After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 8

Helpless

Notes:

Our first POV switch of the fic!!! 🥳

*****

“What time is it?” Sara asked, wishing she had some way of knowing. 

Maraly shrugged in response, but Sara almost missed it because of a girl in a fluttery, buttercup dress had just run between them. “I think we’ve been here fer at least an hour, if thet helps at all.”

Sara shook her head and leaned back against the column she had planted herself in front of several minutes ago. It had been a few hours since she had checked on Janner, and in that few hours she had sat through a supper she hadn’t really had the appetite for, listened to a diplomat from a city or kingdom she couldn’t recall the name of give a summary of the day’s happenings, and forced herself to socialize with a large number of the other representatives during the “after-dinner-social-time.”

It hadn’t been as bad as it could have been, since the question most people asked as soon as they saw her left hand was, “congratulations; who’s the lucky fellow?” to which she would blush and smile and say, “Janner Wingfeather,” to which they gasped and murmured about how delightful it was that she was engaged to the King of Anniera.

It was a torn thought process for her, though, because as happy as she was to talk about Janner and how happy she was with the engagement, they often followed up with, “well where is he?” To that she had to either brush it off and say he “was floating somewhere,” or tell them the truth, which she never did. 

Part of the reason she hadn’t told anyone anything was because she didn’t know what was wrong. Janner hadn’t been exposed to anything she knew about, and she couldn’t remember anyone coughing or sneezing. Of course, as that one time a month after Kalmar’s passing had proved—and at least three times per year after that, unfortunately—he was dreadfully susceptible to illness. She hoped it wasn’t bad, though (the ring twirled around her finger). If he wasn’t alright in two days, she would send for the doctor. That was his policy, not hers. If everything was under her control, she would have sent someone to find a doctor immediately. But Janner didn’t want anyone fussing unnecessarily, and she chose to listen to his wishes. He was the King, after all, and as of that moment it probably wasn’t detrimental to his livelihood. 

“Hey, Sara!” Maraly said suddenly, shoving her shoulder and jolting her out of her thoughts. “Someone’s speakin’ to ya.”

Sara looked up from staring at the skirt of her crimson dress—crimson for fall, with little gold trimmings like the sunlight—and smiled when she saw Shastan. The ring stopped twirling. “Hello,” she said pleasantly. “How are you doing this evening?”

“Fine, thank you,” Shastan said, glancing briefly at Maraly. “And you?”

Unsure if the question was directed at her, Sara answered anyway. “Relatively well, all things considered.”

Shastan shifted his eyes back to her. “Speaking of all things, how is King Janner doing?”

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” Maraly interjected, not seeming all that concerned, considering she had begun picking her nails.

Sara chose not to answer immediately since it didn’t seem too imperative, and instead felt the corners of her mouth turn upward in a smile. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Shastan, I promise, first-name-basis is fine. Janner really does prefer it.” He never liked the way “king” sounded in front of his name. He always thought it sounded better when combined with Kalmar’s.

Shaking his head, Shastan smiled a little. “Forgive me, then. How is Janner doing?”

“Sara, what’s wrong with ‘im?!” Maraly repeated, now sounding a bit distressed. She had stopped staring at her nails and was now looking a little concerned. “What didn’t ya tell me?”

“Calm down,” Sara said evenly, knowing Maraly wouldn’t like it, would find it dreadfully patronizing, and might pout about it for a few minutes. “It’s nothing," she began, lowering her voice so as to not attract unwanted attention. "He just started feeling a little under the weather during the conference we were having with Shastan, and I forced him upstairs. I don’t want anything going too awry, especially since it’s already liable to.”

“But I’m yer friend,” Maraly replied quietly, sounding a bit hurt. “And his! I care ‘bout hearin’ that sorta thing.”

Sara bit her lip, unsure of what excuse she could give that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. Shastan interjected, saving her from answering Maraly, but not saving her from explaining more than she wished.

“So, this is a relatively normal thing, then?” he asked, looking between them. “Janner getting sick?”

Sara shook her head and sighed. Janner probably wouldn’t be too pleased if anyone else knew, but what could she do, lie? “I can't really answer yes or not to that, but suffice to say we’ve done our best to keep the information from reaching the public, so do you think…”

Shastan nodded immediately. “Of course. But you should go upstairs if you’re worried or anything.”

Hesitating briefly, Sara glanced at Maraly. She didn’t want to leave her alone. That seemed inconsiderate.

Somehow reading her mind, Maraly gave a quick wave of her hand and said, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Shastan’ll keep me company. Pretty sure he hunts, so we’ll talk ‘bout that er somethin’ else.”

Shastan looked a little surprised but didn’t object, and the last of them Sara saw before heading upstairs was the back of both of their heads—one much, much closer to the floor than the other. 

She managed to slip away relatively quickly and even found an attendant at the bottom of the stairs and asked him to send someone to make a pot of tea and bring it up. She didn’t know if Janner would be awake or if he’d even want tea, but she could always drink it as a last resort.

It was good their rooms weren’t too far into the labyrinth that was Castle Torr, otherwise she wasn’t certain she’d be able to find them. In less than a minute she had made her way to Janner’s room, and she knocked on the door quietly, just in case he was awake. She didn’t want to startle him. 

No answer. That was fine; there was a good chance he was sleeping already. He had slept a good deal of the afternoon, after all. 

