After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 25

Finally Found

Notes:

Wouldn't it be funny if Artham got to his treehouse, and Janner wasn't there? *cackles

*****

Jebsun doubted the boy—Janner, he mentally corrected himself—could have actually limped all the way to the Igiby cottage, though he supposed it was a bit more likely than him managing to get up into a treehouse. Still, he and Sara made the ride at a slow trot, being sure to examine knolls in the grass along the way. They took the road rather than making a straight shot through the grass; they would be sure to survey the latter on the return journey if they still hadn’t had success. 

“So, when did you and Janner meet?” Jebsun asked awkwardly, figuring some sort of conversation was better than silence during the search. 

Sara brushed a few strands of hair out of her face before replying. “Dragon Day,” she began simply. “I was eleven so…six years ago? We didn’t get to spend much time together regularly until a few unsavory situations later, but we’ve courted since I was thirteen.” 

She broke away and headed for a particularly bushy clump of half-dead meadow grass. The search yielded no results, and she caught up with him a minute later. “Artham mentioned Fort Dwid and you mentioned his daughter—so I’m guessing you're the doctor who helped him after that whole mess. Thank you for that, by the way. We couldn’t have handled another death in the family.”

“You’re welcome,” Jebsun replied as he turned his gaze toward the ground. He wouldn’t tell her Artham had been one of his worst patients in terms of having patience and self-control. He also chose not to inquire about any previous deaths. It was likely a tender subject.

“He was a terrible patient, wasn’t he?” Sara asked, and when he looked up, Jebsun was surprised to see her smiling. “Artham, I mean.”

“Frankly, he was,” Jebsun admitted. “I swear, he was trying to keep himself from recovering! And he insisted on leaving so soon—I would have kept him down for another week at least.”

Sara’s eyes turned sadly unexpectedly. “At least he didn’t run away,” she murmured before pulling aside to check another dip in the ground hidden by grass.”

Jebsun stared at her, then shook his head. “No,” he said sharply. “Don’t say something like that about him, please. I don’t know who hurt him, but I know he was tortured, starved, whipped, beaten, deafened. He’s been hit in the head so many times his thoughts have to be jumbled—he wasn’t thinking straight when he left. He didn’t leave because he thought he was fine, he left because he wasn’t—isn’t.”

Sara gave him a bit of a glare (maybe it was mingled with a flicker of guilt), as if she wanted to respond or argue with some part of what he said but decided not to. “Did you know him?” she asked instead, glancing forward as the Igiby cottage came into view. “Before recently, I mean.”

“Janner? I didn’t know him, per se, I knew his family, though.” Jebsun replied. “His little sister had that broken leg that never healed right. Their grandfather found me and asked me to set it when they first came, but the bones never knitted the way they should’ve. I helped Nia put together some herb mixtures to ease the pain. It was especially bad in the winter. One time I showed up in the evening and she opened the door, hair in a disarray, apron wrinkled, exhaustion written on her face. I heard Leeli sobbing in the background, and when I came in Janner and his brother watched me from their loft while the grandfather eternally glared at me. I didn’t asked Nia what happened to her husband; it never seemed the place. Now I know, I suppose: he would’ve been Esben Wingfeather, right? It’s odd, to think of Nia being a queen. Not too surprising though.” Because somehow, it wasn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something about her had always seemed regal. He'd seen it in Janner as well.

Sara nodded and said nothing, though an odd expression on her face made Jebsun wonder. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, then shut it again.

“Let’s go,” she said instead a minute later, nodding at the cottage they could now make out clearly. “If he got to this point, he would’ve managed to the end. He would never stop so close.”

Dust motes, cobwebs, broken furniture, dead leaves, and sticks filled the cottage, deadening it, while a few plants crept up through the floorboards and ivy climbed along the wall, bringing a sort of life to the place. Jebsen eyed the precarious looking stairs leading up to the loft. Sara started toward it as if to check, but Jebsun verbally held her back. “He’s not up there. There’s no evidence of the dust or other debris being disturbed. We’re better off just searching the main level and cellar.”

“There’s a cellar?” Sara asked as she ventured toward the back room. 

“Of course,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, hurrying to search the room with her. Who knew what kind of creature might hide behind the closed door.

The door refused to budge when Sara turned the knob and pulled, so Jebsun took over, putting more force into it. The hinges finally moaned rustily and gave, and the half-rotten door shrieked open. “We could have just broken through the wood. It probably would have been easier,” Jebsun couldn’t help but note. “And at this point, if we couldn't get in without so much effort, Janner likely didn't either.”

Still, they searched anyway. The room at windows, all flung wide-open, so in theory, he could have managed to get inside.

A wall separated the room into two sections, each with a bed. The one on the right sported a few piles of faded cloth that looked as though they had once been dresses, at least before animals carried off the material. It was clear from the moment they entered that no one lay in either bed, but a more thorough search—under the beds, in the bureaus—was necessary. It didn’t yield any results either, and when they revisted the main area and the searched the cellar without any success, Jebsun couldn’t help but feel his hopes fading.

It was nothing compared to the look in Sara’s eyes, though. That broke his heart.

“Let’s check the barn, at least,” he suggested. “And remember, if he’s not there, he may be along the road when we ride back, or perhaps Artham will’ve found him around the treehouse.”

Sara nodded wordlessly and followed him to the burned-out barn. That, too, failed them. Maker please, Jebsun whispered. Help us.

