After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 10

Plans to Search

Notes:

I've tried to keep things as not-graphic and family-friendly as possible, and, honestly, I think this and every other instance of "torture" is really pretty mild. Trust me, I've read hundreds of forms of torture with many levels of graphic-ness, etc. in various fanfiction fandoms, and what is in this story is okay - at least in my opinion. Now, Andrea may think differently, but we're hoping she doesn't, because if she does, there may be an issue in getting this story posted 😅

*****

“He’s been missing for more than a day,” Sara whispered, her legs drawn close to her chest and her forehead pressed into her knees. She was glad manners didn’t exist in Maraly’s room. That would have made everything more unbearable than it already was.

“I know,” Maraly answered her, quiet and distant, and when Sara raised her head, she saw her friend holding a teacup in her hands, toying with it but not drinking. They had stationed themselves on the sofa and chair in the small sitting area in Maraly’s room, for how long Sara wasn’t sure, but it had been long enough to where a palace servant came up with tea and little cakes, neither of which had provided much comfort.

“Nothing has worked,” Sara tried again after a long pause, now shifting her gaze to her own teacup, sitting full on the end table. She knew Chathan—in Queen Bhora’s continued and suspicious absence—had people searching the city and beyond, but she knew Torrboro. Nothing would be enough.

This time, Maraly squeezed her before spending. “It’s only been a day, Sara,” she reminded her. “They ain’t been lookin’ fer long.”

Sara shook her head and sighed. There was truth in Maraly’s words, she knew. But any time without Janner felt like an eternity. It wasn’t just a matter of her heart, though. She was worried about him physically, though she had specifically not allowed her brain to spiral in that way quite yet.  “People who get kidnapped have to get found quickly,” she said instead, trying to formulate some of her thoughts into a more logical framework. She hoped Maraly would appreciate it. “The more time they’re gone the less likely it is they’re coming back. And Janner’s king, for goodness sake! We should’ve at least gotten a ransom note or something by now.”

“You read too much,” Maraly retorted abruptly, and Sara felt a pang of frustration and maybe even anger sweep through her. Then she stopped herself. She couldn’t be mad at her best friend, not now. “Life ain’t a book, Sara,” Maraly continued, oblivious to the angst her first statement had caused. “Sometimes…sometimes things happen. I mean…I don’t mean thet. Thet ain’t gonna happen. They’ll find ‘im, I’m sure they will. Hey, I got an idea: why don’t we try an’ find ‘im? Tomorra, maybe?”

Sara felt hope rising in her heart, and she lifted her head. “You’ll look with me?” she asked, desperately needing confirmation. She knew she sounded like a child, but she didn’t care.

“‘Course I will!” Maraly replied with a grin. “But Janner’d want ya to have more protection ‘n just me, so maybe get Joe and Shastan? I mean, Shadowblade is ‘bout as competent as you can when it comes to protection and such, but if they went after Janner—”

“They might go after me too,” Sara finished quietly. “Yeah. I know.” It was the only reason she hadn’t been out of Palace Torr to look yet: no one had let her out. They had literally kept her from leaving the premises, and while it was a little nice to think they genuinely cared about her safety, they mostly just wanted to prevent a war with Anniera. 

New plan halfway established, Maraly tipped her teacup and swallowed the last of it. “We’ll have ta sneak ya ‘round the guards, though,” she said thoughtfully, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Ya wanna try a disguise? I brought me new Shadowblade outfit with me, if you’d like ta try thet. Oh, ‘n climbin’ out the window’s always an option.”

Sara shook her head. “That was a birthday present, I can’t borrow it so soon. And probably a ‘no’ to the second suggestion as well. They’ve been patrolling the windows constantly—especially mine. And now yours, since I’ve been here so much.”

“A different room, then?” Maraly continued. “Shastan’s er Joe’s er Owen’s?”

“Whatever works best,” Sara said quietly, despair falling over her once again at the prospect of needing to plan and having human restraints that made it impossible to dash through the streets of Torrboro looking for Janner. She stood and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself and slowly making her way toward the window. As she looked out at the night-darkened city, illuminated by little more than the quarter moon and flame-lit lanterns, tears rolled down her cheeks. Janner was somewhere out there, somewhere no one, probably not even he, knew the name of, somewhere he was tired and in pain and frustrated and scared and determined. Oh, his determination was beautiful. Yes, his determination had left him exhausted for days or weeks on occasion, but it was always for someone else, always because they needed help, always because he loved his people. 

She just prayed he would have enough determination to persevere for as long as it took to find him, because while she believed they would, deep down, something told her it might not be for quite a long time.

