Thwap Talk

The Monster Appears Notes: Posting this early since I don't think I'll get another chance to! :DD ***** The first week on board the ship had not been going well. Sara had hovered between keeping her distance and trying to approach him, and he hadn’t minded the latter, but anytime their conversation veered near what could accidentally reference the Overseer, he cut off the conversation. Every time he did it, he felt terrible. He should have simply changed the subject, he knew. But he was too tired to change the subject. His mind was exhausted, rent to shreds by the past months, and his nerves were shot and his emotions on edge. Anxiety roiled in his heart and mind constantly and made eating and sleeping miserable. Even Nia had tried pressing several times, but each time her question hit in places where if he were to answer them, the Overseer would be involved somehow. Those conversations, too, he canceled before they could even begin.  He was retreating, he knew, retreating more than he had before, when he had been with Jebsun before learning Sara was alive. He had responded favorably to Jebsun. He had reacted somewhat. Now numbness had crept over him, a vibrating numbness that wouldn’t allow him true peace. He wasn’t spending the days in bed, he couldn’t do that. He hid in a corner of the lower deck—the one their cabins were on, though fairly far away from them—that happened to have a glass-sealed port hole. The odd splashing and white and green and blue mass of foam and water became the subject of his fixation, though in reality he did not see it: he either chose not to think about anything or tried dispelling his thoughts. The latter unfortunately happened far more often, quite obviously after a stream of thoughts on which he did not want to focus.  If he kept up with the routine for much longer, people were going to get worried, he knew. But what other options did he have? He didn’t have options. They could either be worried about him and angry with him or potentially slaughtered in the night.  Initially he had wanted nothing more than to explain himself, then to be able to wipe the frustration and irritation off Sara and Nia and Artham’s faces by telling them just why he was doing what he was doing. Now he just wanted them to stop asking, because he was tired and spent, and he was scared that if they asked too many times, exhaustion and lack of will would win out, and the secrets would all come tumbling out, and then they wouldn’t be safe.  He prayed that wouldn’t happen.  Greston startled him one day, his head popping into his line of sight, passing over the barrels and crates creating a sort of barricade from the rest of the ship.  “Have you made any wedding plans?” he asked gently, but Janner still jolted in surprise. “I’m sorry,” Greston apologized. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Janner took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. “You didn’t scare me. I just got startled.” It was true. Sort of. “So, wedding plans?” Greston tried again.  Running his fingers through his hair, Janner smiled bitterly. “We haven’t really made any.” Greston arched an eyebrow. “Janner, it’s been four moons. I know there were some interruptions, but you haven’t made any? No wonder Sara’s upset.” Turning his head, Janner shifted his gaze toward Greston and actually looked at him. “Is it that obvious?” Greston shrugged. “I haven’t told anyone and no one's talking about it, if that's what you're asking. You know how it goes: if one member of the crew’s noticed, they all know, but I haven’t heard anyone talking about it.” Nodding semi-gratefully, Janner went back to looking out at the sea. “Thanks.” “Janner.” There was a new tone in Greston’s voice, one Janner had never heard before. “It’s been four moons. She won’t wait forever. Try talking with her about it. How bad could it be?’ It could be very bad. It could be terrible. She might be angry. She might insist on him talking about what had happened. She might force him to spill a secret that was keeping everyone on board alive. At the same time, though, he owed her. He owed her so much.  “Okay,” he finally said, wrangling the cane and forcing himself up from the deck with a bit of difficulty. Greston ended up helping him, and Janner found himself only minding a little bit. “I’ll go talk to her about it.” Greston smiled and nodded as he limped off. “Maker be with you, Janner.” That nearly stopped him in his tracks, and while it didn’t, he couldn’t stop thinking about it as he made his slow way past random crew members flitting about, down the stairs, around Artham who eyed him with concern, and to Sara’s room.  Maker be with him. Why did he keep forgetting the Maker? Why did it take someone else’s mentioning of Him for him to even remember? Why did He seem so distant? Why couldn’t he feel His Presence? Janner knew the answer without even having to process the question. It was his own fault, too. He hadn’t reached out to the Maker, not really. He hadn’t cried out to Him. He hadn’t begged for help when he should have, he hadn’t honored Him or thanked Him when it was quite obviously due. They’d grown distant, somehow, they’d grown distant over perhaps one of the most difficult times of his life.  The cruel irony in it broke his heart. He knew why he had done it, too. He felt guilty. He was guilty. He was guilty of doubting the Maker, guilty of harboring anger toward Him, guilty of doubting Him, guilty of very nearly cursing Him. In his stupidity, he thought the Maker had betrayed him, as if such a thing were possible. In his terror, he had failed to trust Him. He wasn’t even sure if he really trusted Him now.  Maker, he whispered in his heart as he raised his arm to knock on Sara’s door. Please, give me the words. Help me. I don’t know what’s going to happen if I have a conversation, a real conversation with Sara, but please don’t let me lose her. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it. Holding his breath, he knocked. The door opened, and half of Sara’s face appeared. The one diamond she revealed to him lit up in an instant. “Janner, please, come in,” she said tenderly, and she opened the door wider so he could come through.  She gestured toward the chair at her small desk, and he nodded, then waited for her settled herself on her bed before he sat, leaning the cane against the desk. “I was wondering,” he said after an awkward minute of silence, in which they looked at everything in the room, including each other. “Do you want to talk about wedding plans?” Sara’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at him in surprise. For a few moments, Janner panicked, his mind racing as he realized he had said the wrong thing, he shouldn’t have begun with that subject, it had been stupid of him, so stupid. She wasn’t ready to talk about that; they hadn’t talked at all of their relationship in months, not really.  