hehe, I managed to convince myself to post :DDDDD
It also helps that it's Thanksgiving Break :D
A Firm Word and a Gentle Embrace
Artham distracted himself at the desk in his and Arundelle’s bedroom, looking at the wordless sheet of paper in front of him and occasionally dipping his quill into the inkwell, only to create messy ink blots. He thought about what Greston had said to him, that they would try again in a few days, and what the Maker had told him in his heart: Janner and Kalmar would be found. Artham sighed and rested his forehead in his left hand, writing a few words with his right:
The trip was a failure. We didn’t find anything except for a destroyed mast that may or may not foretell the fate of Anniera’s Throne Warden and High King. I fear the crews’ spirits are low and wonder whether or not they will agree to a future search, even if Greston orders it.
He sighed, placed the quill back in the inkwell, and rubbed his face with his hands. Artham heard a throat clearing loudly behind him and leaned back in his chair, groaning. “Please stop looking at me like that.”
Artham glanced over his shoulder at Arundelle, who sat on top of their bed covers, arms crossed in a mixture of frustration and worry. Her eyes mimicked her posture, and Artham felt as though he couldn’t bear it much longer. Arundelle had been looking at him that way since he had gotten back from the failed reconnaissance and it added to the frustration and guilt he aimed at himself for not finding Janner and Kalmar.
Arundelle got up from the bed with a huff, walked over to her husband, and planted her hands firmly on her hips. “I will. Once you stop blaming yourself for not being able to find them, Artham Peet Wingfeather.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said slowly, looking back at the page before him. He wondered whether or not the rest of his thoughts should come to life on it.
“Artham,” Arundelle pointed her finger at him. “You cannot go around blaming yourself everytime something goes wrong in these kids’ lives!”
“I don’t,” Artham raised his voice slightly. “I blame myself when they get hurt or lost, because generally I can prevent that from happening. Esben wanted me to watch over them, Arundelle. How can I not?”
Arundelle sighed sadly. “Artham, I know you love Janner and Kalmar and I do too. But you not being able to find them had nothing to do with you not trying. That’s actually the root of what I want to talk about,” she fixed him in a steady gaze. “You tried Artham. I know you’re going to try again and again and again until you’ve either found them or killed yourself with trying. Now I love the steadfastness and loyalty and integrity in you, but if you kill yourself looking for your nephews, I won’t have that steadfastness and loyalty and integrity anymore. And neither will Anniera,” she added softly.
“Arundelle, they’re the Throne Warden and High King of Anniera,” Artham protested. He stood up to face her and winced at the soreness in his muscles.
“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Arundelle crossed her arms again and set her mouth in a straight line.
“What, the fact that they’re —”
“No, actually, the fact that you’ve exhausted yourself to the point where you can’t move without wincing or biting your lip in pain.” Arundelle interrupted him, taking Artham’s arm and leading him to sit beside her on the bed. “You can’t look for them if you have abused your body to the extent that you simply can’t move. Artham, rest. Stay here for a few days. Take a break. When I have decided that you’re alright, then you can go back to searching.”
“Did Greston put you up to this?” Artham asked drily.
Arundelle smiled at him. “I’m not about to answer that question.”
“But —” Artham protested.
Arundelle held up her hand in a motion of silence. “Patience, Artham,” she whispered. “I want my nephews found and I want you to be the one to find them. You love them fiercely. But wait until you’ve rested. Please.”
Artham weighed his decisions and found that what he wanted — to go out and begin searching for Janner and Kal again immediately — was impossible. Finally, he nodded. "Alright," he said quietly, not sure if he was really hiding the regret in his heart.
*****
Sara sat silently at the kitchen table, glancing up from her hands to look at Nia every now and then. Nia was baking butterbread again. She had made it every day since she and Galya had returned without Janner and Kalmar. Sara was beginning to get the feeling that Nia wasn’t really baking to enjoy it. She was baking to distract herself from what scared her. Sara had started doing that too. She had started reading to distract herself from her thoughts about Janner, but it wasn’t long before she realized she wasn’t actually reading the words. She was thinking about Janner, where he was, if he was alive, why Artham had not found him during the reconnaissance, if he was dead. Then her thoughts had reached hysteria, and she had slammed the book shut and joined Nia in the kitchen.
