Chaperones
Notes:
Yet another fluffy, happy, non-angsty chapter!!! I hope you like it <3
*****
To some, it was rather obvious Janner had proposed, and Sara had accepted, even though Sara expertly hid the evidence of her ring in the folds of her dress. Owen said he had known the entire time, and that his rough estimate regarding on what day of the sail Janner would end up asking had been correct. He seemed very pleased about that, almost more pleased than about the engagement.
It took Joe slightly longer to notice, but when he did, he was absolutely thrilled, and it took a good deal of hushing and even a few seconds of hand-clapping-over-the-mouthing to keep him from spilling it to the rest of the crew.
Greston knew from the start, of course, but it was a surprise for his first mate, Larce. A smile, one that actually looked rather pleased, and the words, “the ring’s lovely, miss,” was the response Sara received at a time in which she and Janner were not together. Considering that Lance rarely smiled or said anything other than what was required for his position, they cherished such an expressive reaction.
Once one crew member—Rond, who happened to see the ring on Sara’s finger while he lounged in a large rope coil during a peaceful lull in work—knew, the rest of the crew did, for among them, secrets and rumors spread like wildfire.
That was the end of secrecy, but certainly not of numerous congratulations and blessings for the marriage that would not come until the wedding after the conference and returning to Anniera, the event of which they had yet to discuss.
Janner almost asked Sara if she wanted to go over any details about the date, but another sailor spoke before him, a younger man, perhaps about his own age, eager to celebrate the newly betrothed couple. Greston deemed it an excellent idea, and before anyone knew it the ship was swept into a cacophony on deck of music and dancing and laughter and sharing of daily designated drinks.
The deck teeming with such joyous noise starkly contrasted with the relatively peaceful waters below. Janner did his best to enjoy the celebration, but unfortunately his mind chose the route of sweeping itself up into concerns over their rate of speed across the sea and what potential calmness meant for the rest of the sail. Somehow, he didn’t feel concerned about the wedding, at least not really, nor what followed it. He wasn’t worried about being married to Sara and what it entailed—well, it didn’t cause him anxiety, that is. The rate at which the ship was crossing the sea, though? Now that was cause for worry. Though it shouldn’t have been.
Swirling out of a speedy dance with Rond, Sara spun over to him, her skirts flying, then sat down on the steps next to him (the ones that led up to the quarter deck), breathing hard and struggling to get her breath back through laughter. It was an odd sound for her to make, and Janner couldn’t help but smile listening to the loveliness of it. His hand pulled away from the chain around his neck.
“Janner,” Sara finally said breathlessly. “Do you want to join me for at least one more dance? I’m sure we can ask Greston to play slower. A waltz, maybe?”
As it turned out, Greston played the fiddle impressively well and had dazzled the crew and passengers with it all evening. The only trouble with that was his style of dazzling—speed. Now, the speed was incredible, and the playing was the fastest he had ever heard, the dancing the fastest he had ever seen and attempted. Attempting was something Janner had genuinely wanted to do, and it was quite fun. He had tired too soon, though, and knew better than to push his luck. The last thing he wanted was some sort of random illness during the conference, which was possible—it had happened before and been frightfully embarrassing.
Sara had left the dancing, too, concerned as she always was. Convincing her to go back to it and enjoy herself was nearly impossible but eventually accomplished. Watching Sara had been enjoyment enough, and Janner marveled at how happy she was amidst a crowd of people, amidst all the noise and jarring that he knew was thrilling, even if it repelled him more than anything else.
“Or are you too tired for a waltz?” Sara asked, her brow suddenly furrowed in worry.
“No, no!” Janner said quickly. “Of course I’m not too tired for a waltz.” He really wasn’t. Another jig? Now that he was too tired for. But a waltz would be lovely. “My only concern is that no one other than us will be dancing.”
“I’m sure the crew won’t mind! They’ve enjoyed all this lively dancing from sunset to almost midnight. Surely, they won’t begrudge you one waltz.” Sara stood and held out her hand, silently asking him to take her.
Despite what chivalry deemed appropriate, Janner gave in—only because of the lovely, teasing blue twinkling in her eyes—and walked with her, arm in arm, toward Greston.
It was a bit of a maze, finding their way around dancing and tumbling sailors, but sticking to the railing worked well for the most part, except when something obscured their way and demanded they venture into the boisterous fray of hollers and whoops of happiness.
