#not gonna lie i could write a WHOLE lot more about esben and nia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kanerallels · 1 month

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Today for @monthly-challenge's Spring Fling we have day 13: Earth! I wrote another Wingfeather Saga fan fic-- hope you guys like it! It's kind of a follow up to the one I wrote a couple days back, I'll link that here! (I'd also like to put these up on AO3 but I so do not have the motivation and energy for it right now. Perhaps later!)

(TW for mentions of death)

From the earth we come, and to the earth we are returned…

Esben stared straight forward as the priest continued speaking. He knew Artham was standing at his side, but his brother had his arm around their mother as she wept. And in this moment, Esben felt terribly, terribly alone.

His father, Jru Wingfeather, was dead. And he was High King of the Shining Isle.

It hadn’t been expected. Not really. His father had been older, yes, but healthy and hale. Mere days earlier he’d been joking around with the two of them, eyes sparkling with joy.

And then, two days ago, he passed in his sleep, a smile on his face. The doctor guessed that his heart had given out, which Esben still didn’t fully understand. How could one’s heart give out if it was so full of so many things? And his father had loved his family, and Anniera, with all his heart.

Nevertheless, he was gone now. Which meant Esben was the High King, and that was a little terrifying in a way that Esben preferred not to contemplate more than he had to.

Sure, he’d been training his whole life for this. But he was nineteen years old, and felt horribly unprepared and unready, and his heart still ached whenever he thought about taking up the crown his father had worn not even a full week ago.

They were going to have to have a coronation. Esben almost groaned out loud at the thought. He couldn’t imagine pretending to be kingly and majestic in front of a crowd right now. If he tried, he’d probably start to laugh. Or cry, and neither option was particularly appealing.

Artham’s nudge in the ribs startled him out of his thoughts. For a wild moment, he worried he’d voiced his thoughts out loud and his brother was going to scold him. But there was no reprimand in Artham’s gaze as he tilted his head silently at the priest, who’d finished speaking and was watching him expectantly.

Oh, right. He’d almost forgotten his own part in the ceremony. Stepping forward, Esben forced himself to look at it— the grave, the coffin that held his father. The mound of fresh earth next to it loomed darkly as Esben approached.

Reaching out, he took a handful of the earth and dropped it on top of the coffin. “May the Maker receive you with all joy, even as we mourn you here,” he recited, loud enough that the crowd could hear. Hesitating, he stared down at the coffin and added, only loud enough for him to hear, “I’ll try to make you proud, Papa. I’ll be a good king.” I hope.

He stepped back, and everything was suddenly moving faster than he could process. Before Esben knew it, the gaping hole was filled in, leaving a dark patch to mark the grave. Artham stepped forward with a tiny sapling, the roots encased in a ball of dirt. Together, as was the tradition, the two brothers dug a hole in the mound of dirt covering the grave and planted the sapling. As Artham shored it up with dirt, Esben stared at the small tree. Out of death, new life. Somehow, that thought didn’t bring him much comfort yet.

They got to their feet together, Artham’s hand on his shoulder lending Esben a little comfort. In turn, he put his arm around his mother’s shoulder when they moved to stand next to her. She pressed her hand against his, and Esben could see her blinking back tears.

And then the funeral was over, and they were heading into the main hall of Castle Rysen, where food had been set out and they could visit with the guests who came to express their condolences and support.

Esben had expected to hate this part. But as guests stopped by, their words lent him strength. They spoke about his father, telling stories— of the king and the man, stories that were funny and stories that made both brothers and their mother cry. It was a bittersweet way to spend the day, mourning the High King, but celebrating him, too.

“It’s how Jru would have wanted it,” their mother said quietly. “He would have loved this, so many friends together here.” She gazed across the room, at the groups of people talking.

“Sorrow, yet joy,” Artham said. “Loss, yet healing.”

Nala laughed softly. “Exactly.”

It was enough to bring a smile to Esben’s face, but only briefly. As another guest approached his mother, he murmured an excuse and slipped away. He needed a minute to himself, just one.

