After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 31

Refusing Grace

Notes:

This is gonna be the first chapter from Janner's perspective in...quite a while, though I suppose it's only been since Ch. 28, though that and this one are the only two chapters between Ch. 24 and now, so it feels like a long time since Janner POV 😅😂

Remember, the ellipses are points at which the word being said doesn't reach Janner's ear quite right^^ (that was not a typo, I purposely did singular ear)

*****

As awareness crept in, so did nausea. Janner groaned, shifted, and cried out as the movement ignited a numb fire in his leg.

“Ssh, you’re alright,” Sara whispered, the words slurring and blurring, and confusion flooded into his mind and heart. She was both alive and dead, both walking in his dreams and nightmares, both present and far. Was this Sara a dream or reality? The pain was real…perhaps she was, too.

Something silky-smooth brushed his cheek, and he jerked away, the touch fire. 

“Janner,” Sara said softly. “It’s just me. Can you look…me?”

Taking a shuddery breath that almost ended in a coughing fit, Janner opened his eyes tentatively, the effort painful. Light didn’t send shards of pain through his mind when he did so, though. Darkness and Sara welcomed him, and even though it hurt less, it seemed wrong. Sara was not darkness. The lack of light dimmed the stunning blue of her eyes to midnight, and for a moment terror shot through his heart at the thought it might not be her.

“That’s good,” she smiled encouragingly, and her eyes glowed with love, though he didn't really deserve it. “Do you want something…drink?”

Janner stared at her for a moment, then convinced himself to nod. She reached beyond his line of sight, and when her hand reappeared, it held a small glass. 

“I’m going…put my arm around so you’re closer to sitting, okay?” she explained, her eyes soft. 

Janner nodded again and braced himself, telling himself he wouldn’t flinch, he wouldn’t shy away from Sara’s touch, he’d let her slip her arm behind him, he’d let her raise him up because Maker knew he couldn’t do it himself.

He couldn’t suppress a shudder when her arm first brushed against his back, but once it was truly there, supporting him, it didn’t hurt anymore. The pressure didn’t hurt when a feather-light touch did. So much pressure had haunted him in the past weeks; how strange it was that it comforted him now.

In another moment, he found himself leaning into Sara, his head resting against her shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to fall completely, though. He was scared. Scared he’d hurt her with the weight of his soul. 

“Janner, relax,” Sara whispered. “You’re trembling. You can’t hold yourself up. Let me, please. And drink.”

He didn’t relax, he couldn’t, then they would both burn, but he did drink from the glass pressed against his lips. When he had done so, swallowed, and cool relief filled him, he realized he was thirsty. Dreadfully thirsty. He took another tentative sip, knowing his stomach might very well decide it hated him in the next few moments.

Sara pulled back the glass after a few more successful sips and placed it on what he now saw was an end table. Was this the same room he had been in before he ran away from Jebsun? He couldn’t remember seeing an end table, though it certainly could have been there. Everything ached and trembled with the effort of holding himself up, and instead of his shuddery breathing conveying he needed to lay down again, Sara pulled him closer, holding him tightly, securely. 

Janner’s mind panicked as the weight of his heart drew closer and closer to her, closer and closer to crushing her. He tried to keep it away from her, held it close with all his might, but his might and strength were gone, they failed, and it crashed down; he gave in and sobbed into her shoulder.

She only clung to him more tightly, rocking a little, humming, giving him something to focus on other than the mess of grief and anger and sorrow flooding his mind and spilling over, spilling out, spilling onto her. 

He didn’t know what all he told her, if she understood any of it—likely she hadn't, since he'd barely understood any of it, and he had been the one speaking—but any time he stopped mumbling to draw a ragged breath or cough, she whispered, “Shh, Janner, it’s alright. It doesn’t matter; whatever happened doesn’t matter, I don't think differently of you. I love you.”

The words repeated over and over and over again took root in his mind, weak roots, but roots nonetheless, roots that produced a stem and a leaf that shone light and love into the darkness and sorrow of his heart. He found himself believing her, slowly but surely, believing her, trusting her, and even though the guilt still plagued his mind and always would, Sara didn't care, and she loved him anyway. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and, pushed beyond his limit, went limp in her arms.

The certainty of the bed and pillow and blankets enveloped him a little later, and the sigh he gave was one of sorrow when Sara’s arms left him. He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them after a minute. 

