Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, Prince,” Dick says, standing ankle high in the water. “If I threw a message in a bottle out to sea, would it get to you?”

The sun shines very, very brightly on land. Garth can’t get used to it. 

Sunlight is different, under the water, in the sprawling cities of Atlantis; there, it dissolves and disperses before it ever reaches you. On land, it’s everywhere. Almost merciless. A blanket of beauty over the world.

Tula is enamoured with it. Garth, less so. But he sees the appeal. 

The Themyscrian castle is full of stained glass. In the mornings, when he misses home, he’ll stand underneath the blue panels and watch the light fall on his pale skin. Shifting like sunlight under the waves. Usually, all it does is makes him miss home even more, but he does like the warmth on his skin.

He doesn’t really belong here, underneath the scorching sun, lost in the sprawling palace. Themyscria had already been reluctant to invite him; they’ve mostly been dealing with Mera, as the queen, and Tula, as the princess. Arthur at least knows other people from his time spent on land, but Garth doesn’t have anybody of the sort.

Well, he has somebody. 

Dick Grayson, who, judging from his golden-glow skin, loves the sun as much as Tula does, has been assigned to Garth as a glorified playbuddy. He had said it himself, during their first meeting: had walked up to Garth with a smile and an outstretched hand, and a Hi, Prince, I’m Dick Grayson. I’m going to be your playbuddy for the next few months.

A pretty great first impression. Garth, caught off guard, had laughed. Loud and clear. Into the open air, the blue sky. In Atlantis, the water is a constant pressure around him, comforting him, keeping him steady; he hadn’t realized how much of that weight he carried onto land until that moment.

Now they’re a few days into the visit, and these are Garth’s continued impressions: Dick is a diplomat of sorts. Comes from minor nobility. Is very close to Princess Donna.

Is wickedly funny, charming, insightful, clever. 

He almost reminds Garth of Tula, in that sense. Both of them have that innate spark that can’t help but shine through. Though it’s usually just Dick and Garth, sometimes Tula will accompany them, and how well she and Dick get along only adds to the point.

The first time, Garth remembers Tula giving Dick a once-over and then glancing at him, smiling conspiratorially. Garth had been able to tell what she was saying, even without words. The princess in her said: Themyscria are sending their best. The politician murmured: Themyscria are out to impress. And then, underneath it all, from the girl who had only just aged out of her teens: this is going to be fun.

Naturally, as his wickedly funny, charming, insightful, clever wife, she was right on all three counts.

“So,” Dick asks, as he leads them through some tiny city lanes, “how did you guys meet?”

Garth and Tula look at each other. Garth bites his lip, and then looks up to the sky.

He hates having to answer this question. It’s Atlantean custom, and it’s all he’s ever known, so he doesn’t know why having to answer we were promised to each other at birth grates at him so much, but it does. 

Tula is always the one that ends up explaining the situation to anybody who asks. 

She tells them about the culture of Atlantis. 

She tells them how lucky it is, how fortunate they are, that they fell in love along the way as well.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s that Garth doesn’t like how the phrasing makes it sound like it wasn’t his choice. 

“Come on, Prince,” Dick says, laughing, “are you scared?”

“Yes,” Garth replies, gripping the railing with all of his strength. “Do—is this what you people do up here? For fun?”

Dick laughs again. Throws back his head. Garth notices a scar running jagged along it: not an Amazonian, then. Not that that’s a shock. 

“Jump off of tall structures with only a piece of elastic to keep us intact?” Dick asks.

Bungee-jumping, he had called it. It sounds so innocent, compared to how horrific the actual activity is. Garth nods, unwilling to look down at the dizzying height. There’s water underneath the structure, which is the only reason Dick had been able to convince him up here; if Garth falls, the water will probably save him. It won’t save Dick, though, so there’s no reason for him to look so enthusiastic about it all.

Dick’s expression softens into a smile. “Not everyone,” he admits. “It might just be me,”

“Reassuring,” Garth mutters. “Not everybody who lives on land is crazy, I’m just stuck with the one guy who is,”

Dick laughs again. Despite himself, Garth smiles.

“Exactly right, Prince,” Dick replies brightly. “You’re getting the VIP treatment.”

Although Dick’s general cheer and ebullience has done a decent amount to convince him, Garth’s still not all the way there yet. He’s not sure what he envisioned himself doing on a diplomatic trip of Themyscria, but it wasn’t this. Willingly jumping off of a structure that towers at 110 metres tall seems… Well. Crazy.

“Is this some kind of veiled assasination attempt?” he mutters, as he eyes the drop one more time.

Dick laughs. “Trust me, Prince,” he replies, “if I was going to assassinate you, you’d be dead already,”

His tone is open. Bright. It belies his words so easily. 

Something runs down Garth’s spine, hot, cold, thrilling. It’s the honesty. The blatant, casual, almost cruel acknowledgement. They aren’t friends, not yet. Not enemies either, but that’s politics; one is always only a few steps to the side of the other.

He sighs. “I suppose,” he concedes, because it’s true. 

“Come on,” Dick says, white teeth, endless enthusiasm, sunkissed skin. “Live a little, won’t you? Surely there are things you do back in Atlantis for the thrills,”

A memory occurs to Garth then, like something slipping into the water without a sound: something he’d forgotten entirely. Being a child, raised half in the darkness, getting dared to explore seawrecks and ride currents and dive into trenches, unaware of the life that was waiting for him.  

It’s probably safe. It’s probably safe, and it would be… interesting, to experience, surely, and damnit, Garth can’t believe he’s considering it at all. 

Dick must be able to tell, because he grins. 

Garth looks away from the expression, trying to hide his instinctive responding smile. He mutters, “You’re going first,” and tries not to feel like too much of a child. 

Dick laughs. “I’ll go first,” he agrees, and then he reaches out and gently nudges Garth in the shoulder. “And that way, you’ll know I’m down there waiting for you. If anything goes wrong, I promise I’ll catch you.”

Garth gives in, and snorts. And then laughs.

“Fine,” he says, avoiding looking directly the delighted look on Dick’s face, to try and minimize his already overwhelming win. “Just so you know, if anything happens to me, Tula will kill you,”

Smiling, Dick pats Garth on the shoulder and replies, “Don’t worry, Prince. I’ll get you back to your beloved in one piece.” He steps onto the jumping platform. Turning back to Garth, he gives him a little bow, and says, “I’ll see you down there!”

Then, stepping backwards into the air like the insane person he is, Dick jumps. 

Garth rushes to look over the railing despite himself, desperate to see what’s become of his companion, and finds him whooping as he bounces up and down in the air. 

Exhaling in relief, Garth covers his face.

And he’s supposed to be following this guy around for the rest of the trip. Nothing in Arthur’s diplomacy lectures has prepared him for anything like this.

He’s a little thrilled. Who would’ve known all the wonders the surface had to offer?

Garth hits the ground again, for the fourth time this session. He lies there, keenly feeling the bruises that are going to form all over him despite his Atlanean strength, and decides to give up before he loses any more dignity. 

Standing above him, Dick is grinning. He puts aside his staff and reaches out a hand to help Garth up. 

“Better luck next time, Prince,” Dick says, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Garth’s not a sore loser, but getting defeated four times in a row does sting, and with a crowd to witness makes it worse; he hesitates, just a second, and Dick laughs.

With a roll of his eyes, Garth accepts Dick’s hand. It’s a strong, steady grip that lifts him up. Brings him face to face with the current scourge on his pride.

“Well,” he mutters, his face warm, “I guess now I know you weren’t exaggerating about the assassination remark. You’re… incredible,”

Dick chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck, giving a self-effacing shrug that doesn’t really suit him. “Thanks. Don’t take the losses too personally; I’m probably the best-trained fighter in this whole place.”

Garth raises his eyebrows. The statement was delivered so cleanly, with such assurance, and yet Dick doesn’t seem like he’s bragging at all. It seems like a simple fact.

“You seem very confident about that,” Garth says, somewhat dubious, because this is a palace full of literal Amazonian warriors.

Dick smiles. Like he can tell what Garth is thinking. 

“I am confident,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “I said best-trained, not best in general. Have to keep up with the rest of these metahumans somehow, right?”

It takes Garth a moment to process that statement, to fully realize it’s implications. To hear exactly what it is that Dick wanted to tell him.

He blinks. “You’re human?” 

He shapes the word slow. So unsure of its meaning. So unfamiliar with its cadence. Dick Grayson is human. 