Soon, though, the perfect circle became an upside-down rainbow, and her blue eyes sparkled. “Janner, if you think you’re ready, I’d love to talk about it. But if you’re not…we can go slower, alright? Talking about something simpler than marriage, that’s alright.” Janner furrowed his brow. “Something simpler?” She rose from the bed and came closer, moving to stand behind him. In a moment, she was leaning over him, her chin tucked over his shoulder, her hands clasped and resting on his chest. “Janner,” she whispered in his ear. “Are you ready to marry me?” His lips parted in surprise; he cocked his head, uncertain how to answer her. “I was,” he murmured once he had gathered his thoughts. “When I put that ring on your finger, I was ready, Sara, I promise, I was. I wouldn’t have proposed if I wasn’t ready. I wouldn’t’ve given you that hope if I wasn’t ready. But now, now—” She shook her head and unclasped her hands, moving her right and placing a finger over his lips. “Shhh. Janner, it’s alright. I’ll wait. I can wait. I’ll wait for you. I would love to wait for you.” Janner’s throat burned, and as his eyes smarted, he blinked rapidly, trying to keep from crying. He didn’t want to cry now. Sara didn’t deserve to have to deal with him and his stupid tears and emotions.  She leaned into him a little more anyway, the pressure soothing. “We should start with why you think you don’t deserve my love,” she ventured after several minutes.  Janner froze. He had never hinted at that. He had never talked about that with her. And that veered dangerously near the Overseer, far too near, far too dangerously. He had to stop this. He had to stop this conversation before he got the entire crew killed. “Mama gave me a few tips,” Sara explained gently, when he didn’t speak. “She didn’t tell me everything, don’t worry. She left that for you. But the guidelines are very much appreciated. I suppose it really isn't a simple thing to talk about, but we need to.” Janner shook his head rapidly, making himself dizzy. “No, you don’t get it,” he fumbled, all the words in his mind scattering. He couldn’t think; why did he feel like he was suffocating? Planting one hand on the desk, he pulled away from her, standing unsteadily. “I can’t….I can’t tell you why. I’m not allowed to.” “Why not?” she asked, puzzled, her eyes flashing for a moment, some of the gentleness slipping away.  He had to get away. He had to leave. He couldn’t stay there, he couldn’t risk hurting her by telling her the truth. But if he left, he would hurt her anyway. “I just can’t,” he whispered, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t leave her, but he couldn’t stay, either.  Light touch lit on his shoulder, and he flinched, the touch burning him. It’s only Sara’s hand, his mind told him, but it wasn’t the sort of action accompanied by thought.  “Why not?” she asked him again, her tone desperate now. He hated hearing her desperate. When Sara was desperate, there was a fear, a grief, an anger in her words. They overflowed with everything not associated with her, with things that were the make of nightmares. Shaking his head, Janner drew in a trembling breath and sobbed once. “I can’t.” “Janner Esben Wingfeather, I deserve to know!” she whispered hotly, her words angry.  Now she was angry. Sara was angry. Sara was never angry. His mind buzzed in horror, in terror, agony at the thought of Sara’s anger. And yet he deserved it. He deserved it more than anything in Aerwiar. The anger and the truth in the words only hurt more because of it.  “I am your friend, I am your fiancée*, I am practically family,” she hissed. “And you say can’t tell me why you’re not willing to keep our relationship going forward? Janner—” her voice broke. “Janner, if you’re not willing to do that, I don’t know if we’re going to make it. We have to communicate to have a relationship, we have to talk to each other, we have to share our hearts. And if you can’t share your heart, if you can’t share what’s plaguing you, if you can’t share what’s tormenting you when I’ve asked you to, we…we might need to take a break. A long break. Maybe an indefinite one.” “No,’ Janner said, his fingers slipping to his hair, tugging at it in panic, fire, fear, agony burning in his mind. “No, we can’t. We can’t do that. We can’t—” “Well it seems like our only choice!” Sara cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Janner, I don’t know what to do! I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying all these months to show you that I love you, that you’re safe with me, that I’m here for you, and you keep pushing me away. You’ve done nothing but push me away, other than cut me off and shut me down and look away and ignore me and break my heart over and over and over again.”  Now, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t wipe them away, and identical tears rolled down Janner’s face, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe her tears away, to pull her into his arms, to right every wrong he’d done to her, but he didn’t know if she’d accept. “And I just don’t know what to do!” she wailed. “I’m at my wits end, Janner, I’ve prayed more prayers than I can count for more hours than I’ll ever recall, I’ve cried out in the night, in the day, anytime I’ve been breaking. It’s breaking me, Janner. I can’t handle this much longer, I can’t—” All the while, horrible things had flooded into Janner’s mind and heart, horrible things he couldn’t name, horrible things without a title or address, but they were awful, monstrous, terrifying, breaking his heart and mind and filling him with anger and uncertainty and terror and taking over all sense or reason, and he stood, and he faced her, and he hated himself for doing it, but he couldn’t think. “He’ll kill you and them if I tell you!” he shouted. “He’ll kill you all, and it’ll have been my fault, and then they’ll be dead and you’ll be gone and everything will have fallen apart and—” Trembling, shaking so much he couldn’t believe he still stood, he reached for her and pulled her into a suffocating embrace, her silky hair damp with tears brushing his cheek, because...because she thought he didn’t love her anymore. And it was all his fault, all this mess was his doing, it was going to get worse and worse and worse, but in this moment, in this desperate moment in which they both wept some of the tears they’d stopped and bottled up for months, maybe he could make just a fraction of it right. Sara didn’t say anything for while, she just clung to him, her breath coming in shaky gasps, her tears mingling with his. “Who?” she finally choked, her heart resigned, her words trembling. “Who is going to kill us?” “The Overseer,” Janner whispered, all his strength leaving him as he sank to the floor, Sara with him. Now he was tired, so, so very tired. He closed his eyes, not wanting to say anymore, not wanting to think about the Overseer, about the horrors, but when Sara laid her head against his chest and hummed soothingly, he knew she urged him to continue.  Janner could do nothing but comply, because he’d been doing it for months, because he was too tired to fight her, because he’d already said the monster’s name, it was out, and they were all going to die. He at least owed her the truth before that happened. “He snuck on board. Said if I breathed a word about him, he’d start killing. One by one, until only you and I were left. And then he’d kill one of us and leave the other, grieving, angry.” The humming stopped, and brief emptiness of ringing took its place. “Is that why—” “That’s why I couldn’t tell you what I promised I would,” he murmured, tears filling his eyes.  