Hoist the Colors

Two - Thane

    The early morning light seeped through the windows causing Thane to stir under his sheets. A smile grew on his face as he stretched out.

Today was the day. Their greatest heist so far. His greatest achievement.

Was he going crazy or did even the air feel cooler and smell cleaner? He hadn't woken up in a pool of sweat, or had to wriggle his nose at the smell of seafood mixed with body odor. Even his bed felt comfier. His back wasn't as stiff as the boards of his ship, and his sheet was as soft as his first night on board. Today was turning out to be a great day already.

A knock sounded at the door, "Almost there, Runa, dear?" He drawled out through a yawn.

"I'm sorry, your highness? I didn't catch that," there was a pause, "Well, your breakfast is waiting outside, whenever you're ready."

He pulled the sheet above his head to shield his eyes from the light. Your Highness? No one has called him that since...

    Confusion forced him to open his eyes, and he sat up straight almost immediately. No. No no no.

    He had dreams like this before, where he would be back at the castle. Sometimes he would be in a meeting with his father, learning military tactics and strategies and making sure to stay quiet while he spoke with their international partners, counting down the minutes until he was free to go. There would be dreams where he and his brother were being scolded by their mother for playing with swords around the castle. They had probably broken a vase or knocked a painting off the wall. Other times, he would be locked in his room as days went by, hunched over his desk and forced by his father to study certain subjects because he had missed too many marks on his test. He had had dreams like this before, but this one felt different. It felt more real, like he was actually there. But no, he couldn't be. That's impossible.

    His hands felt around frantically, testing the legitimacy of the things around him. The sheets, the cold wooden floor beneath his feet, the sip of water from the cup on the bedside table. All very much there, and very much real. But, how?

    The rate of his breathing began to rise as he stood from the bed. He swiftly around his room - no - this room. It wasn't his. This was not his home, and it hadn't been for a long time. Maybe it never was. The polished brass handles of the dresser were soft to the touch, and he lifted one to pull open the drawer- definitely real. He moved over to the desk, picking up an untouched piece of parchment and crumpling it in his hands- very real. He chucked the crumpled paper into the floor, a groan escaped his mouth.

    He couldn't be back here. There was no possible, logical way he could have been back here. Not one member of his crew would have even thought to bring him here, they had no clue of his past. Even so, no one would have been able to get by with knocking him out cold, changing the ship's course, and making it far enough past the palace security to leave him here in his room. This room.

He made his way to the bathroom, his last hope to wake himself up from this dream, this nightmare. Turning on the shower to its coldest setting, his mind grasped at explanation after explanation. He took a deep breath and stepped under the shower head. The frigid stream of water from the faucet made his breath hitch, and he waited. Waited to jerk awake in his bed inside the captain's quarters, allowing a sigh of relief before nuzzling back into his pillow. He waited, but nothing changed. He was back home. He shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. His body, tense from the piercing awakening, began to shiver as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders.

He paced. Why was he here? How was he here? Did something happen to him in the heist that he doesn't remember? Was he brought here after being washed upon shore? If this is what happened, it would be a disaster. His crew would be discovered. Their thieveries and mischievous acts all brought to the surface. They wouldn't stand a chance against the punishment of the Crown. His family, they would know the truth, that he had run away to join them. Betray them. Of course, that's not what he had meant to do, but that was its own story. He would see his brother again, but what kind of reunion would it be? He left without saying goodbye, without a trace of where he would go.

Of course, he was sure Koen was getting along fine. He always wanted to be King anyways, and Thane had made it that much easier for him. He made his way over to the sink, and his eyes traveled from the floor to the mirror.

    What the-

    It wasn't his own reflection he saw in the mirror, but that of another young man's, someone around his age. It looked almost like him. Same ebony, wavy hair, but neatly trimmed above his ears. A freshly shaven face that was strikingly similar to his own, and those familiar eyes the same color as the deep sea he so loved to sail over. It was not his reflection, but his others, and the sight of him made one corner of his lips twitch upward.
   
    But no, it wasn't Koen, he wasn't here, but this was his room, then. Then what was going on? He threw his shirt back on and fixed his brother's hair back to what he think would be acceptable, just in case anyone came storming in, and headed back into the bedroom. With his head back slightly straighter on his shoulders, he decided to look around some more. If he was forced to be here, for whatever reason, it least he wasn't actually here, to be cornered and questioned and exposed. Maybe as his brother, he could see why he so badly wanted to be King.

He made his way back over to the desk, leaning over the schoolwork scribbled across parchment, but neatly placed into different stacks upon their prospective subjects' book. He breathed a quiet laugh at his brother's proper organization. He pulled the desk drawers open, and what he saw within them was quite the opposite of anything proper. There were documents, some describing "new leads", "dead ends", and what read to be old suspect interrogations. Some looked as though they were crumpled and torn, and set flat to be straightened back out. Some bore coffee or tea stains, and showed pens running out of ink. He scanned over the papers, fingertips gripping the softened edges.
   
    His brother had been looking for him, was looking for him. Or at least, he was trying to find out what had happened to him. Of course, he had never gotten close. Almost everything in here was leading him further astray, or to what was realized to be a dead end, but from the most recent dated document, it didn't seem like he ever stopped looking. No, surely he wouldn't find him. He would never think his brother to leave his family and join a band of the most infamous pirates and thieves. If anything, he was surprised Koen hadn't looked to them as a suspect of abduction.
   
    He shoved the papers back into the drawer, shoving it closed. No, he would never find him. Is this why he was here? As his brother in his own room? Some weird, twisted dream to warn himself of what his brother was after? But if so, then where was the real Koen? Was he- no. He couldn't be. That would be a disaster. Someone would surely figure out something was going on. He would ruin his reputation, his status he worked so hard for.

    The heist. Who was directing the heist?

    Then there was Runa, dear Runa. He would ruin that too. She would see right through whatever was going on. Whatever is going on.
   
    "Oh. Oh no no," his hands tangled their way through his hair, almost forgetting it wasn't as long as he had now become used to.
   
    If his brother was in this same position. If they had, somehow, switched places, his brother would know everything.

    His eyes, growing wild, trialed up the wall above the desk. There were old pictures of the both of them scattered along the wall. Their messy clothes from playing out in the rain, bloody noses and black eyes after a faux wrestling match, and those halloween costumes they had made together. That same corner of his mouth tugged upward again. The photo showed two little boys, around five years old, with shiny silver knight costumes, holding swords high in the air and mounted on their homemade broom-horses. Right in the middle was a photo of just him, not Koen, but him. Thane. This must have been the last photo taken of him before he left. He must have been sitting in on a press conference beforehand based on the signature blank stare in his eyes, and curt expression that he used to feign professionalism, but Koen always saw through it, would sometimes tease him about it.

He snapped himself out of memory lane. He had seriously pressing issues at hand. Not that he could do anything about them now, for many reasons, but if he could, what would he do? If he was right. His brother already knew. It was over. He would be found, and his crew would be raided, taken in as prisoners and- oh, God knows what would happen to them. His friends, his Runa, dear.

His hands had found their way to the back of the desk chair, knuckles whitening from the tension coursing through his body.

If he was right.

If.

What could he do?

[ helloo :) i decided i like this story too much so i wanted to continue it. I hope you like it so far too. Constructive criticism and thoughts are always welcome! -k]