After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 34

Letters from Skree

Notes:

Uhhh my apologies for not posting last night. I was really tired 😅

We have a continent switch in this chapter, and, I have to say, the perspective from which I wrote this chapter is likely my all-time-favorite perspective to write from.

Now, I will warn you that virtually nothing happens in this chapter, and there are quite a few letters in it. For the most part, I didn't write the entire letter, only an excerpt. I did write the entirety of Jebsun's letter (or at least as much as I felt like writing) and Janner's, though that was pretty easy and really not all that hard. Actually, Janner's is probably the one I re-wrote the most, in my efforts to convey something specific.

Anyway, amidst Jebsun's letter are sections in parenthesis that cover Nia's thoughts regarding what he's written.

*****

Nia became more and more worried as the stack of letters for her grew, even though Owen reassured her that everything was mostly alright, no one was dying, and Janner had indeed been found. Arundelle, Ilana, and Leeli had received a letter or so each as well, but currently three thick envelopes and a thin one, in addition to six more politically focused ones from Artham, all slightly creased and warped from once-being-wet, were clutched tightly in her hand.

“Is that all?” she asked, her voice tighter than usual. She was glad when Owen didn’t react to her less-than-polite tone.

He nodded. “For the family, at least. I have a few Artham wants delivered to the regents, but you shouldn’t have to worry about that now. Unless there’s any information you would like to give personally to the Annierans regarding the conference and then…” his voice trailed off, and silence hung in the air. Then he cleared his throat. “I should be going now, to give them the letters and such.”

He bowed briefly, then began edging out of the second-story sitting room. Before he could actually leave, though, Leeli jumped up from where she had been sitting on the sofa, motionless, and ran at him, throwing her arms around him. “Thank you, Owen,” she whispered.

“I…I didn’t find him, you know,” he stammered, looking down at the top of her head in surprise. 

Leeli glanced up at him and smiled. “I know. But you helped, and he was found, and that’s what matters.” 

From where she stood at the far end of the sitting room, perhaps as far as she could possibly be from Owen and Leeli, Nia saw a tear trickling down her daughter’s cheek. 

After Leeli let Owen go and walked back to where the rest of them were, Nia couldn’t help but be glad Leeli had done what she wished to do herself. 

It was a few moments before she realized Arundelle, Ilana, and Leeli were all staring at her, as if they expected her to give them some sort of instruction. Nia hated that Arundelle thought she was some authority figure or had a decent idea of what they should do. There wasn’t anything to do, other than open their letters.

She was worried when she did, she would cry, and she wasn’t about to cry in front of Leeli or Ilana or even Arundelle, for that matter. Though Arundelle was the least abhorrent of the three in terms of options.

“Leeli, Ilana,” Arundelle said briskly, thankfully deciding to take matters into her own hands. “If you’d like to open your letters, why don’t you do it in your room? Nia and I need to talk about something.”

Nodding understandingly, Leeli grabbed hold of Ilana’s hand and began dragging her towards their shared room. She had become a sort of older sister to Ilana, and both girls absolutely loved the state of things. 

Nia caught Leeli’s eye as they passed—rather, Leeli caught her eye—and it was all Nia could do to not open her arms and beckon her daughter towards her. She desperately wanted a hug from Leeli, but then…then tears would come, and she wasn’t willing to let tears come.

Once the girls’ fleeting skirts had rounded the corner and the sound of a door opening and shutting reached their ears, Arundelle got up and took Nia’s hand in her own—much like Leeli had just done to Ilana—and pulled her over to the sofa. 

“Nia,” she began gently. “I know you want to open those without anyone around, but it’s not healthy. Just do it here, with me. Please.”

Refusal was on the tip of Nia’s tongue, but she knew it would only encourage Arundelle’s gentle insistence until it was neither gentle nor insistence anymore: it would be a firm command.

“But—”

“Nia,” Arundelle tried again, placing her hand over Nia’s—the one that held the trembling letters. “It’s okay to cry. If you’re going to cry, though, I don’t want you crying alone. Not anymore.”

Tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes, Nia nodded and pulled out the one with Artham written on the back. It sounded like a good introduction. 

It was long, detailed, but not tear-jerkingly so. It seemed he knew better than to write something that would make her cry. He explained what he knew about how Janner went missing, what transpired before they found him, who found him, and how everything looked as of the moment of writing.

