Legacy // H.S

23.

I hate that others have had to involve themselves to help us clean up our mess. I wish we were able to sort this without the threat of Hugo's ambition. A simple heist, the most famous one, perhaps even an idiotic one, but something we were in control of. Where we could evaluate the variables, the pros, and the cons, formulate plans for every possible outcome and make decisions based on desire. Not something plagued by the workings of a mad man. Blood lust and revenge.

Claude hasn't questioned us, though. At first, in the vans as we were chased through London, the fear he was experiencing had him confronting Harry, but these days, he still upholds that he doesn't regret his decision. If anything, seeing what happened that day consolidated his choice, because he couldn't in good faith leave us to it. He knew he could help better than anyone, and he chose to do it out of love. He may never say that word or admit just how much he cares for Harry, but it's evident in everything he does.

Knowing that Harry found Claude at such a crucial moment in his life somehow makes me feel better. A guiding light he always needed, shining just for him. Claude likes to convince people he doesn't care, that he's above the warmth of it, but it's what drives him. He looks at Harry and I know that young boy was in good hands when he was finally freed from the shackles of his father.

He has a heart of gold, and he didn't even need to steal it.

There isn't long left on the journey now, and the energy is beginning to shift. Back to the reality of everything, reminding ourselves why we're even heading to Aldeburgh. Not a fun little getaway for friends, but another piece of the puzzle.

Niall's hand taps on the wheel along to the song that plays through the radio, eyes on the road while he waits for the traffic lights to change. I examine his features, his hands, his figure, looking for things I hadn't had the time to search for before. 'You don't have any tattoos, do you?' I quiz.

He smiles at me, winking as the light turns green. 'That's what you think.'

I mirror his expression. 'Where is it? Arse cheek?'

'Nope,' he shakes his head. He slows the car again as congestion hits the A-road. I watch as his hands pull away from the wheel, only to begin moving his lower lip back. And sure enough, a small design is inked into his gums. The words Tír na nÓg stare back at me.

I reach forward to get a better look, hearing a scoff from Claude in the back. 'What does it mean?'

He swats my hand away to begin driving again. 'Land of the young.'

'Did it hurt?'

He smiles with a shaking head. 'I was pissed when I got it done. Babz did it a few years back. The T is a lot bigger than the rest because she underestimated how small it had to be to fit.'

I smile at the thought. Imagining the group in happier times warms my heart a lot of the time, but sometimes it causes an ache, because it's such a stark contrast from what we have now, and in many ways, I feel as if I'm to blame. 'Why land of the young?'

He sighs for a moment, scratching at his chin. 'There are a lot of old Irish tales about a realm of the same name. It's said that the inhabitants there are gifted with immortality, beauty, health, and happiness. The most famous story is about Oisín MacCool, who met a woman called Niamh from Tír na nÓg when he was out hunting one day. She came up from the sea and greeted the tribe, and Oisín instantly fell in love with her. Niamh had to return to her land, but she didn't want to leave him, so she invited him to come back with her. Once they returned to her home, he received all the gifts it was famous for too,'

'But he began missing his family, so Niamh gave him a horse to travel to see them, but warned him that if he touched the ground, he would become mortal again and would never be able to return to her. When he went to his family's land, no one was there. They were gone. He found some men and asked them where his family were, and he was informed that they had died many years ago.'