“Mama,” Sara said quietly, looking at her hands as they anxiously intertwined on the tabletop in front of her.
Nia looked up from her kneading and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Yes, Sara?”
“Can you sit with me?” She asked, her voice trembling.
Nia wiped her hands on the front of her apron and walked over to the table. She pulled out a chair and slid into it, taking Sara’s cold, nervous butterfly hands in her own warm, steady ones. “I’m here. Do you want to talk about it?”
Sara was silent for a few moments. She desperately wanted to talk to Nia, to pour out her heart to her, to release the frantic bird inside her from its cage of fear. Something inside her was scared to talk, though. She was afraid that if she gave voice to her worries, they would come to be. As long as they stayed locked inside of her, maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t happen. But what if they already have? Her mind whispered. What if Janner is already dead? In that case, surely telling your fears won’t harm anything.
Sara raised her eyes to meet Nia’s. They were dark and comforting and bore a sadness that Sara had not seen in them for many years. Not since Janner had died.
She nodded but still didn’t speak. Nia waited.
“I’m scared,” Sara finally said, in a quiet voice.
“I know.”
Sara smiled sadly, thankful that Nia hadn’t responded with the cliche: “We all are.” Nia knew that her fears were ones that few felt. And there was no need for Nia to say: “I know how you feel.” They both understood each other’s feelings. They were words that didn’t need to be said. They already hovered in the air, an unspoken comfort that warmed Sara’s heart.
“I just,” she began. “I desperately want to weep and scream a-and pound my fists,” Sara’s words shook and she swallowed a sob. “And I want to ask the Maker why? I want to know why He’s done this to me, why He’s allowed this to happen, why He couldn’t just give us peace. And then I start thinking about J-Janner and how worried he was that something was going to h-happen to me or to the baby, how he’s been carrying his sword with him when we’re toge-gether for the past two months. And how,” tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she pressed her fingers against mouth and tried and failed to hold in a violent shudder of grief and steady the hitch in her breathing. “H-h-h-h-how now that h-he’s gone and he can’t pr-pr-protect us a-anym-more and—”
Nia gathered Sara in her arms and held her close, putting her hand on the back of her daughter’s head like she was a young child.
“Mama, I just don’t know what to do! I want to b-b-blame the Maker, I want to yell at H-H-Him because I just don’t know how to deal with this!” Sara shouted with a sob, clenching the sleeve of Nia’s dress tightly in her hand.
“Oh, darling,” Nia whispered, cradling Sara in her embrace. She held her until Sara’s shudders died away to quiet shivers, and her sobs became occasional hitches. Nia didn’t say anything for a while.
Sara felt Nia’s love holding her close and she nestled into the embrace. She didn’t deserve any of this. She had yelled at the Maker in the days since Janner’s disappearance, throwing her anger and fury at Him as if she were a toddler throwing a tantrum. Why did He allow her the comfort of a loving mother? Why did He slowly fill her heart with peace even though she had screamed at Him only minutes before? What had she done to deserve His love?
Nothing, the quiet Voice in her heart spoke again. Nothing at all. None of My children have ever done anything to deserve My love. I give it to you freely. All I ask is that you trust Me, that you believe in Me. No matter what happens.
But, Maker, Sara replied in her heart. I’m scared. What if Janner is already dead? What if he’s gone? What if I’m alone?
You are not alone. Your family is with you. Your mother is holding you. Your sister is pouring her soul into music to comfort you. Your uncle is searching desperately for your husband. Your offspring clings to you, reassuring you. And I am with you. I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Trust Me. Believe Me. Follow Me.
“I want to,” Sara whispered. “Oh, Maker, please help me to listen to You through this storm.”
In the peace of her mother’s arms and the Maker’s love-filled embrace, Sara fell asleep, knowing that He was in control.
Notes: I enjoyed writing the Arthundelle at the beginning of this, and I desperately wanted to show Nia and Sara interacting in that mother-daughter style :)
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
This is so sad😭