Triumphs over Despair
Notes:
The final chapter^^
The middle section from Artham's POV may see, a bit choppy and odd, but I wanted a brief overview of everything that happens in that period of time, and this was the best way of accomplishing it. Also, that part was written today! :)
*****
When Janner and Artham arrived in Anniera, they were greeted by a silent land. It was a land that though dawn was breaking and golden rays were streaming across the Isle, setting its shining, white flower-fields ablaze with glory, it grieved. No birds sang to announce the coming of day and no peaceful summer wind blew through the treetops or the grasses.
Nothing broke the silence, but someone stirred the stillness with her dedication, beauty, an urgency. Sara came running out to meet them, her pale-pink skirts gathered together so she would not trip on them, but they still billowed out behind her defiantly. Little wisps of hair flew into her face as she ran, and though her expression from the short distance away reflected a disposition of worry and anxiety and just a bit of condescension, Janner saw fierce love in the midst of it.
Ignoring Artham's quiet sounds of protest, he clumsily slipped off Hulwen’s back and heard a splash of water as he landed in the water. Janner kept his eyes focused on Sara and his left hand on Hulwen’s scarlet scales for support, wading through the water slowly. His heart quickened as Sara drew nearer and he felt frustration bubbling inside him because of how slow he was going — but he was not about to ask Artham for help, because the last thing he wanted to do was make Sara worry — so he moved forward faster.
His plan backfired when a rogue wave came up behind him, soaking his back and legs and nearly knocking him over. He did pitch forward, but felt slender arms grasping him, and when he looked up from the water he was staring into crystalline blue eyes, that were soft and tender even as they were serious and tenacious.
Sara wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing her cheek against his chest. Stifling a hiss of pain, Janner smiled and returned her gesture, laying his cheek on her head. Her hair was soft and warm, as if she had been out in the sun for hours, just waiting for them to come home.
“Please, don’t ever do anything like this again,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice trembling. “Just don’t. I don’t think I could bear another four months like this.”
Janner kissed the top of her head in response and softly said, “Unless I have no other choice, I promise, I won’t. And I don’t think I could stand it, either.”
The whirlwind of thoughts that swept across Janner’s mind at that statement sickened him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of everything. He wanted to find out if Kal was alright, but he was scared of the answer. “How are Evnia and Elquinn?” he asked instead, avoiding what plagued his heart.
Sara smiled and slipped her right hand into his left, leading him out of the water and waves and onto the sandy beach. “They’re doing well. Elquinn is still fussy, but he’s getting a little better. They’re almost three months old, now.”
Janner felt a surge of guilt crash over him at the thought. He had missed the first three months of his children’s lives because of a whole slew of messes and storms and he hadn’t been there to help Sara with any of it. Why couldn’t he have done something? Why couldn’t they have gotten home sooner? Why had Amrah ever even taken Kal? If she hadn’t, they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. Or if he hadn’t yelled at his brother on the island, maybe none of this would have happened either.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling the hot sting of tears in his eyes and the burning ache in his throat that threatened to become another horrible coughing fit, but he couldn't let Sara know about that, he just couldn't.
Sara glanced at him, looking a little bit surprised. “Janner, it isn’t your fault. You had no power to stop any of it from happening. What happened with us and the twins and Kalmar — nothing could have changed any of that.”
The flash of fear and worry that swirled into Sara’s eyes when she said Kal’s name was enough to make his blood run cold. “Did something else happen?” Janner whispered, his eyes wide with terror. He felt his legs threatening to buckle beneath him and something invisible was choking him. he tried drawing in a breath of air, but it was ragged and empty.
“I— I,” Sara glanced over his shoulder and she looked as though she was making eye contact with someone, but who was there? Uncle Artham, he’s there. He’s back there. He’s standing there. He’s standing there, he knows what I know. Sara knows something else. It sounds like she knows something else. Did- did something happen when we were gone? What happened? Is Kal gone? He can’t be gone, no, he can’t be. He can’t be gone. No, no, he’s he's...he's—
Dead.
That was the word that whispered through his mind over and over again, growing louder with every repeat, until it reached a cacophonous crescendo that screamed louder than anything he had every heard in his life. He felt himself falling into blackness, deep, deep, burning, freezing, airless, stabbing blackness and that was the last thing he truly remembered for quite a long time.
*****
Artham carried Janner unconscious to Castle Rysen, speaking softly with a terrified Sara along the way:
“The doctor…things got really bad. He…he took his arm.”
Artham nodded. Even if he had expected it, his heart lurched just the same.
“They still don't know if he's going to make it,” Sara murmured.
Janner whimpered in his sleep, and Artham held him tighter, trying to protect him.
Artham looked in on Kalmar to see if he was alive:
“Doctor Jebsun—” Nia’s voice broke and she looked away him. “He doesn't know.”
He went to her, drew her into his arms, and prayed that it would all be all right, that they would come out of this whole and alive and unbroken, even if he couldn’t believe it would be that way.
