Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 17

Torn

Notes:

For starters, I made an error. The last chapter was supposed to end on the line, “Artham kissed her head and laid his cheek against it for a moment before continuing tersely. 'And she’ll kill her if we don’t rescue her in the next month and a half.'” Instead it managed to end on what Nia said. So that was my bad...just pretend like the previous chapter ended on the line above... 😅

ALSO it may seem like Artham is contradicting himself or twisting his words into several different pretzels - rather, two distinct pretzels. He is torn between feeling the need to rescue his daughter and the knowledge he is Throne Warden and must stay and protect his King.

*****

They all stared at him, unable to speak. For the first few seconds, Janner found it nearly impossible to wrap his mind around the thought that Amrah would kill a child for no reason at all, other than the fact that she was a Wingfeather. Though the note did not say those were the means for her motivation, it seemed like it was the only half-way reasonable answer. Then he realized of course Amrah would be willing to do something like that. She had Fanged children willingly without a hint of regret as to how she twisted their hearts and minds. She had Fanged Kalmar. Even as the memory of his brother made his heart ache, Janner’s boiling anger toward Amrah overpowered it in the moment.

Nia was the first one to speak after Artham’s declaration, but it was neither words of comfort nor hope. “It says you, Artham,” she said worriedly, her eyes wide with concern. “You’re the only one who’s allowed to get her.”

Clenching his jaw, Artham waited before responding. “Yes, I know it says that. But I can’t exactly leave, can I?”

Janner looked at him oddly. “Why not?”

“I’m your Throne Warden.” Artham said it as if it was the most obvious thing in Aerwiar. “I can’t leave you unprotected for who knows how long while I go hither and yon in Aerwiar looking for Amrah, even...” he was unable to say the words, even if it means my daughter dies. Arundelle sounded as though she was holding back a sob of grief, understandably so. 

Admiration for his uncle became even greater, as did Janner’s resolve to convince Artham to go. He was torn between the duty that kept his heart beating and the blood running through both his and his daughter’s veins. “Amrah is probably in the Phoobs,” Janner said almost without thinking, and it was not until everyone else looked at him as though he had two heads that he procured enough logic to explain, even though he felt like he didn’t have the energy to. Of all the times for no one to notice. “A month and a half. The Phoobs are about a month’s sail\ away, plus two weeks for planning and freeing her. Amrah’s certainly not at Throg; it’s too easy.”

The fear glinting through Artham’s eyes at the mention of the Phoobs was unmistakable, and Janner felt bad about bringing it up so coarsely, as if his uncle’s memories didn’t matter. It was a minute or so before Artham shook his head. “Despite that deduction that actually makes a good deal of sense, I can’t just leave you! I have to protect you. I swore an oath! I can’t break that oath again.” Yet even as he said it, the grief in his eyes told Janner just how much he wished he could break that oath.

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to give Artham peace of mind in fulfilling the task to rescue his daughter. “There’s nothing for you to protect me from. I am safe. Please, go rescue her!”

“I still have to protect Anniera!” Artham was standing at this point, the frustration and heartbreak obvious in his tone.

Sara and Leeli watched their exchange in silence, and Janner saw them making eye contact , as if sharing an unspoken thought. He couldn’t help but think—even in the midst of such a discussion—the way they had bonded as sisters, though they shared no blood, was beautiful.

There would be time to think about that later, though. Convincing Artham to rescue his daughter was most important. As much as he wanted to raise his voice in an effort of persuasion, Janner had a feeling his chest would protest with a coughing fit. “The war is over,” he said calmly. “No one is coming for Anniera.” He did consider that there was a decent number of Fangs running around in Dang, but that was in Dang. They had no stone, no stonekeeper, and swimming to Anniera would be quite a feat, since Anniera had taken their fleet. Besides, he couldn’t mention it. Even the hint of a threat would either convince his uncle to stay, or at the very least make him feel guilty for leaving.

“Well, I have to protect you from yourself!” Artham sputtered, at this point sounding as though he knew he fought in an already lost battle. It was evident everyone counted that as a victory.

“I can take care of that!” Nia, Leeli, and Sara said simultaneously, then began laughing, making Janner want to cover his face and sink into the ground with embarrassment. Did they really think he was that incompetent? It didn’t matter. What did matter was that it was yet another step toward convincing Artham to leave.

Looking a bit defeated on all fronts, Artham sighed wearily and rubbed his hand over his face. Arundelle appeared as though she lit up at the sight. “If I’m going to leave, I need your permission,” he said quietly, walking over and kneeling at Janner’s feet, his head bowed. “Whether or not you like it, you are the King, and I am under your command. Technically I'm allowed to defy you if listening comprimises your livelihood but...”

