You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Crown - 2

Lonan
I hardly sleep, nor do the kids. Cuan recovers mostly from the shock, though I still hear him slip from our accent into one he adopted. He's a different boy than the one who left. He would be. But that ten years is going to hit his mother even harder than it is me.
My father returns in the night like he thinks we'll all vanish, and rises before us to get breakfast.
"That smells good," the girl that came with Cuan, Kara, comes down first, dressed in men's clothes as before. They only came with the shirts on their backs.
"It's palatable, I am not a cook" my father grunts.
"Morning! Did you see my mother? What did she say?" Cuan asks, basically skipping in. He's wearing just his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up oh my fucking god he has tattoos on both arms.
"I did—JESUS, Lonan I swear to Christ—-,"
"I am on it," no idea what I'm going to do about that. Maybe we best tell his mother while she's still happy he's alive. I got the earring out last night. I personally thought that was big.  Apparently, it was in case he got shipwrecked and to pay for his funeral and it was a thirty minute discussion that he's not going to get shipwrecked in the middle of Ulster.
"What?" Cuan asks, immediately starting to eat. Both kids eat like they're not used to getting food, it's very reinforcing. "Did you see my mother or no? Is she happy to hear I'm back?"
"Yes, she's more than thrilled," Bran says, "You're going to see her at a chapel, this afternoon, god fucking damn it maybe evening—?"
"Why? I want to see her now," Cuan says.
"It's not gonna take too long," I say to my father.
"We need to ah—," my father gestures at him.
"To correctly smuggle you around Ulster for long periods of time like we're going to, you need to not look like a pirate, you need to look like an ordinary citizen," I say.
"I have more clothes on the ship but they aren't different," Cuan says, a little sad.
"No, it's fine you just haven't been home. We really want you to blend in," I say, quickly.
"Can I borrow your clothes?" He asks.
"Sure, to get somewhere, but probably need to cut your hair too—don't worry we're going to go visit a friend of mine," I say.
"God, not that person," my father sighs.
"We're going to go see a friend of mine who has an abundance of time on his hands and an abundance of clothes," I say, completely ignoring my father (this is good for him).
I dress Cuan in an oversized coat of mine, Kara I'm not even messing with. My father says something about someone eating glass and going back to check on things at the palace? I do not know? I elect not to worry about it. I'm not even meant to be there today.
The kids follow me through the city streets about as attentively as baby ducklings. They stick near each other and even closer to me, which means they run into me every time I stop. The bad thing with me smuggling people is half the people in Ulster know me and stop me to greet me. The good thing about me smuggling people is all of Ulster is not surprised two orphans are following me like baby ducklings and do not question it when stopping to greet me.
"How do you know all these people?" Cuan asks.
"I don't remember! They kind of know me!"
"How do you know whoever we're going to and why will he help?"
"I know him because I helped him find his doll once, and he will help because he loves drama, lying, and has infinite time on his hands," I say.
"His doll?"
"Yeah, he lost it and I wasn't doing anything special so I helped him find it. We were like ten."
"Ah," Cuan says, nodding. I doubt he had dolls when he was ten considering he wasn't home with us.
"You'll like him, I promise," I say, "He can know who you are."
"Is that safe?"
"I should clarify, this is the least credible looking person in Ulster."
As if intending to back up my statement, Durst answers his own door wearing a floor length pink skirt that is incredibly glittery, a magenta sequined cape, and a blue sash around his waist. I didn't mention a shirt because there isn't one. He has a lightening bolt painted across his face I assume for personal reasons.
"Come in! Lonan, darling," he kisses me on the lips strongly, drawing us in.
The kids stare around the house. It's at first glance ordinary, till you realize every item of furniture is animated and walking around doing chores. Then it's not ordinary at all.
"He's a Druid, with time on his hands," I say, "Who hasn't been convicted of sorcery because he looks like a danger to himself not others."
"Ah," Cuan says, nodding a little.
"Durst, we're here for a favor. This is my little brother, Cuan, who you know was missing? Well, he's home and we're trying to help him fit in?" I ask.
