Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 1

Musings in the Forest

Notes:

And now comes the second story in this series. There won't really be a lot of action in this one (meaning it might feel kind of slow at times, and I am so sorry about that). There will be an undercurrent of, "something needs to be done immediately" regarding a certain detail starting in Ch. 8 or something (or so I'm guessing), but I don't exactly know how you can make "rebuilding Anniera" super eventful. Anyway, hopefully this story goes alright and I don't bore anyone to the point of expiring😅

*****

The melon rays of morning had barely peaked over the horizon when Janner awoke for the final time. His eyes did not flutter open before squinting shut, surprised by the light invading them, because he felt rested or whatever other positive feelings or emotions existed. Rather he woke because it was barely morning, the chilliest time of the entire day, when the sun’s heat from the previous day had expended its lingering presence on warming the night and the new warmth had yet to fully take effect. That was without even mentioning the torrent of emotions and images that had haunted him in dreams and woken him again and again in the middle of the night, feelings of despair, grief, uncertainty, frustration, and guilt mingled with images of Kalmar’s face, first radiant with joy as he had seen him in the Maker’s World, far too quickly turning sour, pinched, and tragic in ways that should never have been allowed. Whatever part of his mind that had decided to taunt him had made a terrible mistake. He would take vengeance on it for its cruelty somehow, someway.

Half-heartedly, he slipped his arm out from underneath the thick cloak Artham had mercifully covered him with when he fell asleep against a tree trunk and held his hand up to his face. It was thin, but still looked enormous compared to his arms and likely the rest of his body, at least proportionally speaking. He knew melding with the Cloven on Rysen Hill had left him gaunt, like the wolves that released too much of their life or Yurgen after Gnag had melded with him. Janner shuddered at the memory. 

Yet strangely enough, he didn’t mind it. He did not mind that he was so thin a light breeze could blow him over, nor that he could not stand or walk for more than a few minutes without needing support from someone else. What he minded was the grief and despair over Kalmar’s death that too often trumped the hope and joy in his heart. He could handle physical weakness and frailty and pain if that was necessary, but those qualities residing both in his body and his heart? With that combination, he felt as though he would slip beneath the waves, only breaking through the surface when someone grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him up, choking.

And that was without even considering how much it hurt Nia and Leeli. He suppressed the urge to groan aloud and instead opened his eyes, doing his best not to squint against the sun’s rays that were barely even bright enough to really hurt. That was nowhere near as painful as what his mother and sister suffered, though, and neither was anything else he could think of. In the end, he resolved that there was nothing he could endure in that moment that would be the equivalent of their pain and stopped trying, at least for a little while.

He couldn’t just lay there on the ground, though, listening to nothing but his thoughts and the sound of his family breathing the breath of sound sleep. That had its comforts, but he was not asleep, nor would he manage to be again. 

Instead he fastened the cloak around himself as it was meant to lay and reached for a low branch of the tree so he could pull himself up. It was arduous work, as was slowing his breathing to a nearly silent gasp, but he was standing, and that was what mattered. 

Janner rested against the tree for a moment and gazed at the few people remaining: Oskar, snoring, his spectacles slipping off his face, Nia very near him, mercifully asleep, though her face was troubled, Leeli in her arms, cuddled close as if looking for protection, her crutch leaning up against the tree trunk, and Sara, a bit away from the rest of the family, curled up underneath a cloak, completely hidden. Artham was likely on watch, mostly because old habits die hard. They were safe in the Blackwood and they all knew it, but only so many things could be forgotten. 

Deciding it was as optimal a time to test walking around on his own with little to no chance of assistance as any, Janner began doing so, pondering the former Cloven and the First Well, because as of that moment, neither had purposely broken his family’s hearts.

*****

The last newly-transformed person named, Janner didn’t even bother trying to disguise his exhaustion and practically fell to the ground. He had put up a remarkable mask for hours already, and every little bit of energy inside him had long ago been expended.

He barely heard Artham speak to him through the fog of his mind, but he heard the words, “you” and “feel” and pieced together the gist of the message. 

“Not…great,” he mumbled in response, his words lost in their quietness.

His eyes bleary and ears ringing, Janner barely heard Artham and Sara’s ensuing conversation about rest and food (though the latter thought made his stomach churn in disgust and concern), but he did know when Artham lifted him effortlessly and when his uncle set him down again soon after. Miraculously, all colors, lights, and sounds disappeared almost immediately.

