Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment: Ch. 8

No Way Back

Notes:

This chapter was hard because having any sort of official announcement thing where someone or several someones address a large number/group of people is always tough to write and feels choppy and all over the place. All things aside I made that as minor a focus in this chapter as possible and kind of let it shift into the background a good deal because it's just so confusing. Another thing that's tough is the number of characters in a lot of these scenes, so if someone seems left out it's not because I'm not paying attention to them...it's just because it's hard to focus on everyone while still focusing on one person 😅

*****

For a brief few seconds, Janner puzzled over why Clout had not mentioned that someone had told him about the new and very uncomfortable monarchy arrangement. They had spoken as normally as was possible considering the circumstances, and there had been less awkwardness than he had expected. Though, he supposed that may have been Clout’s reasoning: he had wanted to give him a break. Janner smiled inwardly at the thought, even though he practically grimaced outwardly. Perhaps Clout’s silent encouragement during their one-on-one exchange would be enough to mentally get him through the agonizing, inevitable address to the Hollowsfolk who now stared at him.

During those few seconds, no one spoke, and it took it to mean the unfortunate news that he was expected to speak first. “Many cloven were still trapped in the Deeps of Throg,” he began. “King Kalmar healed them, though, and they're people now. They are making their way here as we speak and will need somewhere to go. Would you consider allowing them to live in Ban Rona, building homes and lives?” He purposely left off any mention of the former-cloven “becoming” Hollish, since who knew what exactly would bend someone’s nose out of joint.

Perhaps because he chose not to say those specific words, a murmur of approval ran through the crowd of burly men, women, and children, though most of the individuals present were young, as many had been killed in the fighting. 

“Now, what’s most important is that we all agree on this,” Clout inputted, his voice immediately booming somehow. “The last thing I want to deal with are later rivalries sprung from dissatisfaction with the original idea. So if you have any complaints, we’ll work through them now.”

The next chunk of time was spent listening to concerns regarding the idea. Many of them were repeats like, “will there be enough resources for all of us?” or “do we have to treat them like real Hollish?” Some of those questions were easier to unravel than others and some were much harder, creating confusion. There may have been one or two brawls, and there were a good deal of shouting matches. Janner felt his legs searing in exhaustion not long into the question and answer session, and seeing as how Clout both managed nearly every question on his own (or with Olumphia’s assistance if the question was one fitting her department better) and told him to take a break if it was needed, ended up joining Nia, Leeli, Sara, and Oskar, where they stood, danced while playing music, sat, and wrote respectively. 

Janner lowered himself to the ground beside Sara and sighed, looking out at the Hollish and the ruined and barely-reconstructed town. Leeli's whistleharp sand a sombre tune, mimicking not the joy of rebuilding but the grief the war had caused. It seemed fitting.

Sara looked as though she was about to speak, but Oskar muttered something loud even to sound as though he wanted to say something. "Yes, Mister Reteep?" Janner asked politely, feeling a bit guilty about somewhat indirectly cutting Sara off.

"As many writers like Redin Hunt have said, 'I'm sorry, did I say something? I may just have been thinking aloud.'" Oskar winked at him. "Just working on this, my boy. I look forward to continuing it in my study later this evening. Oh, you should expect a few callings from me over the next few days if it's at all physically possible. I may in information from you."

Janner smiled. "Sure, Mister Reteep. Anything you need."

Silence other than the whistleharp's mournful melody and the far-off haggling of Hollishfolk filled the air for a few minutes before Sara said something Janner guessed was akin to her intended words from a few minutes earlier. “Was it that bad?” she asked quietly. "In terms of getting tired, I mean. You sighed pretty heavily when you sat down."

When Janner looked at her, he saw concern in her eyes and decided to respond truthfully(ish) rather than twirling around the real issue. “No, not really. Guildma— well, Keeper Clout’s stride and pace are a lot faster than I remember. Keeping up with him while we walked over here was…interesting.”

Sara shook her head disapprovingly. “Look, I know your mother and Artham are already hovering (for perfectly reasonable reasons, of course!) and you don’t really need someone else telling you not to accidentally kill yourself, but please be careful.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Janner saw Nia glancing at them. He wasn't sure what she was thinking but guessed it was in agreement with Sara's statement. Focusing his attention on her again, Janner flushed in embarrassment when he realized the worry and perhaps even fear in her face was genuine. She was truly concerned. “Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his intertwined hands. “I’ll…I’ll do my best.”

