After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 48

When Waiting Comes to an End

Notes:

The sheer amount of time I poured into writing those five paragraphs focused on the wedding-

It was worth it, though, and done solely because Andrea asked me if I thought they would have different wedding traditions in Aerwiar. I stuck with the normal ring-engagement thing, but I decided to do something a little different for the marriage ceremony. The choreo in "We Become We" from Journey to Bethlehem (if you haven't seen it, go watch it, it's so good!!!! Not 100% Biblically accurate, but so good and Joel from For King and Country is in it!)

Anyway, even though the visual for "We Become We" was what I was thinking of, I was listening to "Would You Fall in Love With Me Again?" so that's the instrumental I was thinking of^^

*****

It took a year, a year that at times clawed agonizingly slowly and others flew wondrously quickly. It was a year of thunderstorms, a year of rain showers, a year of blizzards, a year of snowfalls, a year of windstorms, a year of blowing leaves, a year of blistering heat, a year of warm rays. 

They bore it all, every heartache, every joy, every explosion of emotion and anger and grief, every outpouring of love and devotion. Every season, every moon, every week, every day had its pains and sorrows and trials and hopes and dreams and prayers. The tumult spun and twisted and churned them in a cacophonic dance to an orchestra that blared shatteringly and sang healingly. 

Only the Maker brought them through it, rescued them from the roiling seas of remembrance and led them to the patience-filled shore. He spoke to them, nurtured them, warned them, steadied them, healed them, guided them, protected them, loved them. 

He slipped them gemstones in the darkness, the joy of a litter of puppies or kittens, the flying of a flock of flutterflies into their path, the comfort of their loved ones in the most terrifying moments, the knowledge of Him when their wits end could not keep them pushing forward, the sweet minutes they spent together.

The memories were the hardest to work through, the ones that haunted and plagued them constantly. Only time could rid them of the horrors and nightmares, and it was then, in which they struggled through the mire of memory, that time crawled the slowest, dragging them along excruciatingly. Then, too, was when the Maker's love and guidance shown the brightest.

At the end of it, though, at the end of that year, those long, twelve moons, a multitude gathered in the clearing in front of Castle Rysen, braving the cold and reveling in the snow that blanketed the ground and decorated the bride’s curls with loveliness only the Maker can create. As per tradition, they ringed around a snow-covered marriage circle where at one end stood the bride, and across from her, the groom.

The bride smiled, her eyes aglow, and, breathing slowly, calmingly, and as quiet notes poured forth from the instruments all around, she began to dance, separate, away from him, but always gliding toward him, slowly, so slowly. Her skirts encircled the steps, keeping perfect time, and as she swept to the orchestral melody lilting through the air, her arms and hands arching along with the high, graceful strings, she drifted nearer and nearer her groom. His steps were slower, more deliberate, gentler, and yet he, too, danced, reached for her with passion and grace, as he pledged without words devotion, steadfastness, and faithfulness for an eternity. 

Their fingers brushed in the center, arms’ length away, her breath coming in precious, steady gasps, his in quiet, careful clouds. He slipped closer and clasped her hand, then in a rapid, gentle motion twirled her, her skirts and hair flying, white power scattering all around them. And when it was done, he drew her to himself. 

In a flurry of loveliness, the white lace enveloped them, and he kissed her forehead, she his cheek, and the orchestra slipped suddenly into a glorious burst of emotion and thrill, of sweeping high strings and throbbing low tones, of whistling joy-filled pipes and ringing bell peals.

After, and only after the burst quieted and their marriage dance began, the throng encircling them began calling in joy and jubilation for the newly wedded, shining couple.

Happiest, other than the bride and groom, was their family, watching with bated breath all the while, as if they thought some disaster would overtake the perfection of the day and shatter it to pieces. Nothing did, though, nothing marred that glorious day. 

“They beat you to it,” Artham remarked to Janner as they clapped, the tension from earlier now past. “I knew it. Jebsun owes me now.”

Janner rolled his eyes. His plan had been to focus on Nia today, not whatever bet Artham and Jebsun had placed. They placed too many to keep track of. He took a break from clapping and went back to deliberately gripping his cane.

Forcing his leg to bear more weight than it wanted to in the cold wasn’t doing him any favors. “What does he owe—for once?”

Artham huffed indignantly. “I’ve beat him before.”

Janner happened to know that wasn’t true, but, frankly, he didn’t feel like pointing that out to Artham. He could have his victory. His gaze drifted toward Nia and Jebsun again, and he smiled.

It seemed Thorn did feel like it, however it wasn’t an argument so much as a pointing out a fact innocently. “Mr. Artham, I don’t really think ya have,” he piped up from where he stood with Leeli, an inch of snow somehow caked into his curls.

“Thorn, you haven’t even been here!” Artham hissed through gritted teeth, and Janner had to stifle laughter at the sight of Artham half-mockingly, half-seriously irritated while Arundelle did her best to keep from giggling behind him. “Don’t make me regret giving you lessons in vocabulary improvements.”