“You’re still awake?” Sara asked, sounding surprised. 

Janner nodded. Her face was tear stained. Guilt weighed on his heart. He remembered he hadn't really told her what he had done, she didn't really know all the dreadful things he had thought about her. She hadn't really decided his actions and thoughts didn't affect the way she regarded him, since she didn't know. Frustration and grief crept into his mind again, and it was his fault, too, but he couldn't let her see it. If she saw it, it might grieve her, and he couldn't bear the thought of grieving her anymore.

“Is there anything you want to know?” Sara finally asked, probably trying to spark basic conversation. He hadn't had one of those in weeks, and, honestly, the thought of having one scared him.

After a few failures, he managed to force out a halting, “What happened?” It may have been the cliche question to ask, but truthfully, he didn't really know what had happened to anyone, and he wanted to know.

Sara’s brow furrowed. “When, exactly?”

A part of his mind quaked, worried the furrowing of her brow meant she was upset. Scrambling for a response, Janner found himself shrugging awkwardly, then glancing away from her face and staring at the ring on her finger. It glinted in the minimal light.

Sara let a heavy sigh (he knew the shrug had been a horrendous response!) and a little bit of tight laughter (so...perhaps not so horrendous?) escaped. “We’ve been looking for you for weeks. Artham…I found some clues, and they led…here. He found you in his treehouse, and since then, Jebsun’s been trying to take care…your leg. It got really bad, but then Shastan and Maraly appeared with some minerals from Sylow, and it helped a lot.”

Janner looked at her again. “They’re here?” he whispered, unable to keep the terror from his voice. “Why, why—”

“Artham came…Hyrindale after Leeli’s music told him something was wrong. Owen, Joe, Maraly, Shastan and I have been searching since the beginning.”

“All of you?” Janner breathed, closing his eyes, shame and grief falling over him. He wasn’t worth all of them looking. And if they were all there, it meant he would have to speak to them. All of them.

Sara squeezed his hand tightly in response to his question. “Yeah. They’ve been very helpful. Owen and Joe aren't here right now, I think they're...Lamendron, picking up our luggage. Can you stay awake for…little longer? It’s some freakishly early hour……morning, but Jebsun will want to check on you—I'll have...go get him...course.”

“I’ll try,” was all he could bring himself to whisper, and the moment her back faced him, he turned his head and buried it in the pillow, tears escaping. Everything ached so much, his heart ached, his mind ached, his body ached, his leg screamed, his ear rang bells constantly. It all made him so tired, so ready to sleep. If he slept, though, he knew only nightmares awaited him. Hateful nightmares that lied while simultaneously screaming the truth in a way no one else ever would.

When the sound of the door creaking open jabbed his mind, Janner hastily removed all signs of grief from his face and blinked the blurred world into focus. Sara was there, Jebsun behind her, smiling faintly. 

“Hello, Janner,” he said kindly, coming nearer, and Janner realized with a pang it was the first time the doctor had spoken to him and used his name. Would the former casual atmosphere remain, or would it be stained by formality? “I’d just like to check out your leg, okay?”

Janner forced himself to nod, then closed his eyes tightly. Sara’s smooth, cool hand slipped into his, and though the initial touch stung, she squeezed tightly after that and continued squeezing, and the pressure poured a measure of peace into his mind as Jebsun disturbed the covers, removed the bandages, prodded as little as possible, and put everything back together. 

Sara didn’t let go, even after Jebsun had returned the blanket to its former position. “...looking good,” he said. “Really good, actually. Next time you wake up, I'd like you to eat something, but I’d recommend sleep now.”

There was another tight squeeze of his hand, then a gentle release as the sound of walking feet told him Jebsun had left the room. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Sara asked gently, and Janner shook his head. He didn’t want to sleep. There’d be nightmares, he knew. He wanted to stay awake. He wanted to stay with her. Even if...even if he didn't exactly deserve it.

She sighed in response to his refusal and began to hum, then sing.

Sleep my love, I’ll be right here

Nothing can take you from me.

You’ll be safe, there’s naught to fear,

Close your eyes and sleep. 

I’ll keep you safe from terrors now,

From monsters haunting you.

That which desires you to drown

Will never get to break through.

I love you always and forever,

Your safety will be my cheer.

