HiDW alternate ch. 13 | The Thwap House

Note: I had such a hard time deciding which way I wanted to do this, I decided to just write two versions XD. Now, I honestly prefer this one because I think it makes more sense, and it's closer to my original AtE theory.

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Mercy for Artham P. Wingfeather

Artham knew he should be happy for Leeli, and he was. But it reawakened the desire he had had for years to be healed by the water, to be human again. Not reminded of his twisted past every time he looked in a mirror or strode through a crowd. He had found the Well once before, but he had not taken any water for himself. It was for Esben first. Really, it was for everyone except him first. Now he was here again, witnessing someone else's healing. The Well was only a short walk away, but it just wouldn't feel right to drink the water himself after he had failed to restore his brother. Artham also felt it would be irreverent to just walk over and drink the water from the Well, which pulsated with light and seemed more alive and sacred than he remembered. After all, Janner had not come back to life by his family's actions, but by the Maker's decree. And Leeli's leg had been healed without her intention. He felt helpless and trapped. I might never be healed. I don't deserve it. He sighed and tried to busy himself with slicing up fruit for the family's late breakfast.

As Janner approached his uncle, he noticed a flash of anguish cross Artham's tired countenance as he glanced at his hands, and then cast his sorrowful eyes longingly at the pristine pool behind him. Janner placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Uncle Artham, Papa wanted me to tell you something.”

“You saw- you saw Esben?” Artham replied, his voice only a whisper.

“Yes. And he is whole and well in the Maker's country. He wants you to know that he forgives you and that he loves you. It was because of you that his strength was renewed back in the Hollows so that he could rescue us.”

Artham sank to his knees and his eyes shone with tears.

“I- I don't deserve to be forgiven.” he said quietly.

“He thought you might say that. But isn't that the point of mercy?”

Artham knew deep in his soul that this was true. It was just so hard to let go of the guilt he had been carrying beneath the surface for so long. What would it even be like to live without it? Artham couldn't imagine it, and it scared him. Who would he be? Suddenly, Artham heard a thunderous whisper echo tenderly in his mind.

Artham, there is no reason for you to feel guilty anymore. You have been forgiven.

As he let the words wash over him and allowed Esben's forgiveness to soak into his mind and wash away the taunting voices, it felt like a huge burden was lifted from his shoulders.

Son, my healing is for you too. Drink of the water, it is my gift to you.

Artham eased himself to his feet once more, and took a trembling step toward the Well. He hesitated for a moment and glanced toward his family. Nia caught his eye and gave him a warm smile and a reassuring nod. How does she know these things? Artham wondered.

He took another step, then another and another until he found himself standing on the edge of the Well.

Janner, who had been walking alongside his uncle, suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private matter. So, with a last glance over toward his uncle, he turned and walked back to his family, leaving Artham alone with his thoughts, the water, and the Maker.

Artham stared into the water for a moment, the realization sinking in of what he was about to do. He took a deep breath and scooped up a bit of water and raised his cupped hands to his mouth. He closed his eyes and slowly drank it in, savoring the feeling of it filling his mouth and flooding his bones with a refreshing and comforting warmth.

After several moments, he slowly opened his eyes and peeked at his hands. He blinked, and then stared at them in awe, tears streaming down his cheeks. They were hands again. His hands. Artham raised his head and loosed a belly laugh of joy, perhaps the happiest sound heard since Anneira's fall. He would be able to hold a quill with ease again to pen his poems, and he made a mental note to write one about this moment. He snatched up a twig from the ground and relished the familiar feeling of a writing utensil in his fingers. How he longed to set one dancing across a page in his journal!

Artham leapt to his feet with joy, and nearly toppled over. What was the matter with his balance? Wasn't he an agile swordsman? Artham glanced over his shoulder and realized that there was nothing wrong with his balance after all. The hawk's wings that had sprouted from his shoulders had vanished without a trace, aside from one long feather that had fallen to the ground. He remembered how the wings had enabled him to do so much good in rescuing Kalmar, shutting down the Fork! Factory! and helping to free the people of Dugtown. The wings had served the good purpose of the Maker despite the evil intentions of the Stonekeeper and his own weaknesses. Nevertheless, they had been a constant reminder to him and all who saw him of his failures. They had brought him a continual feeling of shame and a desire to hide out of fear of rejection. Though Artham felt a pang of sadness that he would never again soar among the clouds that sailed in the bright spring sky above him, he smiled.

Take the quill, and write about those things. Write about my forgiveness, and how I can work everything for good. Write about it that you may never forget, and that others may know.

"I will," breathed Artham. He picked up the feather from the ground and stuck it into his belt.

As Artham turned around, he noticed that his whole family was looking at him from where they sat around the fire. Smiling so wide that his whole face smiled along, he announced, "guess who won't be running into any more doorframes!"