Janner smiled lightly. “It doesn't as of this moment. Please, Uncle Artham. Save your daughter. And if something goes wrong…don’t destroy yourself because of it.”

Artham raised his head, palpable fear mingled with shining determination glowing in his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he said softly, straightening. “As long as you do your best to remain alive while I’m gone.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

*****

Discussion on various details resumed the next morning before breakfast, though no matter what they covered and how many times Janner gave his permission and approval, Artham couldn’t help but feel uneasy about leaving. There was a part of his heart that had known as soon as he saw the note that he would leave one way or another, whether or not he received permission. The thought that something or someone had already set his mind toward defying or abandoning his King absolutely terrified him. 

He had done that once already, twice if he counted Kalmar. Perhaps the heart-wrenching guilt and voices had finally left him alone, but he still remembered and couldn’t bear the thought of either enduring the consequences or doing something so heinous again.

In fact, the thought was almost enough to convince his mind not to go but to stay, even though everyone insisted he go, even though the life of his daughter was at stake. Yet his heart told him otherwise, and he was glad of that. In a way. The blood pumping through his veins screamed two different commands: serve your King! As the Throne Warden, he is your charge! and find your daughter! She is your flesh and blood, and no one else matters more!

Whatever his heart begged, whatever his mind ordered, he would defy something, feel guilt as a result, and have to endure the emotional consequences. It was all he could do. Janner and the rest of the family had practically ordered him to leave Anniera, and at that point, defying Janner would be defying his King. Hadn’t there been times when he had defied Esben? 

If I recall correctly, though, Artham mused as he and Janner walked toward the Striggs’ partially built home, the latter already turning pink from his comment regarding Galya the evening before. It never really seemed to work out well when I defied him. When I didn’t keep them safe and ran to him and to…to Arundelle, a mess came about because of it.

Perhaps listening to his King was the best choice.

After they had worked for about an hour, Artham insisted Janner take a break and was thankfully backed by Galya, who immediately appeared out of nowhere with a glass of water and cookies.* Artham did his best not to smirk or burst out laughing at the shade Janner’s cheeks turned. His best was better than normal that day because his mind was torn in two serious directions in that moment: how dreadfully pale (more so than normal) his nephew had been before the forced break began and the same thoughts that had plagued him the entire day and night before.

Going back to work and hammering a few boards in place—simultaneously keeping one eye on Janner who was concerning him more by the minute and now he’s coughing—did little to distract him from either. Sighing, Artham stepped back from the halfway-built home and craned his neck, looking for Connor Striggs. 

“Connor, I’m so sorry,” he said after he spotted the older man, working on a door for the home. “Janner and I need to head back to Rysen. I may be back soon.”

A sound of half-hearted protest came from his nephew, but Artham ignored it.

“There’s no need to apologize. You've both already been more than generous with your time.” Connor smiled brilliantly in the way only an elderly person can that just warms the heart somehow, almost magically.

“Thank you for understanding. And please, give Mrs. Striggs our best if I don't come back today. It was nice seeing you Galya,” Artham added as he eyed Janner, who looked as though he wanted to protest more than anything else in Aerwiar.

Galya nodded. “And you, Mr. Artham and Janner.”

Janner’s mortification at the sound of Galya's voice and his awkwardly mumbled, “yes, it was nice…being here,” was enough to put a real smile on Artham's face, in spite of the circumstances.

It was not until they were out of earshot of the Striggs’ home that Janner finally protested their exit. “Uncle Artham, there was still more we could have done! I was fine. You could have—” a series of unexpected coughs cut him off, making the roiling concern in Artham’s heart beat even louder.

“You don't sound fine to me,” he began, stopping and laying a hand on his nephew's shoulder. “If it helps at all, you're not the only reason we left. I can't get Amrah and my daughter out of my mind, not to mention the whole thing about me leaving.”

Janner stared at him, temporarily managing to stop coughing. “You can't stay here! I don't care what the circumstances are, you're going.” He choked out the last word before stopping abruptly, closing his eyes as if to convince his chest not to heave anymore.

Artham bit his lip, torn more than ever before. “How can I go when you're sick?”

“I'm not.” Janner glared at him, or at least came as close to glaring as Artham had ever seen. “And you will go. As your King, I order you to go save your daughter and focus on her, not me. Please!”

The look in his nephew's eyes shifted from angry to desperate, and Artham felt himself caving. “Alright,” he said finally. “I will.”

It didn't stop the thoughts from racing through his mind, though, all torn between one way or the other.

*****

Notes:

*My sister was really bothered by the fact that it says "water and cookies" instead of "milk and cookies." My line of reasoning is that no one actually wants to hydrate with milk. That's just weird.

So there was a perspective split in this chapter! This will continue...sort of. After this I'll alternate between Artham and/or Ilana POV in one chapter and then Janner and/or Sara POV in the next.