"Oh absolutely! Come on darling," he says, taking Cuan's hand, "Can we cut your hair? This is disgusting—not you darling you stay right there because you are perfect." He says the second part to Kara who was staring at a rug that was glaring at her.
"No," Cuan puts hands over his hair.
"Can I fix it?" Durst asks, hopefully.
"Okay," Cuan glares at him a little.
"Thank you, Durst," I say, as Kara and I tentatively sit down on a bench.
"Anytime—-WARDROBE," he shouts this and a wardrobe scurries into the room. Cuan draws a knife on it. I may have to search him for knives before we go in a church.
"Here, green is your color."
"I like black."
Durst looks at me.
"What? You heard him."
"This isn't any fun," Durst pouts.
"It's a rescue/deposition it's not supposed to be fun," I say, crossing my legs, "We appreciate you though."
"You'd better."
After about a half an hour of deliberations, Durst finds a royal blue shirt, and black shirt, both suitably loose, but rich enough to pass for the clothes of a noble. Cuan also consents to a black jacket, as well as trousers that don't look like they belong to a pirate. He does let Durst clean his hair and after deliberation about mats, cut it till it can be manageably tied in a short tie behind his head.
He still looks stiffly out of place, a bit too tan for our rainy island, the piercing in his ear still noticeable, eyes set and hard, as always staring around the room as he speaks to you. He's as fluid with both hands as ever, however unnerving of a practice and I hardly point it out. I don't want him to feel as off as he does. But at least he looks like somebody I could be wandering around with.
Kara does actually accept a different jacket. Durst grins at her, I don't know why but she doesn't seem upset, so I leave it. Thanking him again, and after he kisses me again for some reason, we meet my father back in the center of town.
"If anyone asks, you're cousins of the Gallaghers from over the channel," my father explains.
"Will people buy that?" Cuan asks.
"Yes," he rolls his eyes, "Tried and tested. We're a big enough family. Nobody's going to bother to check so long as we keep your heads low."
"We will! I'm not going to die," Cuan sighs, like we're a pain.
"Damn straight," my father shakes his shoulder, "Come on. Let's go see your mum."
We make our way to the church. I forget how embarrassing it is entering houses of worship with my father. I surrender my sword and dagger at the door, Kara does similar. You know. Like normal people. Who can divest their weapons in under ten minutes.
"You literally knew we were coming here," I say, as my father withdraws his eighth knife.
"Yes, so I packed light," he says, stubbornly.
"I'm done," Cuan says.
"Really?" I slap his back, where I know another knife is. He sighs and surrenders it.
"I'm finished, see?" My father, who definitely has more knives, "I think we were being followed earlier."
"You ALWAYS think we're being followed. Never have we gone somewhere as a family and you not said 'I think we're being followed'," I hiss.
"And how often have we been followed?" He asks.
"Like, half the time, but that doesn't mean anything because you literally say it every single time," I say.
"That's—a disturbing number of times to be followed," Kara says.
"Don't tell them, I thought we were followed from the south seas almost all the way up here," Cuan says.
"Oh, I wasn't even thinking of that," she says, "But it's true."
"We're going to let that go, better for our sanity," my father tells me, leading us through the chapel. There's a back room we get to use because we saved the bishop's life. It's good for meeting outside the palace with royalty who aren't supposed to be outside the palace.
"Come on," I say, herding the kids forward, they were back to whispering. I wonder how long they've been together. Or if they told me and I didn't remember because they talk really quickly.
We duck into a small, dimly lit stone room, mostly intended for prayer I think, but as I said we use it to have extended personal conversations.
The women are already here, in dark cloaks over their dresses.
"Mother?" Cuan asks, stopping and staring at them, confusion in his green eyes.
Slaine rushes to him, almost hesitant to hug her boy who is taller than she is now. Ita is not, hugging him fiercely. He wraps his arms around both of them, tears in his eyes.
"I'm so sorry. I'm home now," he says.
I smile a little at Kara and she cracks a smile. It's nice of her to come all this way with him. I assume she could be doing other things.
