Okay, so I was looking back over N!OBE and I realised something CRAZY, guys. I know this is in tWatWK discussion, but you'll soon see why I put it here. It was not a mistake. So I was reading back over the chapter "Ouster Will and the First Books." And I found this on page 85: "'Her name was Alma Rainwater,' Nia said. 'She was a good friend of mine. We always thought she would marry your uncle. We hoped she would. But she never made it out of the castle.'" STOP. RIGHT. THERE. At the footnote at the bottom of page 85, it says, "Though little is known outside of the Shining Isle, Alma Rainwater was one of the many Annieran poets whose work was hailed as revolutionary because it rhymed and followed a strict form called ba-dum-ba-dum pentameter." We know that Alma Rainwater was actually the pen name of Arundelle, as we learn in tWatWK (pg. 225). But the reason I stop us at page 85 of N!OBE is this: Why was Arundelle in Castle Rysen the night Anniera was invaded? According to Nia, she was there with them when the Fangs came, and she never made it out of the castle. But why would she be there? She didn't live there. She was an honoured poet in Anniera, yes, but that doesn't mean she lived in Castle Rysen. And we read in tWatWK, after Janner plants the new seed (😢) to restore the Annierans to humans, Arundelle is also transformed by Janner's sacrifice. And after Artham learns she's alive, she asks him, "Artham Wingfeather, will you still have me?" (pg. 487) When I first read this, I thought it was because of her failure in the past when she became a cloven. But why would that matter now if she's restored? So that brings us back to our original question: Why was Arundelle in Castle Rysen the night Anniera was invaded? My theory is this: Artham invited her to the castle so that he could propose to her.😏 And either he never got around to it or she never said yes because the Fangs were storming the castle. So this would explain her question, "Will you still have me?" So what do you guys think? Why do you think Arundelle was in Castle Rysen that night?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it took me so long to get this out!😭 Chapter five is a little shorter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. Thank you so much for the support!!😊 * Oskar N. Reteep was puffing his pipe in his rocking chair when Artham and the children approached Books and Crannies. Zouzab, his ridgerunner and helping hand, perched among the rafters of the porch, eyeing them with a strange, attentive gaze. The bookkeeper waved, offering a kind smile. “Ho, there, Igibys!” he called after lifting his pipe from his mouth. “Hello, Mr. Reteep,” Janner waved back. “Heading to Dragon Day, are we?” Oskar asked. “Yes, sir,” Leeli replied with a smile. “Aren’t you going to the festival, Mr. Reteep?” “I enjoy it from a distance,” the old bookkeeper leaned back in his chair with a creak. “This is my busiest day of the year, after all.” Artham raised a brow at the empty bookstore, hiding a smile. He doubted many people wanted to stay inside and read with the sea dragons to look forward to. But now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t have minded retreating into Books and Crannies for a few hours, tucked into one of the armchairs beside the fire, sipping hot tea and enjoying a good book. “Speaking of busy,” Oskar continued, “Janner, could you stop by tomorrow afternoon? I have a new shipment of books to unload, if it’s all right with your uncle, of course.” “Can I?” Janner turned to face Artham, excitement lighting his face in a wide smile. Artham nodded. “Yes.” “And bring that brother of yours, too,” the bookkeeper added. “He looks as though he could use some exercise.” Tink ripped his gaze from the ground as if snapped out of a trance. “What?” “I’ll bring them by after lunch tomorrow, Oskar,” Artham promised as he ushered the children into town. “So long, Igibys! In the immortal last words of General Shnimp, ‘Toodles’!” he called with one last wave. Artham led the children down the lane, making sure Leeli was at his side while Janner and Tink ran ahead, playing some sort of tagging game. A lively jig was playing, and it mingled with laughter and excited chatter. Seas of people crowded on either side of the road, gathering around stands or games. Fangs wandered about, scowling and throwing the occasional bone or rock at passersby. When Janner and Tink suddenly paused their tagging game in the middle of the road, Artham quickly took notice. The two boys were still, Janner protectively putting his arm over his younger brother. They were silent, and looked back to their uncle for help. Standing before them was Esben. He stood motionless, oblivious to the several townsfolk that brushed past him and offered strange stares. His gaze was held on the boys and on the boys alone, his socked hands trembling at his sides. His mouth was open as though he wanted to speak, and something like tears began to form in his wide eyes. Artham swept his arm over the children, who cowered behind him. He held his gaze with Esben for a few moments, unsure how to respond. So he didn't. “Come along,” he instructed, guiding them around Esben. “Artham.” Esben’s singular word made all four of them, including Nugget, stop in their tracks. Artham shuddered, keeping his back to the Sock Man. He couldn’t bear to face him. “Please. They’re — they’re my — my —” Esben struggled to speak, choked by his own sobs. The three children glanced up to their uncle and then back to the Sock Man, confusion written across their faces. Artham sighed. “Go home.” Without waiting for another word or reaction from Esben, Artham shadowed the children in his arms as he led them away. They were quickly lost in the throng, and Esben had disappeared. “How does the Sock Man know your name, Uncle Artham?” Janner asked when they were out of earshot. “Glipwood is a small town,” Artham explained solemnly. “Crazy people hear lots of things.” “He visits our cottage sometimes,” Leeli added as though this were perfectly normal. Startled, Artham looked down to his niece. “How do you know that?” “I’ve seen him in the garden,” she explained. “I think he steals our totatoes when he’s hungry. And he was in the garden this morning.” Artham sighed. He wasn’t as discrete as he thought he was. “Why would the Sock Man come to our cottage?” Tink asked. “There’s plenty of other gardens in Glipwood. Grandpa’s always saying that Buzzard Willie’s totatoes are better than his.” “Our cottage is closer to the forest,” Janner said. “The Blaggus boys said that he lives there.” “They also said that they saw him riding a toothy cow once,” Tink added. “Those Blaggus boys are pulling your leg,” Artham laughed, though riding a toothy cow sounded like something Esben would try do. “He must be lonely there,” Leeli said thoughtfully. “Do you think we can visit him? If he’s always coming to the cottage, maybe we can bring him some food.” Artham’s face fell. “Podo would never allow it.” “How do you know?” Tink asked. “Trust me, your Podo wants nothing to do with that man,” Artham replied sadly. “Now let’s go. I’ve heard rumours that Armulyn the Bard is going to perform during the festival this year.”

