You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Hound - 2

I slip from my old life as easily as shedding heavy robes. No more am I clad in silk, but a rough too big shirt and thick pants, and boots that rub my feet. Maybe two days I think of the food at home or the fields. Then it's all gone, fading all too quickly from my minds eye only to return in dreams at night. I do miss home and my mother. And I will return someday. But now our voyage takes us south. And I am consumed with learning the workings of the massive ship.
As soon as the men discover I can wriggle just about anywhere I become indispensable. I can climb anything, and from fixing the sails to fetching ropes. I'm constantly moving. The rock of the boat is soothing and I get my sea legs faster than Rush had money on, so he's cross with me for days.
They all think I'm three years older than I am, I think Rush might guess I seem a bit naive, but I don't know. I mask my youth and my innocence with language I picked up from the knights. So I fabricate a family leaving out names of my real ones. I simply say my father had money and he died and someone took his fortune. When I go home I'll get it back but for now I need the work. It's close enough to the truth. And no one cares too much for the little boy with the golden hair, who sings in the old tongue as he works and repels down the mast without fear.
Our captain is an old man, Jameson, and he seems irritated by me till he discovers I can in fact read his maps and charts faster than he or in fact anyone on the ship.
"My mama read to me," I say, by way of explanation. Soon they learn to stop asking questions about my old life. It begins to slip from my daily speech. These are all just things I know. And half of what I was taught as a prince has no merit as a sailor.
And I learn to love the wide open sea.
The rocking of the boat cools my mind in a way little else does. I love the salt air filling my nose, the relentless crash of the waves against the hull.
I miss my mother and imagine writing to her to tell her I'm well. I think to write her a letter, but what if it would get her killed? Not that I can mail a letter I have nowhere to post it. We haven't docked anywhere.
"Hound, check the rigging," the first mate, Glenn, barks, he is one of the few who still growls at me. The rest are reasonably amused by my presence which I'll take. As always I scurry to obey. The rigging is my favorite chore, and years of climbing palace walls and balancing on roof tops has left me sure footed.
It takes Rush a month to discover my ambidexterity. I hardly notice the difference now, as my family is used to me, so I often forget that it's rare to use one hand as well as the other.
"Fucking—god—damn it!" I cry, getting a splinter in one hand I was using to hammer, while I was using the other to undo a knot. I suck on the wound, switching tasks.
"Hound, what in the world?" Rush laughs, "You can do one chore at a time?"
"Interestingly enough, I cannot. Brandon bet me an orange that I couldn't get this done before noon," I grunt.
"Do you always use two hands like that?"
"Yeah, I'll fence you with both if one of you goddamn cowards would give me a sword," I spit blood out.
"We're not arming you Hound, we're not that bored yet," he laughs.
They get that bored by the time we reach the middle of the world. By my counts it must be late in the year and so it should be cold. I've passed my seventh birthday and am growing like a weed, my feet fit in the boots now and my shirt is no longer too long. I'm scarred, bronze, and stretched. My hair is sunkissed and tangled most of the time and hasn't been cut since I left home. I braid bits of it that get too long and then tuck those back. My mother taught me to braid hair because I was board once and I love playing with my hands.
"All right, the little Hound dog won't shut up about getting a sword so let's see if he can actually fence?" The captain emerges with his dueling sabres. I and the rest of the crew were lazing about the deck, enjoying the sun and being hot. I was being harassed into singing for them, which I can do quite well.
"Which hand do you want me to do and to how many points?" I ask, holding out my hands.
When I was small I could barely lift Lonan and Bran's swords. Now I find this sword is easy and light in my hand. A real weapon, not a piece of wood like I'm used to.
"You're a cocky thing," Captain Jameson laughs, "Let's do your left hand; you can't be so good with that."
I shrug and hold out my left hand, putting the other behind my back. The men laugh.