Sara relaxed against him once more, though how she could relax at such a time, Janner didn’t know. “Nothing’s stopping you now.” So, taking a shuddering breath, he told her, he told her how he’d clung to the belief she’d find him, that she wouldn’t stop looking, that the Maker would help her find him, that everything would be alright in the end. He told her how as the days and beatings went by, the belief had faded and became a hope, then a fantasy, then a garish lie he’d toyed with once. He told her how he’d doubted her, how he’d cried out in the night, furious with her, angry, tormented by her memory. He told her how he condemned her failures, her betrayal. And then the Overseer had brought the dress. The dress she’d worn when he proposed to her. His heart had broken, his mind had shattered, twisted, fragmented, melded into some cracked form that didn’t really work right. He’d failed to avenge her by killing the Overseer. Even worse, though, he’d failed her. He had lost faith that she cared, believed she hated him, believed she didn’t love him anymore. “And then you came,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks, slipping into her hair. She pulled back so she could look at him, her eyes filled with tears, her brow furrowed in grief. “You came, and I couldn’t believe it, and it was such a relief. And then I remembered what I’d done to you, how near I’d come to hating you, how stupid I’d been, how cruel, how monstrous. No matter what you did, no matter how kindly you spoke to me, I couldn’t bring myself to give it back, because I thought I’d committed the greatest act of treason against us. I thought I didn’t love you anymore because of what I’d done, I thought I’d trampled our relationship in a way that it could never heal. Sara, I’m so, so sorry. You’re welcome to hate me if you like but—” His words and breath were cut off when she flung herself at him embracing him chokingly, trembling. “Janner,” she whispered. “Janner, of course it breaks my heart you lost hope so miserably. But I don’t blame you. I love you. It’s alright. I forgive you, I forgive you for anything you think you’ve done or thought or said. It doesn’t matter. It’s alright. It’s finally alright.” But Janner knew it wasn’t. Despite the warmth of her arms around him, despite the gentle murmurs of comfort in his ear, despite the temptation of peace, his heart and mind still shook with fear and horror and raced with panic and certainty of doom.  And the next moment, his frantic worry was confirmed.  “Now what do we have ‘ere, two former Tools gettin’ along? Well, this should be fun ta destroy.” ***** Notes: OH NO IT'S THE OVERSEER!!! The good news is that now Sara knows what Janner's been keeping from her so, hey, I did something right in this chapter! 😄 Please let me know if there's anything wonky (or noncanonical). I didn't get to edit this as thoroughly as I would have preferred 😅

Previous Chapter Chapter 27-Time to Decide Esben stood in front of the mirror in his room, tugging at his huge, thick, winter ceremonial cloak. He heard Artham come in behind him. “Good morning, Esben. How did you sleep last night?” Esben, still trying to wrestle the heavy, cloth to hang properly over his shoulders, shrugged, the simple motion causing his unclasped cloak to twist strangely over his shoulders. “I slept pretty well for a couple of hours,” He continued when he got no response from his brother. “That emergency council was shorter than the other two we’ve had. Probably because it was just a repeat of last time. And the time before,” He said with a bitter tone. “I’m so tired of all this.” There was silence for a while. “How’s your hand?” Artham asked in concern. Esben glanced around in slight surprise. Artham sounded absolutely exhausted. When Esben turned around to look at him, Artham was drinking more bean brew, tipping back to finish the cup. He set it down on Esben’s desk with a grimace. “I’m starting to hate that stuff,” he muttered. He looked over at his brother again. “How’s the hand?” He repeated, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes with a yawn. He didn’t sleep at all last night, Esben thought with an annoyed sigh. By the looks of it he couldn’t sleep and so stayed up all night yelling at himself for what happened. “It aches, but it’s not bad,” Esben said with a resigned tone, flexing his hand experimentally. “Anything you need before we head out for today’s conference?” Artham asked. “Yeah, breakfast,” Esben muttered under his breath, tugging at the clasp of his cloak and glancing longingly in the direction of the dining room. “No thanks,” he said out loud. “Alright. See you then,” Artham said, and the room was silent for a while. Esben looked in the mirror again, deciding to wait to put on his crown as long as possible. He glanced down in frustration, thinking about the day’s conference. Another day of putting up with Myndik’s taunts and accusations and opposition, striving seemingly uselessly for something he believed both countries desperately needed. Anniera would be wondering by now why they hadn’t gotten the official celebratory announcement of the renewed alliance. And Nibbik would be there again, ready to rub it in and openly challenge and insult the brothers in a way the Keeper wouldn’t dare to do. With the weight of a country on his sixteen year old shoulders, he would have to wade into all of that again, every second trying to weigh whether to ignore the taunts or counter them, weighing defending himself and his country against seeming like the helpless child that to be honest he really felt like sometimes. Day after day after day and nothing done. All of that effort, useless. On top of all that, someone had tried to kill them the day before, just because he was the king. Now he had to go tell that to a council that was already convinced that he was too weak to be allied with. “I hate this!” He finally shouted, whirling around and throwing the cloak as hard as he could in a crumpled heap on his desk. “I hate it!” He shouted again, slamming his hands down with a bang, feeling the weight of everything pressing so hard down against him that he thought if it kept going much longer he would break under its heaviness. He closed his eyes and clenched his Maker, why? Why did You make me king? Why do I have to deal with all of this alone? He cried out silently, hating the weight of everything that was resting on him. A few seconds passed as he stood there, his shoulders heaving with his ragged breaths. “Through your trials, I am shaping you to be a king in my image.” Esben glanced up in surprise at the voice. It whispered in his mind, leaving an incredible feeling of wonder. His heart thrilled at the love and peace that surrounded the voice, and it seemed to push away the burden of everything else. “You will never be alone, my son,” the voice whispered again. Esben’s heart beat faster and a warm wave of wonder spread throughout him, calming the frustration and fear inside of his heart. “Maker?” He whispered quietly in wonder. He had heard the voice before, more often since he had become king, but it had never yet been so close and quiet and powerful and amazing and loving. The surety in his heart told him that was who it was. “I will always be with you.” The voice filled up Esben’s heart and mind until there was no room for anything else. Then there was silence. He stood there for a moment longer, filled with peace and trust that he tried with everything in him to hold on to, because he was afraid it wouldn’t last. When