You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Crown - 1

Slaine
I'm awoken by a knock at the door. Ita stirs next to me, a dagger in her hand.
"It's Bran Gallagher," Bran says, rapping on the door.
"We know who Bran is," Ita sighs, getting up.
"What's wrong?" I ask, snatching a shawl and getting up. I fear for Lonan. The boy gets into duels fairly often. He's bound to lose one one day.
"Come in," Ita opens the door and ushers him in. Bran locks eyes with me, just grinning.
"No," I say, tears springing to my eyes.
He nods his head, still grinning, "We've got him."
Both of us scream, launching ourselves into the knight who lifts us each one arm.
"No, no, where is he—Bran—,"
"He's home," Bran whispers into my ear, kissing my cheek.
"Thank you, thank you," Ita chokes him.
"Shhh, we cannot speak here, he's home, he's fine, he's home, he's with Lonan now," Bran whispers, tears in his eyes as well as he sets us down.
"Where is he?" I'm basically shaking Bran.
"Completely fine, with his brother," Bran whispers, his head bent to ours, "I promise you, your boy is safe."
"I've so longed to hear you say that," I whisper, sobbing, clutching him, "Where—when—,"
"He'll tell you all I didn't get all of it, I laid eyes on him, and came to tell you," he says, gripping our arms.
"We'll come with you, take us to him," Ita says.
"That boy's life is cheap in Ulster now, and these walls could very well have ears," Bran says, "I'll have him at the chapel tomorrow afternoon."
"Where is he?" I'm sobbing and clutching Bran's arm for strength.
"At home, with Lonan, as I say that, I should monitor that situation, he's fine, he's fine, our boy is fine," Bran says, kissing my forehead.
"Go take care of him," Ita says, immediately.
"I love that kid, you know that," he says, hugging us both, "You're going to hold him tomorrow, all right?"
"What did he say?" I ask, still shaking him.
"He was grinning and being crushed by his brother and demanding his mum," Bran says, "He wears your necklace. He's not forgotten us."
"Thank you thank you thank you," I'm shaking, incoherent with the news.
"Don't thank me," he squeezes us.
"Go as you said, take care of them."
"Be at the San Michel chapel, after noon we'll come," he whispers, before kissing Ita's hair one more time.
"Thank you, Bran," I say, smiling at him again. I'm trembling.
"He's home, he's home," Ita says, wrapping her arms around me.
"Oh my god," I clutch her, incoherent. I want my baby in my arms. Right now. My baby boy. Stolen from me. He's sixteen. He's sixteen years old he's not my baby anymore. Yes, he is. I want him home.
"He's okay, Bran's got him and his brother's got him he's okay," she says, hugging me.
"I know," I say, kissing her cheek, "Thank you. Oh god, thank you for bringing him home safe."
"He's safe," she says, clutching me.
"But what's happened? Where—," where could he be that he could not come home?
There's another knock at the door.
"Are you up?" Morgana' s gentle voice asks.
"Yes," I wipe the tears from my face and try to compose myself, "What is it, darling?"
"Um—can you come help me?" She asks, weakly, as I open the door, "I'm trying to get Matuac to bed, and I don't want to go look for Sir Fitzroy in the barracks if he's even there—I found Sir Gallagher, but I think I need more people and I'm not strong enough—,"
"No, I'll come, we'll come," I say, nodding to Ita, "Where is he?"
"Where he always is, throne room," she sighs.
"Oh god," I say, "Yes, of course we're coming." She already waylaid Bran? I want Bran on my errand. But this poor boy.
I sigh, when we reach the throne room, the door is open, to reveal the entire marble floor scattered with broken glass. Matuac, mostly naked, is crawling through it, covered in blood. It's not clear what he's doing. However Bran is basically sitting on top of him saying:
"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU EAT GLASS???"
So I am assuming he was eating the broken glass.
"This is treason, get off me," Matuac snarls.
"Matty please," Morgana goes to him.
"Oh shut the fuck up, glass boy," Bran, who probably needed a vacation a long time ago, while bodily picking up the heavily bleeding child who is still trying to cram glass in his mouth.
"Shh, shh, Matuac, let's go back to your room Galin will want to see you," I say, taking his bloody hand, "Let me put something on this."
"Make him unhand me," Matuac struggles in Bran's arms.
"In case any of you didn't follow: he was eating glass," Bran says.
"We realized," Ita says, "I'll get someone to sweep this up."
"Thank you," Morgana is near crying.
"Shh," I put an arm around her shoulders, "Go get Galin you know how he soothes his brother. We'll get him to bed."
"Really?" Morgana asks, "Are you sure —he'll try to run—,"
"We'll be fine," Bran says, carrying the boy over his shoulder. He's gone to examining the blood on his hands and saying nothing.
We haul him back to his room. Conri's old room. I saw my husband bleed to death in this bed. Bran unceremoniously drops the boy onto it, then goes about helping me find bandages.
"Here, stashed 'em under the bed. From last time," Bran says, tossing it to me.
"Poor boy," I sigh, catching them and going to work on the boy's shredded chest. "Bran, at what point did we start accidentally raising a family together?"
"I don't know, but it upsets me too," he sighs, glancing at the window.
"Go," I whisper.
"You sure you got glass eater?"
"Yeah, you have a boy to be concerned with," I raise an eye brow.
He nods, "Be good. Stay."
"I'm your King," Matuac says.
"You're my pain in the ass. Stay," Bran says before leaving.
Matuac goes back to looking at his bloody hands idly.
"You can't do this to yourself," I sigh, looking at the biggest threat to my son's life. A completely mad, boy, who is just as much a danger to himself. "What are we going to do?" I ask, more god than anyone.