Dick nods, his smile bordering just on wry. “Through and through,” he replies, stretching out his hand. Human. Strong. He flexes his fingers. Human through and through. What a curious thing to be, in a land of fantasy. “No powers to help me along here,”

In a land of fantasy, of power, of magic, Dick Grayson has worked his way into the centre of the storm by being charming, and lovely, and strong. Garth can barely comprehend it. Barely understand the enormity of Dick’s mere presence here.

“You’re incredible,” he repeats, unable to think of anything else to say. He’s insistent about it. Grasped with a deep, boundless severity. “That is incredible, Dick.”

Dick smiles, looking pleased, basking underneath the sun. He belongs here. It’s so easy to tell. Loved by the golden glow, from sunrise to sunset; just as Garth feels best, most settled, when he’s underneath the blue, Dick looks like he was born to be gilded in the light.

“Thank you, Prince,” he says.

There are so many things Garth wants to follow up with, as he tries to make sense of the incongruous image of Dick in his head. A boy who brushes elbows with Amazons. A human who walks the halls of Themyscria. A diplomat and a deadly fighter. Always open, always friendly, never gives anything away. An ocean. Waters deep and dark, so clear when you’re at the surface and the sun strikes it right, but endless when you sink in.

Feeling strangely small, Garth’s mind stumbles over his words. He wants to say something, but as he opens up his mouth to blurt out whatever unsure, unfamiliar words he’s come up with, he hears the sound of footsteps.

He turns, and sees Princess Donna and Tula walking towards them in the arena. He had forgotten they were watching. 

He and Tula make eye contact, and she waves at him, grinning. Clearly amused. 

“Well, beloved,” she says, once they’re within earshot, “you were humbled, weren’t you?”

Dick and Princess Donna both laugh, the sounds clear, totally without mockery. Garth manages a chuckle as he ducks his head.

“Just a bit,” he replies. Snickering, Tula reaches out and smooths down his shirt. Garth instinctively steps closer to her, suddenly wanting the presence of somebody familiar. 

“Don’t feel too bad about it, Garth,” Princess Donna says. “Dick may look cute and harmless, but he’s an absolute monster in a fight,”

Dick grins. “Aw, Highness, you think I’m cute?”

Her hand moving so fast Garth barely sees it go, Princess Donna smacks Dick in the arm. He barely even reacts: just grins wider, and flicks her in the ear. 

They’re very close, it seems. 

The princess grumbles something about respecting monarchs, but Garth can see the fondness in her expression, and the matching fondness that Dick has in his.

He glances at Tula, and sees her watching them too, eyes knowing. 

“You have it in you for another bout?” Princess Donna asks Dick.

Dick grins and crosses his arms. “Oh, Donna, you want a go against the current undefeated champion?”

Princess Donna grins right back at him. “Sounds like you’re the one who needs some humbling now,” she says, flexing her rather impressive muscles.

Tula grabs Garth by the arm, beginning to pull him back to the stands. “Come on, dear,” she says, smiling mischievously, “let’s let them duke it out,”

Garth nods, watching as Dick and Princess Donna begin to circle each other. Dick, on top of being human, has exerted significantly more energy today than the princess, but even then, Garth can’t tell who has the advantage.

As he and Tula walk away, Garth asks, “Did you know Dick was human?”

Tula looks at him, surprised. 

“No,” she replies, looking back over her shoulder at the man in question. “I didn’t.”

Garth tells her what he had not been able to say to Dick earlier, when he found his tongue twisted up in knots. “He’s the first human I’ve ever met.”

Tula smiles up at him, understanding, crystal-clear in her clarity. “They’re not so different,” she says, patting him on the arm. He nods. That’s true. Dick really isn’t so different. It seems as though he can do everything that a metahuman would be able to do. 

That’s the most extraordinary thing about it.

Dick had called her Donna. Not Princess Donna. Not Your Highness. Donna.

Garth has never heard Dick say his name.

It eats at him. Such a silly, pointless thing. Dick and Princess Donna are close. Maybe even, if Tula and her sparkling eyes are to be believed, secretly together; of course Dick would address her by name. It’s not as though Garth is the only person referred to as their title. Dick calls Tula Princess. Calls Queen Diana Queen. Arthur is King. So on and so forth. The only person bothered by it is Garth.

But it eats at him, regardless.

He supposes it’s because he had presumed they were friends. Were approaching something like closeness. It could just as well be that at the end of the day, Garth is merely another assignment to Dick, but Garth can read people, knows them well. He’s almost certain that’s not it. They’re growing closer. Pushed together by genuine connection, and the pervasive loneliness of being the only similarly-aged men in the castle. He doesn’t know what the problem is, but it’s not a lack of closeness. Garth has never been closer to anybody, outside of Tula.

Maybe the problem is that Garth has nobody else. The problem is that Garth is a prince, and Dick is not, and that gulf seems impossible to cross, friendship or not. 

Or maybe all it takes is Garth saying one day, when they’re out by a nearby creek, “You know, you don’t have to call me Prince,”

Dick has his feet dipped in the water. Sometimes, he kicks idly at the water, and Garth will make the water splash back onto his legs, just to hear him laugh.

He turns to Garth now, his eyebrows raised.

In the silence that follows, Garth adds, “You can call me Garth,”

“Is that what you want?”

Garth holds his tongue. Yes, it is what he wants, but if he says so, he’ll never escape the feeling that somehow, he’s cornered Dick into this. Dick Grayson, in all of his humanness, who is not soft nor yielding but is still a not-prince where Garth is one. He doesn’t want Dick to call him by name because it’s what he wants.

He wants Dick to want it too. 

Shrugging, his disinterest surely seeming feigned even to the untrained observer, Garth says, “I don’t mind. I just figured I should let you know,”

Dick sits there for a moment, obviously turning that sentence over in his head, studying the look on Garth’s face. Over the past weeks, Garth has learnt that Dick’s observation skills are almost chillingly accurate. There’s nowhere to hide. 

After a while, Dick seems to settle on a conclusion. He smiles.

“Okay, Garth,”

Garth crawls under the covers, exhausted from a day of Dick teaching him—mostly unsuccessfully—how to ride a horse. Tula seems to sense this, because she just smiles indulgently when Garth cuddles closer, and wraps her arms around him.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Long day?”

Garth nods, feeling like he can finally exhale. Hanging out with Dick is constantly fun, enjoyable, delightful, but sometimes Garth will get back to his room and realize just how tightly, tightly wound up he is, for reasons he doesn’t even know. It’s good to breathe out. To take it easy in the arms of the girl he loves.

“Very long,” he confirms. “But I had a lot of fun,”

Tula smiles. “You always seem to have fun with Dick,” she murmurs. Around a yawn, she says, “Careful, you know. I might get jealous,”

Something lodges in Garth’s chest. Something he can’t explain. Something large and unwieldy.

“You might?” he replies, his voice only barely having the intonation necessary for it to sound lighthearted. Tula giggles.

“Of course I might,” she says, her eyes twinkling, “how come you get to spend all your time with the pretty boy and I don’t? You can’t even appreciate him like I could!”

Garth breathes out. 

Breathes in. Says, “Am I not pretty enough for you?” and relaxes marginally at the sound of Tula’s laugh.

“Not at all,” she says, poking out her tongue at him. “I’ve been looking at you for too long. I need something fresh,”

Garth manages a smile. “Alright, Princess,” he teases, soft, almost unsteady. They have been looking at each other for a long time. It’s never bothered Garth before. He knows that Tula is joking, but that something from before seems to settle even more into his chest, and does not let go.

Dick’s bedroom, unlike the decadent guest chambers that Garth and the rest of the entourage from Atlantis are treated to, is surprisingly small, but no less decorated. There are posters, photos, paintings all over his walls, plants on every shelf, and stacks and stacks of books. The room doesn’t really tell Garth anything new about Dick, who loves beauty, who loves caretaking, who loves learning, but it does fill in details in his mental image in a way that’s entirely satisfying, and incredibly endearing.

Dick is currently perched on his incredibly comfortable—that’s another thing about Dick: always dedicated to gentleness, to comfort, to warmth—couch while Garth wanders around his room, taking in the trinkets and pictures. His expression is indulgent, willing to let Garth work out his curiosity in peace.

Eventually, Garth pauses in front of a poster that stands out from all the rest in its antiquity. It’s faded, old: a drawn image of three brightly dressed figures. The Flying Graysons, it reads.

He looks at Dick, who is already looking back. Smiling, just slightly. Maybe looking the tiniest bit uncomfortable.

“You picked that out quickly,” Dick murmurs, the corners of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Are you in my head or something, Prince?”

Dick still calls Garth Prince sometimes, but Garth finds he doesn’t mind. There’s a new, different weight to the word, now that he’s heard his own name in Dick’s honey tones. It’s meaningful. No longer a title. Something else entirely.