She turned the knob and pushed the door open as quietly as possible, wincing as it creaked a little. A shaft of light from the hall poured into the dark room, and she smiled a little when she saw the slightly rumpled blankets covering him on the bed. The light didn’t reveal much other than that—and the window, a bit a jar. 

Sara furrowed her brow at that; she hadn’t left the window open. Maybe Janner had gotten warm? That usually wasn’t an issue, though. “Did you open the window, Janner?” she whispered, hating to risk waking him up, but oddly concerned. 

He didn’t reply, but if he was asleep, that made sense. Sighing, Sara walked toward the window and shut it quickly, feeling oddly vulnerable with it open. Maybe it was a combination of being in a dark room her eyes hadn’t quite adjusted to mixed with her concern about Janner. 

She drew closer to the bed, hoping to find some sort of reassurance or sign that everything was alright. It was unlikely she would figure anything out, especially since Janner was sleeping, but she could at least (hopefully) reassure herself (once again) that he hadn’t developed a fever.

She reached out her hand to brush it across his forehead gently but—

Her heart leapt into her throat. Janner wasn’t there—a circular pillow was, though. He wasn’t beneath her hand. She patted the bed frantically, even though she knew immediately he wasn’t there—he wasn’t in the bed. 

Sara cast her gaze around the room, one hand covering her mouth out of nervous habit. It was still dark, that was true, and the shadows made it hard to see, but she was almost certain he wasn’t there. 

Calm down, she chided. You need to actually look around the room. Maybe he got up to open the window and ended up slumping into a corner because he was so tired? That didn't explain the pillow disguised as his head, but she didn't want to worry about that yet.

Still, the thought of Janner being that tired was almost more unsettling than him being missing, so it didn’t help all that much. In an instant, she had struck a match and lit the candle sitting on the bedside table. 

Now it was clearer than ever that Janner wasn’t in the room. She did a sweep anyway, the candlelight flitting into each corner and shadow, chasing patches of darkness away for just a moment. Sara wished the light would flicker and reveal Janner’s face, and then the sight of him would chase away her fear. He didn’t appear, though. 

By the window again, Sara turned around and looked at the room from that angle, her brows now knitted in concern and fear. It looked just the same from this angle: some lighting, too many shadows, and an empty bed. But…but something was different, she realized, as she looked at the floor space to the left (her left) of the bed. There was something strange on the floor, something that looked like a small puddle of…something.

Heart now throbbing wildly, Sara ventured forward nervously, her hand clutched close to her heart. She reached the bed far too soon and crouched, hoping and praying it wasn’t what she thought it was. 

The candlelight glinted off the dark puddle—oh, it was such a dark puddle, but wouldn’t all puddles be dark in a dark room?—and Sara held her breath in an effort to place a hold on her terror. One, two, three, she counted silently, her eyes closed. Oh, Maker, don’t let it be…be that.

She opened her eyes again and tentatively reached out her hand, dipping her fingertips into the puddle. The hand came back, drawing closer to her face, the puddle residue glinting oddly in the candlelight. Sara knew what it was, but she couldn’t…she couldn’t believe it yet. Maybe the candlelight had discolored it.

Numb, she took slow, tentative steps toward the door, feeling the frame brush her left arm as she passed through. The color was clear, now, far too clear in the full lighting. 

The puddle was red. Red and sticky, and she was sure if she had enough of it, it would have been thick, too. She stared, unable to do anything other than that. She had to do something, she knew. She had to take action, put some sort of effort into finding Janner and figuring out where in Aerwiar he had gone and why he had left behind a puddle of blood. 

Whether she wanted to do that or not didn’t matter, though, and in another few minutes, she was crouching on the floor, staring at her ring as it glistened tauntingly. Her eye caught the ring’s backdrop, though: her dress, her skirts all surrounding her like a puddle. And…oh, oh, Maker help her, her dress was crimson, for autumn. 

For autumn, for autumn, crimson for autumn, she told herself, feeling panic mounting all the same, rising, bubbling, rushing into her throat, scrambling for a way out. 

She must have screamed, because then she heard the sound of running feet, many running feet, and Maraly was there, by her side, asking what was wrong, and Sara thought she held out her hand, trembling, trembling so violently she thought it might shatter. She might have pointed or Maraly pointed or maybe someone else did—she didn’t know—but soon other people—she thought she saw Joe and Owen—with lights and candles were going into Janner’s room, opening the door without bothering to keep it from creaking, and Sara thought she heard herself sobbing, saying something about not disturbing Janner’s things because he never liked it when that happened. 

At some point she felt someone pulling her to her feet, then supporting her as they walked down the hall. It was Maraly, of course, because who else would it be? Maraly was saying something, but Sara wasn’t listening. She wasn’t paying attention to anything, just like she didn’t pay attention to when she actually undressed—only to her petticoat, she would sleep in that—and laid down in a bed—it was Maraly’s, she realized later, and her friend was sleeping on a little sofa because she fit on it—and just like she didn’t pay much attention or respond to Maraly’s soft, considerate, “‘night, Sara.”

All she could see was the puddle and her bloody fingers and her crimson dress as it pooled around her. And what she couldn’t see—though she desperately wanted to—was Janner, reassuring her that he was alright. 

Sara squeezed her left hand into a fist, pressed the precious ring against her lips, and cried herself to sleep because she was helpless and could do absolutely nothing to keep Janner safe.

*****

Notes:

OH NO!!!! (we did at least get a bit of interaction between Maraly and Shastan...)

We really didn't get any further into the story; we just updated poor Sara 😢

Let me know if there's anything noncanonical^^