Standing Steady in the Storms Ch. 29

Notes: An explanation of the last chapter, plus a bit of follow up^^

And, this is the first chapter for the 3rd, not the fifth chapter for the 2nd 😉

The Warden's Call

The moment Nia got up from the table, Artham felt something in the air shift. Maybe it was something he noticed because of his hypersensitive hearing or eyesight, but he knew something had changed. That something was not a good thing. 

He heard what Nia and the man just beyond the door were saying.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you,” Nia said, looking at the man who had interrupted their dinner in curiosity. 

Artham couldn’t see him, but he sounded coarse and rough. “Name’s Polkerstead, ma’am. I’m here on behalf of a few Annierans and, well, myself.” There was a smirk in his voice that made him seem like a jerk.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Polkerstead, but right now really isn’t a good time.” His sister-in-law whispered. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but the people of Rysentown are getting worried.” Polkerstead replied, with not a hint of apology in his voice. 

Nia sighed. “I am having dinner with my family right now.”

“Most of your family,” Polkerstead said smugly. “I seem to recall that the High King is currently missing.”

Artham literally saw Nia grow before him, seeming to swell in anger. “ You seem to forget to whom you are speaking,” she warned. Artham felt a lump of worry in his throat. Most of the Annierans were understanding, kind people. This Polkerstead was the opposite and clearly had no respect for anyone. Oh, Maker, don’t let Janner hear this.

As soon as he thought the words, Artham glanced over at Janner, who appeared to be trying to listen to the conversation. He pushed his chair back, aiming to get Janner away before Polkerstead said something that would stab the unhealed wound.

At that moment, though, these words stung his ears: “Look, the people of Rysentown need to know what is happening, Ma’am. They want to know where King Kalmar is and why he’s gone. They want to know why the Throne Warden couldn’t keep him from going missing. They want to know why he failed.”

Even before the last sentence was out of his mouth, Artham saw a look of terror and guilt spring onto Janner’s face that was now as white as a sheet. He stared straight ahead, not seeing anything. 

“No,” Artham whispered. “No.”

He watched as Janner’s spoon slipped from where it rested between his fingers and fell to the floor with a cling that resounded throughout the dining hall. It was the only noise anyone could hear. Everyone, even Polkerstead, was silent.

“Janner,” Nia walked towards him quickly and touched his shoulder. “Janner, are you alright?” He did not respond. He only kept staring ahead, seeing and hearing nothing. 

Nia locked eyes with Artham. “Did you hear—”

He nodded. 

Sara grabbed Janner’s hands — Artham could see them trembling — and leaned closer to him. “Janner! Janner, please, say something,” Her voice broke a little, but she received no response.

An unbearably silent ten seconds later, Janner moved. He pushed himself away from the table shakily and stood, tottering. Artham was up in a flash and caught him just before he hit the ground. “Careful,” he whispered. “Steady. Easy, Janner. You’re alright.”

Janner turned his eyes on him, and Artham felt his stomach lurch. They were wild and unseeing, darting back and forth as if trying to capture nothing and everything at the same time. A strangled sound came from his throat and he pushed Artham away, staggering to his feet and stumbling a few steps until he collapsed next to the wall. 

Without considering everyone else in the room and barely registering Polkerstead — somehow the man had the nerve to stay even after what he had done — Artham strode forward and picked his nephew up in his arms, like he had so often when Janner was a toddler.

“Let’s take a breather outside, alright?” he whispered, carrying him down the hall and out the back door of Castle Rysen. Artham sensed no movement behind him, but he heard Sara crying, Arundelle comforting her, and Nia speaking to Polkerstead in the fiendishly quiet way no one in Anniera could match. 

Artham silently thanked them. Arundelle was taking care of Sara, and he could focus on his nephew.

When he stepped into the open air, Artham breathed it in deeply, relishing the feel of the cool night sea-breeze on his face, ruffling his feathers. Only for a second.

Artham laid Janner on the grass as if he were made of glass and knelt next to him. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He felt a tear snaking down his cheek and brushed it away. 

Janner’s eyes fluttered open, but Artham dared not hope that he was really there. He knew he wasn’t. Janner’s eyes flickered back and forth between fear and peace, peace and fear over and over and over again. Artham wondered at the peace he saw. It was unexpected but not unpleasant. 

Then a shadow passed over Janner’s face and his eyes darkened. He began struggling to get up from where he lay, and Artham fought between the urge to stop his nephew and let him try anyway. What would be better for Janner at the moment? If he felt someone reaching out to keep him from escaping from his terror and guilt, would it hurt him more than help him?

Wait, he heard a Voice say. Artham knew it was the Maker. Wait. Let him run. He will not run far, but his race will lead him on paths no one should travel. You have walked paths like these, Artham Wingfeather. When Janner stops, begin rescuing him from himself.

