After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 32

Backup

Notes:

So, the first part of this chapter isn't really funny, but I would consider the first and second parts mildly and intentionally humorous(ish). Unless they're not. Who knows. Maybe I only succeed at humor when I'm not actually trying *shrugs

EDIT: I fixed the error in what Artham says to Gammon at the end of the chapter, and I also added some Florid speech in the middle^^

*****

My friend, Greston.

We’ve been met with success in our search for Janner—we have located him, and he is on the mend, thank the Maker. Granted, it is a concerningly slow mend, but better than nothing. As such, however, Sara, Janner, and I will remain in Skree for a while, until Thirdmoon at the earliest. There is no need for you, the crew, Joe, and Owen to stay here any longer, away from your families and home. Please, sail back to Anniera and the Green Hollows. I have instructed Owen to come along with you and answer whatever questions regarding this most recent disaster and the state of matters following the conference that arise. 

If it is not too much trouble, return to Skree late Thirdmoon, if you can. With the Maker’s blessing, all will be well and all parties involved will be travel ready.  I know it’s a long time to wait before the King of Anniera steps foot on her shores, and I’m sure some of the people will reveal their concerns and doubts, but in the end I believe we would all rather ensure our King’s survival by taking precautions. 

Thank you.

Sincerely, Artham Wingfeather, Throne Warden of the Shining Isle of Anniera

Artham glanced the letter over once more, then folded it, slipped it into the envelope, and heated wax for the seal. He passed it to Owen once the red wax stamped with his Annieran-crested ring had cooled. It was added to the already enormous pile of letters filling Owen’s satchel. “I’m awfully sorry to be placing so many delivery tasks on you but—”

Owen shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Artham. It doesn’t inconvenience me. And please don’t forget: Janner is my friend, and doing something that’s a favor to both him and you is something I really don’t mind. Talking with the Annieran regents is fun anyway.”

Artham watched as Owen glanced around the room—the one at the Only Inn—as if looking for something or thinking. “You wanted to see him before you left, didn’t you?”

“I hoped. It’s alright, though. Just…make sure he knows we really do care, that we’re not abandoning him.” 

Artham nodded. “I’ll make sure.”

They stared in silence for a few moments after that, then simultaneously made their way toward the door when the sound of wheels and horses’ hooves drew their attention. The carriage that would take Owen, Joe, and Shastan to Lamendron had just arrived, and tardiness would likely not be appreciated. 

Sara, Maraly, Shastan, and Joe were already outside, the latter two loading their things few things they brought with them during the search—their luggage from Palace Torr had arrived in Lamendron a few days earlier, and Owen and Joe decided it was more efficient to leave most of their things their and only bring Janner and Sara's bags back to Glipwood.

It was an odd, awkward parting, tainted by the overhead knowledge that neither everyone nor everything was alright. Perhaps the strangest part of it, though, was when Maraly and Shastan hugged each other, not stiffly, but warmly, openly—and in front of everyone. 

Artham couldn’t help but stare, and he was thankful he wasn’t the only one. 

“I left the minerals with Jebsun,” Shastan said afterward, in an attempt to bring normalcy to the situation. It didn’t work. “And I know I’ve said this before, but you really can use them for anything: teas, supplements, et cetera. ”

Smiling, Artham reached out and shook his hand. “Thank you, Shastan. Anniera is indebted to you. I’m indebted to you.”

“We're all indebted,” Sara corrected.

Shastan gave an odd sort of chuckle. 

“What is it?” Sara asked, her brow suddenly furrowed. 

Shaking his head, Shastan slipped his hands into his pockets. “It’s just…those were the instructions I was sent with. Sylow wanted me to find some way to get some kingdom or city, any one, it didn't matter which, ‘indebted to us.’ I never wanted it; it seemed dishonest and wrong. But here we are, and you’re giving me exactly what they want.

“I can’t possibly accept,” he continued. “Your indebtedness, I mean. It sounds...rather groveling. And imbalanced. Sara and I accomplished whatever was needed and more during the conference. But I wouldn’t be opposed to friendship.”

“Shastan,” Artham began, smiling. He clapped him on the shoulder to seal what he would say next. “A friendship with you is more than welcome, and Anniera would be honored to consider Sylow one of its allies.”

Shastan bowed briefly. “And Sylow, along with myself, would be honored to accept.”

*****

“Do you think he’s awake yet?” Sara said after the carriage left. A cold breeze blew, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around herself.

Artham glanced at her, then a little beyond at Maraly, who looked slightly disappointed. “It’s past breakfast time, so probably. Why don’t you check? Maraly, would you like to come with me to keep an eye out for Gammon?”