the last echoes of the words of assurance faded away, he thought of them over and over and over, each time filled with the wonder of the Maker’s presence that he had felt. He didn’t know how much time passed, but when he heard Artham’s footsteps in the hall, the amazed thrill and excitement that he felt hadn’t diminished, but merely changed to a steady thrum of peace and assurance that sounded through him like music. “Thank You,” he whispered, still in awe when Artham opened the door. “Ready for breakfast, Es?” Artham asked, half-entering his brother’s room. He looked in slight surprise at the crumpled cloak thrust against the desk and at Esben’s face, smiling with a look of peace and happiness that Artham hadn’t seen in a long time. “Yeah, I’m ready,” Esben said, grabbing the cloak off his desk before ducking under Artham and out his door, already headed toward the smell of food. “Hey,” Artham exclaimed, laughing as he grabbed Esben’s shoulder, surprised but grateful that his brother seemed so happy. It lessened some of the heaviness in his own heart, and his face reflected his little brother’s smile. “Need some help with this?” He asked, taking Esben’s crumpled cloak. Esben sighed, still smiling. “Unfortunately, as always,” he said, fidgeting and trying to start walking toward breakfast as Artham tried to pull the clumsily thing over his shoulders. Then another thought occurred to Esben, and again he was grateful. You’re always with me, and still You’ve given me my brother. I’m not alone. * Only about a hour later, their carriage stopped in front of the Keep. Esben stepped out into the cold winter sun, Artham following. Aro stepped up behind them, pausing a moment to rub Connolin’s ears with a smile. Connolin wagged his tail but quickly turned and trotted by Artham’s side. “Good morning, Aro,” Artham said, smiling when the boy answered his greeting cheerfully, adjusting his satchel with a look of extreme dutifulness and importance that didn’t fit his small, skinny frame. Artham glanced up at the Keep, furrowing his brows in concern, letting out a sigh. “Do you think they’ll ever let the alliance be renewed, Artham?” Aro asked, his face reflecting Artham’s expression. “I don’t know, Aro. I certainly hope so.” Artham answered. Aro nodded seriously, alternating between almost running with short, quick steps, and trying to take longer strides to keep up with Artham. Esben, however, didn’t hear them. Maker help us, He thought, noticing anxiously as he approached the wide doors of the Keep that every single chief was already there, and Myndik was talking at full speed to all of them. Not only was it rather uncomfortable to arrive on time and realize that ‘on time’ was actually late, but Myndik had had the chance to talk to the other Chiefs for who knows how long, trying to sway them against Artham and Esben. You will never be alone, my son. Esben repeated the memory over and over. As if he could read his mind, Artham reached over and squeezed Esben’s shoulder reassuringly. They entered the Keep, taking their seats in the midst of an uncomfortable silence, and Aro took his place behind Artham. “Thank ye so much, Your Highness, for finally deciding to grace us with your presence,” Myndik drawled in his sarcastic voice as the other Annieran members of the council took their seats. “We apologize for not arriving sooner, Keeper,” Esben said sincerely, “but we didn’t realize everyone had decided to arrive before us.” Myndik grunted with a curt nod, then turned so that he was speaking both to the council and to the brothers. “The Chiefs of the Green Hollows have remained undecided,” Myndik said, somehow sounding both amused and scornful, “As to whether or not the weak alliance between our countries shall be renewed. Your Highness, is there anything that needs to be said to the Chiefs before we begin this useless debate again?” Myndik asked, making the ‘useless debate’ sound like something detrimental to everyone in the Keep. Esben glanced over at Artham and Artham nodded. He stood up, and Esben was relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to explain this time. “Last night we were on our way alone to Oak Hill and the High King and I were attacked again by three Wanderers of the Woes. No one else was hurt or attacked, and no one else saw the assailants. We returned home safely, but the High King of Anniera has been threatened again.” There was a murmur of surprise around the Keep and then silence. Artham waited a few minutes and spoke again, his strong, steady voice spreading throughout the Keep. “Chiefs of the Hollows, we ask you to please consider this alliance. Our countries have always been stronger for our unity. We have always stood by each other’s side in every time of danger. The High King of Anniera is being threatened. If you refuse to keep us allied, then we will be forced to fight this alone. Are we truly in a country that refuses to stand by us when we are being attacked within its own borders? Anniera has always stood by you. Please, let the Green Hollows and Anniera stand in assurance by each other’s side again.” Artham remained standing for a moment longer, looking every Chief and Chieftess in the eye that would look him back. Then he sat down. Myndik sat with his eyebrows raised in surprise and a satisfied smile on his face. “The High King was attacked…again last night, Throne Warden?” He asked, his words filling Esben with dread. Myndik didn’t wait for an answer though. “Chiefs of the Council, can’t you see? This is who you want to hold an alliance with. These two who didn’t even have the sense to have guards with them at all times when their lives are in danger. Both of them are incompetent, more so than even I thought,” He said with a huff of laughter. “How so, Keeper?” Artham asked coldly. Esben immediately wished that he hadn’t spoken. “Let me ask you a question, oh mighty Throne Warden. Were any of those attackers captured or killed?” Artham hesitated, and Esben could see that look of self-directed fury enter his eyes again. “No, they weren’t, Keeper. We captured one but left him behind. When we returned he was gone. Myndik scoffed again. “Let me ask you this, Throne Warden,” he continued, and when he said the word ‘Throne Warden,’ it was so full of mocking and scorn that even Esben winced to hear it directed at his brother. He glanced at Artham. His older brother was looking down at the table, apparently not trusting himself to look Myndik in the eyes. “How could ye be so foolish as to go home by a lonely, wooded path when your precious King’s life had been threatened twice before? What a lack of judgement! Where was yer call to protect then, Throne Warden? And look. You escape unscathed but the King you said ye would lay down yer life for was wounded! On top of all that, you, who are considered such a great warrior, left behind the captured Wanderer where he could escape! No information from this incident, no nothing! The only thing that happened was that yer brother was wounded and you proved the both of you to be the incapable children everyone here knows you are. How can you call yerself a Throne Warden?” The council sat for a split second in shock. Myndik had stood up for his little speech, glaring down at Artham who was still sitting straight and tall, and he punctuating each of his points with a slam of his