Artham brought the semi-relieving news to Janner who did not register it:
“He’s still here,” he whispered softly, brushing his nephew’s feverish cheek with his hand. How strange that they had ended up in this same room again, in such a similar state that was at the same time so different.
Drawing a strangled breath, Janner only began coughing, choking, and mumbling incoherently, and it was all Artham could do to keep from breaking down and sobbing right there.
Artham convinced Nia and Leeli and Thorn and Arundelle that everything would be alright:
“They’ll be fine. All they need is time,” he said firmly, hoping the lie was not verbally as obvious as he knew it was. It seemed to work, though, because everyone seemed visibly relieved, albeit still concerned. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe, just maybe, if they believed it he could too.
Artham bore alone the burden of knowledge that both the High King and Throne Warden fought for their lives:
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said, not hesitating a bit.
Doctor Jebsun nodded, his brow furrowed. “I understand keeping it from the Annierans, but why the family?”
Closing his eyes, Artham thought again of what he had told the others and the consequences of snatching that hope away from them. “They need something, some shred of hope to cling to after all this.”
Artham constantly inquired of Kalmar’s state so he could tell Janner, even if he didn't really understand it:
“Any difference?” he asked nervously.
Leeli shook her head and glanced at Kalmar, unmoving, and she petted Frankle involuntarily.
“Any change?” he questioned later, more uncertain than before.
Nia shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Any hope?” he begged desperately, looking at Doctor Jebsun for something, anything, just a drop of a chance.
A faint smile this time. “Maybe. Just maybe.”
Artham helped Sara nurse her fevered and delirious husband back to health:
“I think it’ll all be okay. I really think it will,” he whispered to her gently, feeling tears gathering in his eyes, tears of thankfulness. For Janner eventually did breath easier, his fever eventually did break, and he eventually did begin asking about Kalmar of his own accord.
She threw her arms around his neck at those words, and Artham knew she was comforting him just as much as she was receiving his reassurance with gratefulness.
And Artham brought Janner to Kalmar’s side when he was well enough to stand on his own unsteady legs:
“Thank you,” was the quiet, shaky, terrified whisper that came from a voice still threatened by a coughing fit at the slightest breath too deep.
“It has been my pleasure,” Artham replied softly, a gentle smile tracing his face. He supported Janner until he reached the door to Kalmar’s room, then watched as he slipped inside, clinging to the door frame just a little bit.
Artham waited outside, just in case he was needed.
*****
Janner had been begging to see his brother for so long, but when his uncle finally gave him the chance and had left him in the room, he found himself utterly wordless. He stared at Kal, not really looking directing into his eyes or where his arm should have been but shifting his gaze between everything else, his brother’s left hand that fidgeted with the little hills on the blankets, the covers that rose up and down steadily with every inhale and exhale of breath, and his throat that moved just a bit differently than it would have if he was only breathing. Kal wanted to say something. He was just processing it first.
“Janner,” was the first word that came from his brother’s mouth, clear, slightly wavering (but still clear), and earnest.
His heart and mind filling with worry and fear and guilt an uncertainly-targeted blame, Janner heard ringing bells going off and felt himself sway on his feet. Fog clouded his thoughts and a chill ran through his body, but Kal’s voice shone in the murk like a lantern in the darkest forest. “Please sit down. On the bed. I want you to know something.”
Janner found himself nodding and lowered himself on his brother’s bed carefully, clutching the bedpost as he did so to make sure he did not sit down too hard and choosing the corner of the mattress that was as far away from Kalmar as it could possibly be.
The ringing faded away and was replaced by a heavy sigh, not a condescending sigh but frustrated sigh. Janner’s head was down and his eyes were closed. He twisted his hands together without thinking about it, but found no relief in the motion.
“Am I going to have ask you to look at me, or will you just do it without me having to ask it?” Kal asked him, his tone light and humorous.
Janner guessed he had been trying to make a sort of joke to alleviate the tension and awkwardness, and he ended up smiling just a little. It was only a flicker and it was gone by the time he actually turned his head and looked Kal in the eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless.
They stared at each other, barely blinking or moving or breathing. Two haggard faces, pale and sickly, gaunt and strained, drained and exhausted, grieving and confused, struggling and despairing, uncertain and even doubting. The two faces were so young, yet so tragically old at the same time.
“You need to know that this wasn’t your fault,” Kal said after an uncomfortably long span of time in which neither of them said a single word or made a single sound. “I don’t blame you. I never have and I never will. It was my choice.”
Janner closed his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay. “I still do,” he whispered. He failed to tell Kalmar that he also blamed another, another who was far more responsible for all of the mess that had happened to them.
Kal said nothing in response. Janner opened his eyes and looked into his brother’s dark blue ones. He seemed as though he was deep in thought, remembering the painful past and forming words into coherent sentences. “I can’t say anything against that,” was what he said when he had collected everything. “Because I did the same thing. When you took my place during the Redeeming and died because of it, I blamed myself even though it was your choice.” Janner felt a sob gathering in his throat and he swallowed to keep it down, getting dangerously near a point that would send him into a painful coughing fit. “Sound familiar?” Kalmar asked him, a wry but slightly humorous smile on his face.