This is just a theory I had after reading Batwhacker’s post on drowning in the First Well possibilities (😂). Because Azog mentioned that the Maker probably put some kind of magic around it that they would be rescued, like Susan’s horn from the Chronicles of Narnia. And I wonder… since the First Well is never ACTUALLY REALLY in any of the book scenes (it’s mentioned and recalled, but us readers never visit it in person), is there a guardian of the First Well? Like the Maker or Dwayne and Gladys put a guardian over the Well to protect it. Which leads into this… Ouster Will drank from the First Well to essentially make himself immortal. If there was a guardian, did he slay this guardian? Or hurt this guardian enough to steal the water? Which leads to… If the guardian was only hurt and stayed alive (by drinking from the First Well, of course), is the guardian the one that leads people to the First Well? Like Artham escaping from Throg, or Oood and Kalmar finding the water… (Of course, if the guardian died, then these characters found the Well on their own.) If this guardian over the First Well were a thing, then they would probably be some kind of angel. (Do angels exist in Aerwiar?🤔 I assume so…) Or at least like Tom Bombadil in the Lord of the Rings, this mysterious fellow with yellow rain boots and hums silly songs and is followed by bumblebees… clears throat and coughs (Tom Bombadil TOTALLY isn’t my fave character in LOTR…😅) Let me know what y’all think of this random theory! I don’t think this guardian ACTUALLY exists in Aerwiar, but that would be cool…

Peet’s thoughts were scrambled. Random thoughts and bits of poetry and horrifying flashes of memory rattled around his head, and he felt caged. And it wasn’t just the socks enveloping his hands, it was himself. He could see – sense – Artham somewhere in the deepest part of himself, but he didn’t want to. Artham was a man he had abandoned in Throg. Along with Esben. The very name screamed in his mind, along with hundreds of other voices. Esben’s blue eyes flecked with yellow flashed over his vision, and Peet trembled. He covered his face with his socked hands as if he could keep himself blind to them. Tears began to pour down his cheeks, and he curled into a ball in the boughs of a glipwood tree and softly whimpered. I left him! Peet sobbed. His heart coiled and burned in his chest as grief and the deepest of sorrows choked him. He wasn’t just remembering Throg, he was in Throg at that very moment, experiencing those long, torturous three years over and over and over again. But even in his darkest moments, he had felt the Maker’s touch. Even though His presence was faint, he could still sense his creator’s love echoing in his own heart. And in the limbs of that glipwood tree, Artham Wingfeather clung tightly to the Maker’s embrace because his life depended on it. Peet’s breathing slowed as he hummed an old Annieran melody, the words barely forming on his lips. It might have been one his mother sung to him as she tucked him in bed at night, but he couldn’t recall the lyrics. The words floated at the edge of his reach, but the bittersweet tune flowed from his lips like sombre birdsong. And, just as quickly as it came, the song, the memory, and Artham himself fled his mind. Only Peet remained, along with a strange haze that was somehow comforting. He didn’t want to remember anything. It was almost nice to just be Peet. With a curious and wide-eyed gaze, Peet looked up and balanced his crouching form on the precarious branches. He scanned the forest below for toothy cows or horned hounds or any other manner of deadly creature before leaping. He landed with a strange grace and cautiously rose, hastily pulling his socks up to his elbows again. A small voice stirred him to wander into Glipwood again. He had wandered there from Fort Lamendron a few days ago, and found… What was it? Peet wracked his brain as he lurched forward and ambled between the trees. It was something important, someone important. Who was it? Bits of blurred faces formed in his mind, but he couldn’t piece them together. Frustration billowed in his chest as he forged ahead, leery of the digtoad that croaked nearby. He wished he had his sword. Did he have a sword? Had he had one before? Peet brushed the thought away as he came to the edge of the forest. A path cutting through a field formed in front of him, and he dashed through it, cartwheeling and giggling along the way. It was almost… freeing to be so ridiculous. It was one of his only freedoms left. He arrived in Glipwood covered in dirt after rolling on the ground, his white hair a tousled mess. He wasn’t aware of the townsfolk’s strange stares or glances at his socks as he murmured a strange rhyming verse to himself. And, not too long after he tumbled into the alleyway beside Books and Crannies, he stopped. Something was extremely familiar about the family that was entering the bookshop. The youngest of the three children, a small girl on a crutch with the most wild and beautiful blonde curls turned to look at him. Her blue eyes shone in the morning sun, and she waved at him with a gentle smile. For a reason Peet couldn’t explain, joy blossomed in his heart and he felt the urge to shout. But instead, he squeaked and dashed into the alleyway again. His heart pounded against his rib cage, and he began hyperventilating. He clawed at the bricks in the wall for support as he pressed himself against the wall, wishing he could melt into it. He recognised that girl. That sweet little girl, his precious niece. Leeli. The name surfaced in his mind in a gentle whisper, like a mother softly rousing her children to wake. That was her name. That was his niece. He had a niece? Yes, Peet nodded to himself, daring to peer beyond the alley. The mother and her father and the children had entered the bookstore by now, but he stared at the space where his niece had stood. And almost as quickly as they had gone in, the mother and her father stepped back out. Peet cowered a bit, half hoping they would see him. Part of himself wanted to be seen by them, to run and weep and embrace them with his weary, broken hands. The other part of