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Having bore a child before, she knew the feeling, she supposed not everyone did. Some mothers could go the entire pregnancy without knowing, others it may take months, but some just know, at the earliest possible signs.
Atlanna felt this feeling in her chest, that spark of excitement rippling over her heart as smog built simultaneously. Whatever flickers of joy she may have felt let off more smoke than flame. Building up her chest and lungs in a dreaded worry.
This was not like her first child, she recalled an immense joy, spending time with Tom, working at the seaside, resting under the sun and moon on the land above. Each day her only worries revolved around the safe arrival of their baby. And when he came, Arthur, their joy only expounded tenfold.
This time was different, whatever child that she felt now within her was not conceived of love between her and Orvax. Only of a political necessity. Perhaps you could call it a planned pregnancy, not for the expansion of family and for the genuine love of children to foster but for the acquisition of an heir.
Atlanna in her first moments of certainty made up her mind, she would love whatever child she came to bear, no matter how her outward opinion may fluctuate in the moment, her ultimatum would always lie in love.
—-1
His eyes were a glowing blue like bubble coral. So beautiful, almost glowing in the dark room. And such a soft face they belonged on.
The entire kingdom was overjoyed at the arrival of their prince, glad for a healthy child and the continuation of the royal bloodline. Orvax was glad to have a son. Atlanna was glad he resembled herself. Maybe not as obviously as people would say, most would say he looks just like his father. Dark hair, the start of his dark spot pattern.
But no, to Atlanna she could see herself in his eyes, they were the same color as hers, and somehow just as hopeful and curious.
As a baby Orm was so gentle, scarcely cried or screeched, he was calm, quietly drifting to the comfort of the ever surrounding waters. He was tremendously resilient, almost ignorant to any change around him, flashing lights, temperature dips, he was so perfect one could fear there was something wrong with him.
He quietly swam around the palace, under watchful eye of everyone who lived there, and while constantly seeking affections of others he also was simultaneously solitary. Lurking in corners and exploring shadows. Often finding brief trouble in the pests that lurked amidst the palace walls, tussling with krill and crustaceans by the time he was mere months old.
But he found the most joy at his parents' sides, both of them. Though Orvax was not an extremely affectionate father he was not beyond holding his son as a baby, retelling stories of lived battles or teaching the young lad to swim in flips.
Atlanna was decidedly motherly, and took to Orm in a way she hadn’t been allowed to with Arthur, teaching him morals from the earliest moment in which he could understand them. Hoping only he might escape the plague of politics and sorrow that had surrounded the circumstances of his birth.
But beyond that, she showed her love as any mother would, settling the child to bed each night, cuddling him in moments of terror and sneaking him sweet snacks when no one was looking.
—-7
His mother’s look was distant, more than usual that is. Her eyes set straight ahead as they ate their breakfast in silence. His father pulled away to the end of the table, also the usual for him. Often either surrounded by a couple advisors in a hushed military discussion or eating in his own piercing silence. Orm sat on the side, between them, the table so big he could not reach either of them if he tried.
Orvax was the first to finish eating and the first to go. Excusing himself with vaguely correct table manners, the kind that would get you to seem noble enough to marry a queen.
His chattering advisors followed him out of the room, all in a swindle, as currents changed, and Orm was left poking at his food.
Once Orvax was gone, Atlanna finally looked up, almost as though her personhood was returning to her. She meagerly took a couple bites from her dish, returning some normality to the meal before turning to her son.
“Orm.”
When he met her gaze she smiled, not as warmly as he’d ever seen but with a genuine kindness. So kind he almost missed the slight loom of her tone.
“Yes mother?” He spoke, his voice quiet, almost lost to the water. Instantly he bid himself to speak up.
“I have something I’d like to share with you, a story, something I think you’ll like.” Her smile lingered a moment longer before starting to fade.
She pulled up from her seat, her hair raising in the waters behind her. A servant instantly rushed to her spot, cleaning the table from where she sat. “Come along now.”
Orm took one more big bite from his plate before pushing out from his confining seat. Flowing up with a sudden burst. Rushing to follow after his mother.