He’s doing well, Nia, far better than he was. He hasn’t gotten any of the usual seasonal illnesses, and we’re praying it stays that way. Jebsun is keeping a close eye on him, and thinks he’ll be alright in the long run. In terms of permanence, he can’t hear from his left ear, and I’m sorry, that’s how it’s going to stay. We’re still not certain how that happened, but we’ve gathered the Overseer did something with a knife. He hasn’t said anything about it, though. Jebsun’s very nearly certain he’ll be stuck with a limp, too, a bad one at that, and a cane or a crutch or something. 

He’s alive, though, and that’s what matters, and he’s on the mend. 

“And then won’t be back until Fourthmoon at the earliest,” Nia murmured, the letter wrinkling as she clutched it. “I won’t be there for his birthday.” She’d miss Janner’s birthday. Her eldest son would be turning eighteen, and she would miss it. What sort of a mother was she, letting one son die, the other get kidnapped, tortured, and then fail to be there for his birthday?

Arundelle pulled her closer and put her arm around her. “Oh, Nia.” She didn’t say anything else, though. Nia was glad she didn’t. There wasn’t really comfort for missing one’s child’s birthday, and there wasn't any way to mitigate the error other than—

Nia shook her head, the half-thought and unspoken consideration falling aside. She couldn’t do that. Her place was in Anniera for now, and logically, it wouldn't be safe to have so much of the royal family on a different continent.

To distract herself, she pulled away from Arundelle and opened the second letter, the one Artham recommended she read next: the one with Jebsun Brescia written on the back in surprisingly lovely calligraphy. The strangest part was that Artham was right—he had mentioned her potentially knowing Jebsun—the name Jebsun Brescia stirred up memories that had nearly fallen to the wayside. 

Mrs. Nia Wingfeather,

You may or may not remember me, but I practiced in Glipwood for several years while you lived there.  Do you remember how your daughter, Leeli, had trouble with her leg, especially during the winter, and I brought herbs and roots? Do you remember how they helped, how they soothed her? (Nia did indeed remember) Please, keep this in mind as you read and wait these next few moons; I promise, I am caring for your son using the same tenderness with which I helped your daughter.

I won’t mince words, Nia—do you mind if I call you Nia? You didn’t mind years ago. Artham said you likely won’t mind now, either (He was right. She didn’t mind)—because you deserve better than misunderstandings resulting from euphemisms and walking on eggshells. Janner was dreadfully ill when I found him. His fever was far higher than anyone’s should be, the knife wounds in his right leg were infected and steadily growing worse, the lash wounds on his back red and glaring, and his health shot. Someone Artham and Sara call the “Overseer” took a knife to his left ear and did something, destroying the inside and rendering him deaf there. Frankly, I was scared and didn’t think he would live, though that's the sort of thing one can't tell oneself, otherwise hope is lost. 

His recovery process so far has been slow and painful. The wounds on his leg needed disinfecting several times, disinfecting of the sort that—and I’m so sorry about this, it grieves me, though not perhaps so much as what I thought I would need to do—tends to leave behind permanent damage. He tilts his head when someone speaks to him, but there’s usually an abnormal pause before he responds. He hears us, but I think it takes his mind a little longer to process what we’re trying to convey. I suspect this will improve in time, not so much his ability to hear, but his ability to fill in and read lips for what he misses. Thankfully—I’m so happy to give you a thankfully, Nia—the lash wounds never worsened, and in fact infected far less than I initially calculated. They’ve scarred unpleasantly, to be sure, but that was always expected. It breaks my heart to think a King of his nobility and strength should have so many scars, and I can't imagine what you, as his mother, will go through because of it, but remember: it testifies to his tenacity and resilience. (He seemed to speak of Janner with a fondness that both warmed and broke Nia’s heart)

He’s fought so well, Nia, and he continues fighting. I can’t tell you exactly where his mind is at, though I believe Sara will share what she knows in her letter. What I do know is that he hasn’t forgotten. He can’t bring himself to speak of it. He’s terrified of this Overseer. He doesn’t trust anyone except Sara, not even Artham, at least, not really. For that matter, I don’t even know how much he’s shared with her and how much he’s buried. My fear is that even to Sara, he has told nothing, and if that is the case, we have a very concerning matter on our hands. (Nia knew what it was to bury pain; she had done it all her life. She hated that Janner now turned to it, as if it would make everything alright, keep him safe. It wouldn’t. Unfortunately, it wasn’t exactly something you could turn on and off. She did wish he trusted Artham, though)

I don’t know if you can or will, but it might be helpful to him if you were to come. Likely you’re busy there, keeping everything in Anniera orderly in his absence, but he calls for you at night. I’m not the only one who hears it; Sara and Artham have heard it as well. 

