Next chapter at last. Sorry it took so long.
Chapter 10
Smack! Artham’s practice sword rebounded off the sparring dummy’s shield, causing it to spin around, aiming a wooden sword at his head. Artham barely ducked it and scored another hit to the dummy’s center. The afternoon sun was beating down, baking the stones of the training yard. Sweat poured down the sides of Artham’s face as he fought. He had been in the courtyard for about an hour now, and was setting himself the hardest tasks he could think of that were possible in the training yard, trying to distract himself from the events of the morning. After about two weeks of royal headaches, such as paperwork and council meetings, there had finally been one devoted to the topic of the royal funeral. That was the last thing Artham wanted to think about. He was hoping a round of sparring would help him forget.
He was wrong. Memories of his Aunt filled the courtyard. He had considered leaving, but he needed to do something. Physical activity usually helped drown his frustration. Usually.
When Artham brought down his sword again on the shield, the impact sent different parts of the dummy spinning around in different directions, each part armed with a wooden weapon. Panting, Artham fended off several swipes to his middle, and kicked the dummy so hard it fell over, and stabbed it hard, splintering wood and sending straw and chaff exploding onto the air.
“Artham lad, take it easy on the equipment out here. What are you doing?” Bonifer walked into the courtyard and looked with dismay at the completely destroyed sparring dummy. Artham shot a glare in Bonifer’s direction.
“I thought I was alone out here.”
“You were, but neither Esben nor myself had seen you since this morning’s council meeting. I thought I would come check on you.”
“I’m fine, okay? Just leave me alone.”
“Is this about the funeral?” Bonifer asked gently.
“No! Maybe. Actually, yes.” Artham started pacing and swinging his sword around dangerously, causing Bonifer to back away cautiously.
“I just can’t do this! I’ve tried. But Bonifer, the words just won’t come! There’s no way I can get up in front of my parent’s best friends, most of the citizens of Anniera, for that matter, and talk about their death! It’s just impossible, okay? So give it up. I just can’t. Tell people I’m sick or something.” Artham turned, still panting from his exercise that afternoon, and glared at Bonifer, as if expecting the old councilor to contradict him, or tell him that he absolutely had to speak at the funeral.
Bonifer looked at him worriedly.
“Artham, I understand-”
“No! You don’t understand.” Artham trailed off, and turned away from Bonifer with the excuse of putting away his practice sword. A few seconds later he had gotten himself under control and turned to Bonifer again.
“Bonifer, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m just so frustrated.”
“Eh…it’s all right. Perhaps there is a way around the speech, Artham. Surprisingly, Esben is doing quite well in the preparation for it, so perhaps he could take care of that department.”
“I know. I should be up there helping him.” Artham ran his hand through his hair, and turned to Bonifer again.
“No one expects you to have a long speech, as that is the duty given to the future king. Your few words at the council meeting were quite well written. Perhaps…you could simply expand upon it and make it more fitting to the occasion.” Artham looked at Bonifer with a mix of relief and exhaustion. He drew his sleeve, also damp with sweat, across his sweaty face.
“Thank you, Bonifer. I appreciate you trying to help me. Maybe I should get cleaned up and help Esben get his speech ready. I know he doesn’t like working on these kinds of things.” Artham paused for a moment, shielding his eyes from the hot sun as he looked across the courtyard at Bonifer, who was standing in the shade.
“Wait a minute, why hasn’t he asked me for help earlier?”
“He was worried about you. He knows you aren’t exactly looking forward to the funeral. He and I both hoped you had gone to get some rest. You’ve been looking quite worn out lately.”
I feel worn out, Artham thought. The last couple weeks had been very busy for the brothers. The mornings had been filled with council meetings, decisions Artham tried hard to understand, and miles of official documents. Early afternoons the boys usually had to themselves. Artham had such a large list of books he was studying and planned to continue studying that if you stacked them all, they’d probably reach the roof of Artham’s bedroom. Evenings were painfully social, either with council meetings or public interactions. Nights were the worst part for Artham. With the distractions of the day gone, all he could think about were the things he had to do as Throne Warden.