“Yes, I am,” Garth replies, turning away from Dick to obscure the smile on his face. “Nice place, but kinda empty,”

Dick cackles. “Oh, he’s funny now, is he?” he says, getting up from the couch to stand next to Garth. “Where did that timid little prince I was showing around at the beginning go?”

Garth turns his head, and finds Dick a bit closer than he was expecting. Not close enough to feel Dick’s breath on his skin, but close enough to imagine it.

He pauses, staring at Dick. Taking in the proximity. Dick stares right back, not-quite smiling, not-quite neutral.

Garth isn’t sure what expression he has on currently.

“I don’t remember ever being timid,” he says quietly.

Dick inclines his head slightly, and smiles. “That’s true,” he replies. “Not timid. Distant, maybe.”

Garth doesn’t remember that either. In his mind, he sees himself tripping and falling into the pull of Dick’s gravity easily, effortlessly. It’s strange to wonder how Dick had seen it; if he had even noticed Garth’s quiet loneliness and immediate devotion. Strange to think it might all be in Garth’s head.

“I don’t know if I was distant either,”

Dick smiles. Up close, it’s something to see. “You don’t?” he says, tilting his head further. Some of his hair falls across his eyes. 

Garth closes his fingers. 

He says, “You made a pretty great first impression. I was…” Intrigued. Impressed. Instantly enamoured. He clicks his tongue, and continues, “charmed.”

With a laugh, Dick responds, “You know, a lot of people tell me that. It might start going to my head,”

Garth is a prince, a politician, a stranger in a strange land. He’s also, underneath all of that, a child raised by the waves and the coral. He manages to not blurt out whatever first comes to mind: you deserve to hear it, but it’s close.

In the silence between them, Dick continues with, “I’m glad, by the way. I rather wanted to charm you,”

Surprised, Garth finds himself smiling. “You did?”

Dick smiles back. “‘Course I did. You were a cool Atlantean prince, and we were going to be stuck together for months. I wanted to, y’know. Be friends,”

It’s a lovely sentiment, wrapped up in logic, then another layer of loveliness. Garth can’t stop smiling.

“Well,” he says, biting his lip, “Objective achieved.”

Dick laughs, and Garth looks at the shine of his teeth, the scrunch of his eyes, the scar on his neck. Charming. Seriously.

“I’m a go-getter,” Dick says, looking at Garth once again. It’s strange to think about. Dick could’ve kept Garth at an arm’s length this entire time, and Garth would’ve been a ghost in the halls of the palace, floating adrift, lonely and aimless. Not unlike how it is in Atlantis: the lost prince returned that nobody knows what to do with, who’s only keep around by merit of being loved. Garth is very lucky to be loved.

He wonders, quietly, if Dick finds himself loved here too. By Princess Donna, definitely, but Garth watches him and can’t tell if it’s projection or if it’s really there: if Dick might be lonely too.

“I’m glad,” Garth says, sudden, tongue tripping over his rush of affection. “I’m really glad you are,”

Dick looks at Garth. Garth looks back, at his blue eyes, his soft smile. The distance between them seems to still, the world holding its breath, as they look at each other. 

It it such a curious thing, to be alone, and then to not be; to discover that there’s some kind of remedy, some easing balm for a pain that never announces itself until you’re free from it.

“They’re my parents,” Dick says, a few hours later. He and Garth have been talking for so long that Garth’s almost certain his throat will be sore tomorrow, but there’s a warmth that’s set into his bones that he doesn’t think will leave, even months from now, even when he’s back in the cold waters of the ocean.

“Hm?” Garth replies, sitting up a little straighter on Dick’s couch. The sun has set outside, and he’s getting sleepy; he should probably be heading back, soon, but he lingers still. Dick’s room is lined with fairy lights, and they cast everything in soft light, welcoming Garth to stay longer.

“The poster. It’s of my parents. They were the Flying Graysons. A circus act.”

Dick’s looking out of his window. The night sky that sits outside is dark, speckled with stars, and near perfect; Garth has always heard that Themyscria was one of the most beautiful places on earth, but he’d never believed it til he saw it.

Still. No more beautiful than the boy that sits here on the couch with him. 

“Were?” Garth asks quietly, even though he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to hear the rest of this story. 

Dick smiles, sad and tinged with acceptance. “Were,” he confirms. “We used to trapeze, the three of us. And one day there was… an incident. They both died. I got taken in by the palace, and I’ve been here ever since.”

It sounds familiar. That’s what strikes Garth first. The sorrow and the sympathy come as well, but he sits there and watches Dick watch the stars, and what strikes him most is how familiar this story sounds. Not exact, not quite as tragic, maybe, but he knows this well.

He wants to give his condolences, or give comfort, but what comes out instead is, “I wasn’t always a prince.”

Dick looks at him. Garth looks down.

“Well, I guess I was. I was the son of a king and queen, but due to, uh, complicated Atlantis politics, I was sent away. I grew up on my own in the ocean, fending for myself, doing what I wanted.” Garth smiles softly. “It was pretty good. But, eventually, I grew up and started making enough waves that Arthur noticed me, and investigated, and then found out that I was the lost prince, meant to marry Tula and rule Atlantis one day. And now… I’ve been here ever since,”

Dick snorts. Garth feels strange—floaty, warm. He realizes that he’s never really told that story before. Everybody from Atlantis knows it already without him saying anything, and most of them avoid the topic of his origins anyway. And Dick is the first person outside of Atlantis, outside of the endless water, who he’s ever grown close with.

Dick holds up his glass full of grapefruit juice—a drink that Garth has grown increasingly fond of over the months, maybe because of how fond Dick is of it—and says, “To being here, huh?”

Garth snorts as well, and clinks his glass against Dick’s. He had to be taught that, the first time they dined together and Dick had attempted a toast. There’s so much of this world that has been shown to him by Dick Grayson’s hand. At this point, Garth doesn’t know if he could ever unassociate the land with golden skin and blue eyes and bright smiles.

“To being here,” he repeats, and they both raise their glasses up, bathed in the glow of the lights.

To being here, together.

Maybe it’s that he doesn’t like how the phrasing makes it sound like it wasn’t his choice. 

Even worse, even more possible, buried under layers of rubble and reluctance, is that maybe it might be true.

Chapter Text

“Oh, how glad she would have been to shake off all the tokens of rank and lay aside the heavy wreath! Her red flowers in the garden suited her better; but she could not help it.”

Garth doesn’t realize how long it’s been since he’s had a substantial conversation with Arthur until he finds himself having one. Having been summoned to the chambers that Arthur and Mera were calling home a while ago, Garth had resigned himself to reading this book series he had picked up until Arthur could figure out what he wanted to say.

He doesn’t expect that what he wants to say is, “Be careful around that boy, Garth,” 

Garth blinks at his king. 

“You mean Dick?” he asks, putting down the book. There’s some kind of alarm ringing in the back of his head. “Why?”

Arthur purses his lips. “I know they’re calling him your guide, but it’s just as likely they told him to get close to you and gather information on Atlantis and our court,” he says, crossing his arms and looking out the window. 

Garth breathes out. Releases the tension from his shoulders, feeling like he’s somehow evaded being found out for something, although he has no idea what. 

“Themyscria and Atlantis are allies,” he points out, somehow glad that Arthur’s just being overly cautious. “This is a peaceful visit.”

Arthur clicks his tongue. “Information is information, Garth. Even in times of peace, being prepared for anything will still be their top priority.”

Garth wonders what his and Dick’s relationship must look like to people outside of it. If Arthur had known the true extent of their closeness, it’s likely he’d be reacting much more extremely, but this discussion happening at all implies that people can see some level of closeness between them, at least.

He sighs. “With every passing day,” he says, grabbing the topic, twisting it around, trying to satiate the uncomfortable feeling in his chest, “I find myself more fed up with the tedium of politics,”

Arthur snorts dryly. “Wait til you get to my age, boy,” he replies, shaking his head. “You’ll discover that you have far more and far less patience than you ever thought,”

Garth sighs again. Prince, and one day King; he should be getting used to this, because there’s never going to be an escape from it. “I suppose you won’t take me at my word if I say Dick is trustworthy?”

Arthur sighs too. It’s novel, almost fun, for them as Atlanteans to be able to do it. Breathing underwater doesn’t have the same kind of dramatic flair.

“He probably is,” he replies, his voice the echo of sound in a cave, “but regardless, you should watch yourself. It’s good practice.” He reaches out, and pats Garth on the shoulder. “Keep your distance when you need to, grow close when you need to, and you’ll make a fine king one day.”

One day. One day. Just not today. Today, and all the days in the past few months, and all the days in the next few months, Garth fears that he’s a lost cause.