"What happened to you?" Slaine asks, stroking his cheek gently, studying her beloved boy's face.
"I was take aboard a ship. The long and short of it is it took me this long to make my way back to you," he says, smiling a little, "I'm fine. I promise."
She hugs him again, pressing her face into his shirt and just sobbing.
"Oh, mothers, this is my friend, Kara, she helped me get home," he says, hopefully, like he hopes his mother will like his friend.
"Nice to meet you," Kara says, smiling politely.
"Thank you," Slaine says, still clutching Cuan's arms.
"But what happened to my Uncle Fergus? What's been going on here?" Cuan asks, frowning.
"He died," I say, "He's not alive anymore."
"Someone killed him. Probably the same people who killed your father and took you. Why did they take you?" She asks, shaking his arm.
"A man took me from my room in the dead of night. He told me he was sparing my life because my father the King saved his, and so it was a debt. He told me I would die if I stayed in Ulster and you could too, then he put me on board a ship," Cuan explains, "The incidents in between then and now are immaterial other than that I'm quite well, and Kara is my friend— it's her ship I sailed back on."
"Thank you," Slaine continues hugging him.
"Of course," Kara smiles. She seems nice. I'm glad our Cuan has her.
"Who was watching over you?" Slaine asks.
"A—series of people I changed ships. I'm fine," Cuan says. From what I gathered he 'changed ships' because he was arrested or nearly drown, and the 'series of people' is most recently an actual ghost who has been parenting him and Kara. Cuan said I could meet him and I've got nothing against being haunted, so I said yes.
After a few more hugs we settle around the table. Cuan sits on one side next to me and Kara, facing his mother. My father paces.
"We need to be quick, as we can. Obviously, we're expected back at the palace," Ita says.
"They are fine with us for now. We'll say they're cousins or something no one's likely to recognize him," my father says, "One of my sisters was abroad, she gets back tonight. We act like they came with her. Then we can present them at court."
"Why are we doing that?" Cuan asks, "Why can't I be who I am? Matuac is on the throne— how will he react to my return?"
"Oh um—he's not having a good time right now," I say but as I say 'right now' my father says 'ever'.
"And right now he has the power to have you arrested. We need to be careful," Ita says, conservatively.
"It's my throne," Cuan says, taking out a dirk dagger and flipping it before slamming it into the table, for emphasis.
His mothers jump, so I do, saying, "Oh god I'm so sorry I thought I had all of them."
"Bad," my father grunts, taking it from him, "Nice knife, though."
"It's called a dirk. I got it from—where I got it is not important," Cuan stops, noticing his mother again.
"You can have it back outside," my father says, tucking it under his jacket to be safe at home with let's go with a conservative 800 other weapons.
"But—okay," Cuan looks like he wants it back now.
"We can't reveal who you are yet," his mother reiterates, "We have no plan at the moment and currently our army numbers this room and possibly two friends of Lonan's—,"
"Yeah, that's pretty accurate," I say.
"I'm going to need weapons from the ship," Cuan says.
"I'll take him to my sister's we'll establish who we're saying he is, and then we can present him at court," my father says.
"No one should wonder," Ita agrees.
"No, and once he's at court it'll be easier to assess what we need to do to keep him safe," my father says.
"I'll keep him safe," I say.
"What we need to do to keep both of them safe. We now have two sons of a deposed king, Matuac can be decently violent if put to it, we need a plan to handle him," my father says.
"I think I can handle one boy," Cuan scoffs, getting out another knife.
"I really tried—mate can we not, right now do you want our father to take them? And he took it—," I sigh, as my father snatches it from the boy.
"You can't handle the guards and half the knights who think he's the rightful king," Ita says.
"No, it's too dangerous," Slaine says.
"And we're running out of time," my father says, looking at the door, "We'll meet again at the palace. Tomorrow night some of the nobles are coming down, low-key thing to prove that Matuac can handle being in public when he completely cannot. My sister at least one is already going it's easy enough to sneak you in."
"And do what?" Cuan asks, "That isn't—accomplishing anything."