The goal is not to manipulate you into coming, though, on a re-read, I realize that is exactly what it sounds like. Forgive me, Nia, that was not my intent. Please understand I only want the best for Janner, as I want for all my patients, and if I could, I would simplify things by telling Artham and Sara to bring him with them and take a ship to Anniera this minute, just so he could be home with you and Leeli and somewhere he knows, someplace the Overseer can’t get to him. I can’t do that, though, at least not in good conscience. We’re nearing the winter season, and I fear the voyage would prove disasterous for him. Artham tells me he survived a trip across the Dark Sea after being gravely wounded, but he also informed me it was a close call, and his health wasn’t torn to shreds then. (Tears came to Nia’s eyes as she remembered that crossing of the Dark Sea, of the nights she spent awake, watching Janner sleep feverishly and deliriously, hearing him cry out about whips and failure and Kalmar growling and snapping and howling all the while, because he didn’t understand. The hours during which she had prayed her sons’ lives be spared were countless) 

Thank you for the time you’ve taken to read this letter. I hope when you see Janner again, he will be well.

Sincerely, Jebsun Brescia

Nia folded the letter three ways, the way it had come, and slipped it back into its envelope. She would think on the letter later; not in that moment, it was too much. Instead, with trembling hands she freed Janner’s message from its envelope and wordlessly nodded to Arundelle when she silently asked to read Jebsun’s letter. 

What Janner had written was incredibly short; the penmanship light, shaky, uneven, and quite unlike his usual small, kingly script. It carried an air of his writing style, just a breath, but she knew it was from him. 

Mama,

Are you okay? I’m sorry if I scared you; please forgive me. Please let Aunt Arun and Ilana know I’m sorry I’ve stolen Artham from them for so long. I didn’t mean to. And I’m not certain what Artham, Sara, and Jebsun wrote, but I’m alright. Don’t worry, please.

I love you. Janner.

“Janner wanted you to know he’s sorry about keeping Artham for so long,” she murmured after she had stared at the words for some time. It was so unlike Janner, to write so little, to say so little, to do nothing but apologize, to lie. Her heart twisted oddly, aching at the thought. Why did he lie to her? 

Arundelle looked up from Jebsun’s letter, her face twisted quizzically. “Considering the contents of this letter, Janner has far more to worry about that apologizing to me about Artham’s absence. Yes, I’m feeling it, and the thought of being away from Artham for another...four moons is something I'll work on processing later, but there’s no need for him to apologize. He needs his Throne Warden.”

Nia slipped Janner’s message into her pocket. The action didn’t take away the pain in her heart. “I don’t think he knows what he needs, Arun. And the only thing I know he needs is help.”

She slit open the envelope to Sara’s letter and began reading a heartbreakingly detailed account that began in Glipwood, when they first met Jebsun, and ended at the time of writing. 

I’m scared for him, Mama, I’m truly scared for him. (She said near the end of the letter) He needs to talk, and I don’t know what will happen if he bottles everything for too long. He’s hurting, he’s anxious, he’s sleeping dreadfully. Artham and Jebsun say he’s opened up to me, but he really hasn’t. He wept about something once and relaxed in my arms, but I’ve no idea what he said. He lets us take care of him physically, but he’s not letting us—or even me—in emotionally. I think…he needs you. He needs help. Please.

The letter was tear-stained.

“That settles it,” Nia said suddenly, standing. 

“What does?” Arundelle reached for her hand, her brow suddenly knotted in concern.

Smiling a little while tears filled her eyes, Nia held up Sara’s letter. “He’s not alright, Arun, no matter what he says. And I have to be with him. He’s my son. And I’m his mother. And I don’t care if he’s King, because I'm not going to listen to his ridiculous reassurances. He can’t do this on his own.”

*****

Notes:

Nia, both a mother and an INFJ. The amount of insight I can let her gather because of these two traits is so vast and I absolutely took advantage of it in this chapter and beyond 😂

Please let me know if there's anything noncanonical^^