He was trying his best to take care of his little brother, but it was getting harder and harder to talk to Esben. Artham knew it was his fault. Or at least he was pretty sure it was. bedtime was usually spent arguing with himself, blaming himself about some exchange during the day, and telling himself to do better. On the rare occasion that the day had gone well, which usually meant that he and Esben had enjoyed something outside in the afternoon, Artham would go to sleep quickly. And he would wake up quickly. If he didn’t have a bad dream, his very sleep was overshadowed by feelings of deep sadness.
Nearly every night for the past two weeks, Artham had snuck out of his room at one point or another.
“Artham, you should try to get some rest.”
“I can’t. I should probably be doing something else, like helping Esben with his speech.”
“You are more use to everyone when you aren’t about to drop,” Bonifer stated, looking pointedly at the dark circles under Artham’s eyes.
“Go rest.”
“Maybe I should,” Artham stifled a yawn. “I’m just going to finish up out here.”
“Good. There’s nothing else you need to do today. Oh, and one other thing. The funeral is going to be this weekend.” With that, Bonifer left the training yard. Artham sighed with relief. Being around people in general was getting hard. Especially councilors. Artham took a hard swipe with his sword at the practice dummy before he remembered that he had destroyed it. He looked down at the splintered pile of wood at his feet.
“I guess I’d better clean this up before anyone else sees it.”
. . .
Artham trudged up the hall to his room, enjoying the coolness of the stone walls. Esben’s door stood ajar, and after a moment’s hesitation, tapped lightly on the wood.
“Artham, just come in and stop knocking.” Artham heard a rustle of canvas and he opened the door.
“Why are you soaked? Again?” Artham looked down at his damp clothes as if he had forgotten they were so sweaty.
“Combat practice,” he answered simply. “What’re you up to?”
“I was working on the funeral speech, but it got to be too much, so I’m taking a break.” Esben gestured to the covered canvas he was sitting in front of. Artham looked around his brother’s room.
“Wow. When did you get all of these done?” Artham gestured to the eight covered frames placed around his brother’s room.
“Here and there. Before bed, when you’ve been here reading.”
“You said the speech was getting too much for you. What did you mean by that? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Anything involving writing is too much. I’m just trying to figure out what to say. Trying to figure out what everyone is expecting from me.”
“Why didn’t you come get me to help you earlier? I told you, I’m here to help with anything you need.”
“I didn’t come to get you because you’re exhausted. Please Artham, try to get some rest. If you really want to help me, go to sleep. At least for an hour. You’ll need it for tonight. Apparently we’re planning the funeral arrangements with the council.” Esben looked pleadingly at his older brother. Esben could always convince Artham to do things no one else would ever force him to do. His little brother’s look made Artham decide he would at least try to sleep.
“Okay.”
“Thank you, Artham. After you wake up and hopefully feel better, I really, really need help with this speech.”
“Okay.” Artham nodded and went out, leaving his brother’s door open behind him. He went to his own room, closed and locked the door, collapsed onto his bed and buried his face in his pillow.
Why can’t I seem to do anything right? He thought. I’m never going to get this straight. I’m doing a terrible job. No matter what I do, I’m always doing something that is going to hurt Esben. Nothing is working. Things are getting worse. Or maybe it’s just me that’s getting worse. That’s probably true. I’m so tired. Artham yawned into his pillow, that suddenly seemed so, so soft. I wish I really could rest. But there’s so much else I should be doing… I need to work on that speech. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes and rest. I’ll just rest for a while…then I’ll…help Esben…
Artham’s thoughts grew more and more disconnected. The longer he lay still on his bed, the more he realized how tired he actually was. His eyes started to feel so heavy…
When Esben peeked into his brother’s room a while later, he smiled with satisfaction. Artham was sprawled out on his bed, an arm dangling over the side, fast asleep. Esben closed the door gently, intending to let his brother sleep as long as possible. If it was anyone else, Artham would be furious at them for letting him sleep longer than he intended, but Esben was pretty sure he’d just be frustrated at most. Esben walked back to his room to keep working on his paintings.
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