Work Text:
***
Something crinkles under Ajay’s head.
“…whuzzat?” he mumbles, and his own groggy voice jerks him awake. It takes him whole seconds to realize that he must have rolled over, that it’s early as shit, that there’s no warm Pagan snuggled up in bed with him like there should be…and that there’s a piece of paper stuck to his face. He peels it off his cheek and looks at it, forcing his bleary eyes to focus. A note, in Pagan’s spiky, florid handwriting.
The Crown of Kyrat. The Key to the Kingdom. Today’s the day, my lovely boy.
Come downstairs when you’re ready.
He rubs his eyes and tosses it onto the nightstand. Pagan’s been on about this for weeks now, keeps hinting around in a way that he probably thinks is subtle about how it’s high time that the Official King-In-Training should become the Official King-For-Real, despite his own half-hearted objections.
Like most Kyrati institutions, it’s all batshit insane. Pagan tries to reassure him from time to time with really, dear boy, you’ll do a wonderful job, it’ll all be fine, you’ll see, and although he’s being honest with him, he knows he is… it’s still Pagan. He can say things with the utmost sincerity, and it still sounds like he’s lying through his teeth.
Might as well go see what fresh hell lies in store for him, but fuck getting dressed, as he pulls Pagan’s third-best robe on over his boxers and runs his fingers through his hair in a fruitless effort to tame it a little. It’s not even eight yet. This is how Pagan’s getting him, as he yawns hugely.
He’s…not ready. Really not ready for this insanity, despite Pagan’s assuring him that when he was much younger than Ajay is now, he himself felt entirely prepared to rule a whole fucking country.
God.
When Ajay gets downstairs to the dining room, he’s greeted with the sight of Pagan and Gary gathered around his usual seat at the table. While it might just be his imagination in overdrive, it feels like they’re both sporting the very same smile: small, gentle, suspicious. And sitting right in front of his place…
“You gotta be kidding,” he says in dismay. “You guys got me out of bed just to fuck with me. Again.”
“Please, your Highness,” Gary pipes up, “I assure you, we are really not. This is important. It is essential to the line of succession that things be handed over in the proper way.”
The problem with Gary was that he was always so goddamn earnest. If everything Pagan said sounded vaguely like a lie, the opposite was true for Gary: every word out of his mouth was delivered with the utmost sincerity. Innocent. Guileless.
Neither of them could be trusted. And they never got tired of yanking his chain with it either, the fuckin’ assholes. Elaborately, and with great glee.
“Ohhhh no…it’s way too goddamn early for your bullshit. What have I said? ‘Please wait until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee before you two fuck with me.’ Remember?”
Pagan just smiles wider.
“Well, go on then,” he says, gesturing to the table…and that was when Ajay noticed that the object in question was, indeed, full of what looked to be coffee.
It was a mug.
The thing was an ugly, somehow unsettling shade of pink; like maybe it had been another color once and had faded out. On one side, the gold lettering half worn off, were the words ‘Long Live the King.’ On the other side, equally worn, was a portrait of Fat Elvis.
“No way,” he mutters darkly. “You fuckers are absolutely messing with me. This piece of shit came from some old lady’s garage sale.”
“On the contrary, it’s something special to me. Essential, even. Far more than any crown or jewel, this gift is the very symbol of my reign,” Pagan says, reaching out to brush an affectionate finger along the handle.
Ajay didn’t buy it for a second.
“Though you are partly right,” Gary says cheerfully. “I did find it at a market stall in Patna.” He takes a deep breath. “Did you know, many people believe that Elvis Presley is still alive? In fact, not long after his supposed death, a man resembling him was spotted in an airport in Memphis. Then just a few years later there was another sighting, this time in Kalamazoo, Michigan where no fewer than seven witnesses swore it was indeed Elvis they saw! And then the next was in…”
As he drones on, the other two ignore him completely. Pagan steps behind Ajay’s chair and wraps his arms around his neck, and he reaches up to take one of his big freckled hands in his.
“You’ve been worried about this, I know,” Pagan says in the vicinity of his ear. “But you oughtn’t, dear boy. You really oughtn’t. After all, I’ve set the bar rather low for you.”
That shouldn’t be comforting…but weirdly enough, it kind of is. He’d never thought of it that way before: no matter what he does or what mistakes he might make along the way, his reign can’t possibly be worse than Pagan’s. Takes a lot of pressure off his shoulders. He picks up his new mug with his free hand and has another fortifying sip.
“There we are! Now there’s a bit of a smile!” Pagan laughs and kisses the top of his head, wiggling their entwined fingers playfully. And then murmurs into Ajay’s hair: “Long live the King, my dear. Long live the King.”
End
***