*****

Never before had Artham ridden as fast as he did that afternoon. Garner listened without protest, with pleasure, even, but Artham didn’t get any pleasure from it. He didn’t bother riding along slowly and searching over possible paths to the forest or bridge to the castle Janner could have taken. If he truly knew Janner was well as he thought he did, the castle itself would be his only stop that day. Even broken and in pain, Janner would never do something halfway. He would reach his destination and goal, and nothing would stop him. 

Artham just hoped that didn’t mean his nephew had exhausted himself to death. 

He slowed to a trot when they reached the forest, choosing a slower, safer pace for Garner’s sake. His eyes on the forest above, Artham followed the bridges with his eyes and guided Garner underneath them. Some were crumbling, others had whole planks missing, a few of which he found buried under leaves, and one or two suspiciously above them. 

Artham knew he was getting close, he could feel it—though perhaps it was just the Throne Warden blood pumping in his heart and mind in anticipation, flowing through his veins with such fierceness that nothing would stop him from bringing his nephew to safety. He hoped it wasn't just a feeling, though.

His castle finally appeared, looking as dilapidated and desolate as the bridges strung throughout the forest. Swallowing, Artham tethered Garner to a nearby branch before pulling at a half-rotted rope. He held his breath, praying the mechanism would still work. The sight and sound of a rope ladder clicking down from its hiding place high above made him want to whoop in minor victory, but he contained himself. There was still the matter of finding out whether the thing would hold weight or not. 

He started up cautiously, his satchel swinging a bit, eyeing each board before putting any weight on it, skipping one or two that looked precariously out of sorts. 

Somehow, he managed to get up without a hitch, but the telling moment was still to come. Praying fervently, almost too scared to push open the cracked door to the castle, Artham finally did so and rushed forward, practically collapsing with relief at Janner’s side. 

“Oh, Janner,” he whispered as he pulled his unconscious, gaunt, pale, burning nephew into his arms and held him close. The feeling of Janner's ribs pressing so vividly into his chest scared him—what had the Overseer done, nearly starved him? “You’ve no idea…we’ve no idea...Janner, it’s been so long.”

After a minute or so, he remembered Jebsun’s instructions: that he pay special attention to Janner's head and his leg wounds. Nothing stood out regarding the former, but the latter was wrapped in soaked, crimson bandage that hid an angry wound burning hotter than the rest of Janner’s body.

Artham’s stomach clenched at the sight of it. Even if it managed to heal reasonably well, it was the sort of wound that left people with—

His gaze drifted along the floorboards of the castle, and a crutch that looked an awful lot like Leeli’s revealed itself. Artham couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Janner might end up using that for an indefinite period of time.

The crutch aside, Artham remembered the satchel and opened it, then pulled out the necessary items—canteen, clean rag, bandages, balm, and gauze. The original, mangled bandage already removed he he first saw it, Artham set to re-cleaning the wound. Janner groaned as he did so and shifted; Artham froze, watching his nephew’s eyes, waiting to see if they flickered open. They didn’t but…when he dabbed at the caked blood from the wound again, Janner’s leg was stiff, voluntarily so.

“Janner,” he ventured cautiously, choosing not to ask questions and only speak. “It’s Uncle Artham. I found you in my castle. Sara and I, we’ve been looking for you for over a week, and your friends from the conference—Joe, Owen, Shastan, and Maraly—they’ve been searching too, for at least a month. We’ve finally found you, though. You’re safe from everything that happened, I promise. You’re going to be alright.”

Artham had glanced up at Janner’s face repeatedly as he worked at the wound without seeing a change or a flicker, but when he looked again after grabbing the balm, his eyes were open. Grey-green, exhausted, terrified, feverish, but open. 

“Janner?” Artham whispered again. “Are you there?”

Janner shook his head, winced, and a tear ran down his cheek. “S’e’s gone,” he slurred. “I killed her.”

Artham’s blood ran cold. Who in Aerwiar had Janner killed? “Who?” he asked, incredulous.

Janner shook his head, and a sob wrenched from his chest. “I tried, tried t’ suffer for ‘er, but he killed ‘er still. An’ we’re never gonna marry, can never repay ‘er for it all—”

“Janner,” Artham said sharply, pulling his nephew into his arms again. He trembled like a leaf, a terrified, crumpled, leaf that was about to get crushed. He hadn't been too surprised at the notion the Overseer might have tricked Janner into believing Sara was dead, he had never dreamed the man was such a monster he would gladly convince Janner the deed was his fault. “Sara is alive. I was with her an hour or so ago! She’s alive and safe, and you didn’t kill her! Sara is alive, I promise.”

Janner only stared at him, a sort of empty stare that scared Artham, before his eyes flickered shut again. 

“She’s alive, I promise,” Artham whispered, and as he continued placing the balm on the wound and wrapping it, he spoke only of Sara and what they had done since the search began—everything about Sara. Maybe, just maybe, it would sink into Janner’s subconscious.

The wound clean and dressed, Artham gingerly wrapped his cloak around Janner and lifted him into his arms, chills running down his spine when, once again, he felt how leaf-like his nephew was.

Fury burned in his heart and mind at the thought of the monster who had done this to his King, to his precious nephew who was more like a son, really, than anything else. The Overseer was going to pay with his life.

*****

Notes:

HE HAS BEEN FOUND!!!! 🥳🥳🥳

Now Sara just needs to know^^

Oh, and they also have to keep him alive 😅

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical, please :)