Lingering Shadows-Chapter 15

Notes:

• Okay, so as always, please tell me if I’m messing up canon.

• Is it unrealistic to think that Nibbik would be about Artham’s age?

• I am absolutely not saying that any of this is motive for the events in tMitH. I hope that’s clear, but I’m just making sure. I’m just saying meanness runs in the family, and Bunges have never liked Wingfeathers.

• Previous Chapter

Chapter 15- Unwelcome

     Esben let out a low whistle and sank back into the seat cushion. 

     “This trip just got a lot more complicated,” Esben said, looking over at Artham. “Nibbik’s always been a headache, but his dad is the Keeper now?” Esben paused, remembering something. “He’s never liked either of us, but especially not you, ever since-”

“Don’t remind me!” Artham interrupted. “I have been trying to forget that, if possible.”

“Ah. Okay. So…just hope that he doesn’t hate you anymore?” Esben asked. Artham laughed ruefully. 

“‘Hate’ is a pretty strong word…but yeah. I suppose that’s the preferable plan of action. Just talk to the two of them like they were any other ambassador or chief.” Both brothers looked out the windows of the carriage, and while neither told the other, both were still thinking about Nibbik Bunge and his father. It seemed that somehow Nibbik and the Wingfeathers had always been opponents, but the worst had been the year when Esben had just turned twelve and Artham had been the incredibly grown up age of fourteen. They had lived in the Hollows for a full year, ‘to understand the education and culture of the country you will someday be allied with,’ as Illia had put it. 

The whole year had gone relatively well except for Nibbik Bunge, who had been about a year older than Artham. He must have either seen Artham and Esben as a threat to his Guildling reputation, or felt that the heirs to the throne were acting above their station outside of Anniera. A year of small incidents, occasional cheating that couldn’t be proved in punching class, and a few well placed taunts culminated in Esben coming home with a swollen jaw, a scrape across his cheek and a dark bruise because Nibbik had shoved him hard into a wall when Artham hadn’t been there. Artham had fumed and muttered to himself the whole evening.

The next day history class had been outside, and Artham had found Nibbik on the outskirts of the crowd of yawning guildlings. Esben had been sitting on the grass a few feet away, and watched with wide eyes as Artham asked Nibbik in a cold, controlled, furious voice what had been the reason for the incident the other day. One thing led to another, and Nibbik issued several challenges that Artham stoically ignored. 

Then Nibbik referred to Esben as ‘your coward of a brother.’ 

“Take that back,” Artham growled in a quiet, even voice, almost shaking because he was so furious. 

“I ain’t taking back nothing that’s true. He’s a coward,” Nibbik responded, not bothering to be quiet. 

Artham finally exploded at that remark and practically attacked Nibbik, shouting something about no one calling his brother a coward. It resulted in a full fledged fist fight as the history class looked on in awe to a battle that at the moment seemed much more interesting than the War of 189. 

One of the Guildmasters had seen the whole thing, and managed to separate the spitting mad boys. Unfortunately, that Guildmaster had been Myndik. Artham had been too angry to trust himself to speak for a few minutes, and Nibbik took full advantage to tell his own version of the story. As Mydik’s son, despite being the taller, stronger boy of the two was nursing a bloody nose and was clearly worse off than Artham, who was still steaming, it had certainly not been difficult for Myndik to reprimand Artham in front of  the watching guildlings for starting a fight during school hours, and exact an apology. 

To his credit, Myndik had been very calm when he did so, but afterwards he was clearly very angry with Artham, and Nibbik had taken every opportunity in the following years to insult and demean the brothers, and to try to taunt Artham into another fight. He rarely ever succeeded, but managed, with his group of rough friends, to make several more memorable incidents. And while the details of those incidents changed as the brothers and Nibbik got older, they were usually pretty much the same.

The memory left Artham staring unseeingly out the window, realizing that this trip would indeed be much more difficult than he had first expected. 

        *

A while later, the wagons carrying supplies had left, heading to prepare the place where the Wingfeathers would be staying. The carriage had continued to the Keep, where the boys would meet with the chiefs, go through the initial greetings, and dine with all the dignitaries. Then they would head to settle in, and the conference would officially start tomorrow. 

