Half Moon Rising-Chapter 8

Chapter 8 The Mask

     Artham held his breath as they stepped into the crowded council room, as if he was diving into deep water. The blessed silence of a few moments before exploded into a million conversations, and suddenly, they were all directed at him. A rush of people swarmed around Artham and Esben, effectively completing Artham’s feeling of standing in the middle of the surf with a storm cloud approaching. Ten different people were talking to Artham at once, several asking questions and a few others….well, Artham couldn’t exactly make out what they were saying. He smiled and nodded, hoping he didn’t look too bewildered. Then, when he realized they had apparently stopped asking questions and were waiting for his answer, he said,

    “Thank you for your concern. We are thinking about all of those things, and I assure you, we have everything under control.” Then, with a rush of worry, Artham realized that Esben was no longer beside him. The crowd had separated them.

    “Now if you will excuse me, I need to go find my brother.” Artham sighed in relief as he broke away from the distraction of councilors, (as he and Esben had officially named them when no one else was around) but unfortunately waded into a whole other crowd, all asking questions and talking. Artham tried to look like he wasn’t ignoring them completely, which he was, as he looked for Esben. 

     One of the only advantages to being taller than most people, being able to see over the crowd, Artham thought. Unfortunately, Esben apparently wasn’t finished growing, because he was still shorter than most adults, which meant that no matter how tall Artham was, he couldn’t see his brother in the constantly moving crowd. As he waded through the room looking for Esben, he tried to answer the many questions the crowd was pelting him with. After years of social occasions, Artham had unconsciously memorized a list of common questions or statements made by a distraction of counselors, and their proper responses, which he promptly employed. However, as this was a completely different situation, the questions were different too. After a while longer wandering through the crowd, he saw Esben among a group of people. A cool wave of relief washed over him, and he suddenly realized that when Lord Dalach of Baile asked him if there were any survivors of the wreck he had responded, 

     “Thank you, I’m fine. How are you?” He glanced back at Lord Dalach, his face turning a bit red, then turned back to Esben. He sighed again and took his expected position behind his brother, ‘calmly’ surveying the crowd. He wound up standing by Esben’s side but turned away from him, coping with half of the interrogating lords. 

     He tried to keep one eye on Esben at all times, one hand constantly playing at his sword hilt. For once he actually listened to the questions people were asking them, and gave them the least personal, most official answers possible. 

That was why he almost choked when someone squeezed his shoulders in a way that he first mistook for a hug. He looked down into the person’s face, and saw Odran, the ‘Hand of the King.’ Other than his Aunt Illia and Bonifer, this man had been the most trusted officiant in Artham’s father’s court. In fact, Artham had once overheard Jru say that Odran was like a second father to him.

 And Odran had tears in his eyes.

 Artham went rigid and did nothing to accept nor push away the hands on his shoulders. He looked at Odran and blinked in shock, swallowing as he tried to think of something to say. Odran stepped a little back from Artham, now with only one hand on his shoulder. Odran studied Artham’s face, his head on one side. 

     “You are so much like him.” Odran paused for a moment, studying Artham more intently, then continued, “In more ways than just your looks.” Artham felt like Odran’s eyes were burning into him, and his breath caught when he realized that this man saw everything Artham was trying to hide. He gave Artham’s shoulder one last affectionate squeeze and turned to Esben. Artham stood planted to the floor in shock. He turned to where Esben and Odran were now talking, and tried to say something, but nothing could get past the lump in his throat. 

     “Artham, are you alright?” Odran asked, looking concerned. 

     No, I’m not alright. 

     “Yes I’m fine Esben do you want something to drink?” Artham’s words came out in a rush, and now there were two people looking very worried because of him. 

     “Uh, sure, but Arth-” Before Esben had finished talking, Artham was wading through the crowd again. He reached the far corner of the room and began filling a cup for himself and Esben from a large pitcher, despite the servant who was offering to do it for him. Artham didn’t hear the servant. He didn’t hear the crowd around him. He was only focusing on not letting the hardened mask he had created for himself slip away. Whatever he could find the excuse to do was a welcome distraction. He drank his cup and carried the other one back for his brother. 

     He almost wasn’t able to keep acting when he saw Esben hugging Odran. Something inside him desperately wanted to take refuge in someone. Everyone was offering to help him and comfort him, so why couldn’t he just accept their offer? But the other side of him told him not to show weakness. 

     Be strong. That side won out. Under no circumstances could he show anyone that the future protector of their kingdom was unable to control his own feelings. He took a deep breath and walked steadily toward his brother. 

     “Here’s your drink, Es.” Esben took the cup from Artham’s hand and set it on a nearby table. Odran turned to Artham. 

     “Are you alright lad? You looked rather distressed when you left.” 

     “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.” Artham made himself smile thankfully at Odran, then turned to the person next to him who was clearly trying to get his attention. 

.     .     .

      The few hours of the council meeting/mobbing of the two young heirs seemed to Artham like it would never end. It lasted so long that a group of servants brought out a table of refreshments. When the final guest walked out of the council room door, Artham sighed in relief and collapsed into his Aunt’s chair with a moan.

     “What time is it?” He asked Esben.

     “Seven of the clock,” Esben responded. The younger brother of the two sounded much less tired than the older, a fact which bewildered Artham.

     How is he not exhausted? How is it only seven? I’m so tired. Artham then looked up to see Bonifer walking toward them from across the room where he had closed the door after the final guest. 

     “Well done, lads. That council meeting went very well. Everything ran smoothly with you two, I hope?”

     “Thank you Bonifer, it was good,” Esben responded. Artham tried to stifle a yawn. Bonifer looked at the boys sympathetically. 

     “You both seem tired,” Bonifer said. “Why don’t you two go to your rooms and rest? I can take care of anything else that needs to be done tonight.” At this Artham sat up straighter. 

     “Are you sure? You mean there’s nothing else we have to do tonight?”

    “That’s what I mean, Artham. Go get some rest.” 

    “Thanks.” Artham got up and walked toward the door. He paused and looked back when he saw Esben wasn’t following him. 

     “You coming, Es?” Esben glanced up at his brother. 

     “Uh, yeah. Thank you for helping us so much, Bonifer. I really appreciate it.”

     “My pleasure, lads.” Bonifer watched the boys sadly as they walked together out of the council room.