Leeli laughed as Thorn feigned terror, then grabbed her hand and whisked away, out of the crowd, likely to pile more snow on his head.

“So, what does he owe you?” Sara interjected, bringing back the conversation Janner had dropped. She tended to do that, and, honestly, Janner was glad. It was a sort of relief, not having to worry about finding a place to slip in his previous comments he’d given up on. He made sure to do the same for her, at least when it was a conversation she wanted to continue. 

Artham thought for a moment. “You know,” he said slowly. “I don’t think we ever agreed on something.”

Sara let out a peal of laughter, her joy joining the thrill already sweeping through the isle. “Good job, Artham. The one time you win, and you forgot to settle on a reward.”

Snorting in irritation, Artham’s frustration slipped away a little as Arundelle slipped her arm into his and kissed his cheek. “It’s alright, luv. Next time. Nia, though, remember?”

“Next time,” Artham grumped, though the frustration disappeared the moment Ilana appeared and threw her arms around his waist. 

Janner smiled and turned his attention back to Nia and Jebsun, his heart quaking a little in the joy and love radiating from them. Nia’s cheeks were the color of roses, thrilled, hopeful roses, and the glimmer in her eyes was one that had never resided there, not as long as he had known her. 

He shifted his gaze toward Sara, her diamond eyes glistening with tears. One rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly. In a moment it had never been there. 

One day, one day he had to see that glimmer in her eyes. One day he would. One day soon. He wouldn’t make her wait for much longer.

*****

The very next day, Janner pulled Sara into the library and knelt carefully, setting his cane on the floor beside him and taking her hand in his. The amber glow of the fire flickered behind her adorning her with a silhouette of golden light. Her eyes sparkled, deep, dark, wise, torn and mended and comforted, enduring and faith-filled.

“Sara Cobbler,” he whispered. “Will you marry me?” He had long forgotten the words he configured more than a year before during that original proposal. They were only words, words he had panicked over, tripped over, floundered over. It was their actions that spoke the loudest, their love for each other that called to Aerwiar, their dedication that echoed from the mountains. These—these were what had stood the test of time in the past months of grief and tragedy and healing and dedication. These graced the moment lovelier than any words he could have imagined.

Tears shimmering in her eyes, she nodded. “Yes,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time, pulling him up from the floor and throwing her arms around him. “Yes, Janner, of course I’ll marry you.”

They did marry, just a few months later. Anneria formed another marriage ring, and another marriage dance transpired. The Maker arrayed their ceremony with beauty of His Own, that of newly born trees’ leaves, the bubbling of the brook, flitting sunshine, and sweet birdsong—a gentle, divine loveliness. 

As Janner pulled Sara close, and brushed his lips against her forehead, the thrill of her heartbeat raced through him. When she caressed his cheek, a wonder, a delight, a knowledge washed over him. A knowledge that they had received another chance, the Maker watched over them always, their love for each other—their unconditional love for each other—would never fade, and no matter what happened, no matter what trials and terrors they faced, no matter what they lost, He could renew it. He would renew it, if not in that life, then in the next.

He was the Divine Healer, the Masterful Orchestrator, the Hope Bringer, the Great Revivor.

It was springtime, His joyful springtime showering upon them. And nothing could vanquish that joy.

*****

Notes:

Did you think it was Janner and Sara's wedding initially? I did give them a wedding in the end, at least^^

Note the differences between a year earlier and this chapter - Janner's okay with calling it "his cane" now 🥲 (there are others, but that's a specific one I wanted to emphasize, one I think might get overlooked) The funniest part about this story is that this last chapter is very comparable to the last chapter in the fic I wrote on Ao3 for the Legend of the Guardians fandom. Don't mind me reusing my ideas-

ANYWAY-

Thank you so much for the time you've poured into reading this story and commenting! It has been a journey actually getting this written, considering the initial brainstorming took place on July 27, 2023, and it took all of first semester, plus December and January to write 😅

But, thank you Andrea, for approving all the chapters (and so many other things like letting me know about noncanonical details and inadvertently helping me find a home for Chathan), thank you Spaghetti Thwap for ranting about Epic with me this past week, thank you Lili for encouraging me in my angst and whump writing (best wishes on you and your fic!!!), thank you ArthamFanGirl for getting so excited about Artham's role in this story, and thank you Batwhacker for coming in at completely random intervals and screaming about the story (I've no clue when you'll see this, but thanks!)!

I'm so indebted to all of you and so grateful - you have no idea how much the knowledge other fans are enjoying and reading the story helps motivate the writing process!

I have no idea when regular posting will resume, but right now I'm working on one-shots. Hopefully the next story will start getting posted by the end of February or mid-March, but don't quote me on that! Actually, no, do quote me on that so I'll actually write it. Feel free to nag me to keep working on writing when those one-shots start coming out 😅😂

Thank you again to all of you, thank you for your support and encouragement and screaming and distress and frustration! <3 <3 <3