Maraly nodded, though less enthusiastically than usual. Heading for the main road through Skree that by a side street connected Glipwood to the rest of the towns and provinces, Artham remained alert, hand on his sword hilt, watching for more than just Gammon Felda.

“So, Maraly,” Artham said after a good twenty minutes, leaning against the rock Maraly had perched on from the moment they got to it, her cloak rippling when a chilly breeze blew through. He had spent his time walking back and forth down the main road, keeping watch for anything suspicious. Maraly just kept carving surprisingly delicate leaves and vines and flowers into a stick with one of her many daggers. “Have you thought about how things look going forward, between you and Shastan?”

Maraly shrugged, but surprisingly didn't bother denying anything. “We didn’t talk ‘bout it that much, but we’re plannin’ on chattin’ by letter fer now, maybe visit sometime later. Oh, but whatever you do” —the dagger was playfully at his throat in a moment, and Artham laughed awkwardly— “Don’t. Tell. Gammon.”

Artham held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t, don’t worry.” The dagger pulled away and went back to carving the stick. “But if you’re at least a little willing to tell me, why don’t you want him to know?”

Maraly rolled her eyes. “‘Cause he’ll tease me, an’ ‘e won’t stop talkin’ ‘bout it ever!”

There was truth in that statement. Artham was pretty sure he remembered Gammon lightly to moderately teasing Sara about her crush on Janner years ago, though he wasn’t completely sane then, so he couldn’t be certain.

“He’ll know eventually.”

Maraly shot him a deadly glare. “Yeah, an’ you ain’t gonna be the one to tell ‘im ‘bout it!”

“I won’t,” Artham reminded her, glaring back. “I’m just letting you know that’s the way it likely stands.”

“I jest…I jest want some time alone with it,” Maraly said quietly. She stopped fiddling with the dagger. “Some time alone ta understand it an’ such, ya know?”

Artham nodded. “Yeah. I know.” Movement in the distance distracted him from saying anything else, though, and a smile spread across his face. He pointed down the road to the dark rider atop a brown horse. “I do believe the Florid Sword approaches, don’t you?”

Maraly jumped up and stood on top of the stone she had used as a seat, and she whooped with joy. Suddenly, she stopped, and eyed him, pointing her dagger at him again. “Not a word,” she hissed.

A moment later, she was back to hollering at Gammon, as if the exchange had never happened.

*****

After a brief reunion, Maraly left to join Sara in an “outing”—Janner was asleep again—and Artham and Gammon retreated to the Tavern.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said, shocked and disgusted once Artham had recounted what they had pieced together regarding Janner’s journey. “I could’ve sworn we or someone else took care of that…maggot.”

“Watch your language, Gammon,” Artham cautioned, taking a sip of his cider.

Gammon shot him a whithering glance. “It’s a tavern, Artham. There aren’t any children here. And it’s not like I said anything crass!”

“You were thinking about it,” Artham challenged, crossing his arms. 

“Would you just—” Gammon muttered, then took a swig of whatever he had, but Artham knew for a fact it was not cider.

Artham pressed his mouth into a hard line. “Would I just what?”

Gammon eyed him suspiciously. “Are you doing this for your own entertainment?”

“Shockingly, no, I don't find non-humorous situations entertaining. That job goes to you, remember?”

“Right, right,” Gammon agreed. “But it sounds as though you've been on edge for longer than anyone would prefer, and if I can do something to fix that issue, well, I'll consider it a good day's work. Shall I conjure the finest abilities of the one who calls himself Florid?”

The hard line twitching into a smile, Artham allowed himself to smirk, but nothing more. If Gammon wanted to act like a child—Florid was a child, a useful child, but a child nontheless—then he wouldn't stop him, to a point, of course. “Have your fun if you can manage it considering the conversation topic,” he conceded. “But I want to take care of business, and I've been on edge because I've had a good reason for it.”

“I suppose I, the Florid Sword, shall find the means and granteth thee a pardon of some majestic sort because of thy serious contenance,” Florid said with a flourish, chuckling, as if it was such a thing only he could grant, and as if it was even something grantable.

“Back to the original conversation, please,” Artham reminded him.

Gammon rolled his eyes like a teenager. “Fine,” he grouched, switching back to his normal voice. “Are you certain we didn’t take care of the Overseer? Maybe Janner just imagined it, or mistook him for someone else? An imposter, maybe?”

Artham shook his head, but he was glad they were getting back on track, even though “on track” currently meant debunking Gammon's faulty theory. “Fear and torture can do strange things to the mind, but they’re most effective when there’s truly something terrorizing you. I don’t think someone posing as the Overseer could have seared Janner’s mind quite as much as the real Overseer has. And just for the record, he can think clearly—for the most part, at least. He isn’t…insane.” The word came out slowly, awkwardly, and he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable as he said it. “Trust me. I know what insanity looks like, and so does Sara. For that matter, Jebsun does too—most people know what insanity looks like. Janner isn’t crazy. He just needs help.”

