Heh heh....mmmmm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: A BROTHER
What is a brother?
Different from any father or mother
What is a brother?
Closer than any other
What is a brother?
Sometimes through blood, sometimes through friend
What is a brother?
Someone who will be with you to the end.
Artham wrote that a year ago. It had come to mind more recently. Donovan had in many ways become his brother. And that was a comfort to him in these troubled times. But now…
The war.
The war that had ripped a land apart.
The war that’s opposer had spoken of Bonifer Squoon like a good friend.
The war that killed Donovan.
Artham put his head on his hand.
“Lord Artham,” a voice said from the tent door, “mister Darian would like to see you.”
“Of course.”
Artham leaned back, trying to ignore this throbbing headache and his aching heart. Both impossible tasks.
He was angry.
He was sad.
And all he wanted was to go home.
“Artham,” Darian said, coming in, his voice cracking, his eyes watering.
“Yes?”
“I have a question to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“I am…an old man. My son was all I had. You have been like a son to me. And….and I-I-I have no one to continue my job when I am gone. Artham, could you, could you, do it?”
Artham froze. He wished he could say yes…but…
“I’m sorry…but I can’t.”
Darian’s face fell.
“I have a wife expecting a child back home, in…in Anniera.”
Darian looked confused.
“You see, my-my real name is Artham Wingfeather. I am the Throne Warden to the king, who is the biggest blockhead you’ll ever meet. That’s why I can’t.”
Darian was quiet, so Artham continued.
“I would love for you to return with me, back home. Give you a real job, not something that will be too hard for you to do. What do you say?”
Darian looked up, tears and gratitude mingling in his eyes. “I-I…”
“WATCH OUT!” a voice from outside cried. But it was too late. The Wanderers had sent a catapult that was on fire into the camp, and now Artham’s tent was in flames. Both men were knocked back.
“Darian!” Artham shouted, once he crawled out of the ruins. But there was no answer. And something told him…there wouldn’t be.
“Maker help us,” he whispered, anger and grief in his heart.
He drew his sword, preparing for the fight that would decide the war.
Yep. The War got pretty bad.
Well, that was depressing. 😢
eyes fill with tears NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! ARTHRA!!!!!!! runs away to make emotional support tea and my dad's chocolate chip cookies, comes back
That was... sniffles, eats a cookie really good... sniffles, chugs tea and devours more cookies