𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕮𝖎𝖆𝖓

Cian is the last of a long line of ancient Hibernian wolves who travelled far across the seas and settled along the coasts, cliffs, and cedar forests of Wolvden. As such, his fur is a dense, layered mottled red-and-silver with nearly-green hues mixed into his undercoat. His paws and nose flesh are a muted dark mahogany, though it would be hard to tell beneath the fur trim of his sizable snowshoe-like paws. Cian, like his ancestors, has longer, broader claws with durable dew claws that come in handy when navigating the peaks and valleys of his mountainous home. He has rather square shoulders and strong hindquarters that give impressive power to his strides and lunges.

The most striking thing about him, however, is his set of amber eyes embedded into his cunning, handsome face like two Wealden gemstones. They often act like beacons for prey and packmates, alike—able to be seen clearly even in the roughest of weather.

• Rank: King/Lead
  
• Gender: Male (he/him)
  
• Sexuality: Heterosexual
  
• Parents: Aengus♂ & Nessa♀
  
• Siblings: Bres♂, Unnamed Sisters
  
• Mate(s): Aoibhe
  
• Pup(s): Ailsa♀ , Oisin♂
  
• 🎵

Seanchas of Cian, the Dissentient Prince

Cian was born a prince, the second son of High King Aengus' first and the late High Queen Nessa's only litter—destined to become one of the most powerful wolves in the land once his brother, Bres, took their father's crown. Nevertheless, it was always ever-confident Cian who took the reins when it came to directing adventures and wreaking havoc with his littermates. He was a natural-born leader compared to his Crown Prince brother, who would grow to become arrogant and spoiled due to his parent's influence. According to the seanchaidhthe, the old king's decision was guided by his sons' resemblance to himself rather than the princes' disposition. Bres was born with his father's coat and colors which prompted a swift decision shortly after his whelping. To this day, some wonder if things would have turned out differently should the king have waited and chosen another pup. After all, the litter had scarcely opened their eyes, and everywolf knows that pelts rarely stay the same over a lifetime.

Throughout their cubhoods, Cian, Bres, and their littermates wanted for nothing. The entire territory doted on them—especially the brothers—and they grew up as cherished symbols of a newly established peace. Among the siblings, Cian and Bres were the closest. The pair were inseparable and did as many things together as possible—including attending their father's lessons on the land, law, and tradition. However, while Bres took immediately to his lessons, Cian did not. He would constantly interrupt lectures, pestering his father with questions about why things had to be the way they were.

It may be difficult to understand now, but High King Aengus' pack had strict rules and steep consequences if those rules were broken. Aengus' coronation had not been an easy one. It was deeply marred with debates that turned into an all-out war over the succession of the crown. Fearing betrayal and desiring an ironclad front against his enemies, Aengus installed a heavily measured hierarchy to keep order. This included approval for arranged marriages, birthing pups, entering and leaving the territory, and sharing services among other things. Violation of his laws always resulted in a single payment: blood. Despite the justification, however, Cian could never understand his father's "necessity" for violence.

Of course, Bres and Cian were never subjected to these situations. Noble-born wolves rarely had to dirty their paws enough to warrant justice—not visibly, anyway. Instead, the laws bent around them to allow for their own relatively harmless shenanigans. This was a fact Cian ignored... Until he was forced to stare it in the face.

That face belonged to Aoibhe, a she-wolf from the lower classes. She was a huntress in training who held a side job butchering her would-be party's kills. While many other wolves had passed her by without a second glance, from the moment Cian laid eyes on her he thought she was the most beautiful creature to ever walk the woods—even when she was covered in elk's blood after a day's work. Her sweet scent, like wild mountain flowers, was intoxicating. Her clear blue eyes captivated him, making his temperature rise under his fur when they caught sight of each other. Just being around her rendered him completely incapacitated. From that moment onward, Cian spent every minute of his free time with her, thinking about her, or trying to do something to impress her. Most of this was done in secret, however, as Cian knew both his parents and hers would never approve.

Unfortunately, while he was a reasonably smooth talker, his actions spoke volumes louder. His behavior caught the attention of the locals which immediately oiled the presses of the rumor mill. Some said Cian had accidentally knocked up this she-wolf and was attempting to convince her not to whelp. Others thought Aoibhe was a royal spy reporting to Cian so the High King would know exactly how many tithings to take from them that year. Eventually, things spiraled so out of control that Aengus, himself, caught wind of his son's midnight excursions to the pack on the outer rim of the territory. He strictly forbid Cian from ever seeing her again. As a prince, he had a certain reputation to uphold. Aengus would not have his family embarrassed by Cian's puppy-mooning over some no-name work-wolf.

