felt absolutely mortified if he hadn’t been so tired already, and now that the torrent of tears had ceased, a flood of regret replaced it. He tried speaking several times but was unsuccessful, and with every failure another wave of embarrassment washed over him when he saw the way that Kalmar and Artham looked at him expectantly with complete and total sympathy, empathy, even.

He couldn’t stand it, so he moved away from Artham and pushed himself up, feeling the cold, wet snow beneath his hand. He saw the blanket that someone, likely his uncle, had placed around his shoulders fall to the ground and smiled bitterly, understanding why he hadn’t been freezing cold the entire time. 

He stood there awkwardly, not sure if he should go back inside and find out if Sara and Cerlon — and Evnia and Elquinn, of course; they had probably been scared out of their wits — were alright, or leave and walk for a little while, so he wouldn’t be as much of a mess when he went to check on them. 

“Janner?” Kalmar asked after what felt like an endless stretch of awkward silence, concern and love evident in his voice. “Are you alright?” 

He responded to that with a slow and reluctant nod no one would believe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Artham’s words were careful, gentle, and meant well, but Janner hated the thought of doing such a thing even more than he had hated the idea of completely breaking down in front of anyone. 

He shook his head in response to his uncle’s question and whispered, “I-I’m sor-ry,” wrapping his arms around himself. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat, feeling how puffy his eyes were and hoping no one else would notice even while knowing they would. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t even a teenager. He should have never allowed himself to let so much loose. Maybe by physically closing himself off, he could mentally close himself off, too. The rest could stay inside. Nothing more would escape.

“Don’t be. Don’t you ever be.” Kalmar spoke now, and while the first utterance had been gentle, the second had been firm, more insistent, almost like an order. It had even held a hint of anger in it. His suspicions were confirmed in the next second. “That is an order from your King, alright?”

Janner opened his eyes and glanced nervously at his brother (but currently King), knowing he would never be able to follow that rule, at least not then. He chose not to respond to the command, instead clearing his throat and saying, “I’m…going to see if Sara and Cerlon,” — a tear escaped, rolled down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly — “Are alright.”

He made a move toward the door and got so far as to place his hand on the door knob before he felt a tight grasp on his shoulder. Artham. 

“Janner, you need to talk about this. You can’t just bottle it up inside. It’s not safe.”

He clenched his teeth and seethed inwardly before spinning around to face his uncle who only meant the best for him. “You’re absolutely right. If you want me to talk, I’ll talk. But right now,” his words took on an angrier edge than he would have liked, but at that point he wasn’t able to stop it. “I need to see if my family is alright because they matter far more than one person.”

He shook himself free from Artham’s grasp and turned back to the door, ignoring the look of surprise on Kalmar’s face and the look of understanding and complete empathy on Artham’s.

Painfully aware that he had been outside of Castle Rysen crying his eyes out (but at least he hadn’t been wearing his nightclothes), Janner desperately tried reorienting every idea zipping through his mind so he would be able to form a coherent sentence and speak properly with Sara, Evnia, Elquinn, and anyone else who confronted him. He just prayed that no guards would decide to walk through their living quarters at that early hour and that if Doctor Jebsun had come (Nia had likely sent for him), he was long gone by that time.

His mind briefly wandered away from Jesbun and over to Artham, who had decided to try and get him to talk about everything again. He knew his uncle meant well, but it was more frustrating than anything else, for multiple reasons. He was worried about the aftermath of revealing anything at all, but specifically on the subject of Cerlon, Artham’s reaction to it always confused him. I just don’t understand why he acts like he understands what’s going on, Janner thought as he grabbed hold of the railing and ascended the stairs leading up to the second story. I mean, there’s no way he gets what’s happening, He and Auntie Arun didn’t have any issues having Asteria, so why does he act like he gets it? I don’t want him to act like he gets it when he doesn’t. I don’t mind sympathy…sort of, but “fake empathy” is just annoying.