himself wanted to run and hide and keep himself as far away from them as possible. He looked down to his socked hands, his thoughts roaming to what was beneath them. Would they accept him? Would they understand? Would they welcome him back with open arms, despite his brokenness, despite his failure? Or would they reject him? Would they judge him? Would they cast him off because he was a freak, because he was a coward? Tears blurred Peet’s vision as he pulled his hands to his chest in shame. “Artham?” At the sound of that name, Peet glanced up, finding himself staring into Nia Wingfeather’s tender eyes. A woman stood only a stone’s throw away, her hand to her mouth and her eyes watering. Her father stood behind her, his burly arms crossed over his barrel chest as he glared with a surly eye. “Nia…,” he mumbled with some difficulty, though the name was hard to form on his lips. That was her name, wasn’t it? The woman took a step forward, cautious. “Artham, is that you?” At that name, Peet recoiled, shifting his weight as though preparing to run. He didn’t answer. “Artham?” she repeated. Peet whimpered and turned away, covering his face. He didn’t want to hear that name. That name wasn’t his. It couldn’t be his name. That name belonged to a different man, one who had died in Throg. A warm, gentle hand placed itself on Peet’s shoulder. He jumped with a squeak and shuffled away, keeping his socked hands over his face. The hand found its way to him again, and he kept still this time. For whatever reason, hot tears formed in his eyes, which were squeezed shut. His breathing heightened again. “Artham, it’s me,” the woman’s delicate, strong voice said behind him. It calmed his anxieties, and his heart slowed. Slowly, he lowered his hands and opened one eye, then the other. He turned, hesitantly meeting the woman’s eyes again. “It’s Nia.” Nia, yes, that was her name. She stood a head shorter than him, looking up to him with an overjoyed smile. Tears streamed down her rosy and freckled cheeks, and without warning, embraced him. Artham froze, his anxiety crashing over him like a roaring ocean wave. He didn’t move, didn’t dare allow her to touch his hands. Finally, Nia released him and wiped a tear from her eye. “Artham, it’s so good to see you.” Peet looked away, unable to say a word. Concern darkened her expression, and her smile was quickly doused. “What’s wrong?” Everything, Nia. He wanted to tell her. Anniera fell, the Wingfeathers are scattered, and your husband… Esben is… Tears flooded his eyes again, and he put his back to her. He couldn’t bear it. The sound of her voice, the joy in her eyes, the warmth of her embrace – he didn’t deserve it. He had fallen prey to the Stone Keeper’s temptation, twisted himself, and left – He swallowed. Left Esben behind. Without a single word, Peet tore away from them with a wail, running out of Glipwood and into the forest.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is actually a short story divided into three parts. This tale takes place three years after the Wingfeathers have fled to Skree after the fall of Anniera. It narrates (mostly) from Nia’s perspective Artham stumbling into Glipwood after being presumed dead. But Nia and Podo quickly notice something is not right, and fear for the jewels’ safety… * Nia’s thoughts were clouded with memory. She was moving about her day: cooking breakfast, folding laundry, and helping Janner and Kalmar with their T.H.A.G.S., but her heart was not there. Even after three years, there were still days when she relived that tragic night Anniera fell. Someone had opened the gate to Castle Rysen. All they had heard were the Fang’s inhuman screeches echoing through the halls when Esben and Artham stood together in alarm. Nia had heard rumours of war, but she never thought they would reach the Shining Isle, and that soon. Artham had led her, the children, and Wendolyn outside the castle before the onslaught of Fangs, much to their grief over Esben, who remained behind. Nia could still picture Wendolyn’s dying expression as she passed into the Maker’s Light, and Artham’s dismay as he turned to find her fallen. Her dear Podo arrived not long after to find his precious wife gone, and Artham leaving with the promise of return. But he and Esben never did. Grief and the deepest of sorrows still tugged at Nia’s soul, so much so she felt she was drowning. Her sweet mother, her noble brother-in-law, and beloved husband had fallen all in one night. How could she bear this without the Maker and her father there to hold her up? “Lass?” Podo’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Blinking a few times, Nia turned to face her father. His face was contorted with worry, but anger burned in his eyes. Alarm rose in her chest, and she dried her hands of water and soap spuds from the dishes. “What is it, Papa?” “I need to speak to ye.” His voice was gruff and low enough that the children couldn’t overhear. Nia’s brows furrowed. She draped the dish rag over the wash bin as she followed him to the door. Podo opened it slowly, scanning the land before giving her the clear. He shut the door behind them as Nia tried to search for what her father had been looking for. “I wasn’t sure at first, but this is the third time.” Podo exhaled sharply, his hand still on the doorknob. “I saw Artham, Nia.” Nia’s heart dropped, her mouth slightly agape. She was silent. She wasn’t sure what to say or think. “But,” Podo continued, his back still to her, “it wasn’t Artham. He was… different.” “Different?” she echoed. “That’s why I wasn’t sure at first. But I know it’s him.” “But how could it be?” Nia asked. “We never saw him after he…” “It’s him, lass. I’m sure of it. He’s been following me. He followed me to the cottage.” Nia crossed her arms as her mind and emotions churned. How could Artham be here, in Skree, much less the tiny town of Glipwood? How did he cross the Dark Sea? Why was he “different,” as Podo put it? And… she was afraid to hope, but… could Esben have survived, too? “Papa, why did you never tell me this?” “Because he’s not Artham, lass.” Podo explained darkly, turning to face her finally. His face was as cold and hard as stone. “I