There was silence for a few minutes before Sara began speaking again. “I wasn’t trying to sound like I was scolding,” she said apologetically. “I just…I was in the Fork! Factory! alone for so long, and then you came and gave me hope. Then you were gone again, and the hope stayed. I…I sort of clung to the idea of you for months, I guess. You have no idea how much I wanted to see you,” she whispered, her cheeks now turning a lovely shade of pink and her diamond eyes transforming into sparkles of sea. “Then we were sailing to Anniera and I was going to see you. When we got here, you were gone and that was hard. You’re back now and…I just can’t lose you again.”

There was a tenderness in her words, one that made Janner’s heart flutter and his entire body feel warm even though it had been bordering on cold before. He grappled for the words he needed to respond to her, because what she had said desperately needed a response. “I dreamt about you a lot,” he said softly, and he wanted to say other things more than anything else in all of Aerwiar, but then other thoughts invaded his mind. Thoughts about how it was wrong to even think about caring for Sara the way he wanted to when Kalmar was gone. Was there no mourning period? They had not even had a funeral for Kal, and he was focused on confessing his feelings to Sara? 

His cheeks felt as though they were on fire, ashamed embarrassment coursing through his mind and body. He stood quickly and swayed a bit, feeling his mind go cold and his ears ring. There was a flutter of movement on the edge of his vision; it was likely Nia, standing in concern. “I’m…I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, turning to look at Sara, hoping his grief was truly written on his face and that she would understand it was his guilty conscience that would not let him rest or find pleasure in anything. “I want…but everything says no…and—” he bit his lip in frustration and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, all his hopes deflating on seeing the look of confusion and a touch of hurt on Sara’s face. He began walking away quickly, ignoring anyone who called for him to stop, unsure of where exactly his feet were taking him.

They took him winding through broken alleys, nearly climbing over rubble, holding onto unsteady walls for support, sinking to the ground when he could walk no further, clinging to a walking-stick looking something or other for support as he made his way to his subconsciously determined destination: the Field of Finnley.

Janner fell to his knees when his legs gave way, mouth gaping open at the sight of so many people making their way towards the very ground on which he knelt. Though he could not make him out, as the crowd was still too far away to pinpoint individuals, he knew Artham walked at the head of the group, leading them the right way. 

Uncle Artham has done so much in the past two days, Janner realized. He’s led us through the Blackwood, he’s made sure we all stayed alive, he’s done whatever was asked of him, he’s even led the people to the Field of Finnley, at least as much as he was able.

He would make an amazing King.

Janner’s heart sank at those words. Not because he doubted them, but because he knew how true they were. Artham would be an excellent High King, far better than he. Artham knew what he was doing, he knew how to be a diplomat, he knew how to place others first, and he knew how to lead. 

Oh, Kal, he cried out, grief and a hint of anger in his words. Why would you task me with this? I can’t lead Anniera! I could barely even protect you; as it was, half the time I failed. I was a terrible Throne Warden and never could have been a Throne Warden for all of Anniera: what in your right mind made you think I could be King?

He heard no answer but the blowing of wind through the meadow grasses. Janner was a bit disappointed; he hadn’t expected to hear any response from Kalmar, but one from the Maker would have been encouraging. An even stiffer silence seemed to fill the field, the grief in his heart and mind growing tenfold, taking over him and making him wonder if there was really even a point.

Shaking legs raised him up of their own accord; it was not his doing. They knew better than he that it was necessary to meet Artham and the people and began carrying him forward slow step by slow step. He felt detached from reality and his body, as if he was simply watching events play out in another person’s life, seeing someone else’s uncle run toward them and catch them before they fell, feeling numerous people crowding around, nearly suffocating the two now on the ground with their closeness, hearing another’s gasps that were a substitute for barely held back tears of grief and shame. He saw the boy who had fallen walking, mostly supported by his uncle as they made their way to the ruined town of Ban Rona, and he couldn’t help but wonder when a semblance of order would come over everything.

It seemed as though it never would, as if everything kept spinning out of control, neither caring about nor seeing the destruction it left in its wake. He just wanted everything as it was before. 

Before when? something inside him whispered. Before his melding? Before blindplopping? Before Ban Rona? Before Peet? Before Glipwood? 

There was no way back. There was no time in his life completely filled with peace, completely free of anxiety and frustration and, at times, anger. If what he sought was perfection, it did not exist. It never had existed. 

As they made their slow way toward the streets of Ban Rona, Janner couldn’t help but think about how that made him feel more hopeless than ever.

*****

Notes:

Well that ended on a depressing note... 😢

Please let me know if there are any errors in terms of breaking canon :)