Janner shook his head, cracking a smile. “I guess so.”
“So you’re not going to blame yourself?” Kal eyed him.
A slight chuckle escaped Janner’s throat. That was taking it a bit too far beyond his capabilities. He couldn't just stop blaming himself. That wasn't how things worked. But what he really means is that we each know what the other is going through. And we'll get through it together. “Eventually, maybe. It might take a while. I'm not now...for the most part.”
Kal was quiet, and his face was thoughtful. He looked as though he wanted to share something, but at the same time was afraid to. “I was...kind of angry with the Maker for a bit.”
Janner’s fingers stopped knotting of their own accord, and he looked at his brother, not in surprise but in curiosity. “What did you do to stop being...you know...angry with Him?”
“Nothing. He did everything,” Kalmar replied softly. “He came from the Fane of Fire and spoke with me. He told me He would work in this for His good purpose, and that it would bring me closer to Him.”
“And did it?” Janner asked quietly.
Kal nodded tears brimming in his eyes. “Yes. It still hurts in my heart but it’s a good sort of hurt. And I finally feel like I’ve atoned for what you did for me. I love you,” he whispered, holding out his left hand for Janner to shake it. He got up and walked closer to his brother’s side and grasped it in his left. At the same time tears began pouring down his cheeks and a hitch formed in his breathing as he remembered when he had last clutched his brother’s left hand. The hitch made him choke and gasp, and the gasp sent him into a wracking fit of coughing. Soon Janner was on the floor, leaning against the side of Kal’s bed, his right arm wrapped around his midsection to try and stop the coughing, while tears flowed down his cheeks. His body shook from it and his mind spun, but his hand held onto Kalmar’s, never letting go.
Epilogue
It took time. Everything takes time, but this took longer than most. Physically and emotionally getting used to not having his right arm took its toll on Kalmar’s happiness for quite a while. It was painful, it was irritating, it was unbalancing, it made every task of every day harder than it had ever been before. He would snap at someone or something unexpectedly, and that told Janner that Kal was having a rough day and needed help. Janner had always stood at Kalmar's right side, always being there, but now that was needed more than ever before.
Even with help, nothing but Kal’s own heart could take away the dreadful feeling of self-consciousness that plagued him because of it. He was worried the Annierans would not want him as their King, that everyone would treat him differently, and that Galya would cease to love him.
Far from it. The very moment she received permission to see him again, she raced to Castle Rysen and without even going through preliminary greetings, she blurted out, “Kalmar Wingfeather, I have waited far too long, not by any fault of yours, but I cannot wait any longer. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please,” she added earnestly. And the truth of it was that although it was untraditional and very unconventional, it warmed Kalmar to the core. He did not deny her request, and wedding plans began on the same visit.
Janner found himself batting against forgiveness with bitterness rooted in his heart. It was not bitterness towards the Maker or towards Kal or even towards himself.
It was bitterness towards Amrah. For though he finally managed to come to terms with Kal’s decision and stop blaming himself for it, he really only shifted the blame and laid it at her feet.
The root grew into a thorny weed that was both dead and alive. As bitterness sprang up in Janner’s heart, acceptance flourished in Kalmar’s. Oftentimes it was not obvious, but every once in a while the truth would sift through, nasty and biting. Mostly, though, it lay untouched and unseen by all for months, even years, until Amrah arrived in Anniera.
Tired, wizened, sorrowful, and desperate, she came as a passenger on a boat sailing from the Green Hollows. She brought the holoré with her and begged for their forgiveness, having finally understood what Davion’s last words truly meant. Janner struggled with it far more than Kalmar did, but in the end he too managed to forgive her and even invited her to live in Castle Rysen with them. Immeasurably grateful, she accepted, and was finally able to live in the Anniera of her dreams.
I could tell you so many other things, about how Kal finally got to meet his niece and nephew for the first time, about Janner and Sara's trip to see a Silvermoon Bloom, about Kalmar and Galya’s wedding and how Frankle attacked the cake, how Leeli and Thorn finally managed to work out a system of how to make food without burning it to a crisp, how Evnia and Elquinn and Asteria and eventually Kal and Galya’s daughter became such good friends — and how Evnia was trained as Throne Warden because her Aunt and Uncle had only one child — and how Janner brought Amrah back to humanity for the last years of her life and so many, many more wonderful stories.
But I will save those for another time. This story is drawing to a close. This chapter of the Wingfeathers’ lives has ended. A new one has begun. Another will come after that, then another and another and another. They will have times of peace and times of rain. Times of hope and times of despair. Times of joy and times of grief. They will weather whatever comes their way together, and they will survive by clinging to the One Who knows and conquers every storm.
*****
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading this!!!!! <3 <3 <3
Next questions: are you going to pursue a career as a writer? Do you have any original stories? I'd love to read them!