After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 13

A Protector's Entrance

Notes:

Absolutely NO violence in this chapter! Just some light angst. Sorry about the last one 😅

This is also SUPER long, perhaps unnecessarily so...I hope you like it :)

*****

Sara fingered the letter she had written, re-written, and altered yet again. It detailed the circumstances of Janner’s disappearance, everyone’s absolute failure to actually locate him, the somewhat cooperative and willing help they had received from Torrboro, the incredible assistance and dedication from Joe, Owen, Maraly, and Shastan, and the request that Artham come and search with them. She did her best to keep emotion out of it, and though the original two copies had several spots where a tear had escaped, this third was without blemish. It was when she came to the section on Artham that she always began crying, because how does one manage to request help in finding the king of a country calmly when the matter is almost as urgent as they get and said king happens to be one's betrothed?

It wasn’t as though it would matter, anyway. Even if she had sent it the moment they arrived—at which point that hadn’t needed to send such a letter—Anniera still wouldn’t receive it for another week at best, and it would take another three for anyone to respond with their physical presence. There was little to no use in sending such a letter at that point, especially considering how much panic it would stir among the people. 

Sighing, Sara folded the letter in half and placed it on her desk. She replaced it with her journal and a pen and proceeded to flop onto her bed and write. She didn’t care that it was a childish thing to do. Right now, she felt like a scared child anyway, not a young woman betrothed to a missing king.

It has been fifteen days, she began, her breath catching in her throat at the thought. 

Fifteen days. The count began from the night he disappeared. Fifteen days had she been completely separate from Janner, fifteen days of not seeing his face, fifteen days of worrying herself nigh to death, fifteen days of searching for him, fifteen days in which she made no memories of him and only replayed the ones she had over and over again because they were real and vivid and if she didn’t see him in some form, she would go stark raving mad.

The search today yielded no results, though since the only place we have left to look is outside of Torrboro and the time we can spend out there is limited, it’s no wonder. The…clue...from Chathan’s men was informative at best, but searching around the area yielded no results.

Her hand trembled, as did the pen, and she set it in the inkwell. She clasped her hands together, and when that did not stop the shaking, she pressed them into her lap, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Janner’s bloodied, shredded shirt had been found tangled in a bush along the road to Lamendron, nearer Torrboro than Glipwood, they said. She had wanted to press Chathan for more information the day after he had given her the shirt, after she had composed herself, but he was gone, out on an errand. When he had come back the next day, he assured her the soldiers were combing the area near and beyond where they had found the shirt, but further searching had yielded no results. 

No results. No results regarding her betrothed’s disappearance! He very well might be dying of infection that very moment, and they had found no results! 

Sara wanted to scream again, but she couldn’t. Shaking herself and taking up her pen again, she continued, despite the constant shaking of her hand.

Shastan has been quite kind and once again devoted his time to looking. I am beginning to think he has an attachment to Maraly that very well may be returned, but his determination to find Janner is by no means lessened by his desire to spend time with her. 

I had a feeling when this all started that we wouldn’t find Janner for quite a while, but I never expected it to last this long. I never expected it to hurt so much. Yet I’ve never relied on the Maker so much, not any other time in my life. 

Yes, they had become so wondrously close in that time after Janner’s death, life, and subsequent almost fatal illness, but what was happening now…it was different. Now she relied on the Maker to sustain her even as the love of her life was gone, dead or nearly so. Oh, but even though it hurt, even though it ached terribly, He was there, guiding her, telling her to put one foot in front of the other, keeping her from crumpling to the floor in despair. If He wasn’t there, she would have crumpled long ago, back when Janner first disappeared, and she wouldn’t have risen.

Sometimes I want to throw myself down and weep, she wrote, tears coming to her eyes as she remembered the time just earlier that day when she had done so. A very little time between two Annieran meetings led me to the gardens, where I overheard two male individuals discussing their opinion on the matter of sending out soldiers to search for, and I quote, “that waif of a king who didn’t look like he could stand up to anything.” End quote.