But a lecture did little to stop Cian from courting Aoibhe wherever she was. In fact, said the seanchaidhthe, after his father's demands, Cian became that much more open about his visits. If the family already knew that he was going to visit her, why try to hide it? Sure, Aengus was High King, but he was also his father—and Cian was confident he would come around eventually. Bres was less sure and while he didn't actively discourage his brother, he didn't make a show of supporting him, either. The two began to grow distant over this and, slowly, cracks started to form in their once impenetrable bond. It wasn't uncommon to find either brother in a sour mood following a particularly nasty debate over Aoibhe and Cian's responsibility to the family.

In the end, as it turned out, Cian was certainly right about one thing: his father was High King. The High King makes the laws and enforces them for the good of the territory—which, to Aegnus, also meant the good of his family and his wayward son. Therefore, on the eve of Cian's second year, when he would come of marrying age, the High King announced that his second son would be traveling the countryside to make appearances to their allies and strike terror into their enemies. Cian would be shipped off in a fortnight to stomp out skirmishes along the eastern border—far away from his pack, his family, and his love.

Within that fortnight, Cian and Aoibhe shared many secret moments and heartfelt goodbyes before it finally came and went. The High King didn't bother to see his son off and his son didn't care. They both knew exactly what this was about—but it didn't matter. Not to Cian. This punishment would be over eventually like all the others and Aoibhe would be back by his side in a few seasons' time, at most. While they waited, the two would send messages and kindle their love from afar. For about two seasons, Cian would receive a love letter from Aoibhe by a messenger bird and send one back with wishes and dreams about their life together...

..Until the bird stopped coming—and was then replaced not a week later with a courier that bore his family's sigil. The courier spoke with one of his scouts who came trotting into his tent with the news. Bres had gotten married while he was at war and the territory would soon have a proper queen again. Looking back, it struck him as odd that Bres wouldn't have waited or recalled his beloved brother from the frontlines. He must've had good cause, Cian reasoned.

"And who's the lucky lass, then? My brother never mentioned courting a she-wolf before we left." He asked.

"Some she-wolf named Aoibhe," the scout replied, adding a heartbeat later, "What a pretty name!"

Cian's blood froze in his veins.

It would be another fortnight before he found himself at the entrance to his family home. He had abandoned everything—his battalion, his friends, and perhaps soon his titles as he marched through the entrance on a mission to find his brother. Surprised greetings and nervous glances seemed to merge together as he followed the well-worn path up toward his brother's chambers. Bres' scent was still thick in the air, here, sparking a rush of adrenaline that pushed Cian forward into the room with conviction. Upon entering the room, Bres' head snapped up and his fur began to bristle, but his expression remained calm as he dismissed the servants still padding about the room. Cian's own pelt began to rise, in response. His brother had expected this.

"Where is she!" He snarled.

"Where's who, Cian?" Bres replied cooly.

"You know who. Aoibhe, my—"

He cut him off, "MY wife. She's not here. Any business you have with her you can now take up with me."

Cian could've cried out at that moment, but his jaw tightened and clamped itself shut with rage. His paws rooted themselves to the spot in an attempt to quell his trembling legs. He tore his gaze away from his brother in... Disgust? Agony? The wolf couldn't tell.

"So, it's true?" He said at last, "You... You married her? Knowing what she meant to me—what we meant to each other..." His mind whirled for an explanation while Bres stood stoically, patiently, "Did... Was it father? Did he—"

"Father didn't do anything I didn't ask of him." Bres quipped.

The Crown Prince turned to walk out toward the outcrop opening attached to his bedroom. The night air swirled around him, tussling his fur as he took a seat with his back to his brother. Cian could see the tip of his tail twitching irritatedly, clearly frustrated as he tried to piece everything together in his mind. All at once, his rage returned, and he rushed out to follow him onto the ledge.

"Why?" He demanded.

"Because she was pretty and I wanted her," Bres explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world, "Honestly, Cian, don't tell me you were so wrapped up in your own pining that you didn't see it. You were hardly alone in your affections."

"She'll never love you. You know that. She loves me and not you."

"Perhaps. And yet, here we stand, where I am her husband and you nothing more than family by marriage."

"How could you do this, Bres? We're brothers! I loved you, and this whole time—"

Finally, Bres snapped. He turned sharply to face his brother, nose to nose, irritation practically dripping from his muzzle as he spoke—snarled.

"It's just like you not to understand this, Cian. Really. And I'm absolutely sick of it!" He took a step forward, forcing Cian to lean back, "You are an entitled, selfish, lazy wastrel! All you ever did was shirk your responsibilities to the crown and make the rest of us look like fools!" Another step, another lean away, "Father gave us everything we ever asked for, and the one time he asked you to make a sacrifice for the family you couldn't just do it! Not for the family, not for him, and not. For. Me."