heavy hand on the table. Artham hadn’t been able to meet his eyes after the first question. Esben stared at Myndik with shock and anger. He glanced over at Artham. His brother’s head was still bent slightly, and the fists he had clenched under the table were trembling. When he opened his eyes they were so full of fury and guilt that Esben was absolutely sure Artham was directing every bit of it mercilessly at himself, blaming himself for every pang of pain or fear that he thought Esben had felt. The worst of it was that Esben knew that Artham believed that every word Myndik had said was true. “How dare you, Myndik,” came a voice from across the table. Esben looked up to see Chief Kandir, his face flushed with anger. “I can’t believe that our Keeper has lowered himself to this. This whole week you have been falsely accusing and taunting and purposefully mocking the High King of Anniera and the Throne Warden. Yes, they are still both young men but they have shown themselves diligent and honorable and wise. You should be trying to help them instead of beating them down! And for you to manipulate the heart and duties of a Throne Warden…If Artham is anything like who I think he is, he has already been struggling with the blame and guilt for something that isn’t his fault! I didn’t know you could be so cruel, Myndik.” Kandir had stood up, never looking away from Myndik’s eyes. Multiple of the Chiefs were nodding their agreement. “I could remove ye from yer position, Kandir. Sit down.” “No, Keeper. I think the council will agree with me on this.” Myndik looked around at the angry or concerned faces. A few were still on his side though, and that was enough to keep anything positive from happening. Kandir continued. “Artham, Esben, as Myndik is not going to, I apologize for this. Specifically because I didn’t stop it before it came this far. Esben, will you please tell us what really happened?” Esben nodded. “Thank you, Chief Kandir,” he said, trying to express as much gratitude as he could in those few words. Artham also nodded gratefully to Kandir and looked at the other chiefs while Esben began to speak, avoiding meeting Myndik’s eyes. “We didn’t want to to through town last night, so we decided to take a shortcut through the woods. It wasn’t Artham’s idea; I suggested it. He heard them just before they attacked and gave me his sword, leaving himself to fight with just his dagger because he wanted me to have the best chance of getting out safely…” By the time Esben had finished, the council sat in complete silence, listening attentively. At a loss for something else to say, Esben simply sat back down, praying that the Maker would do the rest. Myndik laughed. “How can ye prove that was actually the way it happened? You two were the only ones there. How do we know ye-” “I think that’s enough, Myndik,” Kandir said from across the table. “All of this has been enough. I believe the High King. You have had your say and now I’m going to have mine. Chiefs of the Green Hollows, it is time for us to unite with the Shining Isle. The High King and Throne Warden are facing the threat of death! Are we really going to add to these awful attacks with our opposition? Is it not our duty to stand by the country that has fought for us when we were in danger and would have lost hope if not for their loyalty to us? Let the Warriors of the Hollows now fight for the Shining Isle!” Kandir paused, and Myndik instantly tried to interrupt, but Kandir cut him off. “I’m sorry, Myndik, but if what you’re about to say is anything like what you’ve been saying, I’m pretty sure everyone here is fed up with it. With all due respect, Keeper,” he continued, and though it wasn’t on purpose, the word ‘Keeper’ came out rather strained. “I think everyone here has realized that you are trying to provoke the Throne Warden and High King into saying or doing something rash that would prove your accusation that they are incompetent children. But do you realize that you are doing exactly what you’re trying to get them to do? Keeper, they have shown a maturity and strength beyond their years by dealing with your immaturity.” Kandir looked surprised for a second, as if he hadn’t meant to say all of that, but then he looked assured again. “I propose that we take the vote immediately to decide on this alliance.” “I agree,” one of the other Chieftesses, Narinda said. Then a bell rang outside, signaling lunchtime. Practically everyone at the table glanced in the direction the food would come from. There was an uncomfortable silence until Esben finally spoke. “How about after we eat?” He asked hesitantly. Practically everyone around the table agreed instantly, and deciding on the alliance between Anniera and the Hollows was postponed again. But only until after lunch. Notes: • I hope you all enjoyed this nice long chapter… • And yes you have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happens. And I wonder what Aro is thinking right now…what is the assassins’ plan??? And has anyone forgotten about Nia and ‘Lander’?

(Warning: this chapter does allude to Podo's former immoral life as a Strander.) This chapter is long! I couldn’t fit it into a keep document, so it turned into a six-page Google Docs… enjoy over 4000 words! I hope this atones for my utter lack of postages!!! @Lili the Shakespeare Nerd (FF, FAR, TW, TC, SS, NoMS, CL, DK, AaPK(S), CE, CM, D) @Batwhacker the Freedom Fighter !!!!!!!!! @modsIhopethewarningissufficient The Wingfeathers silently crunched through the forest surrounded by the muddiest, meanest people they had ever encountered. The still unnamed female in charge had sent two Stranders off to hunt for their cow. The other dozen now stalked beside them, never completely in view, but always there. They had taken the Wingfeather's things, including all their weapons. They came in view of the camp. The camp was a chaotic sprawl of tattered tents and makeshift lean-tos, strung together with frayed ropes and scraps of cloth—a rancid smell hanging in the air—rotting meat, damp mud, and unwashed bodies. Smoke rose from several fire pits, where food scraps roasted on crude spits. The ground was churned to muck by dozens of boots, and knives gleamed everywhere, from belts to hands to stumps driven into the earth. The leader stopped them with a threatening glance and a wave of the ever-threatening knife. She stomped up to the edge of a wide circle of Stranders and cleared her throat. "Permis to come near?" A guttural voice, more fit for a Fang, responded, "Wheres th' meat?" "I sent Bannikin and Jontin to fetch it." The voice didn't change an iota as a large Strander (whom everyone was staying clear of, resulting in the aforesaid circle) heavily, but agilely, twisted up from off the stump. "Aye, come naer. Who ya got?" The leader stumped over to the giant Strander and answered his question. "They say the're from Glipwood. Not sure how they crossed th' Blapp though. Had weapons." Podo stepped forward and interrupted the girl, "We don't aim ta stay long. We'll get outer yer hair quicker than..." "I'll say when ya leave, ya hear?" interrupted the Strander. Moving with the suddenness of a cat, he leaped onto his stump and called to the other Stranders. "Mi Stranders!" They responded with wild, jeering unity. "Of the Eastest Bend!" Grinning, the apparent leader continued this rallying cry. "Sharp knives, quick hands, and NO LAW!" "Aye!" the others responded. "Mi name? Claxton Weaver. I don't like Fangs. I don't like rules. but most of all, I don't like strangers wandring through mi land. I dunno how ya could have snuck'n through my land already...