I wanted to scream in their faces or hit them or just collapse in the grass and weep. For a few minutes, I did, collapse and weep, that is. But then His love enveloped me, and I heard Him whisper: “My child, Janner is in my hands. I see him. I hear him. And I hear and see you. Do not fly at those men, and do not let others’ folly take over your soul.”

And somehow after that I was calm. I went to the next meeting, and after it we searched as well as we could.

Even now, Sara realized, the misery from earlier hadn’t truly come back. She was still terrified and worried and grieved, but she wasn't quite miserable. She was sure it would reappear in the morning since things like misery tended to do that but for now…for now she was at as much peace as she could be.

A pound sounded on the door, and Sara immediately guessed it was Maraly. The door opened without her giving permission and as expected, Maraly poked her head in. “Supper. In ten minutes,” she said shortly. “Ya sure you can stay in this room alone with nobody? This is the fourth time or somethin’ I’ve had to remind you.”

Sara smiled, jumped off the bed, and ran over to close the door. “Thanks, Maraly. I’m fine,” she said sweetly before turning around and looking into her closet for something to wear. 

She and Maraly had been sharing the latter’s quarters up until a few days earlier, and one of the nicest things about having a roommate was they could pick out your outfit so you wouldn’t have to. Maraly had been doing that for the past few days, either Nia or Leeli or Arundelle or even Janner on occasion always did it back home, and now Sara had to decide for herself.

She settled on the pale pink gown with sensible tucks and frills and hoped everyone would think it was fine. Was it what she wanted to wear? Did it reflect her heart? No and no, but she didn’t actually want to wear her heart on her sleeve in the presence of a bunch of people, mostly older than her, who really wouldn’t care anyway.

Sitting down carefully in a comfortable chair to wait for an attendant to come and escort her—it was common knowledge that young women without a previously chosen escort had to have one—Sara’s mind drifted back to the lack of care everyone had. 

It was a little astonishing, really. Word got around rather quickly that Janner was missing, and then at some point they realized he had been taken. She had yet to hear a reaction stronger than, “oh, that’s dreadful. I hope you find him soon.” 

The lack of concern in nearly everyone made Sara wonder if she was crazy to worry so much, or if the others were crazy. She was too scared to ask Maraly or Shastan, though, for fear they would say she was crazy and had no need to worry as much as she had been. Why did that scare her? Because if the urgency to find Janner had dissipated…it meant they thought he was gone. That he hadn’t made it. That he had passed on. 

How long would they search before giving up hope? When would Anniera begin to mourn? A month out? Two? Three? Four? What would Nia do if yet another child was wrenched from her arms? Sara didn’t know how much loss one woman could bear. 

And what would she do if they never found him? When would she lose hope? When would she tell them to stop looking? Maker help her, she prayed she never would. She would never stop praying for him, hoping for him, longing for him. Surely the Maker wouldn’t get Janner this far just to slay him by an unknown enemy? Janner couldn’t just drift into history, a question instead of an answer, the good he had done and would do in the future obliterated or forgotten and replaced with a question. 

She wouldn’t allow it. If anyone even dared suggest the search was over, she’d saddle a horse herself and ride across the entirety of Skree as many times as it took. She would never give up on Janner, because she knew if the roles were reversed, he would never give up on her. 

A gentle knock pulled her out of her thoughts, and Sara wiped her eyes and unclenched her fists, just in case. It didn’t seem as though she had been crying. That was good. 

When she opened the door, one of the funnily dressed attendants—the ones in green and yellow with bells dangling from their collar and sleeves—bowed low. “Lady Sara Cobbler,” he greeted her. “Please allow me to escort you to the dining hall for the evening meal.”

Sara smiled politely and took the arm offered, but without emotion. The lovely tingle she felt when she linked arms with Janner did not come and was instead replaced with a sinking grief. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or cry.

The lengthy table with numerous chairs was about half-filled when she sat down, after the attendant had pulled her chair out, of course. 

