You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Crown - 3

Conri
I've done very well for myself since I left Ulster. I knew I needed to leave completely. And with the money I'd been embezzling for years, it wasn't hard to anonymously finance a ship. Quickly, I got another couple, and staffed them with demons I summoned from the other side.
Out on the open ocean, my visions all but disappeared. I was around no one. So, no one to have visions about. For the first time in my life I felt peace. Real, true peace. I could actually use magic far more easily than before, since I wasn't being hindered by the visions. I knew it was better off for everyone. After a while I brought myself to check on them. I knew the basics of scrying so I screwed up the nerve to check. And they were fine. My Lonan was fine. Bran was fine probably better off without me there to watch over. And while I missed them, I at least knew they were well. And I couldn't bring myself to go back. Not when for the first time I felt free. Free in my mind if not my heart.
And I thought I'd made it. I'd made the best choice. At least I was living free of pain again. Able to support myself with basic looting, and learning my magic, enjoying a few simple pleasures and occasionally spying on my family using my magic.
Then I discovered he was alive, and on the sea no less.
Because my visions returned. Out on the open ocean. Waking up to being infested with vermin climbing all over me. I couldn't take it. I didn't understand, how could he still be alive?
But he was.
I had no intention of getting close. No, a few battles at sea, tipping off the navy and admiralty to his location. I assumed he'd get killed sooner or later and I'd stalk him.
But the hell hound made it back to Ulster. And I will not have that. No. Whatever my visions are warning me of. I don't want him anywhere near those I still care about.
It's been ten years. But still the people would know their king. A glamor will obscure my features to most everyone. They'll see what they expect to see, just a man in a dark cloak, walking the streets. I can't get close, but I assume he's trying to find them? And go home? Took the damn fool long enough. Well, I can end him myself this time. Seems I'll have to. If I can get free of the damned visions for more than a minute together.
I stand in the middle of the street and see flocks of ravens flying towards me. I duck and shield my face, despite knowing it's a vision, even as hundreds of birds rush past me. That is obvious to people in the street, but thankfully they move on and I force myself to keep walking. I can do this. I can handle it just a few more hours and I can be back out at sea and everything will be fine again.
I am following at a distance. I know where he is, it's like a toxic void. And the visions flow from it. I trip twice as more birds fly into my face. It takes me a moment to realize that they aren't ravens.
Blackbirds.
That means my Lonan. No, no. Flocks of birds is what—danger? Isn't it? I think it is? Yes, yes it is. I've not had a vision for him before not since he was born. So what's wrong now?
I'm getting closer to where ever Cuan is, so just get done and get the hell out of here. He's 1 sixteen year old with 0 parenting and 0 brain cells based off of his life choices so far. It will be fine. I'm an accomplished sorcerer. So why can't I stop my palms from sweating?
Sometimes the visions warn me of things in advance. I've learned to determine what they are sort of. Like, blackbirds is associated with Lonan. The roaches and then sometimes snakes and other nasty things are Elisedd. And then so on. Fog can be general. Really don't know what bright lights means. And then when there's a danger to me, then usually it's for whatever reason, leaves, like fall leaves blowing around me.
I stop in my tracks, as the leaves swirl around my feet.
"Why am I in danger?" I murmur to myself, approximately two seconds before a feral psychotic bastard slams me completely through the nearest wall and onto the stone floor to start punching me in the face.
"Bran, stop, it's me!!!" I cry.
"WHY, DO YOU THINK I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, HUH?? YOU WANT TO BE FUCKING DEAD???? I'LL KILL YOU FOR REAL AND FUCKING BURY YOU AGAIN!!!" He basically screams, pounding me with his fists.
I move to retaliate, drawing a knife only to have it flicked out of my hand.  Roaches run up my arm and I nearly scream. Bran doesn't stop. I flip him off me but he's right back on me again dragging me to my feet so he can just knock me down.
"Can you close up for tonight? Yeah, thank you so much," Lonan, very calmly, paying the bartender to start evicting actual guests. "We'll pay for the wall, lovely, thank you. Yeah, take your drinks."
"Should we not do something?" Cuan is sitting there, the hell hound himself, emitting his toxic aura. I am going to go insane.  Next to him is the girl he's shacking up with.
"Absolutely not," Lonan says, sitting down to watch.