"Yes um—question as well—why can't this Matuac—," Kara does her best on the pronunciation. I nod encouragingly, "Not appear in public?"
"You know what? Answer hers, I want to know too," Cuan says, standing up to take off his jacket. He's been fiddling this whole time, always did when he was little so it's very soothing to me to watching him just move constantly, repositioning himself, fiddling with the table, the like. Except now he's taking his coat off. And cuffing up his sleeves.
"Matuac's not doing well," I say, immediately getting up and pulling Cuan's sleeve's back down and his jacket back on. We don't need to get distracted discussing what pirate tattoos the boy does and doesn't have and worse how he got them and what they mean. Me redressing him while he fidgets does not look natural at all, but blessedly Cuan does not argue it just compliantly letting me put his coat back on while he goes back to sitting incorrectly in a chair.
"Matuac, ah, doesn't appear much in public, he's been ill," Slaine says, diplomatically.
"His sister's not ill though, and she's smart," my father grunts, watching me wrestle Cuan's clothes back on with something like amusement.
"Back to your question," I say, pointing at Cuan, though I don't remember the question.
"Yeah—what are we accomplishing here?" Cuan asks, finally settling slightly. Kara just hands him something to fiddle with which is very cute, and at least it stops him shifting in the chair while I put his jacket back on.
"If you want to retake the throne, then we can't do that over night. Matuac may not be a strong monarch, but there are plenty of nobles happy to have him on the throne because other than what your grandmother and I might tell Matuac, they have a lot of control over him," Slaine says, "This is not going to be easy. At the moment our supporters are here in this room, minus probably ten people willing to die for your brother."
"That's—pretty accurate," I nod, "Like, maybe eleven, but Durst doesn't like doing things."
"And that means there's a decent number of people who want the status quo and would gladly kill you. They're going to say you're an imposter," Ita says.
Cuan shifts in his chair nervously.
"Do you? Want the throne?" My father asks, almost gently.
We all look at him.
He shifts nervously now, rubbing his face with both hands.
"I—I came back. Isn't that enough? I don't know. I came back because I'm meant to be here I had to come home now I—," he looks around.
"You don't have to do anything. We're glad you're home, that's all we wanted was to know you're safe," my father says.
"You can go," Slaine says, there are tears in her eyes, "If you want to. You can go. I'm so—your father and I wanted to be there to teach you how to be King. But that didn't happen, none of this happened like we supposed. But above all that, precious boy, I want you happy. I know your life isn't here now."
Cuan stares down at the table, tears filling his eyes.
"It's okay," I say, quietly.
"No it's not," he finally says, standing, "I—have no idea what I want. All I've wanted my whole life is to come home. And now you're making me choose! I can't choose. Okay? I can't. My life isn't anything because all I've done is try to fix what went wrong and get back and now I did and it's supposed to be over. So I don't know what I want because I don't know how I'm supposed to know what I want."
He turns and leaves.
Kara gets up and immediately follows him.
Slaine starts crying, Ita puts an arm around her. I look at my father. He nods.
"Go follow him, yeah? I'll stay with them," he says.
I nod, quickly.
Then I panic, because they aren't in the church collecting weapons and I panic until I find them outside the church, just down the street. Cuan is standing there hugging himself and crying. Kara is standing next to him, looking like she's unsure if she should hug him or not.
I am not unsure. I walk up to him and crush him in my arms like I'd do when he was five and crying because he didn't want to go to bed. And I would pick him up and cuddle him really really tightly to my chest while he was stiff, and I'd sing and in a moment he'd be asleep.
He remains stiff but leans against me, sobbing. I bury my face in his hair. Like here's five and I'm fifteen and I'm about to tuck him in bed safe in his room and I'm sweaty from riding and we're not in this damp street standing in the rain after loosing each other for ten years.
"I love you so much. And I am so, so, so glad you came back do you hear me?" I ask, pressing my forehead against his. He nods, tears streaming down his cheeks. "That's all I want, not a prince, not a king. I want my baby brother back. Because you are my best friend, you hear me?"