The cuts through him, sharp and inelegant in its path. Summer is drawing to a close. There is little difference, in Atlantis, but on land Garth watches the days get shorter and the sun get shyer, and keenly feels their absences. 

Still, he finds himself on the shore, feeling closer to home than ever before. Beside him, Dick is bundled up in a coat, grinning as he watches Tula and Donna wade around in the rock pools. The waves surge up against them, bolstered by the wind, and Garth resists the urge to quell them. Tula can take care of that herself, and Donna is an Amazonian.

“You really don’t have to stay and keep me company,” Dick says, nudging Garth in the shoulder. 

Garth shrugs, smiling at Dick and nudging him back. “I promise you that there’s nothing in a rock pool that I haven’t seen before,” he tells Dick, delighting in the laugh he gets in return. 

“That’s fair enough,” Dick replies. “I guess it’s kind of silly of us to take you and the Princess to the beach, when that’s your whole thing,”

Garth inclines his head. “It’s alright. It’s nice, being here. Seeing it from this side.”

“Do you miss it?”

He breathes out. That is the question, he supposes. Just as the ocean is constant, deep and blue, so is its call to him; he is struck with longing for the ripples and swells in the same way he is struck with the need to eat, or sleep. But the miles between Atlantis and Themiscrya, between this castle and that one, between who he is there and who he’s found himself to be up here, stretch so far that it feels less like missing the place, and more like missing the past.

“In a way,” he replies, because he doesn’t think he can say I think I miss it less than I should, or I think I miss it in all the wrong ways. At least, not when they aren’t alone. He gives Dick a smile. “I don’t miss it as much as I’m glad to be here.”

He doesn’t quite know what the expression on Dick’s face means, but he feels no fear at the prospect. Only wonder. Depths, waiting to be explored. 

“Well, I’m glad,” Dick says gently, “but still. If you feel the urge to dip your feet, don’t let me stop you.”

“I don’t need to leave your side to do that,” Garth responds. Summoning some of the power that’s gone mostly untouched in the past months, he draws one of the encroaching waves closer, and closer still, until it’s sinking into the soft sand that he and Dick are standing on. Dick’s gaze goes glittery, and he dances away from the water with laughter ringing when Garth tries to make it nip at his feet. 

“Show-off,” Dick accuses, his voice mirthful. Garth preens under the obvious admiration in his gaze. “Maybe I want you to leave me be, now,”

Garth smiles. “No you don’t,” he replies. “You’d be bored. Plus, you look like you’re seconds away from freezing to death. Somebody needs to keep an eye on you,”

Dick scrunches up his nose, red from the bite of the wind. “I’m tougher than I look,” he says, very seriously, even as he hunches up in his jacket. 

Garth laughs. “You look about as tough as a puppy. Not even a mean looking one. One of those very cute and fluffy ones.”

Dick bursts into giggles. “Aw, Prince,” he says, mirthful and bright, “you think I’m cute?”

Garth rolls his eyes and elbows Dick, eliciting more laughter. He can’t stop his smile, though, and can’t stop himself from replying, “If that’s how you want to interpret it,”

It looks like victory, the emotion painted across Dick’s face, when he says, “Yes, it is.” 

Garth wanders back to his chambers after breakfast. Tula had whisked herself off a few minutes prior, with a glint in her eye that Garth couldn’t help but laugh at, and now he’s planning to spend the day reading in the quiet she leaves behind. Or, at least, spend the time until Dick comes and finds him doing so.

Instead, he reaches the door of the bedroom and finds Princess Donna standing there, arms crossed and smiling at him. He pauses in his steps. Unsure. He had assumed that Tula was with the Themyscrian princess for the day again, and if that isn’t true, then it stands to reason that Tula is instead with…

Princess Donna smiles at him and says, “Dick and Tula have taken the day to go shopping together. Tula wants help from a fashion expert, and apparently he qualifies more than I do,”

Shock. Disappointment. Wonder. Garth isn’t sure what echoes through his heart first. The first thing that crosses Garth’s mind, however, and the thing he ends up blurting out, is: “She won’t be able to wear any clothes from here in Atlantis,”

Princess Donna laughs. “Nothing some magic can’t fix,” she replies, and Garth doesn’t mean to compare but does anyway: he imagines Dick giving the same smart, light reply, and finds the princess’ smile a tad bit reserved in comparison. “I think it was more an excuse for them to finally spend time together, more than anything,”

Well, Garth can’t find anything to say to that. He knows exactly how it feels to crave Dick’s presence. 

Nodding, he says, “Then, what’s on the agenda for us two, Princess Donna?”

“Just Donna is fine,” she says, standing up straight from where she was leaning on the wall. “When it comes to title, we’re basically equal, anyway,”

It’s not true. Garth will rule one day, sure, sat atop of the throne in Atlantis, but the distance between him and Donna stretches very wide. It’s been implicitly agreed on by everybody in the court, everybody in the ocean, that Tula will be the one deferred to. The one called upon. Garth doesn’t mind it. It makes sense; Tula is the people’s princess, who grew up among them, who understands their society and their needs in a way that sometimes escapes Garth. 

To the people of Atlantis, Garth is the lost prince, a miracle that nobody knows what to do with in the aftermath. He’ll never wield the same kind of power, regality, or influence that Donna does.

Still, he smiles and replies, “Alright then, Donna. What’s on the agenda?”

“Did Dick give you the tour of the castle grounds when you first got here?” she asks, smiling. 

Garth nods, fond at the memory. It had taken the better part of the day to cover everything that Dick deemed interesting, which ran from the secluded ponds in the gardens, to the best way to sneak into the kitchen, and by the end Garth had been thoroughly exhausted. The next day, when Dick came in and jokingly told Garth to get ready for part two, Garth had almost thrown something at him.

Donna’s smile turns conspiratory, and if Garth blinks right, he sees echoes of Dick in her expression; it’s the kind of similarity that is born of such closeness that it’s hard to draw the line where one ends and one begins. Maybe they really are together. But then again, Garth has never really felt that way about Tula. She is who she is, and Garth is who he is, and the distance between that has never hindered their love, so it’s never been addressed.

“Come here,” she says, gesturing to the space next to her. Garth obliges, stepping closer, and is subsequently caught off guard when Donna wraps an arm around his waist.

“Um,” he says, and Donna laughs. Throws back her head. The sun glints off of her diadem.

“The best way to see Themyscria is from the air,” she tells him, buzzing with power and with life. She tightens her grip around his waist. “So I’d suggest holding on,”

He barely has time to put an arm around Donna’s shoulders before they’re lifting off. 

They’re in the air.  

It’s the same kind of feeling, stepping off of the platform and praying that the elastic behind him would hold. A total loss of control. There is nothing in the sky to hold him down, not like in water; even in water, when you’re suspended, there is something there. The resistance will pull at you. The currents will drag you along. To sink is not to fall: to fall is harrowing, unable to control your descent, nothing but the ground coming up to meet you. 

In comparison, sinking is slow. Gentle. The loving embrace of the ocean as it wraps around you, taking you to the ground. 

Granted, Garth is flying, not falling, but he was born in the water and raised in the water: he has no real way of drawing the line. No way to break his fall.

“Hey, Garth,” he hears Donna say. 

He’s squeezed his eyes shut. The ground must be far away now. Donna is warm where she’s touching him, but the air around him is so, so cold. 

“Garth, open your eyes,”

Garth had caution, reservation, taught to him. Pressed into his skin until he was sure to never forget. Not a born royal, a molded one. Underneath all of that, lurking beneath the surface, the freedom of the open sea sang in his blood.

He opens his eyes.

He thinks, it’s a shame that Dick isn’t here.

“—and she thought of the prince and the immortal soul.”

His legs feel like jelly even hours after Donna gave him the tour, and flown him to parts of the sky he once thought untouched. Despite that, he thinks he had enjoyed himself. He really, really enjoyed himself.

Donna is easy to talk to, and while fun, possesses a sense of gravity that makes him feel more grounded. It’s a nice change after spending most of his time with Tula, who’s a wavemaker in every sense, and Dick, who seems to possess no limits outside of his own determination. 

She’s cool. Smart. Genuine. Garth knows she’ll make an incredible leader one day. He sees why she and Tula get along so well; born leaders, the both of them, with a fire inside that can’t be put out. Garth isn’t on their level yet, but he tries. He is trying.

They’re both at dinner right now, Donna and Tula, a dinner that Garth had respectfully excused himself from because the sight of food still makes him a bit queasy. Airsickness isn’t something he’d ever thought he would experience, but that’s the surface for you: constantly surprising him.