Bres shoved a paw pointedly into Cian's chest, practically pushing the other wolf into a sit. His fur was entirely bristling now with his hackles raised and his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. Cian's ears flattened against his head with a snarl of his own forming on his muzzle.

"Our entire lives, I've always done everything Father asked of me and watched you evade all your obligations with no consequences," he continued, then dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in to speak directly into his brother's ear, "but now you have one."

Something broke in Cian as he quickly turned his head to snap at the side of Bres' head. The other wolf yelped in pain and jumped back, missing half of his right ear and his brother's exit back into the corridor.

Cian wouldn't remember how he came to stand in the throne room before his father who fixed him with a knowing glare. He could scarcely recall how he screamed at him until his throat felt raw and how his father proceeded to smile, amused, as if he was only a pup again throwing a tantrum about a toy.

"I loved her!" Cian roared, "Why him? Why not me? If you were going to say yes, why not to me!"

"Because I wanted to teach you a lesson." The High King replied, "Your first priority should have been the crown. I tried to warn you, but you just wouldn't listen," he chuckled softly, "And now look at what you've made me do—to clean up the mess you made, Cian."

Cian felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision. His jaw clenched so tight his teeth felt like they would shatter as the lecture continued. Slowly, his sight fell to the cool dirt floor beneath his paws.

The older wolf continued, "You just had to go after this one girl—never mind that if you kept yourself quiet and married who I had lined up for you, you could've just seen her on the side anyway." He shrugged and began to pad past him, across the throne's path, toward the far exit, "These cub-ish ideals you've always had about romance and honor... This is the real world. I hope you can see that now. After all, with all the skulking and secrecy you two were engaged in—doesn't she deserve better? She'll have Bres' pups and—"

Cian felt his fangs connect with his father's fur seconds before a rush of heat and the taste of iron filled his mouth. Something gave way between his teeth and it took every ounce of control in his body to come back to his senses. He staggered back in shock and tried to collect his thoughts, but it was too late. His muzzle felt warm and wet and he could ever so slightly hear the muted thud of droplets falling to his paws.

Aengus crumbled to the ground, gasping for breath, coughing, sputtering... And then laughing. He looked up at his son with a wide grin stretching across his muzzle. Two sets of brilliant amber eyes—one filled with anguish and fury and the other with a dying man's mirth—locked together for what felt like a lifetime.

"I suppose.. We aren't so different. ..Are we.. Son?" He gargled, each word splattering blood across Cian's paws and chest as the younger wolf dropped down in a futile attempt to do... Something for his father, "Backed into a corner... Whatever it takes... Even if it's not enough to change.."

Tears trickled down Cian's face, off the tip of his nose, mingling with the blood as if trying to wash away his crime. His chest ached in a language he couldn't quite name as his emotions crashed together—a thunderstorm and a blizzard colliding inside his body. His legs shook as he tried to push himself upright, onto his haunches.

"I don't have to change anything," Cian murmured so low not even the gods can hear, "Did you think I'd leave her behind? Unguarded? Our love unprofessed? We were married three seasons ago, father." He finally stood, spitting, "Your son has no honor and your kingdom has no queen. What a legacy to leave behind."

Aengus' eyes grew impossibly wide as he realized the meaning of Cian's words. His smile turned sour. He choked and the words died in his throat as the last of his life flowed out of his body and into the dirt.

The High King is dead.

Cian knew he only has a pawful of heartbeats to act. With one last look at his father's corpse, he raced off into the open and lifted his nose to smell the air. He could hear his pulse roaring in his ears, but his mind had never been calmer. In the very marrow of his bones, he knew that no amount of time apart would be enough to make him forget her scent—let alone three seasons. To this day, he didn't know if it was his nose or his heart that led him to where Bres attempted to hide her away.

He stood in the entryway to her den, covered in drying blood, eyes red with tears and anger and yet she still embraced him. No words passed between them. In only a few heartbeats, the two raced out from the dens, through the open expanses of the land they both once called home, and across the border to the east that faced the narrow strip of sea. The two could just barely make out the caps of the mountains that almost shone proudly on the other side. This was it—their solitary chance at the life Cian could only describe on hastily scribbled parchment not two weeks before.

And when his paws hit the sandy shore across the water, he knew that the scale of what he lost and what he gained would forever be unbalanced. The final winner, however, remained to be seen.

First of His Name, Founder of Clan Ceilte, the Dissentient Prince, King of Triskele Mountain

"There really can be no peace without justice. There can be no justice without truth. And there can be no truth, unless someone rises up to tell you the truth." —Louis Farrakhan

[Prologue][Ch.2]