“Hold your tongue, good sir,” Florid said, waving off nearly everything Artham had just carefully placed before him and switching himself for his lookalike. “Jebsun? Doest thou refer to the apothecary who resideth in Fort Dwid who—”

“Yes, him,” Artham glared, not in jest. “Did you not hear anything else I said?”

Holding up his hand and silently telling him wait, Gammon drank from his mug once more. “No, of course I heard it,” he said after he had swallowed, switching back to his accent. “And I agree as much as I can without seeing Janner—”

“Which you will not be doing,” Artham interrupted. “He wasn’t even ready to see his friends before they left Glipwood. What makes you think he’d be ready to see you? Especially when considering you spent a good two weeks helping him cross the Stony Mountains, then gave him and his family up to the Fangs.”

“Ah, shush, my good fellow, I am certain it was thy intent to utter 'nearly gave them up', and methinks I must remind thee the capture of the royal family did not crossth my impressive mind,” Florid countered, then switched back to Gammon when Artham shot him a deadly look. “That aside, what is Jebsun doing here?”

Artham sighed irritably, feeling as though they weren’t actually getting anywhere near what he wanted to accomplish. Again. “He claims I scared him off from Fort Dwid, so he came back to Glipwood. Apparently, he practiced here years ago—we were here at the same time, though I don’t recognize him; again, insanity does even stranger things to one’s mind than you would think—and knew Nia and the kids.”

“Why didst thou not declare the title of this kind apothecary the same moment in which thy account of the King's grievous perils occurred?” Florid asked, still not on the intended subject.

“Because then we would’ve had this conversation in the middle of the pieced-together-story, and I didn’t feel like dealing with it then,” Artham hissed through clenched teeth, ready to go sword-to-sword with Florid if necessary—and he'd win, because he was better than the Florid Sword and Gammon! He was better than both of them. “But Jebsun is not the focus. The Overseer is the focus. He disappeared to who-knows-where, and Janner—and Sara, for that matter, since she led the uprising against him in the Fork! Factory!—very well may still be in grave danger. And considering we’re stuck in Skree for the next four moons—”

“That’s a bit of a problem,” Gammon finished.

“To put it lightly.”

Gammon, either done with his drink or ready to get serious, pushed his mug further away and, planting his elbows on the counter, clasped his hands together, and tucked his interlocked fingers under his chin. 

Ready to get serious it is, then, Artham thought with an inward sigh of relief and an outward expression of resolve.

“So, what do you want me to do?” The way Gammon said it made it sound as though he was willing to configure pretty much anything, and Artham took that as a good sign.

“I don’t know what the chances of him showing up in Glipwood are, I don’t know if Janner escaped or if he let him escape, I don’t know if the Overseer wants to do more damage, but I wouldn’t put it past him. No one else is out searching since I sent word to Torrboro and asked them to stop looking, which means if the Overseer was in hiding because of that, he’s liable to resurface. I want to find him more than almost anything, but I can’t exactly leave Janner and Sara alone here in Glipwood. What sort of a Throne Warden would I be if I left my King and his future Queen unprotected? Not much of one, I’m afraid.”

Gammon nodded. “Let me guess, you want me to send out a few men to search and tell others to keep their eye out. Make it official, so the Overseer gets wind of it?”

Smiling, Artham took another sip of his cider, and made a bit of a face when he realized it was somewhere between lukewarm and cold. He blamed Gammon for it. “If you don’t mind too terribly, that’d be appreciated.”

Gammon’s eyes flickered. “I don’t mind at all, Artham. I’d say it’s the least I can do, considering I should’ve stamped out that rat in the first place. I cannot believe he slipped past me!”

“Us,” Artham corrected softly. Guilt weighed on his heart.  “I’m just as much, if not more to blame than you are.”

Gammon shook his head. “If I recall correctly, you had extenuating circumstances.”

Artham preferred not to think about those extenuating circumstances. “Gammon, really, it’s no excuse—”

A colorful word escaping before he began protesting again, Gammon shot him an exasperated look. “Wouldn't you give yourself a break, for once?”

Rather than responding, Artham replied, barely able to hold back laughter, “Did I not order thee to eliminate such unsavory words from thy tongue, flamboyant guardian of the Ice Prairies?”

Gammon snorted. “My Florid is better.”

*****

Notes:

The reason for waiting until Thirdmoon (i.e. March) is because they're just trying to bypass the winter season and not travel during that time of year and give Janner's immune system a chance to exist again, etc.

Please, let me know if there are any canonical errors or something wonky or something you don't like or anything else you wanna say ^^