Constantly. 

Truly, there never seems to be a moment of rest. Garth hears his window scrape open and shoots up straight from where he had been lying in bed. Instantly on guard.

Perched on his windowsill is Dick Grayson, grinning at him sheepishly. He pushes the window some more, until it’s open enough for him to fit through, and slides into the room.

“Oh my god,” Garth says faintly, a smile already forming on his face. 

Dick grins. “Surprise?” 

Garth stares at him in disbelief. Still smiling. How the hell had he gotten up there? Last time Garth had checked, humans couldn’t fly, and while he knows all too well that Dick is something beyond extraordinary, this still seems like pushing it.

“Have you been lying to me?” he asks, laughing a little, “Are you actually able to fly?”

Dick laughs too, and it’s a ridiculous sentiment, but Garth has missed the sound. Like being cast in sunlight. Bathed in warmth.

“I promise I can’t fly,” Dick replies, coming to sit on the bed. “I just have my ways of getting around,”

“Through windows?”

“I could’ve gone through the skylight. Dropped in from above. Boo.”

Garth snorts. “The door isn’t good enough for you?”

Dick smiles, like he’s got a secret. “Well,” he replies, pulling something out from a bag that Garth has only just noticed, “I’m not actually allowed in the guest chambers, but I heard that you skipped dinner because you felt sick, so I brought some tea and cookies.”

It’s a flask, and a container filled with chocolate chip cookies. He offers the flask to Garth, who takes it, blinking, and then he pops the lid off the box of cookies.

He takes one out, and offers it to Garth too.

Garth accepts.

Dick says, “Princess Tula and I baked them earlier today. And that’s peppermint tea, which usually helps me feel better when I’m sick,”

Garth stares down at them, held in his hands. Tea and cookies. 

It’s such a wonderful thing to love. To care. To sneak through somebody’s bedroom window and bring them tea because you hear that they’re feeling under the weather. Dick is wonderful.

“You didn’t have to,” Garth says.

Dick rolls his eyes. “If I only did what I had to when it came to you, we wouldn’t be friends at all, Garth. Just eat the damn cookie.”

Garth snorts. Bites his lip to try and stop his smile, and fails entirely. He takes a bite before anything else spills up from his lungs, words that he can’t control, can’t quite make out the shape of until they’re out in the open. 

It’s good. He still feels a bit nauseous, but the queasiness subsides with the tea and food and good company. He feels settled. 

Dick sits himself on the foot of the bed, his legs crossed. He smiles at Garth.

“So, did you have fun with Donna?”

Garth nods. “Yeah,” he replies, amused at the way Dick’s expression goes pleased. “She’s great. I got flown all over the castle, which was a bit much, but still enjoyable.”

Dick chuckles. “She loves doing that,” he says, fond.

“Scaring the shit out of people?”

Garth gets a full-blown laugh out of Dick for that one. His expression goes pleased too.

Shaking his head, Dick says, “No, no.” He pauses. “Well. Maybe. But I was talking about flying,”

Garth nods in understanding. “It was rather fun, once I got used to it,”

“It really is, isn’t it?” Dick replies. “You can’t blame her. I think if she didn’t have so much to do here, she would spend all her time flying around.”

His expression goes gentle and loving, and Garth swears that it’s similar to the one he catches on his own face, sometimes, when he looks at Tula. 

He breathes out, and takes a sip of his tea. 

“You two must be very close,” he murmurs, face hidden behind the flask. 

Dick smiles. “We are. She was my first friend after I arrived at the palace, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.”

Garth doesn’t know how to bring this up. Doesn’t know if he wants to, although he wouldn’t be able to say why. It just seems like such an awkward, silly thing, as it sits in his mouth. A mouthful of water that he can’t seem to swallow.

What ends up slipping out is, “Tula thinks you two are secretly dating,”

There’s a beat of silence, and a beat of Garth’s heart, and then Dick snorts.

Then, he laughs. Garth tightens his grip on the flask.

“Me and Donna?” Dick says, through his laughter. Garth stares at him. “Not at all. We’re just close. She’s like, another part of my soul, but we aren’t together.”

They aren’t together.

“I see,” Garth replies, looking down into his tea. He channels his energy into keeping it at temperature. Gives himself something to think about. Something else to focus on. 

Without looking up, he asks, “Are you dating anybody else, then?”

Another moment of silence. Whether it is his heart beating faster, or the silence lasting longer, Garth cannot tell; all he knows is that this time, three beats of his heart go past before Dick responds. One, two, three. Skip, skip, skip.

“Ah,” Dick says, sounding quieter, more thoughtful. “That would be a no.”

Something in his voice gives Garth pause. Makes him look up, chasing the knowledge.

He finds Dick with his face tilted away, looking out the still-open window. 

Garth, with water in his lungs, murmurs, “That’s a surprise,”

The corner of Dick’s mouth lifts. “Well, not really,” he says. They’re both being very quiet, all of a sudden. “I actually can’t,”

Pause.

“Can’t?”

Pause again.

Dick sighs. He turns to look at Garth, and it’s the same expression from before, when Garth had pointed out that poster in his room. A sign of discomfort. A bruise to press on.

“You’ve met the Queen,” he says.

It’s not a question, but Garth nods anyway.

“You know that man that stands by her side? Tall, dark, broody?”

Garth nods again.

Dick smiles. “He’s the one who took me in and brought me to the palace. He’s also the Queen’s closest advisor.”

Garth isn’t sure where Dick’s going with this, but he’s struck silent, somehow aware that something of great importance is about to be revealed to him. The curtain finally drawn back. 

“Themyscria is unique in that metahumans and humans coexist. Living alongside each other. Of course, that doesn’t mean that they’re equal to each other in needs, wants, or power. What Bruce—that’s his name—represents is the human voice within the court. A reminder of humanity for the queen.”

Dick pauses. He looks as though he’s gathering himself. Strengthening his memory.

He says, voice steady and words practiced, “To be in that position is to be devoted to the country, the queen, and the people. Your needs are no longer your own; they are the needs of the people. More than that, they are the needs of some of the most powerless, the most easily brushed over. Having a relationship alongside that is… problematic.”

Garth connects the dots. 

Dick does this a lot. Doesn’t say things outright, but instead lays out the information, piece by piece, until you can put it together yourself. Like he’s arranging a photo: everything put in place, until the picture forms. Until anybody who sees can understand.

“And you’re his protege,” Garth says.

“And I’m his protege,” Dick agrees. “One day Donna will be on that throne, and I will be beside her.”

It seems all so silly, now. Garth is always so reluctant to speak it aloud, to acknowledge it at all: the fact that he and Tula had been set up since birth. Not an act of fate, but an act of control. It sounded so archaic. So limiting. The label had chafed at his wrists, stung him when he struggled. The thought that it was something chosen for him. Fortunate, of course, that it had all worked out in the end, but still chosen for him.

It all pales next to this. For him, for Tula, at least there had been some chance for a happy ending. However small. With Dick…

Dick laughs. “Come on, Garth, don’t look like that,”

Garth doesn’t know what he looks like at the moment, but he knows it can’t be pretty. He tries to school his expression back into neutrality. He doesn’t think it works.

Dick watches this happen and exhales, smiling something fond, something knowing. 

“It’s alright,” he says, “It’s not like I have to be alone. I have Donna, and I have other friends in the city.”

The wave breaks before Garth can stop it, words rushing out, and he says, “And me.” 

And it’s true, it’s important, it’s something Dick needs to know. Something Garth needs to know, too.

Dick stares at him for a moment, bathed golden underneath the sinking sun. The last stretches of light painted on his face.

He smiles. Lips curling up, eyes twinkling, teeth showing. Garth watches it all. 

“True,” he replies, affection creeping into his voice. “I have you,”

And here it is, the truth. He does miss it.

One side of the castle faces the sea, and from certain rooms, Garth can see the blue waiting for him outside the window. Sometimes he will stand and look out at that small slice of ocean, and get hit with wave after wave of homesickness. 

Not for Atlantis. 

For the caves, the trenches, the reefs. The schools of fish. The currents. The wind.

“Now the sun rose up out of the sea.”

Underneath the colour of Themyscria’s stained glass, Dick says, “Hey, Garth,”

A gathering storm had chased them off of the shore a few hours earlier. Garth feels the thunder prickling in the air, even through the glass. 

“Yes, Dick?”

“What would you do, if you weren’t a prince?”

Somewhere, closer to the sea, father from the castle, the storm breaks. Garth feels it. 

It’s something he’s thought about and not thought about in equal measure. An idea that waits at his doorstep for him to let in or chase away. Usually chase away.