"I missed you so much," he sobs, "I was scared. And I remember crying, and wanting my mums. And I'd wake up and wonder why you weren't coming. And then—then I couldn't remember your voices."
"Shh, shh, I'm so sorry I didn't find you," I say, crying too. I kiss his forehead and hug him close to me, feeling him start to relax.
"You don't have to choose. We don't—like I said our previous plan is off, we're not—I'll stay as long as you like, or don't, or we can go sail to some of the other islands and come back. I'm fine, with whatever," Kara says, frowning a little. I wonder what their plan was? They've mentioned it a couple of times? I brought it up to my dad and he grunted something about being happier not knowing like the meaning of the tattoos and I figure he's right.
"But I can't stay here and not claim the crown—we're at a risk even now as they said if someone recognizes me, they will want me dead and I look like my father you saw his bloody picture in the church," Cuan sighs, "Besides which fact I can hardly stay with my mother she has no home of her own beyond the palace even visiting her is dangerous to us both."
"We will work it out? Okay, we don't have to figure it out today," I say, hands on his shoulders, "All right? You don't have to stay in Ulster. You can go. We don't want you in a cage we want to know you're alive."
"I don't know. I spent all these years getting home I can't—," he sighs heavily, tears springing to his eyes again, "I have no idea what to do right now."
"Okay. Then we don't plan anything. We don't need to, eh? Let's have dinner, and you tell me about some of what's happened and those tattoos one more time your mother doesn't need to see—,"
"Is that what you were doing?"
"Hell Cuan, of course that's what I was doing! Is one how many people you've killed or something? Mothers don't need to know that sort of thing that's why I'm glad I don't have one," I say.
Kara shrugs and nods like that really makes sense.
"No, it's nothing bad, the compass to get me home, the rose with the dagger means that I'll fight anybody at any time—got it yeah, you could be right," Cuan says, nodding.
"Yeah. But I think that's cool and our father needs that one as well if that's a thing, like tag him like a dog, actually really good idea," I say.
Cuan actually smiles.
"So, let's have dinner, you make me laugh, we go to a pub, I buy you a pint because you're my baby brother, you two tell me how you met, fun, eh? And then tomorrow we sneak into court and look around, see your old room, the dogs, more importantly the armory and swords room—,"
"I remember the armory—,"
"We spend all our time there having personal conversations," I tell Kara.
"You had me at swords room," she says, smiling.
"And you can see your mother. We can lie for a bit about who you are it's completely fine, okay? You deserve normal life, for a bit," I say, squeezing his shoulder, "Show Kara around Ulster? Has she ever been here?"
"No," Kara laughs, "Sea's more my thing."
"Sea's more my thing as well at this point," Cuan says, hugging himself again.
"Pubs don't open for a few hours, where do you want to go right now? My place? Find something to eat?" I ask, gently.
"Can we go back to the docks? I just—I could get some things off the Flying Serpent, there was this dagger I wanted to show our father," he says.
"Oh that's exactly what he needs, yeah, definitely, whatever you want," I say, "You can show me your ship."
"I can summon the ghosts and they can meet your brother," Kara says, getting him to smile.
"No," Cuan says, almost smiling, "I want him to keep being nice to me."
"You're really underestimating the ridiculous shit I've become involved in, primarily with Durst, primarily because I wasn't doing anything special prior to being asked if I want to fight a demon," I say.
"That was overly specific," Cuan frowns at me.
"That's because it happened twice," I say, shrugging, "Live and don't learn, if nobody's there to stop you did you really perform surgery on yourself or did your organs just do that? Family motto, I think."
"And you were worried about recognizing your family?" Kara looks at him, grinning.
"Shhh," Cuan says.
"My father will love this—,"
"It was bullets, so it was not like surgery surgery and I lived, so there," Cuan says.
"Precisely, if we survive it wasn't that bad of any idea," I say, clapping him on the back.
My father jogs up to us, just trapping Cuan in basically a headlock.
"You came home, that is all we want okay? Me, and your mothers, want our boy alive, got it? We love you and will do anything for you," he says, sort of shaking Cuan.