"FUCKING FUCK!!!!!!!!! DEAD!!!!!!??????????? YOU THINK YOU CAN FUCKING DIE??????? YOU DIE ON ME????????? YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!" Bran basically screams, kicking me in the gut twice before I catch his leg and throw him to the floor.
"Let me explain," I say, pinning him.
"Or how about you just die for real????" Bran flips us both and gets an arm around my neck to choke me.
"Lonan, stop him!" I cry.
"Sorry, I'm not available, I'm processing multiple traumas at the moment, possibly later, but not just now," Lonan says, eating something and offering it to Cuan.
"Isn't that our father?" Cuan says.
"Yeah, but considering he's not dead and not surprised he's not dead and is sneaking about following us I think we're gonna revoke that title, go with a different one, like traitor," Lonan says, coolly.
"Look, I know you're angry with me—," I begin, as Bran grabs me by the front of the shirt and drags me up to a wall to keep punching my face.
"DO YOU?? DO YOU REALIZE THAT??? YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE?? WHAT MADE YOU FUCKING REALIZE THAT???"
"—Lonan, I know you're angry with me right now but I could really use you," I say, starting to choke as the roaches make their way inside my mouth. Bran throws me to the ground to kick me before setting on me again. As he does, a wolf lunges directly for his head. I drag him out of the way on instinct, but of course it's not real and all he thinks is that I'm wrestling him. Which I am, but then I was saving him from something I know is not real.
"Let me explain!" I cry, using magic to try to throw him off of me. It only half works.
"WHY??? SO YOU CAN LIE TO ME??" Bran asks, throttling me.
"That's all—see that's really fair—honestly, I do see what you're going through, but I don't see how an explanation would justify lying to us and possibly trying to kill him? At least once?" Lonan asks, pointing at Cuan.
"I can explain," I say, between gritted teeth, finally flipping Bran off of me. He comes back and slams me into the floor. I am trying not to hurt him, but damn, man.  He has a knife in his hand. I twist it away and he takes the opportunity to punch me in the face. Doing so makes me open my mouth which allows at least three roaches to climb and try to scurry down my throat. Naturally, I vomit.
"Okay, okay, we're going to take a break, then you're going to get to hit him again, okay," Lonan basically picks Bran up and wrestles him onto a table. Bran refuses to stay, just growling, and attempting to escape. Lonan winds up completely lying on top of him to keep him still and not killing me.
For my part, I stagger to my feet, recovering and trying to breath to keep the visions at bay. As always, Lonan's proximity cleared the worst of it so at least I can breath again with some ease and while the insects scurry on me, I barely feel them. I see them. But that I can ignore.
"Go on," Lonan says, shrugging at me. No malice in his face, he's handsome as ever, and gentle, lazy even in his movements that betray the strength in those limbs. He's keeping Bran at bay, something I could not even do.
"Yes, I'm—as you see—not dead," I say, taking a breath, looking at Cuan, "You were meant to be, though."
"You were the one who fired on us," the girl accuses.
I nod.
"You—you hired them to kill me?" Cuan asks, "Then who killed you I don't—,"
"I did. I faked my death. And left. Because I'd hired assassins to kill you. And I knew that I couldn't remain, here, after that. I couldn't face any of them, your mother, anyone, after taking you. But I also I couldn't let you live," I say.
"Why?" Lonan asks.
I shrug a little, looking at Bran, tears in my eyes, "I did not want to leave you."
"THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU???"
"I had to. You wouldn't have wanted me, after I killed my own son. And I couldn't bear that. So I left, I thought we would all be better off," I say.
"Why?" Bran snarls, still attempting to crawl past Lonan. "How could you think that?"
"I didn't do anything to you," Cuan says, grey-green eyes filling with tears.
"But you've known he was alive—you've been hunting us on the sea, for years," Kara says.
"Correct. I thought I should probably finish what I started. I only approached because he came back here. And I didn't want anything to happen to them," I say, looking over at Lonan and Bran again.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bran is halfway escaped from Lonan who is not doing all that much to stop him.
"We do want to hear the end of this, and we don't get to if you kill him," Lonan says, kind of stopping him, but not very committed to it.
"Yes, what, the fuck, are you talking about— why would you want to kill me?" Cuan asks, hurt.