don’t understand.” “Something’s…,” his voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words, “something’s not right in his head.” “Well, we can’t just leave him in Glipwood, Papa,” Nia replied. “He just crossed the Dark Sea and went through Maker knows what.” “He can’t come here.” Podo crossed his arms. “Why?” “From the way he’s acting, I think Gnag may have turned him.” Anger burned in Nia’s chest and her brows furrowed. “Not Artham.” Podo remained expressionless, but rage burned behind his eyes. “He’s a different man, Nia. I’m afraid for the jewels.” “Artham would die for the jewels,” Nia said, exasperated. “Ye haven’t seen him, lass. He’s not the man he was.” Nia squared her shoulders with a huff. “He’s my brother-in-law, Papa. And he’s your son-in-law. We aren’t going to abandon him again.” With that, Nia entered the cottage and left her father on the porch. Podo stayed there long after dark in his rocking chair, his lantern lit as he watched the horizon.

Artham was in a daze when he entered the cottage with Nugget yipping at his heels. Podo and the children stopped mid conversation when he did, asking him various questions about his empty sack and success in catching any thwaps. He didn’t respond immediately, but rather peered into the pot of porridge over the stove and winced. “No, I did not catch any,” he answered, taking his seat across from Podo. “I swear an old woman can catch the little stinkers better,” Podo murmured beneath his breath as he scooped a glop of porridge from his bowl. It dripped as he pointed the spoon at each of the children. “Eat. It’s gonna be busy today.” “The sea dragons!” All three of them cried in unison. “The summer dusk hath split in twain the gilded summer moon, and all who come shall hear again the golden dragons’ tune,” Artham recited after them. “Podo’s right. Your chores and T.H.A.G.S. can wait.” The children cheered. “Janner, lad,” Podo continued, “I want ye to keep an eye out for those Fangs. They’ll be especially riled today with us happy Skreeans millin’ about.” “Yes, sir.” Janner’s expression quickly soured as his brows furrowed, and he stared at his steaming bowl of porridge, still untouched. Caution stirred in Artham’s chest. He knew that look well; he had seen it on his nephew’s face many times. He understood better than Janner would ever know. “Yer uncle and I won’t always be there to watch over ye three,” Podo went on. “The eldest has a noble responsibility —” “Of being a nanny, I know,” Janner huffed, his cheeks reddening. “You’ve told me this every day of my life, and I’m pretty sure I get it by now. It means I have to keep an eye on Tink and Leeli and never do what I want to do.” Tink smiled a precocious grin and tried to hide his laughter before Janner elbowed him. There was a brief tussle between them before Podo stood, gripping the sides of the table with his enormous hands. “Janner —” Artham started calmly, trying to diffuse Podo’s wrath before things were carried away. “If my parents were still alive, they would understand,” Janner continued, his words coming out in a stuttering rush. “But neither of you let me have any freedom. I’m always watched over, always being told what to do. I just don’t want to be chained to my siblings for the rest of my life!” The tense air thickened. Podo was still for a few moments, gazing at the table with his brows furrowed. Artham stood. “Podo —” The old pirate held up his hand, his head still lowered. “Tink, Leeli, put your dishes away and get dressed,” Artham instructed quietly. The two obeyed and shut their bedroom door behind them with concerned glances. The cottage was silent for several painstaking moments. “Ye know we love you, Janner,” Podo said, his tone softer. Janner slowly nodded, averting his eyes. “Yer uncle and I swore to yer parents to raise you how they would, and to protect ye with our lives,” Podo explained, sorrow colouring his face as he seated himself again. “And Maker knows we’re not perfect.” “We understand you better than you might think,” Artham added, gathering the rest of the dishes and silverware from the table. “Sometimes your world feels too small for the ideas in your head, doesn’t it?” Janner took a deep breath as though preparing himself. Still keeping his gaze down, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. And without a word, he unfolded it and spread it across the table. Artham’s heart stopped. Hot tears blurred his vision, and his guilt writhed in the pit of his stomach. Artham remembered this sketch — the one of the boy on the sailboat with the ocean dancing around him. It was beautiful and disturbingly lifelike, drawn by a methodical and artistic hand. “Is this — Esben?” Janner hesitated to utter his father’s name. Artham shook. His entire body trembled as an onslaught of anxiety, sorrow, grief, and regret crashed over him. He couldn’t control the tears streaming down his cheeks as he choked back a sob. This simple act conjured too many emotions, too many memories. “Yes,” Podo nodded. “And Esben wanted nothin’ more than fer you to sail yer own seas, and I know you will one day. But now is not the time fer sailin’. The Maker has called you here, laddie. You’re meant to be here.” Janner looked at his uncle and grandfather with tears, unsure how to respond. He nodded, glancing down at the sketch again. Hundreds of emotions swirled in his irises and he took a deep breath. “Yes, sir,” was all Janner could say as he folded the picture and carefully slipped it back into his pocket. “Now you run along,” Podo said. “Yer uncle’s gonna take ye three into town. I’ve got some chores to take care of.” Excitement ignited in Janner’s face as he stood. But his smile was quickly doused. Artham had his back to them, his arms pulled close to his chest with his head bowed. He made no noise, no sound, no indication he heard either of them. A tangible anguish enshrouded him like a dark cloud. “Uncle Artham?” Janner asked slowly. Artham’s head whipped up as he turned. His blue eyes were wide and his cheeks stained with tears. Anguish was written all over his face. “Go get your siblings,” he said quietly with a soft smile. “Let’s go to the festival.”

