The First Breath of Spring (Part 1)

Part 1

Some notes —

• I’m sorry if this title is misleading. I wasn’t sure what to call it. But this short story is about Artham and Arundelle (falling in love, specifically)! I’ve always wanted to do a fan fiction on this, and since it is a very long short story, I’m dividing it into different parts, but the story can run together all at once.

  
  

• PLEASE pick this to pieces! If any of you find anything canonically incorrect, let me know and I will gladly fix it. I make a couple of big steps canon-wise, so definitely don’t be shy if something isn’t right or doesn’t make sense.

• I live in the UK, so forgive my strange language and slang…

  If you have any questions about the meaning of said UK language and slang, I’ll be happy to answer! (I always try my best to use more American slang, but it just doesn’t fit in my head… sorry…)

• The drawing is my own art. (That’s the only thing new about this post, if you’ve already read this.) I will also be posting it in its own separate post in Form under T.H.A.G.S. I hope to do one for each of the three parts!

  
  

Now — on with the story!

*

The sun had finally emerged after weeks of wintry grey clouds, and the Shining Isle of Anniera was an emerald green after months of snow. A laughing gale danced through the trees and kicked the ocean waves, and every bird and bee chirped and buzzed along with it. The sweet smell of a waking spring permeated the island, and every Annieran inhaled deeply its scent and looked forward to the celebration of the new year’s arrival.

These words floated into Artham’s mind as he stepped out of the grounds of Castle Rysen and beheld his home unrolling like a scroll before him. The hills, moors, trees, and ocean in the distance beckoned him, welcoming him to steal away before the festivities tonight. But Esben, as per usual, had other plans.

His younger brother came trotting behind him, and slapped Artham’s back in a playful clap. “I’ll race you to the shore.”

Artham raised a brow. “You lose every time.”

“I can sense today will be my victory,” Esben replied with a grin. “Or are you too afraid to lose to your little brother?”

Artham put his arm around Esben’s shoulder so that their arms were linked. “I have nothing to fear. I will always be quicker than you.”

“Unless today is the day I defeat you,” Esben corrected. And before his brother could respond, a wide grin spread across his face and he said: “Meet you at the shore!”

Before the words left his mouth, Esben tore away at an amazing speed down the road in his bare feet, his boots still in hand. Several people and carts had to make room for him as he barrelled down without regard for anything or anyone else. With a sigh and shake of his head, Artham followed, apologising to everyone he passed.

Even though Esben was very fast, his speed quickly waned, and Artham caught up. He ran alongside his brother, not wanting to admit the burning in his lungs from catching up to him. But he managed to breathe out, “The shore it is, then.”

And as Esben struggled to reply through his gasping breaths, Artham bounded ahead past the outskirts of the city and followed the river Rysen to the sea. He could never explain it, but something inside him soared when he ran, and he felt as though he was flying. Elation and joy swelled in him until he felt weightless, and allowed the laughing gale to carry him into the hills.

Without warning, Artham felt his foot catch something lying in his path. His other foot promptly ran into it as well, and he found himself toppling face first into the grass on the moory hillside. He hadn’t been looking where he was going, and tripped right over a fallen tree branch.

Ruddy trees, Artham thought as he picked himself up, wincing at the blood beginning to seep from his scratched feet. He realised he hadn’t bothered to put on his shoes, either. His boots lay tumbled and forgotten beside him.

A pair of footsteps was approaching him, and he assumed it was Esben. Artham prepared himself to run, but when he looked up, he found it wasn’t his brother at all.

It was a girl.

Artham’s jaw went slack, feeling stupid without his shoes, bleeding after just having fallen. He rummaged around for them in the grass, grimacing when he realised he had forgotten socks.

“Are you alright?” The girl asked as she trekked up the hill.

Artham stood up straight, his boots in hand, wanting to hide his face. Surely the girl would recognise him — everyone did. What would she say to the apprentice Throne Warden without his shoes, and without his younger brother? His thoughts then drifted to Esben, and he glanced over his shoulder to look for him. He was nowhere in sight.

When he turned back around, the girl was standing only an arm’s length from him, concern written across her tender expression. Long brown hair drifted behind her like a cascading waterfall, and her gentle green eyes, like a pair of jewels, analysed him with worry. He noticed she carried a satchel over her shoulder, and her hands were stained with ink.

“Did you hear me? Are you alright?” she repeated.

Artham felt a loss for words, and nodded. He then followed with a: “Yes. I’m fine.”

“I saw your trip,” she continued. “That was a nasty fall.”

Artham wasn’t sure how to respond, and was still wondering why he couldn’t break his gaze from her eyes when Esben came huffing and puffing behind him. His brother didn’t even stop to see what had happened before he stumbled down the hill to the beach, collapsing on the shore and allowing the waves to slosh over him.

The girl watched Esben, giggling. “He hasn’t changed much since I last saw him.”

So this girl did know who they were. Artham was beginning to wonder if she knew that she was in the presence of the two princes of Anniera.

“You’ve definitely gotten taller,” she added when she turned to face him again.

Artham blinked a few times, unaware of the blush creeping up his cheeks. She spoke as if she knew them personally.

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

He shook his head, and quickly said, “No, but you’re familiar.”

A delicate smile touched her lips. “My name is Arundelle.”

Artham’s jaw fell open — “Arundelle!” he said with his own smile, his mind bubbling with pleasant and distant memories. “I almost didn’t recognise you. You’ve grown a lot in two years.”