"Because I hate you!" I groan, my hands to my face. "He knows why."
"I DON'T KNOW SHIT YOU FUCKED UP FUCK—,"
"I told you once. I tried to tell you, but even you—I couldn't," I breath, "I have visions. I have since I was a child. Again, he knows this."
"You told me of one," Bran breaths, well aware I'm referring to Lonan's birth. As well as probably his suicide attempts. He can guess that.
"It happens often. Usually it doesn't matter. But around him?" I point at Cuan, " I can't— I can't even think. It was driving me completely mad. I couldn't stand it. it's always something dark, something terrible. Something— I didn't want people I actually cared about, caught up in. So I came back to kill him."
"What—that—that is—no—why wouldn't you fucking tell me this?" Bran asks, still very seriously trying to escape our son who is holding him back half-heartedly. "You—have no idea what you did. To all of us. By leaving. We needed you. God fucking damn it. We needed you."
"I know," I say, tears in my eyes, "But not like I was. You didn't need me going insane with visions. And you didn't need the mayhem I knew would follow him. When I realized he was alive I at least was content he was away, but now he's back."
"So that's the only reason? You were never going to come home?" Bran growls.
"Come home and face you not loving me anymore? No, I wasn't, I'm a coward, Bran, I wasn't going to come and have this," I gesture to my bruised face, "Why would I? It was over."
"So what are you going to do now? Kill me?" Cuan asks, gesturing to himself.
"No, not at the moment," I smile a little at him, wincing as one of the insects crawls over my eye, "I was actually going to chase you back out to the high seas and then have a nice battle, finally sink your pathetic excuse for a ship and watch you drown, for personal reasons. Rematch without a storm for your cowardly captain to take you into this time."
"Oh, you want a rematch? Let's fucking go," the girl hops up, just balling up the back of Cuan's shirt to bring him with her.
"But—," he looks concerned, while being dragged bodily.
"No, babe, we got this, trust me—yeah let's fucking do this, jackass," she says, just walking towards the door.
"Absolutely, yeah, got like two hours of daylight left," I also head towards the door.
"Forget it," Lonan lets Bran go in favor of stopping all of them from leaving, "My turn now, and no one is going anywhere."
Bran was about to leap on me, but stops, hand on my shirt, "If I hit him, are you going to sit on me again?"
"Absolutely not father, do whatever you need to do to cope," Lonan says, extremely nicely. I forgot what a punch his father packs and am not even prepared to nearly black out. That's how we wind up sitting on the bar of the pub, me putting apples to my bruises the two kids fucking eating. I'm standing as far from Cuan as possible and as close to Lonan as possible. Bran is clearly seething with rage; he's literally trembling.
"My turn, for questions," Lonan says, completely calmly, "Let me make sure this is straight. You've had these—visions—all your life. Okay. You get whatever—weird vibes off of our Cuan—and so you figure you're going to kill him, and at the same time fake your own death because you couldn't face us because you didn't want us caring about his murder which you were responsible for? Is that about right?"
"Yes, but it sounds bad when you put it like that," I sigh.
"How—how else are you going to put, Conri? Huh?" Bran snarls.
I sigh.
"Okay, so I think you could have told at least him, and you should have trusted us enough to let us in, and also killing him is a really stupid plan. From what I know of visions from the druids—,"
"That's a fucking lot," Bran mutters.
"—they're not clear, you just don't know if a lot of—interesting things are gonna happen to him if he's going to be the perpetrator," Lonan says.
"Okay, so it's the vibe equivalent of a forest fire, but sure, I don't 'know' what's going to happen exactly," I say, raising an eye brow.
"I'm not finished, I'm as hurt as he is, right now. Only reason I'm not punching you myself is because it was therapeutic enough watching him do it," Lonan says, and I see the clear hurt in his dark eyes, "But to be perfectly honest? After what you've done? Go. Fucking go. Leave, I don't care if you don't want to be here, I certainly don't want you to stay. If you're happier, doing—whatever you've been doing these past ten years while we've been to hell and back mourning you? Go do it, fantastic, shove off. I don't care. But I do care about my brother. And I will never let you hurt him or my father ever again."
"I can't change what I've done. And I still think it was for the best. I never intended to come back," I say, my voice raw with pain, "I didn't expect to see you again. and I didn't want to, because I didn't want this."