There was no shortage of stories in Atlantis, myth and legends, magics and facts. So much knowledge and mythos, and so much Orm had already heard. Despite being a mere child he’d studied from the largest tombs and scriptures, learning the way the royals did, familiarizing himself with all Atlantis had to offer.
“I know what you must be thinking.” Atlanna spoke, she held pace in front of him.
“You think you’ve heard all the stories Atlantis has to offer.” She turned back to smile again, stealing the thoughts straight from his head, and this time she had something carefree approach her expression.
“While that may be close to true, this story is not of Atlantis.”
“Not of Atlantis?” Orm questioned, propelling himself through the water in timed leaps. “Of Xebel then? Or the trench? Or- or-“
“Of the surface.” She stopped, they arrived.
It was in the confines of an abandoned study Atlanna told her tale, while not of Atlantis, the main character was her.
Her arrival and brief exploration of the land, her meeting a human man named Tom Curry and their having a son together, an older brother to Orm.
“I have a brother?” Orm couldn’t scarcely believe it.
“Yes.” Atlanna’s story had brought her to a mixed state, though she smiled, Orm could tell she cried.
Though the waters whisked away the visible tears of Atlanteans, it didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“His name is Arthur. He’s four years older than you.”
“I have a brother.” Orm said again, speaking to himself, seeking to solidify the statement as fact in his mind.
Atlanna held her tongue for a moment, her chin trembling seeking to gauge Orm’s full reaction, she hoped so fervently that Orm would be pleased with this news, of the prospect of having a potential friend he could one day grow close to.
“Could I meet him?” Orm asked now, he was indeed excited by this news, although not known for being a very emotionally expressive child.
“One day, I hope.” Atlanna felt a cactus of comfort now.
While she wanted nothing more than for her sons to meet and be proper brothers, their mere knowledge of each other’s existence would put them in danger with Orvax still presiding as king.
“What is he like? What does he look like? Like me? Does he like Atlantis? Does he know of it? What about-“
“He is a happy and strong boy just like you”, she reached to pinch his cheek, “ and though he has never been to Atlantis and is only half Atlantean his connection to the sea is as strong as any of ours. The same with many surface dwellers, so many are tied to the seas, one day I hope for the whole world to be united.”
“I could go see him!” Orm almost laughed now, “I could go to the surface.”
“He could come here to visit you, or you there to visit him. With the land and sea connected anything would be possible.” She took Orm into her arms and hugged him close, while her words held truth it was a truth still desperately far out in time.
—-8
“Little half speckle here is gonna cry again.” A peasant called out, aggression whipping through the water.
“I do not cry!” Orm growled, he couldn’t help but show the frustration on his face.
He hated that, for all anyone knew, he could’ve been crying. There was no way to prove it either way.
The peasant was a kid his age but much bigger than him with light fins and soft scales and a big brow. If he recalled correctly their family was descended from mola.
Despite how small Orm was in comparison, he was never the smallest kid in the school, always there were krill-kin or poles that stood whole feet below him, but maybe they were so small they were completely ignored. Orm was at least big enough to be constantly in the eye, being royalty didn't help.
Everyone was always hyper aware of him, the prince, the prince is in our school oh my! Bunch of rubbish that was, being royalty brought further expectations from his peers, he was supposed to be strong, and glowing with the royal air his mother had. But no, he got his father’s black salmon spots over half his body, not even sensfully laid out. Genetically he didn’t even understand how it was possible, merely a curse meant to torture him.
So what if his pattern was strange, did that warrant the torment from others? The more he heard it the more it must have been the truth. “You definitely go crying back to mommy.” The kid still spoke to him.
“Do not.” Orm hissed.
“Do too.” This kid kept challenging him, and more aggressively each time, his fins flexing in waves.
Orm turned away, the last time he’d stuck up for himself didn't end so well, he needed to keep training, keep getting stronger.
Unfortunately size meant muscle, and his skill couldn’t challenge that yet. He tried to steady himself, drift away. Hoping the other kid would just let him go.
His anger would have to be let out later.
Sometimes he felt so angry, this blinding rage so powerful he couldn’t do anything. No shouting or hitting, just rage, rage that permeated through trembles and shakes. Rage that caused his gills to constrict and deny his breathing, causing his vision to darken and the shaking to worsen.