Artham had not said anything related to the matter of his “understanding,” not really, but just by the way he acted Janner could tell. It was strange and it was something he wasn’t particularly fond of.

Reaching the top of the stairs and continuing down the hallway, he turned his thoughts away from his uncle and back to Jebsun, desperately hoping the latter was long gone and he wouldn’t have to deal with him.

As soon as he reached the door to his bedroom, the knob turned from the inside, the door backed into the room, and an all-too-familiar shoe jutted out into the hallway. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at what had to be described as some of the worst timing (in a non-life-threatening situation) that had happened in all his life, Janner simply stood there, praying that Jebsun would decide it was far too early in the morning to scold him about anything.

Unfortunately, those hopes were trampled to bits and pieces as soon as Jebsun opened his mouth and said, “You look like you were shipwrecked. Didn’t I tell you to rest?”

Janner smirked, wondering if the word choice had been meant to alleviate the expected tenseness of the situation. “Actually, I look nothing like I’ve been shipwrecked. The closest I came to being shipwrecked looked far bloodier than this.” He still had the scar on his forehead to prove it. “And forgive me for not resting, but my child wasn’t breathing. I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

Looking at him sternly, Jebsun frowned. “You didn’t sleep last night. Not only do you look like you didn’t, but the only way you would’ve noticed Cerlon wasn’t breathing was by already being awake beforehand. You wouldn’t have heard or seen it otherwise. And that’s without mentioning the fact that you’re already dressed. I am completely certain you didn’t change before or after reviving Cerlon.”

Janner felt frustration bubbling inside of him and wondered why he was so on edge with every little thing. ”Personally, I thank the Maker that I was awake,” he snapped. “If I hadn’t been my son would be,” his voice broke, and he stopped to swallow a sob. “He would be dead right now. So for once could you please stop telling me to rest and just tell me if he’s alright?!”

Jebsun stared at him, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. He was silent for several seconds — several seconds too long in Janner’s opinion — before finally speaking. “He’s alright and he’s breathing, he just seems more tired than normal. Sara’s alright too, she just got scared. Evnia and Elquinn are fine and are in there right now. They were scared more by Sara’s scream than anything else and don’t really know what happened.”

Janner snorted at the irony of the last statement. “They and I both. What did happen? Why did it happen?”

Shaking his head, Jebsun glanced at him sympathetically. “I don’t know why it happened. It doesn’t look like something was obstructing the airway, so I have no idea. He's not strong and very well may just not have the strength to breath on his own, in which case it might happen again. Assume that it will and you won’t be surprised.”

More than a little miffed that the doctor couldn’t tell him what was going on, Janner nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

Smiling wryly, Jesbsun shook his hand, uttered the useless request, “Please rest,” and left.

Not bothering to watch him leave, Janner let out his breath and breathed in slowly three times, then turned the knob and pushed open the door.

He felt mixed emotions at the sight before him, Sara sitting on the bed still in her nightdress and robe, holding Cerlon swaddled in a blanket in her arms while Evnia and Elquinn sat on either side of her, looking at their baby brother with adoration. They looked so content, so peaceful, so happy, so starkly different from the dreadful emotions and thoughts clamoring inside his head and heart and invading every waking moment of his day. 

He felt as though he would defile the pure loveliness of the scene before him if he stepped into the room and almost left, but Elquinn’s silent beckoning with a wave of his hand, Evnia’s squeal of, “Daddy!” and Sara’s gentle smile tinged with a hint of sadness was enough to persuade him otherwise. 

“Look, Daddy!” Evnia said happily as he approached them. “Cerlon’s smiling!”

Janner looked closer, feeling his breath catch in his throat at the sight of his son’s strained, sleeping face that might not have had a smile on it, but he was alive and that was all that mattered in that moment. “You know, I think he is!” he said, grinning at her and playing along with her imagination.

“Are you okay, Daddy?” Elquinn asked seriously, his blue eyes wide. “You were sad and scared when you left.”