“Thank you,” she said kindly, dipping her head as he bowed again before scurrying off.

Sara looked out at the table, the setting, all the people she recognized somewhat well, though she hadn’t names for all of them. She still didn’t know the names of the two representatives from Crith, and she honestly felt a little bad about that. They sat only a few places away from her, and she almost asked them for their names, but Shastan’s greeting took her attention instead. 

“Good evening, Sara,” he said, smiling warmly. “Do you mind if I take the seat next to you?”

Sara shook her head. “Not at all. You’re welcome to it.”

The rest came minutes after him, almost as if they had followed. The funniest bit of it all was that Maraly and Gebin somehow managed to arrive last and thus were stuck sitting at the most awkward corners of the table, not with each other, likely to Maraly’s relief, but not with anyone they knew, either.

Discussion went as it always did: small talk and gossip and half a dozen conversations and once and all sorts of things that Janner hated and Sara loved, which was why she always did a good deal of it for him when situations like the current one came up.

He wasn’t there, though, and like at every meal he hadn’t eaten with her, she wondered more than once if she was talking too much, if people realized how much of it was for show, if they knew she was used to compensating for Janner and had no idea what to do now that he wasn’t there. 

The thought made her quiet, quiet in a manner she didn’t normally show in public. It was a quiet sadness, a brief trip into wonder and worry and desperate hope, a trip in which the cacophony around her drifted away as she slipped into her own world.

The crash of a door flinging open and hitting the wall wrenched her from her thoughts, and she blinked for a moment before turning her head and gaping at the creator of the noise. 

She knew it was bad manners to gape in public, and if the circumstances had been anywhere near normal, she wouldn’t have gaped. But the circumstances weren’t normal, and she didn’t really feel like appealing to society. 

“Where is my King?” a dark-haired, tall, broad, and clearly furious man questioned. It was as if he had entered the room blasting thunder and lightning, what with the way the crowd had silenced. “I demand to speak with Queen Bhora Grumble regarding whatever has happened to him.”

Chathan’s voice squeaked from the far end of the table. “My lord, I-I’m sorry, she isn’t available—”

“And just who are you?” the man demanded, his dark, furious eyes now fixated solely on Chathan. Sara didn’t have to look to know Chathan had just made himself as small as was physically possible to escape those eyes.

He would have been just an angry, strangely loud man if Sara didn’t know him. But she did. She did know him, and because she did, she pushed herself away from the table, got up, and with shaking legs made her way toward Artham. She really didn’t want him disintegrating Chathan or anyone else with his eyes.

For Artham it was. How, she had no idea, but he was certainly there, in the flesh. And he didn’t look happy. 

“I’ll do my best to explain,” she said quietly in response to his question, her voice so counter to her hammering, thudding, exuberant, terrified heart. She wanted to know how he had gotten there, what had possessed him to come, if he would help now that he was there (surely, he would), but those were all questions for later, questions that would have to wait. “It’s a long story, though, one that we can’t discuss here. Somewhere else. My room, maybe. And then you can tell me how you got here. Chathan is telling the truth, and if you’d like to speak to him later, I'm sure he would be quite willing to carve out some time.” Later, after he had calmed down and decided not to pummel someone in anger.

Artham shook his head, his mouth a thin line. “Now. We’re not wasting a minute.”

He turned around and strode out; it was all Sara could do to keep up with him and in a desperate leap managed to get in front. “You don’t know where my room is, remember?” she said gently, searching his eyes for something other than anger. She was unsuccessful in her brief search. “So, please, follow me. And don’t traumatize the people following; it’s just Maraly, Joe, Owen, and Shastan. They’ve been helping.”

Artham hadn’t noticed them by that point, but he turned his head around quickly, nodded curtly, and looked back at Sara. “Let’s go,” he said forcefully. “I don’t want to wait any longer than we have to. Oh, but because I don’t feel like explaining later, Leeli played her whistleharp and made a rather concerning connection.  Hyrindale* was gracious enough to give me a ride.”