"What did you want?" Cuan asks.
"For you to die, and for me to be as good as dead," I say.
"So where do you want to go from here? Because unless he wants to hit you again for healing reasons, then I'm good," Lonan shrugs, "But as I said, I'm not going to let you hurt them. So what's your plan?"
"I go, that's it, that's the plan," I shrug, "I never meant to have this scene happen. I leave and it's as though I did die."
"But you didn't," Bran snarls.
"No, no, you don't get to just go. You tried to have me killed and I got sold, and you—you ruined my life," Cuan says, shaking his head.
"Okay, but didn't you have a good time? You got to be a pirate and go on adventures, relax," I say, leaning against the wall.
"I didn't mean ruined in that—," Cuan turns to the girl.
"No, I got what you meant. He did ruin your life, don't worry I fully believe you'd have wound up drowning and I'd have found you anyway it's completely fine, go on," the girl pats his arm.
"Aw, sweet, I'm going to fucking wreck your ship—," I say.
"Oh bring it on—," she says, immediately.
"Time out," Lonan snaps his fingers, "You two can do that if you want. I am not getting assurance from him that he's not going to try to murder our Cuan."
"I'm not. I'll leave," I say.
"No—no, you don't get to just leave, no, you don't get that again. You did that once and left us with a mess, this time you can stick the fuck around, and make things right. That is the least you can do for both your sons," Bran snarls, "Then, you can fucking go. But first you're helping us do whatever—they both need to undo what you fucking did. You and your magic don't think I didn't fucking notice you using it—,"
"Thought you would," I say, quietly.
"—not the first fuckhead sorcerer I've fought probably won't be the last—-you can help them do whatever they want. That's your child support. Then you can fuck off to wherever makes you happy I don't give a damn," Bran says.
"They look fine," I point to the two boys who don't technically look fine.
"If he wants the throne, you're helping put him on it," Bran says, coolly, "If he does not then I will reveal your dumb ass. You will make him legitimate and you will make him—" points at Cuan, "—a knight we'll make up who the fuck he is, so he can stay in Ulster if he wants to.  And then you can fucking abdicate and fuck off to hell or wherever the fuck you want. I don't care."
"You wouldn't, I'm dead, they wouldn't—," I snarl, angry now.
"Oh I fucking will. Fucking watch me. I bury you? Mourn you? Ask your fucking son how many nights he stayed awake watching me because he thought I was going to kill myself. Huh??? Fucking ask him that. Fucking ask him how many nights he spent searching for his baby brother in every ditch, looking through dead bodies for his baby brother. Fucking ask him. He was seventeen!! Fucking ask him what he did and then you tell him what you did when you were fucking seventeen huh? Because you gave your son, years of fucking suicide watches and searching through dead bodies. Never again question what I would do to you, for that child, because you got to escape, he got fucking condemned," Bran advances on me through the speech, till he's got me against the wall, palms on my shoulders, leaning so he's snarling in my face. I don't even move away.
"Don't, no, he's not worth it," Lonan says, gently, a hand on his father's arm. "It's okay. I don't want anything. He can go."
"No, he's right," I say, quietly, "I know I failed you. But I was going to fail you more if I stayed."
"Okay," Lonan shrugs.
"That's it?" I ask, looking at him.
"What more do you want?" Lonan asks.
"I don't know," the child I did want to have some joy at my return? But Bran is right. It's what I deserve.
"You should tell my mother you live," Cuan says, quietly, "She should hear all this from him."
"No, no, she shouldn't. I've not attempted to be a kind person for years. I'm not about to start, you do it. Tell her how many wanted posters your ass is on, while you're at it," I say, hands on my hips.
"You realize you're leaning against your own wanted poster while you say that?" The girl asks.
"I didn't, but now that you said that I'm interested," I say, tugging one down to look at, "My hair does not look like that."
"Give me that," Bran snatches it, "Hound of the Sea?? Really?"
"But my hair looks much better than that," I say. He stares at me. "I realize you don't find it important, but that would be why you didn't recognize me."
"I DIDN'T RECOGNIZE YOU BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD NOT ON A FUCKING WANTED POSTER FOR FUCKING PIRACY!!"