There was a small door in the right hand wall of the hall that led out to a balcony set in the side of the hill. A set of stairs led down to the green below, but Esben didn’t take them now. He just leaned against the railing and took a long, deep breath. Finally, he had a moment to himself, to think.

The sun was shining, which seemed a little wrong. Most funerals he’d read about had rain. When his aunt died, it was raining. But the sun was shining, the light glimmering on the sea. The breeze streamed through the nearby trees, the hush of leaves reaching his ears even from a distance.

It would have been a nice day for sailing, and Esben almost snorted at the thought. At the fact that he could think about those things when… when he was the High King now.

Every time he thought about it, the idea seemed to weigh a little heavier on his shoulders, and he closed his eyes. Oh, Maker. How am I supposed to do this on my own?

He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been there when he heard the door behind him open, then close, and soft footsteps sounded. Artham? It didn’t really sound like him, which meant it was probably a guest. Esben straightened up, turning to face— Nia Helmer?

His eyes widened as she said, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I thought you’d probably want some time on your own, but Artham— well, he disagreed. I can leave, if you—”

“No,” Esben said immediately. “Stay. Please?”

The small smile she gave him sent a flash of warmth through him, and she came to stand next to him, hands resting on the railing as she stared out at the view.

Esben, however, wasn’t watching the view anymore. He was watching her— dressed in dark, somber clothing, her dark hair braided and twisted back, not a strand loose.

Artham had been right to send her. Anyone else, he would have been impatient or short with, but Nia… he didn’t think he could bring himself to snap at her. They’d been writing back and forth for three years now, with the odd meeting in person when he came to the Green Hollows with his family.

Every time Esben got a letter, he read it again and again, tucking it into his shirt and carrying it close to his heart. He had one with him even now, although he probably shouldn’t admit that. Nor should he admit that just seeing her again seemed to lift some of the weight from his shoulders, to bring him peace he desperately needed.

He looked at her again, at the way she was gazing at the trees and the ocean before them, the sunlight highlighting her skin. Then again, maybe he should tell her.

But not now. Not when he’d just lost his father. A twinge of guilt went through Esben. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this right now.

“I’d guess you’re tired of being asked how you are,” Nia said, breaking through his thoughts.

Letting out a low chuckle, Esben admitted, “I’ve gotten a lot of it, yes.”

“I thought so. So then… what do you need?”

Esben glanced at her, surprised, as she continued, “I can leave you be, or we can talk, or I can just keep you company, or I can get Artham out here. And if you need a hug, I’m here.”

A laugh slipped out, despite himself. “You are… incredible.”

“I’m just doing what anyone would do,” Nia said, turning slightly pink.

“No. You’re incredible. Trust me.”

She smiled. “Well, then, are you going to help me in my incredibleness and tell me what you need?”

“Yes, ma’am. I…” Esben hesitated, then said, “I’d take a hug.”

Without hesitating, before he could think better of his words, Nia pulled him gently into a hug. She was warm and smelled like something sweet, and Esben could feel the strain of the day melting away.

“How am I supposed to do this?” he whispered into her hair.

“Take it one day at a time,” she said quietly. “And remember you’re not alone, Esben. You have people who love you, who will support you. Artham, and your mother, and—”

“And you?” he asked, pulling back a little, his heart stuttering a little as he looked at her. It was something else he shouldn’t have said, maybe. But with Nia in his arms, it felt a little like he could topple the world if he needed to.

She smiled at him like the sun rising over the Shining Isle. “And me,” she told him. “Though… I cannot stay long. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Esben said, taking her hands. “Just hearing your voice for now is enough. I’ll be here at home for a while after the funeral, but… could I come see you, sometime soon? And your family?”

“Please do,” Nia said, and he knew that she understood exactly what he was thinking.Sorrow, he thought, and yet joy. Finally, he thought he understood it.

#springfling2024 #the wingfeather saga #esben wingfeather #nia wingfeather #artham wingfeather #nala wingfeather #this also is obviously set several years pre series #writing stories is a kind of magic too #not gonna lie i could write a WHOLE lot more about esben and nia #they're just. exactly my kind of ship. i would die for them

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