Nia watched as the ship sailed out from the Watercraw, it’s sails luffing out in the wind. She smiled, then looked down at the frame in her hands. When she unfolded it, she let out a little gasp. She had never seen one of Esben’s paintings before, but it was clear he had spent many hours on this one.
The snow and the grey-blue, heavy clouds were so vivid that she almost felt the cool wind on her cheeks. In bright contrast to her surroundings stood a girl, her back turned and her arms lifted slightly from her sides. Dark hair glistened with bright droplets of white, and her red dress was warm against the falling flakes.
Nia’s cheeks turned pink when she realized that it was her. He could only have seen her like this for a few seconds, and yet he had remembered it so vividly.
“Thank you, Esben,” she whispered softly. She looked up at the swiftly moving ship and saw what she knew was him, small and dark against the blue sky, and even though she knew it was too far, she wished he could see her among the crowd, watching him, and wave one last goodbye.
She folded the frame carefully and watched until the ship was small and distant on the wide expanse of the ocean.
Then, holding the painting to her chest protectively as she made her way through the loud, boisterous crowd, she started back for Chimney Hill.
*
Artham stood at the prow of the boat, taking deep breaths of the ocean air, thrilling at the feeling of the cold ocean breeze.
After a while, he heard someone open the hatch to the hold and walk quietly across the deck, stopping halfway.
“You can come up here, Aro,” Artham called without turning around.A minute later, Aro cautiously came to stand beside him.
“Are you okay?” Artham asked, turning towards Aro. Aro nodded, then after a moment added,
“Yes sir.” He had washed his face, wiping away all traces of the bloodrock. He had been more than glad to get rid of it. His ragged hair fell over his forehead, covering the scar from Ryith’s dagger.
Aro looked out at the sea for a long while. He rubbed his hand nervously and for the first time Artham saw the long, jagged scar across his palm and wrist.
“Did you fight Nibbick when he came to get you?” Artham asked,eyeing the scrape on the back of Aro’s hand and the bruise on his cheek.
“No, sir,” Aro answered quietly, glancing away. Artham sighed.
“If you didn’t fight Nibbick, then what happened to your hand?”
Aro looked up at him and looked away with a wince. Why had Artham asked that? Those were the memories he least wanted to think of now.
“You don’t have to fight someone to trip and fall against the wall,” he answered. That part was at least somewhat true. He had scraped his hand against the wall. Aro sighed, grateful for the short silence.
“I still can’t believe he did that,” he finally said.
“Who?” Artham asked.
“Esben. Everything he was saying…”
“It's real, Aro. You don’t need to doubt it.”
“I don’t understand. Nobody ever…I never heard anything like that before I met you and your brother.” He looked down at his scarred hand and clenched a fist.
“He’s not going to change his mind?” Aro asked worriedly.
“No. He’s not,” Artham answered.
“Then you know that that’s not what normal people do, right? In the Woes,Yorsha Doon, even the Hollows with the Keeper. So why did he?”
Artham smiled. “Well, my brother is certainly not normal. Why did he do it? Because even though it may not be ‘normal,’ it's right.”
Aro looked down at his hands. How many things were going to have to change before things settled down? Even the people around him now had different definitions of right and wrong. It scared him. He was just as helpless and out of control now as he had been every moment of his life.
He didn’t understand why he felt like he needed to apologize to Artham. But somehow with Esben it had given him a strange feeling of peace. Something else he didn’t understand. Actually, at this point, there were very, very few things he still did understand.
Every time he started to try to apologize though, he remembered when he had ruined the raid and gotten the scar across his hand. After he had woken up, when he had been taken to Ryith’s tent. That kind of forced apology was the only kind he had ever made. The memories surrounding it were painful ones, and when he started to apologize, all he could think of was Ryith.
He shook his head. He couldn’t start thinking about Artham the way he did about Ryith.
“Artham?” He felt strange breaking the silence.
“Yes?”
“I-I wanted to tell you…” he trailed off, fumbling awkwardly for the words to say something he had really never said before. It was a little easier once he had started.
“I’m sorry for everything I did to you,” he whispered. “I know you probably hate me for hurting you and your brother, and if you do, I deserve it.”
He paused, trying to figure out how to say what was next. It was all so incredibly strange to him. Apologizing and admitting that what he had thought was right was wrong? It felt like running headlong into a dark place he didn’t know, and where he couldn’t see a thing.
He looked down at the scar on his hand and thought that maybe what he was running from was worse than the unknown ahead.
“Esben said that he forgives me.” He broke off again, completely lost as of how to continue, and looked up at Artham despairingly.
Artham took a deep breath and told Aro what he had already decided in his heart, and what he should have said a long time ago.
“I forgive you too, Aro.”
Aro let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Artham.” Artham put a hand on Aro’s shoulder, but Aro stiffened uncomfortably and Artham saw him wince, shaking his head at some painful memory.
Artham stepped back.
“Sorry, Aro.”
Aro looked away. “You don’t need to apologize, sir.” His next words were spoken half to himself, as if he was trying to convince himself of something. “It’s not you.” Aro was leaning against the ship’s railing, elbows against the smooth wood, and Artham leaned forward, doing the same.
The wind flying around them and through their hair was the only thing that made sound for a long while.
Finally Aro put his head in his hands.
“I’m so confused,” he whispered. Artham looked out at the water, thinking.