Artham was silent the entire time as Sara, assisted by the others, did her best to explain what had happened, how others had helped, and their failure up to that point. Maraly explained the shirt. Sara couldn’t bring herself to. She also left out the bit about her not mailing the letter; that would just make him upset if she didn’t explain it well enough.

When he finally did speak, it was with a very different voice from the earlier one. “And how are you holding up?” he asked quietly, gently, sounding much more like the normal Artham she knew.

Sara hated that he asked the question just as much as she loved it. It was the question no one—except for Maraly, though in different words—had asked her in two weeks, the question she knew would push her over the edge and let all the emotions out. “Fine,” she whispered, ducking her head and squeezing her eyes shut. They smarted in resistance, but she didn’t listen. She couldn’t break down now. They were about to come up with a plan to search for Janner, to find him within a day or two, to bring him back to her and their family and Anniera.

The unspeakable happened. In front of all those people, Artham hugged her. He drew her close, wrapped his arms around her, and when a hitch escaped from her throat without her wanting it to, she felt herself lifted from the ground, like she was a little child again. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and they flowed freely, her heart squeezing as if they came directly from it. 

The tears hurt and her heart hurt, and, oh, she knew it all too well. It was the hurt she had suppressed nearly every second of nearly every day. All it needed was a little encouragement, it seemed. 

When the tears had been spent, Artham set her down gently on her bed and handed her a handkerchief he procured from who-knew-where. Kneeling on the floor so he could be closer to her, he began speaking softly, but the urgency in his voice was evident. “He probably isn’t in Torrboro, and I’m almost certain he’s on our side of the River Blapp. That’s assuming the shirt,” —his eyes flickered, briefly haunted, but it was gone in a moment— “actually means something and isn’t a disgusting decoy. Another week of the conference still remains, and we can’t all search outside of the city. As invaluable as all of your help has been, you four need to be sure you’re representing your people.” He smiled lightly at Maraly, Shastan, Joe, and Owen. “Sara, you’ll need to do the same.”

“But—” she began, and he silenced her with a look.

“You are Anniera’s future Queen. Please, represent our country. I am the Throne Warden of our King. I have to look for him. I can do nothing else.” Ferocity glinted in Artham’s eyes again, and Sara knew better than to argue.

Shastan didn’t, though. “Respectfully, sir,” he spoke up calmly. “There’s no need for you to search alone. My country has no more meetings scheduled. I can help look. I’m a hunter and tracker.”

“Very well,” Artham said without a pause. Sara knew her jaw dropped in frustration and surprise, and the petulant look on Maraly’s face would have been humorous if it were made during any other situation. “What? Covering more ground won’t hurt.”

“In that case, can I come?’ Joe asked carefully. “I’m really not all that much help to Owen, and I am a Durgan.”

Owen nodded. “He has a point.”

Joe smiled. “Exactly. Thank you.” Then he stopped smiling. “Wait, what?!”**

Watching in disbelief, Sara was barely able to comprehend when Artham approved of Joe as well. “But,” she stammered. “What about me? Can’t I help look for Janner?”

Artham placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “If we haven’t found him by the time the conference is over you’re welcome to.  But I need you here for now. And Maraly, I want you to stay and keep her company, alright?”

Maraly nodded, apparently over her initial frustration. ‘Was already plannin’ on it.”

“Good,” Artham said approvingly. “Now. We’re going to find my nephew and King, and that’s the end of it.”

*****

Notes:

*that's the name (I came up with) for the green dragon that both escorted Artham & Kal (and Janner's body) to the Blackwood in IHoGH and who escorted Artham to the Phoobs in TAoWF

**please, please, please relish the humor in this line and the previous two!

And, YAY, Artham is here! Now some real searching can happen (not that the guards' searching isn't real, but now we've people who care searching)

Please let me know if there's anything noncanonical or wonky, or if I made an error within my headcanon, or within consistencies in the chapter in terms of "stage directions," etc. ^^