You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Hound - 1

It's strange that the start of my life is also where my real self died. Elisedd died in the dark. I am no more a prince. Just a boy who must become a man one day.
"I want to go home, please sir, please take me home," I say, as the man tugs the gag from my mouth. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I know this man, I've seen him before, but I don't know his name. Now he's dressed different. Gray stubble on his cheeks and dark hair slicked from his face.
"Shh, now, little lad, you must listen closely. Your father is dead, you are meant to be as well. But when I was young, your father spared my life. And so I spare yours," he says, tugging the bindings from my hands, "A powerful man wants you dead, and your life is cheap in Ulster. If you want to live, you will never come home."
"Please, no, my mother needs me," I sob, "Please?"
"You must be brave. You may see your family again someday a long time from now. But for now you must be very brave, and live, now hush. If you speak, if you tell them who you really are, you will die and your mother will too, you hear me? You will not tell these men your name. You'll have a different one," he says, pushing me forward. We're at the wharf, I've only been once. Bran and my mother took me and he carried me on his shoulders the whole time. I did like the smell of the water, but now I want to throw up. I want to go home.
"This is the lad, his father is dead, and his mother can't feed him. He's strong," the man pushes me forward. Another man who was loading a rowboat pauses.
"You said he'd be nine."
"He is, aren't you boy?"
"I am," I lie, my voice shaking, "I'm small for my age." I'm six and I've always been tall.
"What's your name then, boy?" The man asks, kneeling a bit. He's Lonan's age or so, he looks young. Younger than my father.
"Cuan—Gallagher," I say, quietly. Cuan is what my mum and Bran call me, Lonan too. And Gallagher is Bran's name.
"He's saying Hound, it's the old tongue," the man explains, quickly, "He's quiet, but he'll catch on quick."
"We'll find out, come on then, Hound, hop in, have you ever been on a ship?"
I shake my head no.
"I'm Rush Lincoln, it's my seventh voyage. We'll take good care of you, don't be scared now, come on," he helps me into the boat. I want to run back home, but how? He said they'd kill me and my mother.
"You'll do fine, lad, remember what I said. Find a different home," the man says, to me, as the boat begins to pull away.
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I clutch my mother's necklace in my hand. It's around my neck still.
"You ever been away from home before?" Rush asks, kindly.
I shake my head no.
"You'll be all right. Your mother will be glad, you've got a good job, and plenty of food," he says, "You're going to have an adventure. What do you think of that?"
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"The Arctic, do you know where that is?"
"The bottom of the world, I've seen it on maps," I say, softly. Pretty maps in my father's study.
"You're a clever one aren't you? Can you read?"
I nod, twisting my hands together.
"The captain may want you then, only a few can read. I do but slow, we'll see how you are," he encourages.
"Why are we going all the way there?" All I know is that's the farthest bit on the map from Ulster.
"We're a hunting party, we hunt the sea monsters, that lurk beneath the ice," he says, "Then we sell their golden scales, at the cape, to finance our voyage back home."
"We'll come back?" I ask, hopefully. Maybe it won't be long, maybe the man was right. And I can come home soon and everyone won't want to kill me. I can sneak back in, Lonan showed me how.
"Yeah, turn around, after we finish."
"How long does that take?"
"Five years."
"Oh," that's a very long time. I've barely been alive five years. Well, that I remember. I am six. And Bran said when I was seven I could have a knife. I'm not seven yet.
"Don't be sad now. What did he say? Your da died?"
"I guess," that's what he said. I heard Bran screaming so it must be true. Bran wouldn't scream like that unless my father were dead.
"You miss him?"
"No. I hated him. I thought about killing him. He didn't like me," I say.
"You're a bold thing," he laughs.
"I miss my mother, and my mama, and my other father, and my brother," I say.
"You've got a lot of family."
"Yes," and they want me home. How is Lonan supposed to find me if I'm on a ship? I'm scared again. Bran hasn't shown me how to throw knives yet he said he would for my next birthday. And with my dad dead he might have done it earlier.
"Don't cry there, you're going to be a sailor now. Your family will be proud when you get back," he says, firmly.
"A sailor?" I'm a sailor now, not a prince. That's odd. I frown. "Can I have a sword?"
"You want a sword now? What for?" He laughs.
"To defend myself. I know how to use it, my other father taught me."
"Who is your other father? He sleeping with your mother?" He asks.
"No. My fathers slept together, and then my mother and my mama sleep together," I frown.
"Okay then," Rush laughs.
"My father is the only person in my family I don't like because he doesn't like me and I suppose he's dead now and I don't care," I say, shrugging, "Do you have good biscuits? I like biscuits dipped in treacle or syrup or raspberry jam? That's what I eat for breakfast. My mum wants me to eat other things but I just like biscuits."
"No, we do not, what do you think are —a prince?" He laughs.
"No," I say, amused, "I'm a King."
"Well then, King Hound, welcome aboard the Final Journey."