When he woke it was to the sound of fire crackling in front of him and Artham sitting near it, poking it with a stick. Charred remains of some sort of something scattered around him made for a confusing part of an otherwise straightforward scenario.

“I tried heating dried diggle in water to make some sort of broth for you, but the makeshift bowls always fell apart,” Artham explained, all without looking at him to see if he was awake and alert or not. “Then I found a metal pot in your mother’s pack and used that. Try this. It's not really salty, even though it's made out of dried meat, which is confusing me a little.”

Gingerly, he poured the contents of the metal cooking pot into yet another makeshift bowl and brought it close. “Here,” he said softly, handing it over. “Go slowly.”

Janner smiled tiredly and sat up halfway, taking the bowl in his trembling hands. “Thank you, Uncle Artham.” There was a part of him that was glad his uncle’s idea had eventually worked, because he was starving, but then at the same time, he felt unsure about trusting his stomach with anything.

Artham watched him in what looked like a mixture of internment and concern as he held the bowl up and took a small sip. Though the first taste was odd and a bit foreign and made him feel the slightest bit queasy, he decided he would do his best to manage it.

“Hulwen came an hour ago,” Artham began speaking, it seemed as an informative session. He kept the cadence of his voice even and low, though, so as to not wake anyone else. “She asked if we were ready to return, but I told her we were hesitant and then explained why. Even so, she offered to escort the people to the Green Hollows. As none of them objected, they set off.”

“They could help repopulate the Hollows,” Janner suggested, placing the half-drunk bowl of broth on the ground. “Obviously if they have families in Skree and want to go back they can, but if the Hollish want them—”

Artham’s eyes twinkled. “You spent a good few months around the Hollish, and you know how stubborn they are about letting people in. But if their numbers are really all that low, they might not object too terribly.”

Janner nodded. “So why didn’t we go with everyone else?”

Artham gave him a withering look. “Janner Esben Wingfeather*, I believe the answer to that is quite obvious. You can barely stand without assistance and would not be able to walk all the way to the Hollows. Speaking of which, you did not finish your broth. Once we get back to Anniera, you know Nia is going to be all over you with—”

“No she won’t,” Janner interrupted dejectedly. “I mean, maybe she will. I don’t know. No, wait: she will do that. And she might just worry herself to death, and it’ll be all my fault.” Unbidden tears sprang into his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from spilling down his cheeks. There was no need for him to cry; he shouldn’t cry. Nia and Leeli were hurting far more than he was and besides, he had said goodbye to Kal!

Artham squeezed his shoulder, and when he did so, Janner could feel how thin it was. “No, Janner; it isn’t your fault. You made a choice that kept Kalmar from dying and saved the Annierans, and Kalmar made a choice that saved so many Cloven and brought you back to life. You’re no more at fault for Kalmar’s death than I am for yours.”

Janner looked up at him and met his steady, blue eyes. “Why would you think you were responsible for my death?”

Shaking his head, Artham waved it off as if it were something he would rather not discuss. “It came from some misspoken words of anger in a time of grief. It doesn’t matter now. The point is this isn’t your fault. You could not have prevented it. Kalmar made a choice, a wonderful, nobel, kingly choice. He was influenced only by himself and the Maker.”

Nodding more to placate Artham and convince him to drop the subject than to declare that he felt no responsibility for his brother’s death at all, whatsoever, Janner’s mind wandered to where they were and what it meant and also to when they would be leaving. “Uncle Artham, why didn’t Kal try and find the Water to heal everyone?”

Artham smiled sadly. “I don’t know, Janner. We came with the First Well in mind, and yesterday morning he told me the rest of his plan. If I’m being completely honest, I expected the next step after melding would be a trip to the First Well to bring both him and you back to life, but that clearly didn’t happen.”

“Can’t we…still try and find it?” Janner asked. “For Leeli. And maybe Mama. I don’t know if the First Well can heal broken hearts but we can at least try. And I know it can heal broken legs.”

Artham found a twig on the ground and began twirling it between the fingers on his right hand as if it were a pen. “I suppose it won’t hurt anything,” he conceded. “Though, remember, it is only found if the Maker wills it so.” 

Janner nodded fervently. “Perfect, so can we start t—”

 “My main concern,” Artham interjected. “Is that you won’t be able to walk there without collapsing.”

