You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Hound - 4

I wake up, much warmer, splayed on the deck of a ship. And for a moment I think none of it ever happened.
"Is he alive?"
"Why are you asking me? You see what I see."
"I think he's dead."
"If he's dead—can we eat him?"
"No! What on earth is the mater with you—?"
"Look, he's moving."
"Hey—kid," someone kicks me.
I open my eyes, blinking. I'm lying on the deck of a ship, in the sun, surrounded by a completely rag-tag looking group of people who maybe, you know, just maybe, this just an idea, shouldn't be allowed out or to dress themselves.
"Hey kid, who are you?"
"The Hound, who are you?" I ask, sitting up.
"What were doing in the water?" one asks.
"Drowning," I say, frowning, "Are you pirates?"
"Ah—"
"We're—,"
"Yeah, we're pirates. Welcome aboard the Vindice, I'm your captain, Vico," a person with dark hair and soft features holds out a hand.
"Vico's our captain it's their ship—," one of the others says.
"I literally just said that. You moron. And you, Sir Hound—,"
"That's King Hound to you," I say, sitting up.
Several pirates laugh.
"And I'm trying to go home. I'm from Ulster. Don't suppose you're head that way?" I ask.
"Kind of. We're headed north. Do you want to join our crew?" Vico asks.
"Be aware your whole ship is dead."
"Yes, they drown."
"We thought you were drown too."
"But I fished you out in case Vico would let us eat you."
"I was never going to let you do that—!"
"Sure. I'll be a pirate. I'm not doing anything special on the way," I say, dryly, looking around. They're flying a pirates flag of a pair of dancing pirates. So not the ones who were chasing my fishing ship.
"All right. We're heading up the coast, our plan is, to rob enough vessels to make ourselves filthy rich, and hit some slave ships, free the slaves, kill the captains. It's gonna be fun. You help us enough, we'll take you as far as Ulster. You got somewhere we can stay there?"
"Yeah, that can be arranged," I scoff, standing up painfully.
"Can you use a sword?" Vico asks.
"Can I?" I laugh producing a knife. So that's how knife fights get started.
About ten people want to see if the scrappy little kid is as good in a knife fight as he claims and I am so I win. Vico sits on a barrel laughing the entire time and that's my first day as a pirate.
I find the pirate ship's hierarchy is far different from my fishing vessel. We all eat together, and while there is a captain and firstmate they fraternize with us at will. We fairly divide the work, and there's several women among the crew, who while dressed as men introduce themselves as female. Vico is neither and is amused when I refer to my two dads and two moms, though nobody else even comments.
I find my self disturbed at how quickly I slip from my old crew into my new one. I do think of the others and pray for them, but I find myself passively indifferent. My mind rewrites itself with each new tragedy, perhaps because it's all too much to bear otherwise. I do not know. Either way I'm quite well and adapted.
The Vindice is a smaller ship than my old one and I quickly learn my way around. The crew is worried about my habit of sleeping up in the rigging or the crow's nest, but Vico rules to let me have it.
Kieran, a red haired sailor who I beat at knife fighting, says if I fight him with my other hand he'll give me a tattoo for free and so I do. I have him tattoo a compass on my left wrist. Good luck, the sailors say, to find my way home again. They accept that it's important to me to get home, and once they realize how small I was when I left, several offer to help me make my way if needed.
I don't lie about my age to them. I admit I'm only eleven, going on twelve, even though I look more fourteen. I'm tall as ever, and tanned as ever, and the tattoos, ring in my ear, and scars on my skin make me look every bit the teenager. But my soft features and smooth chin betray me. I can't imagine having a beard though. I would look too much like my father. Bran is always smooth shaven, so is Lonan, and so I imagine myself more like them. Even though if I creep out onto the prow to spy my face reflected in the water, it's my father's face looking back.
Raiding my first ship is thrilling. We find a fishing fleet ship, like the one I came from, and we board, subdue the crew, and loot the ship before setting it on fire and sailing away. They're close enough to shore to escape and swim or the like, they'll be fine.
We get decent money from that, and sadly I find a set of scales from one of the monsters like the one I set loose.
"I don't think I like hunting," I say, staring at the scales.
"You mean animals, right?" Youngblood, our first mate, scoffs.
"Yeah, people's fine," I say, dryly. It's true. People I care little for fighting I find.
Which is a good thing, since I'm a pirate.
Quickly the crew figures out not only can I fence with either hand I can fence with both at once, and the next time we port I get two cutlasses one for each hip. And two daggers for my back.
As always, I check ships going to Ulster. None are. At this point I would not leave my ship, but I would send word home of some kind that I'm well on on my way. We're making our way north, however slowly. Our raids and avoiding the various navy's takes time but there's little to do I'm a criminal now. I can hardly join a legitimate ship. And I don't mind. I find I'm well suited to this lifestyle.
I enjoy the sea and the waves as I did aboard my first ship. And now I enjoy this purpose more, the odd fight, the adventure of boarding another ship. And my crew is mostly good, I'm still the young pup, but they grow attached to their Hound with his singing and manner of not looking at you as he speaks and using both hands to do everything. I'm an odd thing on a ship of odd things and I've never felt more at home. Not since I left home anyway, I suppose I felt at home there.
But as my thirteenth birthday dawns, I realize I cannot recall my family's faces, or voices. I've been gone seven years. And I only lived with them six. I have been gone longer than I was there, and my childish memory has faded into mere fairy tale and hope, nothing more. Now I hold my mother's necklace and question if my memory serves, and she even wants me home anymore. I look down at myself and realize that as I don't recognize myself, she will not recognize me either. And the idea that my mother will not know me is terrifying. And yet I do not know her.
I can guess her face and voice but it's faded into obscurity of my mind. My own body betraying me even in my youth. I no longer expect to be called prince anymore. My own name is foreign on my ears. My voice is rough with an approximation of something like my accent but it's so far buried even I don't hear the rolled Rs and softened vowels anymore. I'm becoming someone else entirely. And I find I like him very much.