They will not hurt you, no, never.

Sleep well, my love, my dear.

It worked. And somehow, it chased away the terrors and monsters and drowning, too.

*****

It was daylight, maybe afternoon when Janner woke again, and this time it was not Sara who sat in the armchair near his bed, but Artham. A book that had absorbed his mind rested in his hands, and every minute or so Artham turned the page. The paper rustling was such a relaxing, comforting sound that Janner chose not to speak or move and alert Artham to his waking. Instead, he closed his eyes again and listened to the sound of turning pages. 

Eventually, though, curiosity got the better of him and, eyes fixed on Artham, he asked, “What’re you reading?”

Artham jolted a little, startled, then caught sight of his gaze. A wondrous smile spread across his face and reached his eyes, and the open book slipped to the floor, forgotten. “It’s a copy of Diamonds in the Night, not Sara’s copy, but another.”

Janner smiled lightly. “And how is it?”

“Great, wonderful, really. How are you?” He looked so hopeful, so ready to provide wisdom and comfort and reassurance if it was allowed.

Janner wouldn’t, though, he couldn't. “I’m fine.” He hoped Artham would have the sense not to press. 

Artham stared at him, cast his gaze over him, studied every line of fear and anger on his face. “I mean, how does your leg feel?”

Janner shrugged but was willing to oblige him with an answer, considering he didn’t prod as he could have. “It doesn’t hurt as much as before.”

“Your head?”

Janner’s mouth curved into a crooked smile at the mention. “Just aches. It’s been worse.”

“Your,” Artham paused, seeming a little uncomfortable. “Hearing?”

It was several moments before Janner responded to that question, and in those moments, he fought back the terror of remembrance. The answer came in the form of harsh laughter that would likely get back at him later by way of a coughing fit. “I think the ringing is indefinite.”

A brief start of concern escaped from Artham’s lips, and he cocked his head, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow, as if in disbelief or concern. “Then, Janner, I would say you’re not fine.”

“Actually,” Janner began, hating the edge of bitterness in his voice. “I’m splendid compared to a few weeks ago.” It wasn’t completely true. Even with the agony, before he had had the strength to do more than stay awake and speak without using too much breath. Now, despite the lessening of pain, he doubted he could do much more than clench his fist against his heart. 

Artham stared at him, his face crumpling, his eyes filling with sorrow. “I…I’m so sorry,” he whispered, getting onto the floor and kneeling beside him. “I’m so inexplicably sorry it took us—me—as long as it did. There’s no excuse, there isn’t.”

Sighing, Janner squeezed his eyes shut before opening them again, trying not to give in to the drowsiness coming over him. “You were across the Sea, Uncle Artham,” he murmured. “It’s not your fault. I never blamed you. Can’t believe you came anyway.” Another wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he blinked rapidly, not wanting to fall asleep again.

There was no response to his attempt to alleviate whatever guilt Artham had other than, “It seems the bane of our family’s existence is to take on the blame of what we could have done nothing about.”

Tears came to Janner’s eyes, and in some desperate, half-baked effort to block any more white doves Artham handed him, he completely changed the subject by saying, "Jebsun wanted me to eat something when I woke up."

A brief noise came from Artham's throat. "That's right! He did actually mention that. There's some broth in the kitchen he put aside for you. Let me go get it, alright?"

Janner nodded, and as Artham left, tears rolled down the side of his face and he took a shuddery breath, wondering if the thoughts and feelings plaguing his heart and mind would ever leave, while at the same time whole-heartedly believing he deserved to have the storm swirling within him every day of the rest of his life.

*****

Notes:

Remember, doves are a symbol of grace, and since there are fazzle doves in Aerwiar, I'm sure there are other species as well. So, Artham's extending grace (sort of) and Janner doesn't think he deserves it.

Sad 😭 But at least he was with Sara and Artham!!!!

(In terms of what Shastan and Maraly are doing in this chapter, they were probably with Sara for part of the day, maybe doing their own thing at other parts)

Oh, and in terms of the song, I like to try and write some sort of poem or something for the majority of the WFS stories I write, because I believe in being true to the author, and while my skill at verse and story is nowhere near as good as Andrew Peterson's, I still try to incorporate something Andrew Peterson-ish (heavy on the ish, very heavy on the ish)

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical^^