I have heard quite a few crazy theories on Kalmar’s romance story after tWatWK. Guys. Kal did not marry Sara. Just… no. Even if Janner wasn’t restored by the Well (by some crazy miracle of the Maker)… Just no. But here’s the real reason I posted this! Janner has Sara, and Leeli has Thorn, but Kal seems to be a single Pringle throughout the entire series😢 (I have heard someone say he liked Maraly, but… I have my own personal reasons on why that would never work.) (Kal probably did like Maraly at one point, but he and Maraly are too similar to each other to have a good romantic relationship. Plus, Maraly’s happily fighting alongside the Florid Sword in Skree! And Kalmar obviously needs to rule Anniera. The end.) But what about… Galya???🤔😉 Anyone remember her? She was mentioned in one of the very last chapters of tWatWK. If you remember, she used to be Nuzzard (the Grey Fang kept by the Hollowsfolk, seen in both MitH and tWatWK). After Janner’s sacrifice, she bows before Kalmar and says, “My king! The Stonekeeper called me Nuzzard.” (My reaction: 😨😨😨😨😨 wHaAaAaAaT?!) Anyway, Kal picks her up, AND I QUOTE — “She was beautiful.” That one simple sentence has all sorts of meanings. It can mean she was just pretty in general, or Kal thought she was pretty. And Kalmar goes on, “Your new name shall be Galya. How does that sound?” Galya responds (quietly, shyly), “I like that very much, your majesty.” NOW. This sounds like a hopeless romantic rant, but I’d like to think that Kalmar ISN’T single and ISN’T with Sara OR Maraly. He’s with Galya😄 But what do you guys think?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Thank you so much for the support☺️ Enjoy! * Something metal clonked Artham in the head as he exited the cottage. The sheer force nearly toppled him over, and he staggered a bit while recovering from the intense pain vibrating in his skull. He was very sure he heard something crack. Leeli gasped with her hand to her mouth while Nugget whimpered in concern. “Uncle Artham, are you all right?” Leeli hobbled to him, gingerly touching his arm as he clutched the sides of his head and moaned. Tink peered over the edge of the roof, making a pained expression. “Sorry, Uncle Artham…” “It’s fine,” he whispered as he blinked back tears. “Did Podo make you fix the roof again?” “Yes,” Tink replied, and paused for a few moments. “Do you mind… throwing the hammer back up?” “I’ll do it,” Leeli volunteered, plucking up the hammer and tossing it back up. It landed on the roof shingles with a satisfying clink, thankfully not on anyone’s head again. “Thank you, Leeli,” Artham said with a weak smile. He did not approve of Tink fixing the loose shingles on the roof, and not just because of falling hammers. The poor boy was petrified of heights, and Artham didn’t want to imagine having to deal with what would happen if Tink actually fell off of the roof. Nugget began barking again, and Artham remembered the thwaps. He shook his head and lurched forward with his head throbbing. Something was definitely rustling in the totato plants nearby. He wobbled over to their enclosed garden, his eyes sweeping over whatever nefarious thwaps were gobbling their precious produce. But Artham saw something entirely different. Before he could stop the little dog, Nugget leapt through the fence, ferociously barking at the rustling in the garden. Leeli approached, softly humming with the pail of ashes thumping against her crutch. “Leeli,” Artham turned to face her, his pain dissipating. “Would you go get your brothers? Breakfast should be ready.” “What about the thwaps?” she asked with a brow raised. “I can handle them,” he assured her. “You three need to eat so we can go to the festival.” Leeli smiled at the thought of the sea dragons. “All right.” When he was sure his niece was out of earshot, Artham slowly opened the rickety gate into the garden. The rustling had stopped as Nugget prowled through the totato vines, growling. Artham looked back to the cottage to be sure his nephews and niece were heading inside for breakfast. When the door shut, he inhaled deeply to prepare himself, and bent into a crouching position. “Esben?” A plume of silvery hair appeared before a man’s smudged face, his blue eyes wide with shame, like a child caught in disobedience. He was hiding behind a fence post, trying to shoo a barking Nugget away. As always, long knitted socks adorned his hands and arms, and shrieked when the little dog began to chew and pull on them. “Nugget, come here,” Artham ordered, and the dog obediently came. Esben hastily pulled the socks back up to his elbows, his breathing ragged. Artham made Nugget sit and patted his silky head while he watched Esben in sorrowful silence. Many conflicting emotions swirled in his heart, the prominent one being an overwhelming, crushing guilt and shame. For a while, the two stared at each other without a single word, drinking in one another’s presence. Esben spoke softly, slowly crawling forward on all fours. “Ar-Artham…?” “What is it?” he asked, remaining still. Artham knew at this point it was best to let him approach instead. Esben hesitated when he saw Nugget, but found the courage to sit cross-legged a few feet from him, resting his