Arundelle’s cheeks lightly flushed and she avoided his gaze. “You, too.”

“Is your family here?” Artham asked. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” she explained.

“We always look forward to your family’s visits, especially my father. Natan is like the brother he never had.”

“My father is a bit of a Song Master and Lore Wain himself, isn’t he?” Arundelle laughed. “Being the Royal Bard of Anniera has similar duties. But what about you and your brother? Is Anniera without a Song Master or Maiden for another generation?”

“Esben is enough.”

“I’m enough of what?” Esben called as he ran up the hill, his breathing still ragged. He turned to Artham with narrowed eyes. “What were you saying about me?”

“That you’re enough trouble to look after,” Artham playfully punched his brother’s shoulder.

Esben returned his punch with twice the force. “Admit it, without me, your life would be boring and bookish.”

“Perhaps,” Artham said, rubbing his bruising arm with a chuckle.

It was certainly a thought. What would his life be like without Esben? What would his life be like if he wasn’t a Throne Warden? What if he was alone, left to rule the throne by himself?

Artham quickly brushed the thought away — he couldn’t imagine a life without Esben, without his responsibility as his protector. Without that… his life was pointless. He was pointless.

“So who are you?” Esben turned to Arundelle, surveying her.

“My name is Arundelle,” she answered.

“Oh, yeah! Your father is the Royal Bard!” Esben exclaimed, his expression brightening with an enormous smile. “Are your brothers here?”

Artham forgot about Arundelle’s younger twin brothers, Cador and Sheridan. They must be twelve years old by now, and probably still every bit as precocious as they were two years ago. While Artham and Arundelle perused the library and walked the grounds at their leisure, they were constantly met with Esben and the twins at his heels, hailing pranks and trouble wherever they tread.

“They are,” she said with a knowing smile. “We’re staying at the Illing Inn.”

“The one beside the Blundering Baker?”

“Yes.”

“Artham, can we go see them?” Esben asked, turning toward his brother and bouncing on his toes.

“We’ll see them at the festivities tonight,” Artham replied. “And we don’t want to go see Natan and Merna unannounced.”

“They won’t mind,” Arundelle assured him. “You know my parents would be delighted to see you. And my brothers have been looking forward to seeing Esben for months.”

Artham sighed, not wanting to manage Esben with the troublesome twins around. He nodded his consent, and Esben squealed a thank you before dashing up the hill and to the road.

“Esben, wait!” Artham called, running up behind him. A quick look over his shoulder told him Arundelle was following at a steady trot, her hair rippling behind her like a flag adorning a ship’s mast.

Esben stopped at the top of the hill, turning with an ecstatic grin. “Hurry up!”

When Artham and Arundelle arrived, they found Esben already tearing down the lane, again narrowly missing people and carts as he ran. Artham followed his brother at a walking pace once Esben stopped beside the road an arrow’s shot away, wheezing. It wouldn’t be too difficult to keep up with him.

“So what were you doing at the beach?” Artham asked Arundelle as she walked beside him. Even in her simple dress and loose hair tossed by the wind, she carried herself like a queen, noble and humble and graceful.

“I was writing,” she answered, brushing aside a few strands of her hair. Her face was still flushed from running.

“That explains the ink stains,” Artham added, eyeing her hands.

“Oh,” she said, examining them with a laugh. He noticed she had got a bit of ink on her cheek as well. “I’m left-handed, and the fresh ink always smears when I write.”

“What were you writing?” Artham asked, and quickly added: “If I may ask.”

“Poetry,” she replied simply. “And stories. Do you still write?”

Something inside Artham’s chest blossomed with joy, and he couldn’t help but smile. He had never met a girl who not only enjoyed poetry, but wrote it like he did. It was his mother, Nala, who had introduced him to the numerous poetry books that now lined the shelves of his bedroom, but she didn’t have a gift for writing. And he had grown up his entire life with Esben, who hardly cared for the written word besides the occasional silly limerick and ballad.

“Definitely,” he nodded, still smiling. “I didn’t know you wrote poetry.”

“Well, it’s fairly recent,” Arundelle explained. “I took to songwriting when I was making up my own tunes on my whistleharp, and my parents suggested I start writing poetry, too. I didn’t really bother with it until now.”

“Why did you decide to start now?”

Arundelle flushed a deeper pink, and Artham wasn’t sure whether it was because of the running or embarrassment.

“Where’s Esben?” she asked, all humour in her voice gone, the red in her face draining away.

Artham saw that Esben had disappeared. There was no sign of him in the street. Panicked, he glanced up and down the lane, scanning through faces and shops to find — nothing. Without another thought or word to Arundelle, he dashed down the road, the stones biting into his bare feet, calling his brother’s name.

Some Throne Warden he was turning out to be. He could hear his Aunt Illia’s single command echoing in his mind: protect. If he couldn’t keep track of Esben in a village street, then how could he guard him on the battlefield? It was in these moments that the responsibility of a Throne Warden weighed on his shoulders to near crushing. His mind reeled at the thought of actually being responsible for someone’s life, let alone his younger brother’s. It was in these moments that he wondered if he was ever fit to be a Throne Warden at all.

Finally, Artham came to a halt in front of the Illing Inn. Surely Esben had just barged in without word or warning, and was safe inside with the twins. With a short prayer to the Maker, he pushed the door open.

*

And that’s all, folks! Tell me if I should continue this, or if this is any good. I appreciate any feedback. Thank you so much for reading!