An Increasingly Reluctant Departure
Notes:
Did I already say in a previous chapter that one of the dragons was going to give Artham a ride, just to speed up his trip to the Phoobs? I'm realizing now that I might have failed to include that meant-to-be-included detail, and that is entirely my fault. I'll be sure to edit that for the AO3 chapter...
ANYWAY-
Just pretend like you read that if I didn't put it in a chapter.
*****
It was still dark outside that early in the morning to the point at which the stars were visible. Artham had slipped down to the beach an hour or so earlier, unable to sleep, mostly just to ponder things and make sure he had what he would need for the estimated week-long trip across the Dark Sea. Pondering took up far more of that time. Being prepared in terms of supplies had never been a top priority of his; that had been Esben’s department. Still, he had managed to learn something from his precious younger brother, and now it honestly made him smile to think of his current mindset focused on responsibility as a sort of gift from Esben.
In that sense, of course, even his attempts at preparation led to pondering in their own ironic way. Esben’s life and legacy were not the only topic Artham pondered over, though. His daughter and the journey that lay before him came to mind many times, as did the concern that something dreadful would happen if he left Janner to his own devices. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to stay with Janner more than he wanted to rescue his daughter—rather the opposite, in fact. He had always known he had only the option of finding and hopefully rescuing his daughter, and that those thoughts and feelings undermined his sworn duties as a Throne Warden sent doubt encroaching on his mind.
Janner’s permission meant nothing if his heart already blazed a path of its own, if he had already planned on defying him. What sort of Throne Warden was he if barely a month into the job, he chose a form of failure again?
The sound of soft footfalls on the sand came from behind, and when Artham turned he saw Arundelle, her silvery braid slipping from side to side as she walked. “What are you doing out here so early, Artham?” She asked, sitting down next to him.
“Just thinking,” he replied quietly, looking out at the lightening sea as the sky became more of a morning grey* or lavender instead of navy.
It seemed as though Arundelle did not determine asking him exactly what those thoughts focused on had necessity, considering she skipped asking and went straight to discussing. “I’ve been thinking too,” she said slowly, picking up a small shell and turning it over and over in her palm. “About our daughter and you leaving. And I’ve been thinking that maybe I should,” —oh, please, please don’t say it, Artham begged silently— “come with you.”
Wincing, Artham closed his eyes trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t make her upset. Arundelle was a strong woman, he had always known that. He was sure she had even more strength after the horrible experience in Throg and her Queenship in Clovenfast. She had more confidence in herself that he had ever had in himself, more than he ever would have. There was a good chance they would fare well if they went together, rescued their daughter together, defied Amrah together.
But then he risked losing her. After so many years of already thinking he had, he couldn’t bear the thought of it happening again.
“Luv,” he whispered, already knowing his words would cut someone—either her or him or both of them—like knives. “Please, I have to do this alone.”
“I am going!” Arundelle insisted, her eyes blazing now. “She’s my daughter too, you know!”
Artham sighed wearily and glanced at his pack, as if rechecking the contents could serve as a buffer in what was already turning into a rather uncomfortable argument. “You can’t come, Arun,” he replied as gently as possible after he stood so he could look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, but you just can’t.”
Arundelle glared at him, sending his stomach into knots. Artham hated it when Arundelle was upset with him, and what he hated even more was that he was the cause of her frustration and anger. “I am just as capable as you are when it comes to walking into a giant cave system and liberating someone. Who joined you and Esben in the fencing ring years ago and held her ground better than anyone expected her to?”
Having no counter for that since it was true—Arundelle had joined him and Esben in fencing and sword fighting practice, and she had done very well, winning several times and not because they let her—Artham steadied his resolve. It was not because he wanted to hurt her that he made his choice, rather because he loved her too much to lose her again. “I don’t doubt your abilities. I just want you to stay safe, Luv—”
“Don’t ‘Luv’ me!” Arundelle interrupted. “It is not going to work. You will not pacify me, Artham Wingfeather! I am going, I want to go, she is my daughter whom I gave up willingly like a fool.” She choked on her words, and grieving shame swam into her eyes, distorting the anger and showing what it truly was: guilt.
Feeling his heart break once again, Artham pulled her into his arms and tucked his chin over her head. “Arun,” he whispered. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know.”
“You at least told them to stop,” she countered through her tears. “I did nothing.”