Janner pursed his lips. He hadn’t realized Evnia and Elquinn (or at least Elquinn) had been in the room when he had left. “I’m okay,” he said finally and hoped it would be enough to convince his over-perceptive son. Still, he could have sworn he saw doubt in Elquinn’s eyes. 

He turned to Sara and brushed her cheek fondly. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, receiving a nod in return, but he saw lingering traces of fear in her eyes. He hated that she had had to go through what had happened, not more than two hours earlier. It wasn’t right. None of it was right. He wanted to talk with her about it, not about everything, but he wanted to talk about it. They needed to talk about this, but it would have to be in private. “Both of you should be sleeping,” he stated, eyeing Evnia and Elquinn.

Sara caught his train of thought immediately. “You really should. Neither of you are ever up this early.”

“But I’m not tired!” Evnia protested, the delighted smile slightly smaller than it had been before.

“C’mon, Evnia,” Elquinn slipped off the bed and came around to her, grabbing her hand. “We can go.”

Evnia shook her head briefly, and a second later her eyes lit up. “Ooh! I know!” She looked as though she would have bounced excitedly had her jostling the bed not potentially have had detrimental consequences. “Me and Elquinn can sleep in Mommy’s bed, and Mommy and Cerlon can too! They didn’t get all their sleep, either.”

Janner smiled lightly at her suggestion. He didn’t completely object to her idea, but he doubted that he and Sara would fall asleep, especially if he was being left to either stand or sit in the armchair. They could talk after the twins were sleeping.

“But where will your Daddy sleep?” Sara asked gently, placing a hand on Evnia’s shoulder while eyeing Janner.

Elquinn nodded fervently, seeming particularly concerned about the matter.

“The armchair!” Evnia said excitedly, already clambering over to the side of the bed closest to the wall. Elquinn glanced at Sara before getting permission, and on receiving a nod, he followed his sister.

Pulling back the covers on the outer side of the bed (normally Sara would sleep on the inside, but the outside would do for the time being), Janner held out his hand to her. She shook her head, but her eyes twinkled, and she took it. When he pulled her close, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “We’ll talk after they’re asleep.”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her the two steps it took to get to the head of the bed and laughed aloud as he pulled back the covers, deposited her on the bed grandly, and pulled them back over her, tucking them in and making sure Cerlon was uncovered so he wouldn’t be smothered in his sleep.

“And what about you sleeping?” she raised an eyebrow and smoothed down the covers that were only being disturbed a little bit by Evnia’s giggling. 

He smiled teasingly in response to her question. “Well Evnia graciously offered me the armchair after Elquinn expressed his worry over it,” — he glanced beyond her at their giggling children and smiled at them — “So I’ll make do there.”

 Sighing, Sara conceded. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Janner shrugged. “Yeah, probably. But it’s not entirely my fault this time.”

She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was only a little irritated. “I guess I’ll live with it, then.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, Evnia and Elquinn tiptoed out of the room as Sara switched places with Janner, who was just barely awake and at that point powerless to keep her from doing anything. It turned out that it was very easy to convince him to do things when he was more than half-asleep, and as she congratulated herself on her victory from her triumphant seat in the armchair, she smiled at the sight of her sleeping husband.

*****

Notes:

So that was a loaded chapter 😅

I did actual medical research for this! Jebsun doesn't say this, but the reason why Cerlon stopped breathing is because of infant sleep apnea. It can happen when children are born before 37 weeks (Cerlon was), but the infant usually grows out of it by the age of one. Breathing stops for a minimum of anywhere from 10-20 seconds and they can start breathing again on their own. Honestly, Cerlon has probably stopped breathing several times before this and this is just the first time they noticed and were able to panic over it. He will also grow out of it^^

And the chapter title refers to the fact that Cerlon is not yet dead. It also refers to the fact that Janner has not yet opened up to anyone. But he did sleep! Which is good^^