#also insp by her talk in 5x04

[raayllum]

27 with Janaya?

27. "I'm going to carry you, okay?" Plus send me a number with a ship and i’ll write it (accepted ships are tdp canon ships + rarepairs (claudiez, sopreli, corvus/terry, sorvus)

Six months into her stay at New Aurea, Amaya breaks her wrist.

The attempt to take back Lux Aurea is far more costly for plenty of her and Janai's troops—no bodies to bury, the dead taken further into the dark army that had befallen their city—so Amaya cradles her wrist to her chest and orders a more formal retreat while Janai comforts her brother, who has never been more shaken.

It's only when Gren hugs her—too hard, too strong just in her current state—upon return back to camp that it becomes apparent to everyone else that something is wrong.

"Amaya!" Janai is by her side in a second, a cry of alarm seared on her lips. "What—oh."

"It's nothing," Amaya signs with her other hand, weak and clumsy. It's been a long time since she's had to practice signing one handed at all, and a lump forms in her throat.

She won't be able to fight like this. Won't be able to help with any further excursions into the city. Won't be able to spar with Janai or—

"Nonsense," Janai says, and then glances back at the surviving wounded behind her. She purses her lips, torn. She wants to help both of them, but... "I—"

"I'll rally Marcos and General Miyana," Gren chimes in, like he knows he'll probably have an even harder time getting Amaya to listen and rest; she pouts. "Get everyone settled while you take care of our general here."

Relief is evident on Janai's face. She squeezes his shoulder. "Thank you, Gren."

Janai is careful, trained in first aid as anyone on the frontlines would be, as she guides Amaya to one of the medical tents and after the medic has given the go ahead, begun to tend to and make a splint for the wrist. She leans in close enough that Amaya can smell the cinnamon on her breath as she ties the sling around her arm into a knot above her shoulder as well.

"There," she says, drawing back. "Much better."

It isn't. Even with advanced Sunfire healing, it takes four weeks for Amaya's wrist to heal. Four weeks of struggling to dress herself, four weeks of feeling vulnerable in just her tunic instead of her heavier armour, four weeks of watching her men spar and being regulated to the side lines, four weeks of straining her sling or splint because she forgets she can't sign with two hands, and—

It's one such morning of struggling with a thicker winter cloak, and its various buttons along the front, that makes bitter tears well up in her eyes.

She has always been able to do anything, all by herself. How could one little injury render her so inept, and weak, and—and—

The fluttering of her tent flap in her peripheral vision catches her attention, red brokered by a golden crown as Janai steps in. "Amaya?"

Amaya curses internally. To say she hasn't been avoiding Janai a little would be a lie. The queen is already so busy, and Amaya doesn't want to add more to her plate. They'd only been courting for a few weeks before the disastrous attempt to take back the city, and Amaya's broken wrist means that she hasn't been very fun the past month. No sparring, none of their newly discovered intimacy in the privacy of Janai's tent, no being able to help with the construction of the camp. Amaya hasn't even been able to help teach her how to sign that much, since it'd be pointless for Janai to learn a one-handed version just because...

Janai shouldn't have to see her be so weak. Amaya is stronger than this; or at least, she should be.

There is nowhere to hide, though, even as she wishes the white cloak would swallow her up and make her disappear.

Janai's smile fades once she sees her—because of course it does—and she steps forward. "Amaya?"

"I, uh..." Amaya presses her lips together. Her eyes burn. This is so stupid. "I couldn't get the cloak on right."

She watches as Janai's concern and confusion gives way to something... fonder. Warmer? A soft, wide grin spreads over her lover's face. "That's alright. Would you like some help?"

Amaya's eyes narrow. "Do I really have much of a choice?"

Janai laughs a little, stepping forward. She tucks the arm and its sling carefully under the broader sweep of the cloak, shortening the other side so that her uninjured hand will be easily visible even as Janai does up the buttons, one by one and smiling.

"You don't have to avoid me, you know," Janai says, glancing up at her. "All generals have their injuries. I broke my arm sparring with Karim once, when we were young. I was so embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed—"

"Love." Janai touches her face, brushing a thumb over the scar on her cheek. "You don't always have to be so strong all the time. You're not alone."

"But I—I know that," Amaya signs, lamely. She averts her gaze before glancing back to lip read.

"Do you?" Janai presses. The silence speaks for itself and she sighs, leaning up to give her a brief kiss. "Do you remember the first time I wept in front of you, about my sister?"

Janai had sobbed into her shoulder, the sun setting behind them. I shouldn't—Khessa was cruel to you—

This isn't about her, Amaya had countered firmly. This is about you.

"I do." She tries not to think about how much that sounds like another kind of vow, of remembrance. They are only two months in. But, at their age, with what they've been through...

"And I listened to you. I trusted you meant what you said. So trust me now: it is natural to want to carry your own weight. And you are. But also—let me carry you." Janai grasps her free hand, squeezing, so bright brown-eyed and caring that the lump in Amaya's throat dissipates. Something thuds dully in her heart, heavy and light in her chest. "I am going to carry you, okay? I want to. I know that we are stronger together, and I know somewhere deep down, you know that too—" A twinkle enters her eyes. "Or you wouldn't have the rule we can't be on the same team while sparring another pair."

Amaya puffs out a breathy laugh. Then she settles into, the steadiness of Janai's gaze, the calloused gentleness of her hands. She breaks away just long enough to sign, "Okay."

"Good." Janai smooths down the cloak and then steps back, taking her hand. "Now come with me to the camp meeting." She winks, heat seeping into her hand at will. "I'm sure I can keep you warm better than any old cloak, anyway."