“I’m sorry things are like this for you, even though I am glad you’re with us,” he began. “Its okay to be confused. I can’t imagine what this is like for you. I want to help you figure things out. You can ask me anything you want to know, okay?”
“Yes sir,” Aro answered automatically, even though he knew there were hundreds of questions he would never ask.
“Can you please tell me what’s going to happen in the next few days?” He finally asked.
“You will return to Anniera as you left it, as my scribe.”
Aro nodded.
“Are you really okay?” Artham asked. “You don't have to say yes.”
“No,” Aro answered. “But I was pretty sure I’d be dead by this time, so this is a huge improvement,”he finished, glancing up at Artham.
“How about you go below and get some rest? You look like you haven’t slept in days,” Artham said.
“Okay.” Aro turned to go back to the hatch, then paused. “Thanks, Artham,” he said, turning around, and Artham caught a fleeting glimpse of his crooked smile before Aro clambered down the ladder into the hold.
*
Later, the sun was setting, turning the sky into a startlingly beautiful canvas of pink and lavender, the clouds standing out against it in tones of orange and bright yellow. The calm sea looked like molten gold.
Artham had gone below and brought Arundelle up to see it. They stood together in the prow of the boat, soaking in the quiet, peaceful loveliness. Anniera was close now, and the sun was staining the hills and rooftops of the town a rosy orange.
“I don’t think I’ve ever missed home so much,” Artham said. Arundelle slipped her hand into his and leaned against his shoulder.
“I’m glad you and Esben are safe now,” she said in her quiet, soft voice.
“Do you think things will go back to normal now?” He asked, looking down at her. A gentle breeze had started up, blowing wisps of her long hair around her cheeks. He saw her pause and smile.
“Well, as normal as anything can be with Esben for a brother, him being High King of Anniera, and me as his Throne Warden,” he corrected.
Arundelle laughed. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I was going to say that in a way, yes, I believe that things will be ‘normal’ again. But I think you know this, that after something like this happens, it changes you, for better or for worse, whether you realize it or not. And if you choose to let the hard parts change you for the better, you grow.”
Artham smiled and squeezed her hand. The breeze was stronger now, and the smell of Anniera’s shore was wafting over the water. Artham grinned. Some inn on the waterfront, or possibly multiple of the inns, were cooking limpney stew. His stomach growled.
“I wonder why they don’t have limpney stew in the Hollows,” he mused.
“If they did, that stew wouldn’t make you feel like you’re coming home, would it?”
“No, I suppose not.” They could see the people moving around on the dock now, carrying baskets or pulling nets, and Artham could make out Sir Bren and Lord Kadru waiting for them.
Sailors shouted in the rigging, pulling in the sails to come into port slowly and gently.
They could hear the docks now. Shouts and laughter, haggling and friendly greetings.
“Being with you feels like home, no matter where we are, even as far away as the Hollows,” Artham whispered to Arundelle, seeing his blue eyes reflected in her green ones. She smiled softly, her cheeks turning pink.
Artham heard loud banging coming from the other side of the ship, and Esben ran up to the prow.
He sniffed loudly. “Let’s find wherever that smell is coming from and eat there,” he said with a grin.
“Excited to be back, Es?”
“Absolutely.” He leaned out over the rail and waved to Sir Bren and Lord Kadru. “I mean, it feels good to know that no one is going to randomly try to kill you, to be in a country where the leader isn’t openly hostile toward you, and to be going somewhere the food smells so good. Specifically the stew.”
Artham laughed. “You’re really fixated on that limpney stew, aren’t you?”
“And if you just happen to be King or Throne Warden of that country, of course it feels good to be back in your own land,” Esben finished, ignoring Artham with a smirk.
The ship had nearly come to a complete stop, most of the movement was the little waves slapping up against the hull. Finally, the side of the ship hit the dock with a dull thunk.
There had been more than one time that winter when Artham was sure he wouldn’t see Anniera again. Now, after everything that had happened, the journey had led him back.
He was coming back with a few more scars, and a lot of memories, both good and bad. More than that though, he was stronger. In more ways than one. His courage and confidence had been tested by fire, like the steel of his sword, pounded to make it stronger. Now he knew that he would take his calling as a Throne Warden with him even unto death. His bond with his brother, already strong because of the shared blood in their veins, had become even stronger, if that was possible, because they had spilled that blood for each other.
Anniera was still the same, but he looked at it now with slightly different eyes. Now it had a deeper, more sincere ring to it when he thanked the Maker for such a country of strength and beauty and peace.
He hoped it would stay that way forever.
For now, he lived in the moment. With the two most important people in the world to him by his side, one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen behind him, and his land before him, in that one moment, in a steady, peaceful way, he was deeply happy, and he was home.
I really liked it! Especially the poetic line about the brotherly bond with the blood. Very nice 👍
This was a fun story to read!
Aww, I knew it was the picture of her!
And what a beautiful ending! Thank you for writing this story, Ellie! It's one of my favorite fanfictions I've ever read, it's perfectly satisfying, and it's absolutely my headcanon now! (and I hope you keep writing more because I want to read them!) (by more, I mean anything, whether it's a fanfiction or an original story)
(but if you write another fanfiction we can see more of Aro! He could be another of Artham's mighty band!)
And now I'm hungry for limpiny stew. Do you think it's anything like lentil stew?