“When I was younger,” he says, “the turtles used to tell me about the currents in the sea. The most powerful force in the world. Water that I can barely even control. They could take you anywhere and everywhere, if you knew how to ride them. You could travel the world in a mere few days.”

Dick steps closer, intrigued. The image in the glass is of a sunrise; it casts the two of them in red light.

Garth continues, “I think I would just take those currents anywhere. I don’t mind where. Follow the water, and see where I end up.”

Dick smiles. “Very free-spirited,” he says. 

Garth turns his body towards him, away from the window, away from the storm. He smiles back. “What about you?”

“I think I’d like to travel too.” Dick bites his lip. “Maybe go sailing. See the world.”

Garth’s smile grows. Somewhere, thunder rumbles.

“Sailing’s a safe option,” he says.

Dick tilts his head. “Is it?”

“If you’ve got an Atlantean prince looking out for you, it is,”

Clean and clear like the air after a storm, Dick laughs. Again and again, Garth finds himself entranced by the curve of his mouth, the stretch of his neck. 

“You’ll be looking out for me, will you? Sing me back to life if I get shipwrecked?”

Despite his confusion, Garth smiles. “Is that a reference to something?”

Dick pauses. “Oh,” he says, looking curious, “of course. You’ve never heard of the Little Mermaid, have you?”

Still smiling, Garth says, “I have legs, Dick,”

With a snort, Dick replies, “Yes, I am aware.” He shuffles his foot until it’s pressed against Garth’s. “It’s a fairytale. A pretty famous one, up here. A mermaid falls in love with this human prince after saving his life in a shipwreck, and she trades her voice and her tail to go live with him on shore.”

Garth clicks his tongue . “Terrible tradeoff. With their tails, mermaids are some of the fastest beings in the water.”

“Faster than you?”

Garth huffs. “Maybe. Just a bit.” 

Dick grins. 

For freedom.

The storm is on top of them now. Garth finds himself sitting on the floor in front of Dick’s couch, arms crossed on the cushions. Dick is curled up on the couch itself. Looking down at Garth as he looks up.

It’s not the closest they’ve been. Not the most intimate. But it feels, strangely, like the most treacherous. 

As the thunder rumbles, Dick says, “There’s two versions of the story. A children’s movie, and the original fairytale.”

“What’s the difference?” Garth asks. His hands are put on top of each other, but the length of his arm almost presses against Dick’s knee. If either of them shifted, they would be touching.

Dick hums, something low in his throat. Quiet. Garth draws in just a bit closer. 

“One has a happy ending,” Dick says, leaning his head against the back of the couch. His hair, unstyled, blown apart by the wind, falls into his eyes. “She gets the guy, and they stay married happily ever after,”

“The children’s movie,” Garth responds, and Dick nods in confirmation. “And the other?”

Dick sighs. Smiles sadly. “It doesn’t work out as well for her in the other.”

Garth bites his lip. “Do you have a copy?”

“Of the film? I think so,”

He shakes his head. “Of the fairytale.”

Dick furrows his eyebrows. “I think so,”

Garth breathes out, and asks, “Will you read it to me?”

Dick looks surprised. “It’s not very happy,”  he says, even as he gets up. In the movement, his leg presses against Garth’s arm. 

Warm. Human. Strong. Careful in his movement. Gentle as he pulls away.

“I want to hear the original,” Garth says. 

I need to hear that this has an unhappy ending.

Dick shrugs, but accepts the reasoning. Standing by the bookshelves, he scans them for a few moments, before turning back to Garth in triumph. He’s holding a very thick book in his hands.

“Knew I had this collection somewhere,” he says, smiling. He comes back, and instead of situating himself on the couch again, he slides to the floor. Next to Garth. Props the book open on the coffee table, and begins flicking through the pages. “Ready?”

Garth nods. With the rain pouring around them, he feels giddy, brave; he uses the excuse of reading the pages to crowd into Dick’s space just a little more. Until they’re almost touching. 

Dick gives him a sidelong glance at the movement. Then, he makes a decision. He leans back. Just enough that his shoulder is pressed against Garth’s.

Lightning strikes.

“Far out in the sea the water is as blue as the petals of the most beautiful cornflower, and as clear as the purest glass. But it is very deep, deeper than any cable will sound…”

Tula holds his hand as they walk to the dining room. 

“This will be nice,” she says, swinging their hands back and forth. The gesture makes Garth smile. “We haven’t spent time with Arthur and Mera in so long,”

Garth nods. “Yes,” he replies. “Themyscria is keeping us all busy,”

Tula laughs. “I don’t know if hanging out with your new best friend every day counts as being busy, beloved.”

He feels strangely self-conscious over it, even though he knows there’s nothing amiss. It is strange to know that people see him and Dick together all the time, that they aren’t living in their own, separate dream. Because sometimes, that’s how it feels. A dream.

“Excuse me,” he says, attempting a light tone. “I also hang out with you,”

Tula laughs again. “True,” she replies, “that is very important,”

It is. Garth squeezes Tula’s hand. “I’ve missed you,” he says.

Tula raises her eyebrows. “I haven’t gone anywhere,” 

It stands to reason, then, that Garth is the one who has gone somewhere. Where would he go? Where has he gone? Back into the depths, the caves, the trenches, the reefs? The currents? Drifting around the vast oceans? Or has he gone somewhere else, somewhere deeper, darker and far more dangerous still? 

And before he can hold it back it escapes him: the question they never bring up, never even let themselves consider. He asks Tula, “If you could. Go anywhere. Where would you go?”

“Right now?” Tula asks. 

Garth shakes his head. “No, I mean… If you woke up tomorrow, and you were no longer a princess, and had no obligation to anywhere, where would you go? What would you do?”

He doesn’t know what answer he expects. Tula has been raised all of her life as the heir to the throne, and has dived headfirst into any challenges that her life and title have presented. 

It is a shock to the system, plunged from warm air to cold water, when Tula tilts her head and says, “If I wasn’t a princess?”

She smiles.

“I would live in a little cottage, I think. By the shore. And every morning I’d wake up with the sunrise, and walk among the waves until the water grows warm from the sun.”

The answer is an easy one. A practiced one. Well-thought, and well-loved.

Garth’s surprise must show, because Tula looks at him and laughs.

“Surprised I didn’t have to think about that, right?” she says, seeing through him, as she always does. “We all have to dream of something else, don’t we? Some fantasy to pass the time. Make the days easier.”

True. It’s not as though Garth is unfamiliar with the concept; he’s more unfamiliar with associating Tula with the concept. Tula embraces life wholeheartedly. He’s never considered her the type to need an escape from anything. 

“I suppose we all do,” he replies.

Keen eyes stare him down, not distorted by distance, or water, or sun. Tula looks at him for a moment, and then asks, “What’s yours?”

Garth looks outside. It’s getting dark.

“I don’t know,” he says, because he’s come to realize recently that he would take anywhere, anything, that isn’t this. “I’ll have to think more about it.”

Tula doesn’t say anything in return, but there’s some look in her eye, something he can’t place. Garth has never been able to look through her like she does through him. 

“Queen Mera and Tula are going to Themyscria,” Garth says. “The island. For four days.”

“I heard,” Dick replies.

They’re lying in the western garden. The grass below him is soft, but the sun above seems harsher than it’s ever been. 

“After that, we’ll be leaving.” Returning. 

“I heard,” Dick repeats, softer. 

Leaving.

Chapter Text

Up, up, far up above, there are blue skies and golden rays and starry nights. Garth has seen them, been up there, used his unsteady legs to traverse the steady ground. But the surface is still worlds away from him in the depths of Atlantis, and further still from who he used to be in the very depths of the ocean itself.

So, suffice to say, he’s less than pleased about this trip.

“Must we go?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer to the question. It’s not good politics to ignore an offer to visit from an allied nation. It is just that… an entire summer above land, without the comforting dark of Atlantis, seems so utterly draining.

Tula laughs at him and rolls her eyes. She’s very lucky Garth is in love with her, so he finds the slight against his dignity endearing instead of affronting.

“Beloved, don’t be so dramatic,” she teases. 

“With all due respect, beloved, I don’t want to hear that from you,” Garth teases back, memories still fresh in his mind of that time the waters around Atlantis had stayed turbulent for several hours in the aftermath of one of Tula’s favourite weapons breaking.

Tula grins, and shoots back, “Hush, hush. This is about you,”

Garth pauses. “Yes,” he mutters in response, “it is about me. I’m certain you will have a grand time in Themyscria, but for me…”

Another pause. 

Tula sighs. “I know,” she says softly. “They don’t deal with men.”