Artham closed his eyes, remembering the day it had happened, remembering the grief it had caused, remembering that it truly was not Arundelle’s fault, no matter what she thought. “They must have drugged you,” he said softly, seeing her fall to the floor of the cell, the baby tumbling with her, landing on the ground, a cry, then silence. He hadn’t really pondered on the memory of it until the past few days, preferring to put the horror of it out of his mind as much as possible. It seemed Arundelle had done the same.
“It…it was in your food. They came for the baby later and she was so still…you did try, Arun, I promise. You tried.” She tried as much as her drugged mind would allow her to, reaching out her arms feebly for her child as she was snatched away, crying out and scrambling for the cell door when the Fang guard pushed her away, weeping long after the lock had clicked, weeping because her child had been snatched from her, weeping because he could not comfort her.
Artham blinked back tears as he remembered the next part. “Then the guard came back a few hours later, saying she was gone. Forever. And you believed it and I believed it and never tried convincing you otherwise.” He believed it for so many years because their daughter had looked so pale and limp…and dead when the Fang had come for her. Assuming she had died when she slipped from Arundelle’s arms had not been the wisest choice, it seemed.
“You aren’t as much in the wrong as you think,” he whispered, taking his wife’s hand in his and massaging it comfortingly. “I’m at fault more than anyone else. I could have done something. I could have found some way out of that cage. I could have tried harder. I didn’t though.” He had lost hope. Despair had settled over his heart, his mind, his being. They had taken Arundelle away a day later. Time with the animals had begun then as well. A spark of defiant hope had worked its way back into his heart, one that said Arundelle was alive, that she would wait for him. It was one of the reasons he had resisted longer than Esben. His brother had lost all belief that his family lived. The blame for that, too, lay at Artham’s feet.
Arundelle breathed in shakily and looked up at him, her violet eyes** filled with tears. “No, Luv. You’ve blamed yourself for too much in this life. I…I don’t believe there’s anything either of us could have done that would change the way it is today.”
“Then I thank the Maker. He’s given us a second chance,” Artham murmured.
“We don't deserve it,” Arundelle whispered, and though Artham couldn't help but think they hadn't deserved having their child taken away from them either, that led to a whole slew of other thoughts related to guilt and mistakes he really didn't want to deal with in the moment.
Instead he only kissed her and said, “But He’s given us this chance, and we’re not about to let it slip out of our grasp, are we?”
*****
Goodbyes were called for at dawn. Artham had never been particularly fond of them as a whole, but none had ever made him feel as guilty as those exchanged that afternoon. The reason for guilt lay entirely at his feet; no one else instilled it in him. Nia and Sara and Leeli were all so supportive, and even Arundelle chose not to mention her frustration (he wondered if he imagined seeing it in her eyes, though).
What (or rather who) really bothered him was Janner. Perhaps it was only his imagination…but something was wrong. Not on an emotional or mental level, but on a physical one. It wasn’t particularly obvious, just a subtle change in his eyes or expression or stance that told him all was not as it was supposed to be. Yet at the same time, the wrongness practically fled from his sight as soon as he peered closer, as if he only imagined it or Janner noticed and hid it from him.
“You don’t look good,” he murmured in his nephew’s ear, knowing if he had imagined it, the last thing Janner would appreciate was unnecessary hovering.
A head shake was the only response he got at first, though after several seconds it was followed by a quiet, “I’m alright. Please, just…worry about yourself and your daughter. Keep both of you safe.”
Unwilling to promise that for fear of failing, Artham only straightened with a nod that could be interpreted as anything and pretended not to hear the stifling of a cough as Arundelle embraced him for one last farewell.
As he climbed onto Hyrindale, the green dragon who had carried him and Kalmar to the Blackwood a month before, uneasiness failed to leave his heart, and even when Anniera was practically out of sight, he found himself constantly looking behind him as if such an action would keep everything from falling apart.
*****
Notes:
*yes, I use the British spelling of grey. It just looks so much better than the American spelling!
**Arundelle's eyes very well may be canonically blue, but Artham is poetic and has decided they're too pretty to "just be blue." In his figurative mind, they're violet XD
Funnily enough...I actually kind of like how this one turned out. I don't like the configuration of a lot of them, but I like this one enough. Maybe it's the Arthundelle, or the perspective change. I'm not certain.
Ch. 19 is Janner POV, then Ch. 20 is Artham POV, etc. etc.
WAIT-
Ch. 19 is not Janner POV. It is rather depressing, though (in my opinion). Ch. 20 is Janner POV, Ch. 21 is Artham POV, and so on and so forth.
Please let me know if there are any canonical errors^^
HIGH STRESS, HIGH STRESS, HIGHSTRESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!