Half Moon Rising-Chapter 7

Notes:

• Writers Block. 😑 Don’t expect another chapter for a while. I’ve got a ton of other projects going on,

• Some of those projects are Wingfeather related, so I’ll probably post soon on those.

• Please alert me of any canon issues.

Chapter 7 Let Them Know

Artham knew what was about to happen. Esben was sitting in their father’s throne-like chair in the council room, and Artham was sitting in his Aunt Illia’s place to the right and just behind his brother. The Queen’s chair was empty and thus had been removed from the platform. That morning, Artham and Esben had barely finished writing their speeches and eating breakfast when Bonifer had come in to tell them about the meeting. This was where they were going to do their speeches, in front of all the counselors and most of the lords and judges of large towns scattered over Anniera. This greatly annoyed Artham, because for everyone to have gotten there by the time the sun was low in the sky, that meant that Bonifer had probably called for the council before he had even told Artham and Esben the bad news. The only good thing that happened was that Artham realized he was only going to have to talk to a group of about a hundred people, not all of Anniera, which was what he had been imagining for some reason. He would eventually have to talk to practically everyone in Aerwiar, but thankfully not until the funeral.

A tightness appeared out of nowhere in his chest. He almost panicked as he felt everything he had locked in his heart swell and struggle to escape. He tightened his grip on his sword and swallowed tensely, glancing up to make sure no one had noticed. He quickly rushed to think about something, anything else, other than the funeral. He hated the fact that he was going to have to go, and wanted to keep from thinking of it as much as possible.

It will be a whole night of acting, he thought. Today will be good practice, especially after these speeches. Artham looked up at all the people sitting in the council room.

They still don’t know, he thought, and he looked back down again quickly. The hundred or so people in the room still didn’t know that their rulers were gone. And not just one of them, but all three. Warden, King, and Queen in one deadly shipwreck. Artham kept looking down at his hands, hoping no one would notice how one hand was constantly playing at his sword hilt. He felt like if he looked up into the eyes of all these people who had been his father’s friends, and some of them his most trusted confidants, they would be able to see what had happened from the expression on his face. Worse, they would see how weak he was. He told himself over and over not to think about what had happened, just to say the words he had prepared (and luckily, memorized.) He and Esben had been getting ready for this council all day. What they would say, how to act, what to wear. And the fact that the ‘few words’ were just prelims to the main point of the gathering. And honestly, neither boy was interested in any of this, especially the next to last part. But they did all of it anyway because there was no other choice.

They were just two scared boys who couldn’t do anything about the world that was falling in place around them, or the places that the world insisted they took. Artham told himself again and again to be strong. To put on the mask and forget what he was actually doing. If his voice cracked, or his hands kept fidgeting, he would show everyone in the council how weak he was. He looked up again at Bonifer, who had been talking to the crowd the whole time. Artham barely heard a word of what he had said, but he could tell by his tone of voice that he was almost done. He returned to his thoughts. He couldn’t show weakness. Any rulers were targets. Young ones especially. Weak ones, even more. For the safety of his brother and of his kingdom, Artham fought to stifle the brokenness and grief he thought of as weakness.

But Esben probably has it worse, he realized. His little brother was the one who had to tell this crowd of confused people that their rulers had died. That the strongest heroes in their land had been defeated by nothing but water. Artham cringed inwardly. Bonifer stopped talking. He turned and gestured to Esben, who stood. Artham stood with him, just behind and to the right. He gave his little brother’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Esben took a deep breath and began his speech.

“People of Anniera, my brother and I stand before you today-” here Esben stopped and bowed his head for only a moment. After the tension Bonifer had built up, the people were hanging on Esben’s every word.

“the only remaining Wingfeathers.” A collective gasp came from the crowd, along with an eruption of shocked conversation. Artham had been looking out toward the crowd, and now he dared himself to actually look at them. While most were looking at Esben, a few were staring directly at him. He took a sharp breath and stood taller, gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. He tried to look the perfect combination of sadness and regal control like his brother was doing, but was pretty sure he wasn’t looking anything at all.

Except maybe terrified, because that was how he felt. He desperately hoped he didn’t look terrified. Esben was the crowd pleaser. As if to prove his point, Esben raised his hands to the crowd, who quieted down immediately. He continued speaking.

“The King, Queen, and Throne Warden were returning from their conference in the Green Hollows, when their ship sank in a storm, just out of sight from Anniera’s harbor…” Artham allowed his mind to turn inward again, and listened only to his thoughts.

Stop, Artham told himself. This isn’t about me. This is about Esben. What I’m thinking doesn’t matter now. Esben matters. With this thought, Artham stepped a tiny bit closer to his brother and tried to look like he was listening intently. He heard the words, but allowed them to slip past his mind as quickly as they had come. If at all possible, he wanted to be able to completely forget this day and everything that was said in it. Then, Artham vaguely heard the final words to Esben’s speech. He saw his brother bow slightly to the audience and could hear them practically humming with sorrow and sympathy. His brother had played the crowd perfectly, giving them the shocking news, then assuring them that everything was under control, and laying his future before them as their King. Then, it was his turn. Esben stepped back, allowing Artham to take the main place on the stage. He gave his brother a sad, reassuring smile as he left Artham looking out at the crowd. For a moment, Artham’s heart was pounding in his ears and he thought that the entire crowd must have been able to hear it. Then he took a deep breath and began his speech.

“The death of the High King Jru, his Queen, and Throne Warden Illia is a great loss to all Anniera. They ruled and protected this land as well, and perhaps even better than their predecessors. They will be remembered as some of the greatest leaders Anniera has seen. They built up this already great land into something even greater, a shining light for generations to come. My brother and I pray that the Maker will guide and strengthen us to be worthy of caring for all they left behind. The place which will be given us is one we will accept with hope and humility, as the Maker decreed. In the days and years to come, it will be my honor to serve my King and my Country.”

Artham bowed to the crowd, who were now nearly boiling over with the realization of the passing of their rulers and the coming rule of Esben and Artham Wingfeather. He sighed in relief that the first part was finally over. He had been very careful while crafting his speech, saying what everyone expected of him, while giving only enough personal touch for it to seem like he wasn’t quoting directly from a book. And he had carefully revised every word so that no hint of what he was actually feeling revealed itself in the speech. The crowd had accepted it. He and Esben walked side by side through the curtain behind the large, regal looking chairs into an adjoining room, the mixed reactions of the crowd fading behind them.

Artham took several grateful breaths as he basked in the solitude of the quiet room.

“Good job, Es,” he said quietly. “What did you think of all that?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought,” He replied. “Once you helped me know what to say.” Esben grimaced.

“The worst part was filling Papa’s place. It felt so…strange. It helped that you were there.” Artham tried to smile when Esben had finished talking.

“You did great, Es. I’m glad the hardest part is over for you. I’m just worried about that,” And Artham gestured to the open door in front of him, from which the sounds of people were growing as they got closer. Artham took a deep breath as they walked closer and closer to the audience who would be full of questions and sympathies. Artham was grateful that these were some of the more official people he would have to meet, because the conversation probably wouldn’t take an awkward turn. Awkward as in, directed toward the emotions Artham was making himself forget he had. He took a deep breath just before the door. People had already seen them, and it was like a wave turning toward them as they stepped out.

Time to face the crowds.