socked hands in his lap. He looked somewhat happy, and the smallest smile brightened his face. These visits were rare, but Esben had been growing more bold lately. Artham had tried several times before to invite him into the cottage, but Podo would never allow it. A few years ago, Artham made the mistake of bringing Esben into the house without the old man’s permission. Esben had been thrown out by force. From then on, Artham tried to visit Esben in the forest outside Glipwood, bringing food, socks, blankets, or anything else he asked for. It was best for Esben’s safety to keep him away from Podo and the children, even if it was… wrong. Ever since that incident with Podo, Esben had kept his distance. But these last few weeks had been different. “How are you?” Artham asked gently, sitting cross-legged as well. Nugget seemed content to curl up beside him. Esben only nodded. “Are you hungry?” Esben paused for a few moments as though contemplating. He then shook his head. “What do you need?” Artham asked, still wondering why Esben was here. Esben only looked over Artham’s shoulder, sorrow crossing his features. Artham turned to see that the cottage window facing them was open, and the children’s chatter and laughter drifted from it like a refreshing breeze. Artham felt his heart tear open. “No,” he shook his head. “Not yet.” Esben’s brows furrowed and he stood to his feet. It was clear he wasn’t taking no for an answer. Artham scrambled to his feet, waking Nugget from his nap. “You cannot go in there.” Tears gathered in Esben’s eyes and he huffed, brushing past him. Artham grasped his socked forearm, and Esben jerked it away with surprising strength. He growled, pulling his arms closer to himself. Artham was a bit gentler, slowly lifting his hands. “You will get hurt if you go there, Esben. Go home.” Esben recoiled at the sound of his name, covering his ears. He whimpered and shook his head. He tramped toward the cottage, about to break into a run. “Esben, I said NO!” Artham wasn’t sure what else to do besides pull Esben back and push him away. Esben was so shocked that he tumbled to the ground, his wide blue eyes brimming with tears. Hurt and confusion flashed over his face, and Artham immediately knew he had gone too far. He hadn’t wanted him to fall, but he hadn’t listened to him the first time. What else was he supposed to do? “I cannot protect you in there,” he explained with a shaky sigh. Esben sobbed, drying his tears with his socks. He then promptly stood and shuffled away. Artham watched him disappear into the shadows of Glipwood Forest, struggling to restrain his own cries.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Warden and His King is meant to be based off of On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (despite its similarities to the title The Warden and the Wolf King), so the two’s events will be almost the same in most cases (see if you can spot my references!). That is why part two is a little uneventful… sorry. But the domino effect is enormous in this world. Far greater than you can possibly imagine. Enjoy! * “Artham? Artham, get up, lad.” Artham sat bolt upright, shoving his quilt off of him and sending it flying. He found himself covered in sweat and skittish from a lingering nightmare. When he saw Podo standing over his bed, dressed and with a scowl on his face, he knew he had slept in too late. “Ye should’ve been up hours ago,” the old pirate crossed his arms with his bushy brows furrowed. “Sorry, Podo,” Artham apologised meekly, plucking the quilt off of the floor. “Are the kids awake?” “Aye,” he nodded without another word, clomping out of the room. Artham took another deep breath of the Maker’s morning air, listening to the cooing of a fazzle dove outside. After the events of the Black Carriage the night before, he had hardly slept a wink until the early hours of the morning. It was nice to simply sit before – Wait. Today was the Dragon Festival, wasn’t it? While Artham loved taking the children on such a fun day, he was not looking forward to handling the bustling crowds and irritated Fangs on very little sleep. Taking a deep breath, Artham dragged himself out of bed and stumbled down the stairs. A burning smell drifted from the kitchen, and he shuddered at the thought of what Podo had made for breakfast. Podo stood over the stove, stirring something chunky in an enormous pot. He was silent as he pinched what looked like rosepepper into their breakfast. Artham swallowed the bile that crept up his throat. It was normally his job to cook, not because Podo wasn’t willing to, but because Artham was the better cook. His niece and the youngest of the three children, Leeli, was clearing the ashes from the fireplace from the night before. Her trusty dog, Nugget, skittered around her with his tail wagging, unsure what to do while she worked. He assumed Janner and Tink were outside, attending to their chores, because they were nowhere in sight. “Good morning, Uncle Artham,” Leeli smiled, pushing herself off of the floor with her crutch. She held the ashes from the fireplace in her apron. “Good morning,” he replied, ruffling her bouncy blonde curls. “You overslept today,” she said, looking up to him with