He gets a touch on me, but I adapt quickly to the lighter, faster sword. We're using two different styles, but I'm small and quick, soon I've made a touch as well, and then I hook my sword into his hilt and flick it from his hand.
"Where'd you learn to fence like that, boy?" He asks, frowning.
"My father," I say.
"I know only one man who could switch a sword between his hands, and knock it from yours like that," he says, shaking his head, "Who is your father?"
"Sir Gallagher," I say, "From Ulster."
The captain shakes his head, "No, this man would be dead by now. You're him returned again perhaps. Keep away from the swords, my boy. You're too clever with them."
Then he leaves us again, melancholy.
"He spoke of his lover," Rush tells me, "He died in a duel —in the East."
"Oh," I say, feeling bad, "I'm sorry I beat him then."
"Don't be. You just remind him of him, that's all. It's good to see fragments of those we once loved. It reminds us there are still good pieces in the world," Rush says, messing up my hair.
"That's why I look at the moon each night," I say, holding my necklace, "It reminds me of my mum. I miss her."
"She'll be proud of the man you are when you get home. Tell me, what are you going to do when you get back?"
Take back my crown. Kill whoever is on my throne. Save my mother. Free my country. Rule. "I don't know really. Stuff."
"There you go. Harass your brother, you said you had a brother? He'll love your tales of the sea."
"Yeah, I wish he were here," I hope he's okay. If Lonan were here I wouldn't miss home so bad, next to my mums he's my favorite family member.
"You'll have such an adventure to tell him of."
"I will." My family does not need to know about some of this. Well, the bits where I cried for home and didn't know how to get back. My mother need not worry. I'll just, get a message to her next time we port.
Before we stop into port, I ask to see the Captain's maps. He lets me, knowing I can read and he has some fondness for me. I study them carefully, memorizing the name of anywhere halfway close to Ulster, my home. My island. Green and dipped in magic dropped in the middle of the choppy blue sea. I nearly cry just staring at its image on the map.
But I hold firm. Surely there will be another ship at least heading that way?
When we dock, I hop off, forgetting I don't have my land legs. I miss the sea instantly, and the men laugh at me. I don't mind; it was probably funny.
They remind me to be back by dark and let me run off. Rush kind of wants to follow me, but I slip away. I must go find where the other ships are going.
And I find nothing. Not a single one is going in the direction of Ulster nor do half speak my language. With maps and gestures I indicate where I'm asking, but nothing. One is going north but not to Ulster. I consider trying to join them but decide against it. My crew is kind enough and I'm becoming a valuable sailor. There's no reason to leave my current situation. It is not that bad. It's just going the wrong direction. I need to go home. It's been almost half a year. My mother will be worried about me she worries if I'm gone a night. What is Lonan doing? Looking for me? And my mama telling my mother I'm surely all right? And Bran he'd fight anyone to bring me home I know he misses my father terribly. He did love him even if he didn't deserve it. And my dogs. I miss my dogs. I just want to be home.
"There you are," Rush finds me nearly sobbing in the middle of the market, "What's wrong, lad?"
"I want to go home," I sigh.
"Aw, missing your mother now? Don't worry, you'll be home before you know it. Now come along, you must be hungry, it's nearly dinner. And this the first time you've crossed the middle of the world, isn't it?"
"Yes," I've never been this far from home before.
"Come on then, right of passage," he ushers me on. I have no idea I'm about to get a tattoo. I don't know what a tattoo is, so I agree. A few of the other men haven't crossed either. A woman with thread and a needle dipped in ink, sews a design into our skin. That's as uncomfortable as it sounds. And I don't think my mother would approve it feels like she might not. So, I have them put it on my ankle. She shouldn't see there when I do go home. And I don't actually mind it, it's a nice little turtle shape, done in black and green, I trace the lines on my skin in the dark that night. It doesn't sting as much as I thought it would. Then again, 'pain threshold of a starving wolf' is a phrase ascribed to me so I suppose I'm earning my name.
King Hound.