“I will,” Artham whispered as he stepped back and allowed Janner to rise. He was trembling and swinging his head as if he were trying to see, even though he could not see anything. His eyes were blank and his mouth moved, even though no sound came forth. 

Janner took one step forward and nearly fell. He planted his other foot on the ground and picked up a pace that was close to a lurching trot. Grief bubbled inside Artham’s heart as he walked to keep up with his nephew. Janner would fall soon, and he would need someone to catch him. 

He did. One wrong step, one lurch slightly more to the left than it should have been, and his foot caught on a rock. Janner nearly crashed into the ground, but Artham’s arms were open, and he caught his nephew. 

“Easy, Janner. Easy,” Artham whispered as Janner choked on his own breathing. Every muscle in his body was stretched taut, and his nails dug into his palms deep and hard enough that they drew blood. “Calm down. I have you.”

There was no response this time, either. Artham didn’t know why he said anything. He knew Janner could not hear him. For my own comfort, he realized as he looked down at his nephew who was on the verge of passing out because he could not breathe. If I say nothing, all I hear is his wheezing breath created by his terror. 

Janner coughed one more time in a strangled attempt to gasp for air before his eyes rolled back and he went limp. Artham bowed his head in relief as his nephew’s breathing regulated and his tenseness changed into trembling. He trembled in fear and guilt and who-knew-what else. 

No, Artham thought sadly as he walked inside, Janner cradled in his arms. I do know what else. 

When he walked past the dining hall on his way upstairs, Artham saw Arundelle step outside. There was a dishrag in her hand and a look of worry on her face. 

“Is he alright?” she asked, glancing at Janner with a look of sympathy.

Artham tore his eyes away from Janner’s face and looked at his wife. He studied her for a few moments before answering. “No. He’s not alright. I pray that he will be, but I don’t know when that is.”

Leeli appeared next to Arudelle, concern for her brother pouring from her blue eyes. “What are you going to do?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I’m going to take him upstairs and let him sleep.” Artham responded with empathetic frankness. “There’s a room adjacent to his and Sara’s with a bed in it. Janner should be alright there.”

Leeli nodded and stepped back out of his sight. Arundelle’s gaze rested on him for a bit longer before joining her niece. 

The walk up the stairs was one Artham had made many times, but never like this. He had never carried Janner unconscious up those stairs, drowning in guilt. When they had arrived back after sailing, Artham had guided him up while Janner looked ahead silently, wincing every so often. It had not been until they reached the room where Sara lay that he had fallen to the floor in fear. 

Now, though, as Janner trembled in his arms, Artham felt a weight in his heart that tripled in size with every second. His legs were not weary and his arms did not give way, but the grief that flooded over him was almost more than he could bear. 

Why, Maker, why? He cried out silently as he walked down the hall.

Why are You allowing Sara to suffer? He questioned as he walked past her room and heard sobs and words of comfort coming from within. Sara did not deserve this. 

Why has this happened to Janner? I love him. We all do. Why are You allowing him to suffer? He asked as he turned the doorknob and stepped inside the spare room that held a bed, two armchairs, a fireplace, a side table, and a bookshelf. 

Why do You keep us in the dark? Why can’t You tell us what is going on? He queried as he walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers. 

Why are You hurting us? And Kalmar? Maker, where is Kalmar? He begged as he gently laid Janner in the bed, pulled off his shoes, and covered him with the blankets. Artham pressed his palm into his forehead and sighed wearily, trying to control his thoughts. He would stay with Janner. He would not leave him in his hour of need. To do so would be cruel.

Artham glanced around and saw an armchair against the wall. He pulled it over to the side of the bed and sat down. He rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together, pressing them up against his mouth. “I just don’t understand,” he said finally, looking upward. “Why are You doing this? What have we done?”

I have a plan, the Maker’s words thundered in his ears. I will see My plan through to the end. Do not doubt it, Artham Wingfeather. You have a part in this. Help your nephew. I have chosen him. He is mine. He made a mistake, and in trying to right his mistake, he has grieved his heart and believed the lies that he thought were the truth. 

Help him. Help him believe the truth instead of the lies. 

“I will, Maker,” Artham whispered as he reached out and took Janner’s scarred, bleeding hand in his own. “I will.”

Notes: this is really bittersweet (mostly bitter, I suppose) because before, Artham was the one who was crazy and Janner would do little things (like that one time at the beginning of MitH) to help him, but now it's a role reversal and Artham is helping Janner. Artham is currently the one who is mentally fine, and he is helping another Throne Warden who made a mistake. He's getting a chance to help... :)

It's still sad though 😭😭😭😭