"In retrospect, I don't know why we didn't look for both of them there. Next time we have missing family members, straight to the wanted posters," Lonan muses.
"Next time?" Bran snarls.
"What's going to stop anyone else from going missing?" I ask.
"Me, that's what!" Bran snarls.
"Okay, so what are we doing?" Lonan sighs, "I paid the pub out for the night so we can keep doing this, but I mean, like, in general."
"Apparently I'm being kidnapped by my ex-husband," I say, haughtily.
"Yes, you fucking are," Bran says, with obvious malice.
"And what are you doing?" I ask Cuan. Who I apparently don't get to kill.
"I don't know," he says, a bit nervously, "I suppose I should tell everyone who I really am. Enough with the secrets."
"Why though? Why would you do that? You're not a prince anymore. You've been living like me. I have seen your livelihood. You're a criminal. And you like it. You've been enjoying yourself out there on the high seas with no one to bother you. You know your way around a ship not a legal document or a court dance. You don't want the crown," I plead, "Why would you? I was raised for it and I don't even want it. The only reason I remained as long as I did was for them."
"Shouldn't have done us the favor," Bran says, eyes burning with hate.
"I don't know yet," Cuan says.
"He doesn't have to," Lonan says, "But he is right, you should explain to  your wife what happened. She's a right to know he's her son too."
"Look, no she doesn't. I don't know if I've expressed this enough, but the less we tell Slaine the better, also she's not my wife I faked my death and I didn't want to marry her to begin with," I say.
"She's still your wife, you don't get a clean slate just because you choose to walk away," Bran snarls.
"Fine, I'll talk to her but I won't be nice you can't make me do that—wait does my mother live? Does she—can I—okay this would mean a lot to me I know you all hate me right now. But the thing is I had a bad childhood and I need to get back at my mother for some stuff so I really need to tell her I'm alive and to fuck off one last time she's probably going to die of disappointment this time it'll be beautiful—I'm sensing none of you are as excited as I am, that's good, it means she didn't raise you and create half your personality problems."
"Your mother still lives, you asshole," Bran sighs, "Yes, you may tell her. We'll get you into the palace tomorrow night."
"Can we really just sneak this many people into the palace?" The girl asks.
"Yes," Bran, Lonan, and I say in unison.
"Aren't they going to recognize him?" Cuan asks, pointing at me.
"No, I can use magic they won't see me if they're not expecting to," I say.
"Why weren't you using that when you were standing in the middle of the street waiting to be pushed through a wall?" Bran asks.
"I was," I say, icily, "It doesn't work on lovers."
"Oh I thought—figured that was going on," the girl winces.
"Yeah, these are my two dads," Cuan says, very helpfully.
"Well, that one's an ex-dad because he faked his death and tried to kill him," Lonan says, pointing at me then Cuan appropriately.
"So, anybody else who would see through it?" Bran asks.
"No," I think I blush. Damn the effect this man has on me, "You complete idiot. Just your stupid ass is fucking immune to half my fucking spells."
"Really? How would I know?" Bran asks.
"Because you're still the only person I want to be kind to and even if it doesn't matter right now and I've ruined it I think you should know I'm still yours."
"You left."
"For you."
We're standing staring into the others eyes, just angry, he has tears brimming in his I'm sure I do too.
"Don't put that on me. It isn't for me. You left for you. Because you were too much of a coward to stay."
"I couldn't do this and lose your love."
"Then you shouldn't have left."
"I couldn't live if I stayed!"
"I stayed for you," he snarls, "I went through hell for you."
"I nearly broke you once."
"Well, you did again."
"I know, but better that than a hundred times over," I say.
"No, you don't get to be okay with this—you don't get peace after what you put us through—US—our son who you claimed to care about who you promised me you'd watch over you promised me. And you nearly destroyed his life too. You tried to destroy that one, after I told you I would fix it— you. You couldn't fucking trust me to take care of you after I fucking died in your arms and let you bring me back," Bran says, a finger in my chest.
"Just stop," I say, raising my hands to my face, "Just stop."
"Does it hurt? Does it hurt like the only thing stopping you from opening your veins is you don't want your son to have to find your body?"
"Okay, okay, he's not worth it," Lonan says, an arm around his father's shoulders, moving him away from me.
"No, but I am," Bran whispers.
"Of course you are," I say, my voice shaking.