Even though he groaned briefly in response to that, Janner couldn't help but smile at his uncle's concern. “I’ll  be fine…I think.”

“Whatever the case, we can set out tomorrow if no one objects, but you must sleep now and you must accept help if need be.”

Janner smiled lightly, feeling unexpected tiredness creep over him. He wondered if he had always sounded so exacting to Kal as Artham did to him. Of course, the circumstances were very different, considering that when he told Kal something it was generally as an idiocy preventative, whereas Artham was simply trying to keep him alive. And because of that, also combined with the knowledge that his uncle was an adult, Janner was perfectly willing to oblige. “Don’t worry, I will.”

“You better,” were the last words he heard before drifting off to sleep, hope mingled with guilt and sorrow filling his heart.

*****

That had been sometime in the middle of the previous night, of course. Now he walked alone in the Blackwood, using tree trunks as support perhaps more often than was necessary. He could have walked without their assistance, but he wanted to manage something like that later when they all made their way to the First Well, if it was indeed the Maker’s Will they find it. He stayed within the very close vicinity of their camp, of course, not wanting to worry Nia in case she awoke and found him missing. He also preferred not getting lost, since he was terrible when it came to navigating in the middle of a forest.

After another minute or so, he turned around and began walking back to their makeshift camp. He didn’t know how long it would take him, going at as slow of a pace as he was, but he did know cold nights and mornings meant light sleep and early wakings. That combined with the grief he knew tortured Nia’s heart (after all, the entire night he had dreamt of Kalmar and a whole slew of wonderful and terrible things, so it stood to reason her night’s sleep had been even worse) illustrated an incredibly clear image of her waking up and immediately panicking when she realized yet another one of her children had disappeared.

A sudden rustling came from somewhere unseen and Janner jumped in surprise, landing off-balance enough that he tumbled to the ground. He bit his lip in frustration as an unwanted rock stabbed into his back; he hadn’t thought through the fact that he was once again “all elbows and knees” as Nia had stated months earlier, though now it was because any hopes of a build he had earned in Durgan training had vanished in a blink rather than a struggling growth-spurt.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Sara’s head appeared, not some wild animal. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I startle you?” she asked apologetically, offering him a hand. 

Janner smiled and took the assist, surprised again at how much easier it was to get off the ground when he didn’t have to rely on his own feeble strength. “Just a little, but it’s alright. I’m…I’m usually paranoid.”

After a silent, undiscussed agreement, they began walking back toward the camp. “Artham asked me to see if I could find you,” she explained. “Your mother isn’t up yet, but he didn’t want her to worry at all, so, you know.”

Janner nodded and swallowed the burning in his throat. “Yeah, I know,” he whispered. 

Sara set a slightly faster pace through the wood than he had when he had come through initially, but that was alright. She kept a hand hovering near his the whole time, probably in case she needed to keep him from falling. At least, that was what Janner told himself so his cheeks wouldn't turn bright red. He began to doubt it after the back of her fingers had brushed his six times.

“Uh, we’re thinking about trying to find the First Well today,” he said a little awkwardly, unsure of what sort of conversation the situation called for. 

Sara looked at him oddly. “The First Well was where Ka— where your brother wanted to lead us. Are you going there because of that or something else?” 

Janner shook his head. “No, that’s not why. Well, I guess that’s sort of the reason. It’s mostly for Leeli’s leg, though. And in terms of it being Kal’s plan…I don’t think he initially realized he would meld. He really did want the First Well to be the solution. I don't think there was supposed to be pain in his wake.” He realized too late that Sara had asked nothing related to the entire latter half of what he had said.

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” she asked softly after a few moments of silence. 

Janner stopped abruptly, feeling very exposed and even more so when she looked straight at him, her diamond blue eyes filled with empathy. “I—” he stammered, wishing the cloak would swallow him whole. Not that it would be a difficult task considering how big it was when proportionally compared to him. “Let’s…let’s get back so we don’t worry Mama.”

*****

Notes:

*Andrea's headcanon regarding Janner's middle name, which I have adopted^^

So that section in the middle was a very long "flashback"

And I gave a tiny hint of Janara because it's sweet...but since they are both thirteen, yk, it can only be incredibly light fluff. There should be more of their relationship building later in the story, but not in the immediate, so far as I can think of, simply because there's not a super great place for it quite yet 😅

Let me know if I did anything talked about in canon that breeched canon that I need to fix or if there was just something wonky that needs editing :)