Greston had no problems with changing the pace, and once the song of that moment had ended (the other musicians had carried on without him while he spoke to Janner and Sara, since even though the fiddle was the most lively of them all, they could manage without it for a bit), he announced that a song for the lovely couple was about to begin and to allow them some room to dance.
The sailors moved to the sides of the ship obligingly, smiling all the while, and in the moment in which the rich notes of the fiddle drifted forth and Sara slipped her hand into his, everything was perfect, and for the time being it felt as though nothing in all of Aerwiar could corrupt such loveliness.
*****
A few days later, a crew member noted the pressure change. Later that day, a sailor up in the crow’s nest reported clouds on the horizon. “Storm-like clouds,” he added for clarification.
No one was very worried. Considering the season in which they sailed, at least one good storm was likely. Necessary precautions, there as a result of having passengers, were put in place, though, and Janner, Sara, Joe, and Owen were quickly escorted to their quarters. If it was a perfect world, Janner would have loved staying on deck, especially since the storm likely wouldn’t be all that bad anyway. But for Sara’s peace of mind…he wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t afraid of storms at sea—in fact, she loved them. She was, however, afraid for him, almost constantly, he had learned over the years. It was out of an attempt to alleviate that fear, to reassure her that he would be alright, that he wouldn’t die before their marriage, that he chose not to protest at all or even make a comment regarding how wonderful the on-deck experience would be.
“How is your book coming?’ Janner asked her a day into the storm. They were both in her room, her sitting on the bed and him on the quilt-covered trunk.
Sara smiled and reached for it, nearly tumbling off her bed as the ship rocked, but managing to catch herself just in time.
Janner had stood the moment it looked like she would fall, but as it turned out he ended up falling. He glared at the snickers coming from Joe and Owen, chaperoning from the hall. They could see everything; the door was propped open fully. Unfortunately, that meant their laughter was directed toward his clumsiness and only justified when he attempted to stand up and return to his former seat for yet another rocking wave to come and send him sprawling to the floor once more.
During the entire time, Sara had spent her resources on shooting daggers at Joe and Owen (daggers with her eyes, that is) and the conflict of whether she should try and help him up and potentially become part of the sprawled-on-the-floor-convention or simply sit there and watch as he struggled.
This was voiced, of course, and in response Janner said, “thank you, but I’d really rather you not lose your balance. It isn’t all that fun. I’ll just…scoot over to your bed and lean against it. Is that within the parameters of the rules?” he asked, raising his voice for the last bit. The question was directed at their chaperones.
Joe glanced at Owen while Owen looked up at the ceiling, likely recalling said parameters. After a few moments, Joe called back, “Yep, you’re good! Against the bed is safe!”
“You know, the teasing is only going to get worse as time goes on,” Sara stated pointedly. “It’s not as though anyone here has something better to do, and by ‘anyone,’ I mean Joe and Owen, mostly Joe.”
“I take great pride in that. Thank you,” Joe said rather loudly from his station.
Sara rolled her eyes in response, and Janner couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you really mind the teasing, though? It’s not like it’s reminding you of something horrible. It’s a reminder of something good, right?”
Blushing a little, Sara smiled at him, unable to help it. “Something far better than good, I should think, or at the very least hope.”
Janner held out his hand to her, just as an affectionate gesture, but the moment before her fingers brushed his an incredibly obnoxious throat-clearing sounded.
“Stepping over the parameters!” Joe barked, a grin plastered on his face.
“You’ve got to be joking!” Janner retorted. “We held hands a good deal before I proposed! What makes it so bad now?”
Joe pondered this for a moment, and Owen spoke instead. “That was my bad. I told Joe, ‘if they go too far, we’ll intervene,’ and he thought I was talking about that exact moment, not one in the future.”
Janner couldn’t help but facepalm, and Sara burst out with, “Janner, see? This is what I mean by endless teasing. Are you sure you like it?”
*****
Notes:
Technically we have no evidence of their being fiddles/violins in Aerwiar, and if they do have them, I'm sure they're given a different name, but I really wanted to convey fiddle, so I didn't bother creating another name for the instrument :)
I did really enjoy writing the friendly teasing at the end of this chapter! I hope you liked it too!
Please let me know if there's anything noncanonical or strange going on^^
Yeah, I totally understand what Janner is doing with the necklace. I constantly fiddle with my necklace, because I'm either stressed, or thinking hard.