You Don't Want the Crown

The Story of the Crown - 4

Lonan
Somehow we get back to the house without incident. I assured the bartender we'd fix the wall and have our personal debates somewhere else next time. They know me there. So it was okay.
Cuan and Kara are mostly easy to get settled in the attic. I separate my fathers, for the sake of basically them both. They're both crying and refusing to talk to each other, that doesn't mean they were easy to separate.
"Go get cleaned up—stop—no—go get cleaned up, and make sure Cuan is okay, I'll take him," I say, a hand on my father's shoulder.
"No, you don't have to fucking do that," he says.
"I know I don't, but I'm going to, okay? Go check those kids, " I say, "And try to lie down?"
He nods.
"And if you need to hit him again, I'll be outside."
"I don't want to think about him," he says.
We left my father—Conri, in the yard. He's not my father anymore. He's not anything, but his name if he still responds to that. He's so—different. No royal robes. A plain black shirt that's low cut, black trousers similar to Cuan's. Clean shaven. Hair loner than I remember it, and a scar on his face that looks new.
He's just standing in the yard staring up at the heavens. I sit down on the house steps, my lute resting on my knees.
"After you died he said you'd talked about killing Cuan, that you couldn't take him being the way he was, and I said you'd never ever do that, and he thought he'd let you down, that you'd arranged it to kill you both," I say.
"Don't do this," he sighs. His posture, everything different from the man I knew. All an act? My father wasn't surprised at that. Perhaps he knew more who he really was.
"I meant what I said. You made your choice, very, very obvious," I say, shrugging, "I'm just watching you, because he wants you to stay."
"I didn't ever want to leave you," he says, looking at me.
"Well, you did."
"I know, I thought it was better, than you—being around, me—evidenced by all this? I'm not a good man, Lonan. And I was tired of pretending to be one."
"Well. Got your wish," I say.
"That's it?" He asks.
"What else is there?"
"I don't know. I think I'd feel better if you hit me like he did," he sighs.
"You broke his heart. That's it. I don't think you deserve any more punishment. Because it would make you feel like you'd paid. I don't care—you wanted to leave me, fine, go," I shake my head, "That is it. You made your choice."
"I suppose I did."
"You can go in. We've got extra rooms."
"I can't sleep," He sits down.
"Visions?" I ask, almost sympathetically.
"No. Yes. I missed your father's arms, then I got used to it, then I hated how used to being alone I was," he sighs.
"Have you been watching us? Scrying or whatever?" I ask.
"How much do you know about magic?" He sits up, "That Druid boy—,"
"So, not that much," I grunt.
"What, you're not still seeing him are you? Tell me you're not bedding that boy."
"Very homophobic of you, ex-father number 2," I say, flatly.
"That's why I'm against it," he mutters, rubbing his bruised face.
"Do you really think you can ask me who I'm having a relationship with? Really?" I ask.
"I suppose not."
"But you've been spying?"
"I had to make sure you two were all right. I had to, I couldn't live if something happened to you."
"Well, you had the privilege of knowing we were well, but denied us it for you. We would have let you go, if that was what you wanted," I say.
"He'd have wanted to come."
"You can't fault him for loving you."
"I nearly lost him after you were born, that was my fault—mine I was watching over him. I claimed to love him and because of me he tried to take his own life," he says.
"I know," I nod.
"He told you?" He frowns.
I nod.
"Why—,"
I shrug.
"You're that angry with me?" He asks.
"I'm not anything. What did you expect?" I shrug it's true. There is no anger. Just emptiness. He never cared. Not really not enough. As he said. He breaks what he touches. Fine. I have a father who loves me, and my step mother, and my brother. I am fine.  "You don't have to be in my life. That was your choice. Not mine."
"I know it doesn't mean anything, but thank you for being there for him."
"From what you put him through, you mean? You're not welcome. It sure as hell wasn't for you," I say, "It was for us. We are the only family I care about. I have to take care of us. And I will. I meant what I said. I will die before I let you hurt Cuan. I don't care if your visions are ten thousand beetles telling you he's going to burn this land to the ground I'll stand by him. Because he needs his brother."
"Is that what the beetles mean?"
"Your fucking vision you figure it out," I grunt.
"No, I'm being serious. I'm having beetle vision things, is that what they fucking mean? Is that what your Druid boyfriend said?"
"He's not my boyfriend. We're not anything; he's just my friend, and I don't remember what he said," I say.
Mutters something about boyfriend being what you call someone who kisses you on the mouth with tongue, but I ignore him. He lies down the grass, arm over his eyes.
I sit there, plucking at the lute. Let my father be inside for a moment, god knows he needs to be alone. I'll check on him in a few minutes let him think.
The door opens, and Cuan slips out. He's in no shirt,  and short pants. His hair is wet like he washed up, good lad. He's got the start of hair on his chest, and his skin is rife with scars. I'm not much better, but I'm older.
"Couldn't sleep?" I ask.
He shakes his head no.
"Miss the rocking? Of the boat?" I ask.
"How'd you know?" He frowns. As always not looking at me as he speaks, just off at the grass.
"You used to like to be rocked, when you were a baby. Your mama and I were the best at it, and you loved it when I sang to you," I say, strumming the lute.
He sits down next to me, as I start to play the opening notes of 'Black Velvet Band'.  I start signing, and then he softly sings along. His voice is sweet and getting clear, and we quickly fall into harmony.
It takes me till the end of the song to realize our father came out and was listening. He just wraps an arm around each of our necks, hugging us to him.
"You okay?" I ask, wrapping an arm around his back.
"I've got you two, don't I? We're fine," he says, voice rough from crying. He kisses our hair.  "Your girl is in the kitchen, we had a really nice talk about knives and how many of them have been in your skin, you're never leaving this house again."
"Good," Cuan says, leaning into the cuddle, perfectly content, a smile on his face, as though for the first time he's realizing he's home safe.