concerned blue eyes. Artham laughed. “Just tired.” Janner promptly entered through the cottage door, his face and hair sopping wet. “Good morning, Uncle Artham,” he said with a stiff nod. “What did ye do to yer face, boy?” Podo asked, stepping away from the pot. “Ye don’t smell right, either.” Janner bashfully explained something beneath his breath as Artham inspected their breakfast. It was thick with chunks of oats and flour and various spices. It didn’t look or smell appetising in the least. While Podo lectured Janner about washing his face properly, Artham added a bit of milk in hopes to soften the chunky texture and mask the horrible taste and smell. “WHAT DO YE THINK YER DOIN’?” Podo bellowed when he turned to find Artham meddling with their breakfast. Artham stopped midpour, turning to find his father-in-law stomping toward him with a wooden spoon in hand. He immediately capped the bottle of milk with a sheepish smile, stepping back from the pot. Podo growled something unintelligible as he stirred the milk into their breakfast. To Artham’s disappointment, Podo added more rosepepper into the pot. Leeli was giggling as she emptied the ashes into a pail. “Artham, those pesky thwaps are stealin’ our totatoes again,” Podo said without looking up. “I’ll handle them,” he nodded, taking Podo’s patched burlap sack. “Come on, Leeli. Bring Nugget.” Without a word, Leeli took her pail of ashes and followed her uncle outside, Nugget bounding before them with vicious barks.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is meant to be a “What if…?” sort of tale. It is inspired by, but not the same as, Janna the Heart’s Neet the Scarf Woman (who will not be in this story). Thanks so much for the inspiration, Janna! The idea is if, the night Anniera and Castle Rysen were invaded, Nia went after Esben instead of Artham. Esben stayed behind in the castle, desperately trying to protect something from the Fangs, and Nia is torn between her husband and children. She finally convinces Artham to protect her children, when she goes to find her husband. Before he can go after her and his brother, Leeli is viciously attacked by a Fang, and Artham tries defending her. In the process, Leeli’s leg was twisted and Wendolyn was killed. Podo returns not long afterward, not knowing whether Esben or Nia are alive, and with his wife dead. Before they lose anyone else, Artham and Podo leave Anniera to cross the Dark Sea with the jewels. And that, my friends, is where the story begins. Enjoy! * Artham Igiby woke to the sound of the Black Carriage. Its wheels creaked, its chains rattled, and its horses snorted as it crept down the road. And it wasn’t growing fainter, it was growing louder, edging closer to the cottage. Kicking his quilt off, Artham alighted softly on the floorboards, careful not to disturb his father-in-law, Podo. The old pirate was still heavily snoring in the bed beside him, his arm under his head and with his pillow clutched to his chest. His peg leg was leaning against the wall beside the bed post, its buckle gleaming in the moonlight. Artham pulled their bedroom door open, its hinges croaking in response. He winced, unsure if he woke any of the children or not. Janner was an especially light sleeper, and Nugget was prone to bark at any shadow creeping about the cottage. When everything was silent, he closed the door behind him with a soft click and padded down the hall. The kitchen was bathed in a silvery glow, and the shadow of a crow flew across the floorboards every so often, followed by a screeching caw. The windows had been left open to invite the fresh night air, and the stained curtains fluttered in the soft breeze. The Carriage was rattling ever closer. Glancing out the windows to be sure there were no prying eyes, Artham pulled aside the rug beside the fireplace. He wiggled free the loose floorboard and pulled out a sword wrapped in rags. He set it on the floor and uncovered it, and pulled the gleaming sword from its sheath. Its sleek blade shimmered in the light, and glinted with fond and sorrowful memories. It had belonged to him nearly all his life, and it was the same one he carried across the Dark Sea from home. Thankfully, none of the Fangs had found it all these years. Artham gripped the hilt tightly and peered out the kitchen window. He could see the Black Carriage strolling through Glipwood across the bridge, too close for comfort. He clenched his jaw when the horrid thing finally stopped in front of one of the houses. Relief and guilt collided in Artham’s chest when the Carriage stopped. Another child was being taken, but thank the Maker, the jewels were safe for another night. He made a promise nine years ago when he fled his burning home. And by his life, Artham would keep it. Once the Carriage lurched forward and left Glipwood’s borders, he breathed a sigh of relief. He sheathed his dusty sword and carefully wrapped it again. When he was sure the floorboard was secure and the rug was in its proper place, Artham returned to his bed. Sleep evaded him again as he lay beneath his quilt, staring at the worn boards in the ceiling, recalling fire and Fangs. Artham didn’t seem to notice that a curious pair of eyes were watching him.