He felt like this now. Drifting away, the mola kid, still shouting at him, unable to breathe his movements were weak, swimming shallowly away. Why couldn’t he get better? Why couldn’t he control himself?
To Orm’s ever standing luck, the kid did not pursue. Orm was left drifting further until a jolt knocked him, the rage dissipated, he could breathe again.
He sought control in his training, sparring with his father, yet in those instances his anger was not present, there was no room for it. And the moment they ended he was back again.
He wallowed in anger and self doubt like no royal should have, like no person probably ever had before, he thought. Why wasn’t he good enough yet? He had no special talent in anything he was learning, no affinity for magic, flex for fighting or even manifestation of the usual Atlantean power set.
Sometimes he would briefly ponder on his supposed brother, “Arthur”. Did Arthur ever feel this way? Did he have powers? Was he stronger? He was older, but also only half Atlantean, did they balance each other out? Orm had so many questions and no real way of them being answered.
And although it was something he probably would have been scolded for, he couldn’t help but imagine his brother as someone relatable, someone he could have a friendly competition with or someone who would have his back against the pattern police.
—-9
“You’re not trying!” Orvax shouted, his voice was gruff, but strong.
All in the palace could have heard his scoldings.
At this point Orm knew not to talk back. He huffed heavily, he could scarcely find the energy to find his balance again. Having been beaten down so many times, so many trident hits to his gut, so many bruises along his neck and sides, his father’s rule of aiming for weak spots was not void just because it was his son he sparred with.
Orm’s gills were beyond sore, he couldn’t see them but he knew under his armor they were badly damaged, most likely misshapen structures and tears in the tissue. This of course only made him subjectively worse to protect himself in return. Without proper osmoregulation and equilibrium he was without balance, his muscles weaker.
He stumbled through the water, at the mercy of whatever blow Orvax decided was next. Orvax was wrong, Orm was trying, he was trying so damn hard, but it was beyond possibility.
His knuckles strained as he gripped his trident tighter, quickly jabbing it to the floor, if he could use it as a quick pivot point he could spring himself back up and maybe land a hit, propel himself into a kick. Even if it was a suicide move, at least it might score some points with his father’s favor.
His jab unsteadily pierced the tile floor, bubbles erupting from the crack in a rapid manor, he managed to pull himself up and as he reared back preparing to launch Orvax struck his trident at it’s base, knocking it clear to the side, he was too quick.
The trident was ripped clean out of his hands in a jolt and his body went lopsided, his head spinning dangerously to the floor, Orvax only cementing it further, his father’s larger trident jabbing to his jaw, pushing him all the way down and locking him to the floor.
His father’s foot came to hold him down at his back. Orm struggled under the powerful hold, wriggling pathetically, he was no match for Orvax’s strength. In such an awkward position he could scarcely reach any kind of easy pressure point, his arms flailing back, reaching for anything that could help him.
One of his hands finally felt something, his palm against Orvax’s lower ankle, he pulled back his fingers, dragging his nails over the skin, scratching rapidly at his father. Trying anything to loosen him up.
Orvax didn’t so much as budge, “measly tricks, and groveling attempts at pain do not affect strong warriors, they will not affect whatever soldier is strong enough to challenge you and therefore they should not affect you.”
Orvax pulled his leg back in a sudden movement, but before Orm could react it was brought back down in a powerful stomp, crushing Orm’s hand, pinning down to his back.
“No one else would go easy on you. The surface world will not go easy on you. At any chance they get they will try to destroy you.”
‘Like you’re doing now?’ Orm thought but he dare not speak. He preferred training with Vulko, the royal advisor did in fact, go easy on him.
His father, perhaps did take some pity on him, Orm could feel it, his foot starting to raise, maybe he was just adjusting, or deciding to end their training for the day, but before there was any announcement of such Orm tried again to move. Freeing his hand and ripping out from under the man, rolling away from the trident still pressed to his cheek.
“That’s it, keep fighting.” Orvax pleaded on, though his words were encouraging he didn’t sound too thrilled.