The carriage pulled to a stop, and Artham peered out the window, smiling to see the huge tree spreading it’s bare but still graceful limbs over the roof of the Keep. He grabbed his satchel and turned to open the carriage door, never having liked waiting for a page to open it for him. He heard a thump like someone getting out of the carriage in front of them. A second later, Aro was standing expectantly next to the carriage door. 

He looked up at Artham, and immediately adopted his anxious expression. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked worriedly. After a pause Artham answered with a sigh. 

“The Keeper is supposed to be here, but he’s not. We’re also going to meet up with someone I don’t like very much.”

 “Oh,” Aro looked toward the Keep thoughtfully. “Is that him?” Artham turned around quickly just as Esben was getting out of the carriage to see Nibbik Bunge striding out of the Keep with a sneer, headed right for the brothers. Artham looked at Aro to avoid meeting Nibbik’s eyes. 

“Yes, unfortunately that is him.”

 “Oy, Wingfeathers! I ain’t seen ye for quite some time!” Nibbik shouted in a mock friendly tone as he arrived at the Wingfeathers’ carriage.

 “Hello, Nibbik,” Artham said, reaching out to shake Nibbik’s hand. Nibbik ignored him, and after a second of discomfort Artham let his hand drop back down to his side. 

“So, this here is the High King of Anniera,” Nibbik said, leaning against the carriage with a grin as Esben nodded tersely in greeting.

 “I can’t believe they actually made ye King, kid. Ain’t ye a little bit…small for the job?” Artham opened his mouth to object, but Esben cut him off. 

“I happen to believe that fifteen is old enough, Nibbik. If you don’t mind, we need to get to the Keep.”

 “My pa certainly don’t think fifteen is old enough. And I ain’t about to take orders from you. You should head back to Anniera where you belong.” Nibbik growled. He got out of the brothers’ way though, and spoke again with a smirk.

 “If yer hopin’ to find the Keeper in there, yer wrong. He’s in Ban Soran at the moment,” Nibbik finished lightly, satisfied to see the shock on Artham’s face, which the Throne Warden quickly subdued. 

“Come on, Esben. You too, Aro. We’re expected at the Keep.” Artham said. Nibbik let them pass, but bumped roughly into Esben as he walked away.

        *

“I’m sorry, but please just explain to me why the Keeper is not here!” Esben finally said. They were sitting in the Keep at a large table, and had been beating around the bush for about ten minutes. The Keeper’s throne was glaringly empty. 

The chiefs around the table glanced at one another uncomfortably. Finally Kandir spoke up. 

“The Keeper found his business in Ban Soran more important to attend to at the moment. He is returning at the end of the week. He has instructed us to discuss other matters until he arrives to renew the alliance.”

 “How can he expect that?” Artham asked. “The renewal of the alliance is always the first thing done at this conference. We can hardly continue with other matters until we know how our countries stand.” Bonifer put a hand on Artham’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure the alliance will be renewed as soon as Myndik returns. We must proceed based on that assumption until we can complete the official proceedings.” Artham sighed in exasperation. 

“Fine then,” Esben said. “Let’s just go eat and we’ll do our best to continue the conference tomorrow, after my brother and I get settled in.”

The chiefs around the table were clearly relieved at the Wingfeathers’ reception of the news, and happy to comply with Esben’s suggestion.  As servants brought in food for the officials around the table, Artham was glad that the proceedings of the day were almost over. He couldn’t wait to see the house on Oak Hill again. Not only that, but the sudden change of his expectations for the day had left him grasping at things to say, frantically trying to figure out what would be the protocol for the situation, despite the situation being unheard of, and all the while keeping a calm, efficient exterior. 

He needed to regroup, and discuss the strategy for the next few days with Esben. He glanced up at Esben, who was happily discussing art with one of the younger chiefs. 

At least we’re safe here, Artham thought, trying to ignore the sickening feeling of foreboding that washed over him, a chill running down his spine despite the warm fire in the Keep.