I interviewed the Igiby family, Podo Helmer, and Peet the Sock Man on how they do their laundry… They gave some interesting answers😂😅 How the Igibys Wash Their Laundry: Nia: “I wash them in the bin outside the cottage.” Janner: “I helped with most of it… I was late because I was still at Book and Crannies.” Tink: “Wait, we wash our clothes?” Leeli: “Nugget accidentally jumped into the wash bin and we had to clean him and the clothes.” Podo: “Wash? Yeh just dunk ‘em in the River Blapp fer a good soak.” Peet: “See these mismatched socks here?” extends socked arms “I always lose one of the pair.” How the Igibys Dry Their Laundry: Nia: “I hang them on the clothesline outside.” Janner: “I accidentally tripped and dropped my clothes in the grass, so Mama forced me to wash them again.” Tink: “If Mama makes me do my laundry, I just put my clothes on. I’m too impatient to wait for my clothes to dry.” Leeli: “I help Mama the best I can to hang them.” Podo: “After soaking ‘em in the river, yeh just leave ‘em on the lawn. The heat will make quick work of drying ‘em.” Peet: “Dry? My socks are still damp from the wet leaves I just had… Want some?” How the Igibys Fold Their Laundry: Nia: “I fold them neatly and set the children’s clothes out for the next day.” Janner: “Mama taught me how to fold laundry, but I can never get them to be as perfect as hers!” Tink: “Wait, we fold the laundry?” Leeli: “I help Mama fold the laundry a lot. I usually redo Janner’s and Tink’s because they never do it properly.” Podo: “Fold? No, yeh just crumple ‘em up and throw them in yer pack or the dresser.” Peet: “Fold?”

Before you continue to read this post, I gauruntee you that I am not as crazy as you think. (HAH, I’M CRAZIER.) No, I agree that Artham and Peet are one and the same person… OR ARE THEY?! I just didn’t know what to title this post😂 I just wanted to point out the fact, and hear your thoughts on this, on Artham’s name(s?). Of course, his given name is Artham P. Wingfeather. We can all agree on that. But in OtEotDSoD, he’s introduced as Peet the Sock Man, Glipwood’s crazy person and comedian (i.e. reciting silly poetry, juggling buckets beside the precarious cliffs, and attacking innocent street signs with wonderful mothers). But I want to point out the fact that Artham NEVER calls himself Peet. Ever. In OtEotDSoD, when the Igiby (Wingfeather) kids are in Peet’s (castle) tree house, Janner asks him, “So… do we call you Peet? Is that your real name?” (pg. 181) This of course implies that no one in Glipwood knows Artham’s real name. Of course, I doubt Artham would actually introduce himself to the Glipwood townsfolk… why would he if he doesn’t live there? (All he does is, again, recite poetry, juggle buckets, and attack street signs. In his spare time, he protects the Igiby kids.) So you kind of get the idea that Peet is just his nickname? Like no one actually bothered to ask him his name😢 Or someone somehow learned about the first letter of his middle name (🤔) and just called him Peet. Point is, we get the idea he’s just KNOWN as Peet, not that he calls himself that. Anyway, on with the story. Artham replies, “What’s a real name? Is Janner Igiby your real name?” Janner replies, “Yes sir.” And Artham, being, well, Artham, asks, “Is it?” and keeps cooking (pg. 181)😂 This… kind of answers their question. Artham doesn’t seem to accept OR deny that Peet is his real name. He’s, of course, caught in between man and Fang, so that’s something to consider going on through his head. Some diligent readers might point out that in N!OBE, when going into Artham’s perspectives, he is called both Peet and Artham. Again, Artham doesn’t CALL himself Peet, but it is rather narrated in a way that looks like these two men (Artham and Peet) are fighting over one mind. So… where did the name Peet COME FROM??? My current thought is his middle name, which starts with the letter p. But… we never actually learn what his middle name is😂 (We learn Oskar’s! Oskar Noss Reteep😄) (Also, I love to imagine that his full name is Artham Peter Wingfeather. That would fit with the Peet name and… well, I think it sounds nice😂☺️) Or some random folk in Glipwood just… called him that? Like Artham is muttering nonsense to himself and hear his middle name somehow through his gibberish… I really don’t know😭😭😭 What do you think? I’m curious to hear thoughts from fellow Artham fans. Also… FANGS ARE UGLY!

Okay, when I first saw the WFS short and show, I was a little mad that Peet’s (or Artham’s, whichever you prefer) eyes were mismatched. (One was a brownish-yellow…? and the other was blue.) It is clearly said in OtEotDSoD, chapter four (Peet’s Castle), page 177 (yes, I actually looked this up😂): “His eyes were deep and blue, and they shone like jewels.” (Jewels of Anniera???🤨🤨🤔🤔🤔) (Jkjkjk I don’t think we would consider Artham and Esben to be Jewels ((if we are defining “Jewels of Anniera” to be ones that can open the Fane of Fire)) since they don’t have a third sibling.) But I had a thought. What if the artists were just trying to visibly display another form of his Fangishness without (what’s beneath) the socks? Let’s suppose that the hawk (show-wise, fire hawk, if you’ve seen season two) had brownish-yellow-coloured eyes? We already read in the books that Kalmar’s eyes turn yellow after he’s Fanged, and sometimes when the Fangishness took over him, there were flecks of yellow. When he was in his right mind, they were blue. What if, because Artham (Peet) is caught in between, one eye changed and the other did it? Like the mismatched colours are a way of showing him being torn between man and Fang? Mind you, I haven’t asked Andrew Peterson or Chris Wall this, and I don’t know if anyone has asked them this question before. I mean… Artham’s eye colour(s) is not really THAT important…😅 And if this has been posted on before, I’m sorry. I had no intention of copying😭 Hopefully this satisfies whatever questions you had about Artham’s eye colour(s)?😂 Tell me what y’all think, or if this theory is crazy. There are some crazy things rattling around my brain (which is why I joined TTH). Also… FANGS ARE UGLY!