* but it ain't matter. You'd better talk before ya end up in the Blapp!" Podo responded, "Save yer Blapp for real strangers, cause I am not one of those. I'm just as Strander as you. I ran with the Pounders in the glory days before you were born youngin. Let us pass!" Claxton sneered, obviously not appreciating Podo's reply. “The Pounders?” He narrowed his eyes at Podo. Suddenly his face relaxed, but it wasn't relieving to the seven captives. "The Pounder's eh? Well then you'll tell us a tale tonight, and we'll decide then whether you c'n live." The night passed quickly and yet seemed to drag on into eternity. The Stranders always were there, there wouldn't be any premature leaving, but they seemed to ignore the Wingfeathers and continue in their everyday activities. These included slurping up any food available, burping, sneering, and getting into fights, among other crude things. The girl who had brought them there seemed to have been assigned to take care of them, and she was pretty good at it too. She walked over to the firepit, grabbed a few skewers full of some meat, and passed them around. Janner found the mystery meat was pretty tasty, greasy, and stringy. He ate it all, and before he could wonder if seconds were allowed, she was back, handing him another. "Thanks!" he ventured, half wondering if she'd take it as an insult. She didn't. For a second she looked mildly surprised, but then she loudly snorted and walked off. He still hadn't caught her name. Glancing over at his siblings, he noted how each seemed to be doing. Tink seemed enraptured by his surroundings and was on his fourth skewer. Worrisome. Leeli seemed frightened, barely eating anything, but she bravely was smiling at those around her. Okay. Bekah, the youngest, looked agitated, her unusual hazel** eyes dark and brooding and leg jittering, and Janner wondered what was going on behind her eyes. The night grew dark, and more and more Stranders gathered around the fires, obviously there for the story forthcoming. Janner could only hope it was good enough for them. Claxton stood up, belched the loudest burp Janner had ever heard, and bellowed out, "Now's th' time fer yer story, old man!" Podo stood and stretched, and the fire flickered in his eyes, reflecting off something dangerous and humorous Janner had only seen when Podo was telling a tale. "Strander's! I've et your meat, smoked yer weed***, and at your leave, I'll tell ye a fine tale." The Stranders cheered, and Podo continued. "When I was a wee lad, about yer age girly," and he gestured with his pipe at the young girl who had brought them here, "I was fish'n in the Blapp, and contrar to what I'd been told to do, I rowed east, past all the other scared kitt'n kids who had ventured close to Strander waters." Chuckles ran throughout the crowd, and Janner's heart leaped. "Brave, or perhaps foolish I rowed a wee bit farther than should've. And that's when I saw them! The meanest, dirtiest (this gathered a chuckle), largest Strander I'd ever laid me young eyes on!" The Stranders cheered, and Podo paused for a second and took a pull on his pipe, clearly enjoying the attention (or pretending to). "Well?" demanded a Strander, and Podo continued, “Growlfist he was, and I knew I was up to me ears in trouble the second I saw him. They said he once wrestled a bomnubble to the ground with nothin’ but his bare hands. They said his roar could crack a tree clean in half—and as fer his glare, well, I wasn’t about to test whether it could cook a fish or not." More approval came from the Stranders. "He called, no, he bellowed, 'Com' ere" and me boat itself paddled to the shore faster than anything I'd ever seen. I was quiv'ring in me boots." More cheers and Claxton grinned, anticipating the climax of the story. Janner wanted to believe the laughter meant they were safe, but every time Claxton grinned, it sent a chill down his spine—like the grin of a wolf, all teeth and no warmth. Rebekah was still lost in thought, and something about her eyes made Janner feel like she was formulating some plan. Tink was leaning forward, meat forgotten, absorbing every word. Podo grinned, looked around, and continued. "He picked me up by me neck, pulled me murderously close, and asked me by whose permis I'd been sailing in his waters. I told 'im straight. Nobody." Laughs. "He pulled me nearer, and I felt me air start to leave me, so I did somethin' ne'er done before nor since." The tension around the forest heightened, and Stranders leaned forward in anticipation of what the foolish young Podo had done. Podo held out, waiting until he was sure everyone was listening. "I picked his pocket!" Claxton leaned back skeptically as the Stranders all collectively gasped, "You what?" he grumphed. "I picked his pocket." Podo restated. The Strander girl laughed merrily, "What'd ya pick?" Podo grinned, "The only thing I could g't me paws on. His pone!" That one word sent all the Stranders silent as ghosts. Most looked to Claxton to see how they should react. Janner was confused, what was a pone, and why would it cause such a reaction? Claxton snorted, "Well? Finish yer tale." Podo took a deep breath. "I swiped his pone, a wee golden bird, and as he started to strangle me, I managed to croak out one word. 'Wait!' He stopped, and asked me, 'Why shouldn't I toss ye in th' river, runt?' with my neck still in his hand. I'd only a few seconds to answer. I told him straight, just like before. 'If you toss me in the river, you'd lose yer wee birdy!' and I held it up in his face. He stared at it eye's buggin' out further than a Plurp bird's beak. Growlfist swiped it back of course, and punched me on the jaw I still have a scar," Podo showed an ancient mark on his jawline beneath his beard, "but he welcomed me in, and from then on, I ran with the Pounders." Silence. Janner's hopes rose, but then his heart sank as he saw Claxton grin. "You tell a good tale, but no one could 'ave stolen me pocket, let alone Growlfist's pone! Stranders! The men and the lady will sleep on the bottom of the Blapp tonight! We'll keep the little un's of course!" Janner's heart sunk lower than his toes, but he was surprised when Podo let out a full-on belly laugh, which unnerved Claxton. "If ye are sendin' me to the Blapps mucky bottom, tis kind of you to weigh me down for a quick trip there!" He grinned and then pulled out a pot from in his shirt, which had been mysteriously hidden there. He tossed it to a lady and then reached into a pocket for another item. Thing after thing appeared from the depths of his pockets, and as soon as the flow of items tapered off, it began again with renewed vigor, stronger than before. All the Stranders mouths hung agape, and it was clear the balance had shifted. Once Podo finally stopped, Claxton sneered, clearly not impressed. "All right, so maybe you are a good pickpocket. But Stranders! No one could have picked the pocket of Growlfist! In the river they go!" Many of the Stranders looked a little crestfallen. One spoke up, "Maybe we can let 'im live, and just toss in the other two!" Claxton spun around, sneering at the