*****

“Frankly, I find this quite annoying,” the Overseer drawled as they walked through a lantern-lighted corridor a little more quickly than Janner would have preferred. It would have been even faster and nearly impossible, except that the Overseer had a jolting limp, made slightly more efficient by a cane, that conveniently worked in Janner’s favor. “We’re already goin’ slowly, you’re bein’ held up by someone else, an’ yet you stumble an’ fall behind.”

Janner gritted his teeth and briefly squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to unblur his vision. “Sorry,” he gasped, stumbling at that moment, once again feeling his collar choke him as the teenage boy who half-held him up gripped his shirt tighter. The crest did not burn his heart any longer. They had ripped it off in the other room, and it had gone sailing into the dark. He ached for its familiarity.

“Tirge, what did you do, give the mole too much powder to put in ‘is tea?” The Overseer turned his head briefly to glare at the boy, Tirge, and Janner’s mouth fell open. There was a mole? A mole in Torr? Was he or she still there? What about Sara? Would the mole hurt Sara too? 

He wanted to know, he desperately needed to know. But those weren’t the words that escaped. “There was something in the tea?” he asked incredulously instead. 

Tirge huffed. “Yeah, you nitwit. But I gave ‘im just as much as I was supposed to. I did this to the Tools comin’ out of the Factory and goin’ to the Fangs ‘cordin’ to your rules. ‘Course I know how to do it.”

The Overseer said nothing in response, but Janner’s mind panicked. Sara’s safety and lack of it, the mole, the drugged tea, two Fork! Factory! Enforcers, the clear goal of vengeance—all of it swirled around and around around and around, practically dizzying him. They weren’t safe. Sara wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe.

 “Ah, ‘ere we are,” the Overseer said suddenly, grinning at the sight of a corridor with a door at the end of it. “Through this corridor, everyone.”

They filed—he stumbled—into the corridor, then the room when the Overseer unlocked it, but Janner didn’t take the time to observe the room. His heart suddenly broke for Sara. She had spent so much time worrying—oh, poor Sara, she was terrified, he knew she was, he had to get out so she wouldn’t worry anymore, so the mole couldn’t get to her.

All of a sudden, pain exploded in his jaw. He cried out and staggered, falling to the ground in an unceremonious heap moments later because his head spun, and he couldn’t keep his balance. 

“Now listen to me this time, Tool,” the Overseer growled, brandishing his cane. “You are not ‘ere because I want Anniera. You’re ‘ere because you’re the worm that got into my operation an’ destroyed it. Now you’re going to pay me with your blood and sweat and tears. I will bend you until you snap, an’ then I will grind you into dust. I will not stop ‘til I am satisfied, an’ if I’m not, well then,” he cackled, his eyes narrowed into snake-like slits. “Then I’ll start on the girl too.”

“You will not touch her,” Janner hissed, struggling to his feet and standing as tall as he could, which wasn’t all that imposing, considering he really wasn’t that tall and was beginning to sway. “And your mole won’t either. As long as I am alive, you will not lay a single finger on her, not ever again. Do whatever you want to me but don’t hurt Sara, please.” 

The Overseer eyed him almost thoughtfully for a moment and lowered his cane, leaning into it. “Ya know, Tirge,” he began. “It almost makes me want to tell our mole ta get ‘is Sara an’ ‘urt her. That’ll break both of ‘em faster than anything.” Panic bubbled in Janner’s throat. “But I don’t like ‘urting girls much, so I think I’ll ‘old off.”

Janner breathed a sigh of relief, but the sigh didn’t last long. Moments later, another punch was thrown into his face, then another, then they pushed him to the ground and began kicking him, hitting him everywhere but his stomach. The Overseer’s cane played a role in it, too. Crying out didn’t seem to help; it only made them cackle and pummel him harder. 

When it was finally over…well, he didn’t realize it was over, at first. He thought their feet, their fists, the knees, the cane still jabbed into him.  

Even though he heard the Overseer say, “She’s safe ‘til you give up,” the words hot and angry and breathed into Janner’s ear, he still couldn’t believe they had finished. Not even when the sounds of two sets of footsteps, the tapping of the cane, and that of a slamming door drowning them out worked their way through the ringing in his ears did it register. It wasn’t even when he moved that he understood, because movement created pain, and it just felt as though they had hit him again. 

When he whispered Sara’s name through bleeding lips, though, when tears squeezed out of swollen eyes, when sobs and coughing came forth from his bruised, aching chest—when he could do all of that without reproach that was when he knew they were gone.

“I love you, Sara,” he murmured through the tears and pain. His fingers fumbled for the crest, and when they couldn’t find it, he buried his fist in his chest anyway. “I won’t let them hurt you. Oh, Maker, help me keep them from hurting her.

“Don’t let her hurt.”

*****

Notes:

Really hoping that wasn't too violent 🤞

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical^^