“I’ll be hardly any kind of prince up there,”

She snorts. “With all the complaining you do about politics, I thought this would be a good thing,”

He tsks. “It’s an indignity,” 

“Still. There’s plenty to do there, even if it’s not politics.”

Garth looks away from her. “Without you,” he murmurs.

“It’s one summer, Garth,” Tula says, gliding over to put her hand on top of his. “We’ll be done before you know it.”

It’s one summer. 

The days shrink and the shadows grow. Garth had never thought about leaving, never let himself think about what would happen, but now it looms and all he can do is wonder what exactly his life is going to be like in the after. If he’ll be able to live it the same.

He has four days left. Four days alone with Dick. 

He thinks that this entire time, the two of them have been alone.

The night before the entourage for the island leaves, Garth finds himself in the hallway that houses Dick’s bedchambers. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He feels like a stranger, shot right back to when he had first arrived on land and utterly unsure as to what he was doing. 

One of the guards inclines their head at him as he walks past, allowing him passage without a question. As though Garth’s presence here is nothing out of the ordinary.

What am I doing? Garth asks himself. Why is he here, uninvited, instead of with Tula, or Mera, or anywhere else? 

He nears Dick’s bedroom door. It is slightly ajar.

There are voices, hushed, solemn, and Garth pauses. Just out of sight, just within earshot. 

He has never claimed to be a good person. He is finding, with more certainty and dread every day, that he is far less good than he had previously thought.

“—with us. You shouldn’t stay here, Dick,” the muted voice of the Princess of Themyscria murmurs out. 

Dick’s response is an echo through the water. Something more felt than heard. 

“I want to see this through,”

Princess Donna is a politician, and wields her silences as one; she pauses, and for a moment Garth wonders if that is the end of the conversation. If he’s missed something greater, something grander, that he can’t grasp ever again.

Familiar feeling.

Then, the princess sighs, “It’s tearing you apart,”

Even here, in quiet and secrecy, Dick’s laughter rings clear. “Nothing so dramatic, Princess,” he replies, the smile obvious in his voice. This conversation does not seem like anything to be smiling about, but Garth knows this tone intimately, and he knows he is not mistaken. He has committed the curl of Dick’s mouth and the lilt of his voice to memory. Tucked it away somewhere in his chest for safekeeping. An invisible locket.

“Dick,” Princess Donna sighs again, softer and slower and sadder, “you know this isn’t going to have a happy ending for you,”

The realization comes slowly, but insistent. Raindrops against his skin. Clouds gathered above. No cover.

They’re talking about him. 

Garth takes a step backwards. It is not far enough to miss the last thing Dick murmurs.

“I’m not going to have much of a happy ending either way,” he says, “so give me this, at least, Donna.”

Garth feels like sinking to his knees. Gone to ground with the burden of despair. Destabilized, entirely, by one boy and his loneliness. Lightning-strike.

It is not fair. Dick Grayson, of all people, deserves a happy ending. 

When Dick hits the ground, it takes Garth by surprise. Not just him. The world seems surprised, too. The dust takes a little longer to settle. The sunlight shudders. The noise quiets. Garth blinks down at the sight of Dick Grayson, human, ordinary, the best-trained fighter in Themyscria, strong and cunning and quick, bested by his hand, and finds he cannot quite comprehend it.

The only thing around that isn’t surprised is Dick. With the rest of the world in stasis, he moves, propping himself up on his elbows, uncaring about any potential bruises or marks. He grins.

“Look at that, Garth. You win,” he says. His voice is a flame: warm, constant, liable to burn Garth if he lets himself get any closer.

 “I won,” Garth repeats, still trying to understand the shape of that concept. Lately, they spar more often than not. Talking without having to talk. Talking with their bruises, instead of their unsteady words. Garth has been learning the rhythm of Dick’s movements, acclimatizing to his static-shock punches and kicks, slowly standing his ground. He still hadn’t expected to win. To actually best Dick. 

Dick is untouchable. Infallible. And yet he is here, lying in the dust, touched and fallen, smiling up at Garth.

Garth has enough presence of mind to reach out a hand. Dick accepts it, regal even in his defeat, and pulls himself up. 

For a few moments, they stand there. Hands still clasped. Eyes on each other. 

The fire encroaches. Garth feels it licking up his arm.

Dick, making no effort to move away, says, “Congratulations, Prince.” His eyes are crinkling with happiness, alight, proud. “What is that, four to one?”

 “Seven to one,” Garth replies. “Don’t sell yourself short for my feelings,”

Dick laughs. He lets go of Garth’s hand. It is not a loss, Garth tells himself. It shouldn’t feel like one. 

“I wasn’t doing that,” Dick says, warmth still curled around every syllable, “you’re just keeping better count than me. I tend to lose track, after a while.”

A lie. Garth accepts it with a roll of his eyes and a smile. He will not let Dick stoop to humbleness. There is no room for such thing, between them. And, besides— 

Besides. Each bout has been a moment where Garth has touched the sun, and been touched in return; he will not let any time he has felt the power of Dick’s hand be stolen away. 

“Thank you,” Garth says, the words startling out of him. “For teaching me.”

The smile that Dick gives him is slow. Sunrise over the ocean. “You don’t have to thank me, Garth,” he says, in that way he says a lot of things; a calm boat resting over deep, deep waters. The sense of something more behind the words. 

Garth looks down at his hand, now empty. It looks strange to him, in the sunlight. “I have a lot to thank you for,” he replies quietly. “More than you think,”

It seems that even Dick doesn’t know what to say in return to that. Garth feels torn between pride and apprehension.

Gathering up his last vestiges of dignity and diplomacy, Garth continues, “I’ll definitely be the best-trained fighter in Atlantis now,” 

Dick laughs. Still a little shaky, but genuine enough that Garth knows the moment has passed.

 “If any dolphins try to pick a fight, you’ll be covered, huh?” Dick says. 

Garth smiles. “Dolphins, sharks, manta rays… not a thing under the sea will be able to defeat me,” he says, just to hear Dick laugh again.

It’s not entirely an exaggeration. They do not teach hand-to-hand combat in Atlantis; most of the fighting is weapon-based, or centered around their powers. When all else fails, they have their natural Atlantean strength to rely on. Nobody has been trained the way Garth has been trained. With technique. With purpose. 

Yet another gift Dick has given him. Another way he’s shifted Garth’s perspective on the world. The change comes on, and it comes on fast, rushing with the intensity of a wave breaking. Garth can do nothing to stop it. He simply lets it wash over him. Lets it drag him under.

No man steps in the same river twice. 

This river, Garth thinks, has washed everything he’s known clean.

He lies in his bed at night, staring up at his ceiling. There is nobody else around. The guest wing has been vacated of said guests, except for him; still left behind, still in the dark. 

He sits up. He sighs.

His first night alone, and he’s already losing sleep. 

There is a tap on his window.

He turns his head around sharply, surprised and not surprised in equal measure to see Dick on the other side. There are waves crashing in his ears, thundering, swallowing up any other sound.

He walks over and opens the window. With ease, Dick slides inside.

“Pardon the intrusion, Prince,” Dick says, a smile half-quirked. Garth wants to see a full smile. Garth wants to sleep.

Garth wants to—

He swallows. Replies, “Never an intrusion,”

Dick’s smile softens, becomes more real, less jagged. Something like relief, something like fondness. Garth is better at picking out the emotions than he once was, he finds.

“I just,” Dick starts, looking around the stately, large, empty guest bedroom, “wondered if you would want some company.”

Like he’s a child who has been left home alone for the first time. Garth finds he can hardly begrudge Dick of the thought. After all, isn’t it true?

Isn’t Garth happy to see him? Wasn’t he lonely? Hasn’t he been lonely, his whole life?

He bites back a smile. “You know me too well,” he murmurs in reply. “I haven’t been able to sleep,”

Dick swings his bag off of his shoulder, and pulls out a book. Garth recognizes it as the collection that includes The Little Mermaid.  

“When I was younger,” Dick says, “and I was sick, or I couldn’t sleep, my parents would read to me. They’d sit with me in bed, reading, stroking my hair, and wouldn’t leave until I’d fallen asleep.”

It sounds like a secret. Something Dick has never told anybody before.

Spurred on by a feverish need to be equal, to have Dick understand too, Garth says, “When I was young and couldn’t sleep, I would go all the way up to the surface and float there. Letting the water drag me wherever it wanted. Drift, until I felt tired.”

So much quiet history that they cannot share with anybody else. What do you do, with a life barely lived, barely remembered? 

Dick gives him a smile. “Well, we can attempt one of these right now, at least. And if we get desperate, I know a few ways out of the castle without anybody realizing.”