assault on his authority. "He may look tough, but he's too good for the likes of us East Benders, I've look'd in his eyes, and there ain't no darkness in 'im. Nay, let them all sleep sound in a wat'ry bed." Claxton obviously knew how to stir the muck in his clan's hearts. They began cheering, and Podo's face went ashen. Janner looked at his siblings panicked. Leeli looked frightened but ready to whack Claxton over the head. Rebekah glanced around quickly. And Tink—Tink! Janner saw him tracing circles on the ground. He was going to run! Janner was about to whisper for Kalmar to stay put, but... "Wait!" Tink jerked his head in surprise. Relieved, Janner looked up and saw everyone staring around in confusion. "Who said that?" Claxton barked. Was it one of your party?" he asked, looking at Podo. Podo, confused, replied, "Ne'er heard that voice before." "Twas me!" said an arrestingly light and airy voice. Janner, confused spun around, and his jaw dropped when he saw the source of the attention-grabbing voice, and he half couldn't believe who was speaking. But then, he couldn't imagine any Strander with such a beautiful voice. Kalmar's eyes bugged out, and Leeli looked stunned like she had just received good news. Rebekah stood, chin up, lightly staring past Janner at Claxton. "So tis one of your party. You lied old man!" Claxton growled, and the sound of his voice by comparison was harsh and dissonant, even the Stranders winced. "Nay, he didn't lie." Rebekah strode forward voice refreshing, Podo stepping back so she had room in front of the fire. "He has never heard my voice before. None of you have." Claxton raised an eyebrow, but there was a commanding quality in her voice that kept him silent. "He told you a tale of a bad man. Probably the worst man in the history of Aerwiar. I would tell you a tale from another land, but you wouldn't be able to stand up against it." Claxton snorted, suddenly finding his voice again. "Ne'er have I heard a tale I couldn't stand hearing. What makes ye think this tale would be any different?" Rebekah seemed to think for a few seconds, and then she answered, "because my story is of good, and you stranders are evil. Evil can't stand hearing of good. You wouldn't appreciate my tale." Claxton took that as a challenge. "Tell us the story. If it is as you say, ye can all leave." Rebekah nodded, and all the Stranders settled in for the second tale of the night, eager to hear this "tale of good". Rebekah stood in front of the fire, she bowed her head for a few seconds, thinking or praying, and then, without any clearing of the throat, she began. "My tale is of the greatest and goodest man who ever walked the face of Origin. My tale begins at the beginning, and though it be lengthy, it is a saga to be heard, not to be interrupted. In the beginning, the Maker created Heaven and Earth. They were perfect, and nothing was bad in or around them. He created servants to help him, these were called angels. He created the Earth, Heaven, Seas and Sky, Birds, Beasts, and Fish all with nothing but his voice. The last thing He created was a man and his wife. They were blameless and pure, and had no knowledge of evil. He placed them in a garden, and gave them orders. To tend to the garden, to have many children, and lastly, to never eat from a specific tree. If they ate, it would become certain that they would die. He named the man Adam." She paused, and Janner's heart, which had been enraptured by her tale, gave way to his thoughts. Where have I heard this tale before? Is Origin the name of the land she and Gracie... come from? I thought it was named Earth. Aerwiar has no tale like this of Creation! His thoughts paused as he saw Rebekah inhale, about to continue her tale. "Now, at some time, in Heaven, evil brewed for the first time in history. One of the chief angels, one named Morning Star, had thoughts of self conceit. He envied the Maker, believing that he was better suited for the task. He lied to himself, saying he hadn't been created for a specific purpose, but had evolved, or had been around for forever, and that he could choose his own destiny. He challenged the Maker, and was thrown from the starry city, along with a third of the angels whom he had corrupted. And he crept upon the earth." Rebekah paused again. Janner was shocked and slightly horrified. She had mentioned the evil every person on Aerwiar knew existed... out loud. The people of Aerwiar knew there was an evil out there, but they refused to give it glory by mentioning it except if necessary on the gravest of occasions.**** The Stranders didn't seem bothered that she had mentioned evil... or given it a name, but they seemed invested, intrigued. Rebekah looked around, gathering her thoughts, and noticing Janner, shot him a look. I'm not afraid to mention evil. And this situation is grave. Janner nodded, and she continued, smirking a little at him. "Now, some time later, Adam and his wife were walking in the garden, and as they passed the forbidden tree, a voice, sweet as honey, and dripping with evil, addressed them. Now they had no idea the voice was evil, remember, they had no knowledge of evil or death. So they listened to the voice, which was uttered by the mouth of a snake. I will tell the tale straight from the book of Histories written by the Maker." Now her voice changed, and the style of words changed, seeming more rich and full. "He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You are not to eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman answered the serpent, “We may eat from the fruit of the trees of the garden, but about the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden God said, ‘You are neither to eat from it nor touch it, or you will die.’” The serpent said to the woman, “It is not true that you will surely die; because God knows that on the day you eat from it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it had a pleasing appearance and that the tree was desirable for making one wise, she took some of its fruit and ate. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her; and he ate." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper at the end, making all around lean forward and strain to listen. Janner felt anger and pity towards the deceived husband and wife. How could they disobey the Maker? Why? And what would the Maker do? The Stranders around the fire seemed crestfallen, against their very nature wishing the two hadn't succumbed to the temptation. Rebekah continued, "Yes, they listened to the voice of evil, and as a result, their eyes were opened, they found they could decide what they wished to be right or wrong, but what they most noticed was that they were naked. They were ashamed, and trying to cover themselves with leaves, they hid. When the Maker found them, He was angry, but still treated them kindly. Fairly, he pronounced the doom that would come from their disobedience. 'To the woman he said, “I will greatly increase your pain in childbirth. You will bring forth children in pain. Your desire will be toward your husband, but he will rule over you.” To Adam he said, “Because you listened to what your wife said and ate from the tree about which I gave you the order, ‘You are not to eat from it,’ the ground is cursed on your account; you will work hard to eat from it as long as you live. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat field plants. You will eat bread by the sweat of your forehead till you return to the ground — for you were taken out of it: you are dust, and you will return to dust.”' The evil serpent received no grace. It was condemned to a life of eating dust, and the Maker told it that there was to be war between it and the woman's seed from then on. The Maker didn't leave Adam and his wife without hope, however, he gave them a promise, that one day, one of their descendants would crush the serpents head, even though he would be bruised on the heel in return. Adam then named his wife Havah, which means life, because she was the mother of all of the race of Men. Adam and Havah were then ordered out of the lovely garden they were in, and began a new, hard life. For they now knew evil, and the wages of sin is death." Rebekah's words grew more eloquent with every sentence. She seemed to be pulling on threads she had been told all her life, and weaving stories she had been told into her tale. Her eyes were alight, and in them burned a quiet fire that made anyone doubtful of her tale know of its veracity. Her voice carried far, frail though it was, and Janner knew she considered this tale to be of utmost importance. She had paused, and all who heard ached in their heart at what she said. Even Claxton felt strange, but, afraid of the feelings her story aroused, squelched them down. "The line of Adam and Havah, though she is usually called Eve nowadays, grew, evil flourished, and no matter how hard the Maker tried, bringing them home seemed a lost cause. #He began new worlds, Aerwiar one of them, and seeded them with their children. He named the first world Origin, for all men came from it. This name is mostly forgotten, tis called Earth nowadays, probably to reflect how we are made, and to where we will return.# However dire the situation seemed, the Maker had a plan to redeem men. He hinted at it through prophecies, chose a specific family and then the nation that grew from it through which to work His plan. Finally, when the world seemed darkest, He began the greatest part of His plan. He sent Himself as His son to be born into the world as a baby. He grew up as a poor carpenter, and then, at the age of thirty, began proclaiming that the time of renewal was at hand, and that all who trusted in His, the Makers, plan, would be saved from the wages of sin they deserved. Many followed Him, but many, corrupted by the adversary, hated Him. They hated His popularity and His goodness. They were afraid He would overthrow them. So, they killed Him." Janner's heart sank. The words had rung true, every one of them, even the ones about the Maker's life, and death, as a mortal man. They rang clarion in his heart, and, searching, he found the story already etched in his heart. But, Janner realized, this wasn't the end of the tale. His heart told him that there was more. So, he listened to the silence, waiting for Rebekah to continue and give the ending to the tale, even though he somehow knew how it would end. Rebekah had everyone's eyes and attention. She gathered herself, a tear on her face, and continued. "But that wasn't the end. Three days after His execution, His followers found His tomb empty, and soon after, He Himself appeared to them. He soon after ascended back into Heaven and promised that He would come again and that all who believed would forever live and break the chains of death. He is not dead. He is risen, just like He said He would!” Rebekah’s last words rang like a bell in the silent forest. The Stranders seemed petrified by the absolute beauty of the story, the absolute opposite of them. Rebekah sat next to Leeli once more, and it was clear she wouldn’t say anything more. Claxton dragged himself up, and for a second looked vulnerable, but his eyes focused, the softness in his eyes left, and raggedly, he said, “I don’t like your tale. It doesn’t meet the qualifications. Stranders!” he bellowed, finally losing the rag in his voice. “Take the adults to the Blapp, and the children to the cages!” The Stranders slowly started to stir, but surprisingly, Janner wasn’t afraid. Whatever happened next would be the Maker's doing.  Kalmar shot past him, and Janner’s eyes widened. He ran up to Claxton and grabbed his dagger. Claxton grabbed Kalmar by his shirt, and lifted him off the ground, reclaiming his dagger. Janner’s mouth went dry as Kalmar said out loud cheekily, “missing something?” as he held up a golden medallion. Claxton roared, grabbed the medallion, and punched Kalmar so hard he flew ten feet into the darkness surrounding the fire. He put the medallion in his pocket and looked around as if to assure himself his Stranders were not planning to revolt. Janner lurched forward, intending to get to Kalmar, when out of the darkness Claxton’s dagger, somehow again in Kalmar’s possession, came flying out handle first, knocking the leader out. The girl who they knew the most about leapt forward, not concerned for the leader one iota, but worried pandemonium would break out. She called out loudly, “Stranders! Listen to your chief's daughter! While Claxton is out of it, I propose his mother lead.” A few Stranders booed, but the majority seemed glad to have something normal-ish. An old, disgusting-looking Strander lady hobbled out of the crowd and spoke. The Wingfeathers at this point were just waiting for whatever happened next.  “Thank ye, dearie Maraly. Stranders! Claxton recently has been getting a little too big fer his boots, and I think it’s time he’s been dethroned. You all saw the boy! He got the pone, and if we can’t adhere to the one rule we have, there ain’t going to be any Stranders no more. I have only one condition for you Podo Helmer.” This last part was addressed to Janner’s grandfather, who looked suddenly devoid of color once more. “Yes, Nurgabog?” She cackled, “So he remembers me name! He should, seeing as he stole me away for ten years and fathered me son! My condition is a single kiss... To remember the old times we had together! Sailing the sea, a pirate and ‘is lass.” Podo acquiesced, kissing the elderly lady, shuddering the entire time. Janner couldn’t watch such a disgusting sight. He looked past to Nia, who also looked disgusted, and a wee bit angry. Janner then realized why. Claxton was what?***** He shook his head and decided he wouldn’t think of what that entailed family-wise. He didn’t want to think of these people as related in any way. At least he now knew that girl's name. Maraly. *If you look at the map, when you cross the bridge, you end up east of Dugtown, and likely the Stranders were in between them and the ford. **My headcanon is that Aerwiarian eyes, unless messed up somehow, are all shades of blue, some dark enough it can be mistaken for black. ***Pipeweed, not the modern connotation. It probably is addictive like nicotine tbh. ****Another of my headcanons. It’s how I explain why we never hear of an actual spiritual enemy in the stories but do hear of evil. *****Yet another headcanon. I think that THAT actually happened. That would make Claxton Nia’s half-brother and Janner’s uncle. It also makes Maraly his cousin. #This is my “theology stuff” I put it in brackets to make it clear it’s not part of the creation story, just my idea of how this world could fit into ours. Another Headcanon#