"I'm sorry," Cuan sighs, as he gets free, "I just—I didn't even know how to get home properly I don't know what to do now I'm here. Is my mother angry?"
"No, not at all, she knows it's hard, and she sent me to make sure you're alright because for obvious reasons we don't want to lose you, okay?" He asks, gripping Cuan's neck. Cuan is nearly my height and decently taller than our father.
"You're not going to," Cuan says, "I promise."
"Good, now, where are we going?" He asks.
"Docks, we're going to get stuff off their ship."
"You came on your own ship? If that was said, I missed it, okay," he sighs, rubbing his face.
"How are things at the palace?" I ask.
"Oh, just lovely," incredibly sarcastically.
"Did anyone tell my grandmother I'm alive?" Cuan asks.
"No," we say in unison.
"Your mother is going to, tonight," our father clarifies, "They'll have some time then."
"Okay," Cuan says, looking ahead, his eyes still misty.
"We'll get some of the good weapons and clothes," Kara says, tugging on his hair. He smiles for her. My father tips his head at me, to confirm if I think they're an item. I nod a little. They went to separate rooms, but they still act like they have something going on. Which is cute and I'm glad she seems very nice.
We make our way down towards the docks, and Cuan's mood visibly improves the closer we get to the sea.
"Which one is yours?" Our father asks, craning his neck.
"Yeah, is it—," I'm about to say more, but I realize the kids are not behind us, and instead are beckoning us behind a pile of barrels.
"What?" I ask, joining them.
"Shh, see those three ships out there, to the east, with the sides painted black?" Cuan hisses, tugging us bodily into their hiding place. This is as awkward as it sounds since Cuan and I are both too tall for this hiding place.
"Yes?" Our father asks.
"Okay, that's a pirate, who we think has been following us," Kara says.
"They have—a ship, like that—flying the same flag as those do when they're at sea—chased a fishing fleet I was on into, well it's not important but people died—,"
"Someday we're going to get these not important details but go on," our father sighs.
"And then a couple of years ago they fired on us—for no reason we didn't even have any loot, and we escaped into a storm, and not two weeks ago we out maneuvered them again," Kara says.
"Okay, so this is another pirate?" I ask, "Of which you are also, pirates?"
"Yes," Cuan rolls his eyes.
"Skipping that, enlighten me, what would another pirate have against a pirate unless you were—robbing the same person?" Our father asks, frowning.
"Nothing! That's the point, also we hadn't stolen anything of note that they would know about to come after us. Lately," Kara says.
"And now why are they docked in Ulster? It doesn't make sense," Cuan says, "But if they're docked here, then they're looking for me."
"Ha, Sir 'nobody's following us: birth -present', statement made immediately before we are jumped by people following us," my father pushes me.
"Okay, there's no way I articulated 'there's nobody following us' shortly after my birth you are making that up," I say. I do say that a lot prior to people who were following us trying to kill us. The fifteenth time it happened. I admitted, in my head, he had a point. Not out loud, he doesn't need that kind of validation. Just in my head. 
"You did. It was like a miracle, I was there. It was your first words 'nobody's following us', really shocking, moving moment, should have told more people honestly, you were like a prodigy, except someone was following us so you were wrong— anyway," my father, very haughtily about this thing he clearly made up, before turning back to the kids, "So, someone could be following us, I hear you saying? Like I said we were being followed earlier?"
"So you're thinking this person is after you—you two, specifically?" I confirm.
"It's pretty obvious they followed us to Ulster," Cuan says.
"Yeah, but you're no one, literally at this point," our father says.
"Do you know who tried to kill me that night?" Cuan asks.
"Yes—I mean no, we assumed Fergus —he did get the crown," I say.
"But no, we didn't catch the assassins, not all," our father says.
"Well, one of them took me to the ships, he's the only person who knew I was on a ship, or even alive. What if he told someone and they knew then the job wasn't done?" Cuan says.
"And hunted you unsuccessfully for the last ten years?" Our father says.
"I don't have another explanation," Cuan says.
"Supposing that that were true," I say, "Who do we seriously think would have the dedication or even motive to hunt you for so long?"