Garth snorts. He walks to the bed, feeling something inside him flicker when Dick follows. They settle into the blankets and pillows, half-propping themselves up against the headboard. Dick takes out the bookmark—a pressed flower put between plastic—and begins to read.

“It was the last evening she should breathe the same air with him, and behold the starry sky and the deep sea; and everlasting night without thought or dream awaited her—”

What do you do?

You find somebody you can share it with. Memories half-recalled, slipping through their fingers like water passed from hand to hand, but shared regardless. All the more precious, for the ephemerality. 

It’s quiet company. 

“Tell me something you’ve never told anybody else,” Garth says, lying next to him in bed. 

Pause. Breath in, breath out. 

Dick says, “You first?” and his tone trembles ever-so-slightly.

There are any number of things Garth could say. So many secrets he has been putting away for all of his life, folding them up and putting them high on the shelf, where he will no longer see them and nobody can question. 

What he ends up saying, into the safety of darkness, is, “I don’t like the cold,”

He is Atlantean. It is nigh impossible for him to feel cold. 

Garth doesn’t turn to look, but he thinks Dick might be smiling.

“No,” Dick murmurs in reply, “me neither.” And then he continues, “I don’t like the dark.”

Children’s fears. Some things you never forget. Some things never let go of you. 

“Atlantis is… cold,” Garth says. He swallows. “For me,”

There is a break in the conversation. Garth feels sleep sneaking up on him, and blinks it away, all too aware of the short moments he has left with Dick.

Finally, Dick asks, “And here? Are you cold?”

Garth exhales slowly. 

“No,” he replies, a hand pressed over his chest. His heart rate, as an Atlantean, is naturally accelerated over that of a human’s; they have to circulate blood faster to properly regulate their temperature underwater. He has never felt it beat so steadily.

Dick exhales, too. Both of them bent under the weight of that confession.

“Good,” he replies, the trembling returned to his voice. “I’m glad,”

It would be so easy, Garth thinks. To say it. To tell Dick he is the warmest person Garth has ever known. To tell him about the fire, how it circles him, how it burns him.

Instead, he closes his eyes, and lets the sound of Dick’s breathing lull him asleep.

Garth would worry, about Dick’s apparent love for scaling castle walls and slipping in through windows, if he admired Dick any less. But he doesn’t—he holds him in the highest regard, sees the quiet strength in his eyes, recognizes the easy grace of his movements. If Dick wants to sneak into his bedroom, offering his quiet mercy to Garth and his loneliness, what is Garth to do but acquiesce? 

Then again, it is not as if the situation is one-sided, as if Garth is the only one taking. Dick’s loneliness is— elusive, slippery, much harder to spot than Garth’s gaping, empty abyss, but there all the same. Garth gives him whatever he can. Mercy, kindness, quiet. It feels as though there is no end to what Garth would give him, if only he would ask.

He does not. There is a part of Garth that wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, and ask: have you ever? Would you even know how?

It would be dreadfully unfair, Garth knows. To ask such a thing of Dick when he already knows the answer. To ask such a thing when, a mere few months ago, Garth would not have been able to answer himself. Would not have even known that he was lacking it. There is a strange detachment that comes, now, when he thinks about who he used to be. You changed my life, he could tell Dick, and it would be true and it would be incorrect. It was changed, but it is the change of somebody living in the dark for all of their life stepping into the sun. Change feels inadequate for something so all-encompassing. So consuming. 

It was—is—was a resurrection. Garth, and the pyre, and the open flame.

It is their last night. Dick looks at Garth and murmurs, “You’re thinking hard about something.”

It is their last night. It is their last night. It is their last night.

Garth says, “It’s our last night.”

For a moment—for two, for three, Garth has never seen him so unguarded—Dick looks stricken. As though he was not expecting it. How could he not be expecting it? It has been all that Garth is able to think about: an anchor on his chest, pulling him down. 

The veil drops again, and Dick smiles, nods. Pulls away. Come back, Garth thinks immediately. 

“It is,” Dick says softly. He looks away. “My last night to accommodate you and your whims.” The sky returns, and Dick looks back. “Any last requests of me, Prince?”

The callous care of this man, to ask Garth if he has any requests. When all that Garth desires, the only thing he wants, is for Dick to ask of him. Anything. 

He says, “Teach me how to dance?”

A moment of stillness, and then a smile spreads across Dick’s face. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Anything.”

They stand. Garth clears the floor, and Dick goes to fiddle with the record player on the bookshelf. The moment Garth straightens up, the first dusty note of music rings through the space. 

It echoes—endlessly. The room is hardly small, but the refraction of sound reduces it until it just this, just the music, Dick, Garth, and the space between them.

Dick steps into the middle. “Come on then, Prince.”

Garth wishes he would say his name. Garth wishes—and he wishes. 

He moves towards Dick.

“Hand on my shoulder,” Dick instructs, and Garth follows. Dick slots a hand underneath Garth’s arm, curling around his shoulderblade. His other, he takes Garth’s free hand and lifts it into the air. 

The music begins to stir, and Dick meets Garth’s gaze and murmurs, “I’ll lead.”

Garth nods. He could not speak if he tried.

Under the current of the music, Dick murmurs the rest of the instructions. Step here. Follow me. Turn. Garth relishes in following each instruction, each request, however small, that Dick makes of him. He steps. He follows. He turns.

They dance.

They make it through one song. Through another. Another. The space between them grows smaller, and smaller again, until there is nothing else in Garth’s vision but Dick, and the light that graces his features. 

They dance through a third song, and Dick pauses. He is so close. Garth is touching him already, yet the urge to reach out overtakes him almost entirely. He thinks about tracing the shine on Dick’s cheekbones. Brushing, as the light does, over his mouth. 

He keeps still.

Eyes downcast, Dick whispers, “Garth, can I ask something of you?”

Garth is a desert. Garth is a thousand million grains of sand. Garth is parched dry.

“Anything.”

The silence unspools in piles around them. Thread they will never be able to untangle. 

“Close your eyes for me?” says Dick.

Garth takes one more look at Dick, long, lingering, and then shuts his eyes.

Dick’s voice is his only contact with the world. Dick’s touch on his shoulder. Dick’s hand in his. He hears, “Just, pretend for me, that this isn’t real. None of this is real. It’s not happening. We’re—dreaming.”

Garth thinks he may be shaking. He nods. Gently, he rasps, “We’re dreaming.”

Lips brush against his.

Dam breaks. Banks flood. Garth is lost at sea. 

Oh, gods, he thinks, we’re in love.

Dick pulls back, and Garth moves forward. Follows, terrified of what might become of him if he is left alone after that. 

“Garth,” Dick says, strangled and quiet. “Prince.”

Garth opens his eyes. Turning the sky into shimmering sea, there are tears in Dick’s eyes. With a hand that he feels barely able to control, Garth reaches out and gently brushes them away. He cups Dick’s lovely, kind face. 

“Dick,” he says in return. “It’s not real. We’re—we’re dreaming. We’re dreaming.”

Dick stares at him, and nods. A tiny, almost imperceptible thing. Garth sees it. He has always been seeing Dick Grayson. Has been unable to look away from the very beginning.

Gently, Garth tilts his head forward, and kisses the boy he loves. Dick sighs into his mouth, half-heartbreak, and Garth tells himself to remember it carefully. To savour it. This gentle, unreal moment.

They’re dreaming. This entire time, it has been a dream.

Garth wakes up. He is cold. It has been so long since he’s slept through a night alone.

He goes and welcomes back Queen Mera and Tula. Tula takes him into her arms, and he takes whatever solace he can from her constant warmth. 

He is cold.

When they depart for Atlantis, they are given a quiet, sunny sendoff. Queen Diana shakes Garth’s hand. Princess Donna hugs him. Bruce, the Queen’s advisor, looks at him for a long moment, before nodding. 

Then, Dick.

Dick gives Garth three parting gifts. 

First, he smiles. Garth is going to miss the sunlight sorely, when he is underwater. 

For the second, Dick leans forward and hugs him: brief, tender. Garth is going to miss its warmth even more. 

The third: face alight, aflame, with the sunlight, Dick says, “Don’t forget me, alright, Prince?”

One last request. Garth swallows down his protests—how could he, how could he ever—and nods. 

They say their goodbyes. Garth’s heart is an anchor, a black hole. He sinks back into the water.

“—we shed tears of grief, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial.”

Dick’s voice rings out in the room with finality. In gentle contrast, he slips the book shut with the barest rustle of paper.

Garth finds himself blinking away tears. “Not a happy ending,” he says.

Dick smiles at him. “No, indeed. A tragedy,”

The sun sinks down. Garth nods.

“A tragedy.”