Orm fought to bring himself back upright, the pain in his hand searing as he attempted to straighten out his fingers, dancing on the edge of his father’s reach.
He knelt back, hopping through the water to avoid each new coming swing, his hand limply held to his side by his other one. Backing himself up until there was nowhere else to go, he’d backed himself completely flush to a wall.
“Unaware of your surroundings.” Orvax grumbled.
Orm sunk low, inching to his side, trying to find an opening. The solidity of the wall behind him nearly overwhelmed him. He could feel the rough stone against his fingertips, the weight of the material immovable to a regular amount of force, he thought for a moment that this must be what all of the surface world is like, hard and entrapping, limiting free movement.
His fingers reached beyond the wall. Something he’d been practicing, while he didn’t have any real skills or evident powers he could feel the water, resting just beyond the other side of the wall. Could feel its presence and form, like no other Atlantean could, and he knew this was the case, as he’d asked.
No one had any idea what he was talking about, no one understood how it felt. When suddenly the currents change. And instead of rushing towards you they move away, leading in whatever direction they’re willed. If he could, maybe it could knock Orvax from balance.
He tried so desperately to focus, but the next blow that came in was beyond a sparring move, on nearly every level it was a kill shot, aimed to end. His father wouldn’t really try to kill him, would he?
He clutched desperately, the currents swindling, he couldn’t focus a mere inch to change them in any meaningful way. The water almost boiled itself in disobedience. Orvax barely noticed a change, merely made his final strike, the point of his trident lodging itself into the wall.
The sound it made so sharp, deafening and absolute, Orm thought for a moment he must have been dead. Nothing came after it, and he couldn’t see, his hands covering his eyes.
“Come on.” Orvax said. “That’s enough for today, you’d be dead if this was for real.”
“Thank you for training me, father.” Orm recited, pulling himself from the wall, the words escaping his lips automatically, unaware of how jarred and out of place the rest of his body was.
—-10
Sometimes the way she looked at him, it was different. As time went on Orm feared her gaze lacked fondness.
When he was younger, she cared without restraint, she taught him and hugged him and loved him. All the things a mother would normally do, and there was no hesitation with it.
No holding back, no fear of how he might react to a sudden touch. No slight burrows of the brow or pinched of face when he showed his for the first time in a day.
Some of the palace workers, in scarce moments when they spoke out of turn, had nothing to say other than how strongly he resembled his father.
His mother loathed his father, was she really starting to loathe him too? Because he looked like him? Or was he really starting to act like him? Was just father’s tough training starting to work. Did he really move with more strength and ruthlessness than just a few years before?
At their family dinners the waters were always tense. He had long since learned the circumstances of his birth, the complete lovelessness in both his parents gazes towards one another. Well maybe not from his father.
If you asked the man in the hours of sleep, he would say he loved Atlanna, so much he would never let her go. He’d told that to Orm once. When he was younger, at the time he didn’t fully recognize the malice in his voice and now, well it was too long ago to remember it was ever there at all.
His father loved his mother in his own way surely. And there was no doubt his mother loved him. Though, maybe not as much as before.
Ever since she’d told him the truth about their family, he could feel something was different. Or maybe just now he’d finally noticed it. His mother must have been longing for her other life.
At the time he thought the story was so fun and exciting, a tale of adventure meant to entertain but it was more than that.
It was Atlanna’s life and tragedy. Her real loves she’d had to leave behind for the more binding agreement she was forced into with Orvax. Did she long for this human surface man she’d met? To be by his side instead of father’s?
How much could one possibly miss a child they’d willingly separated from? Was Arthur really as great as he’d heard in the stories from her and Vulko? Did they like him more than ‘little Ormi’? Would Atlanna have preferred Arthur to be down here with them? Instead of him?
These were questions Orm had no answers for, merely inferences formed through biased observations and riddled self-doubt.
When his reflection gazed back at him he scarcely saw himself as the one he was looking at. He’d gained a little muscle in the last year of training, he wore dark bruises around his gills, and his spots were still as mismatched as ever. Nothing fit together, no harmony in his appearance and circumstance. Did Arthur feel this way in his own life?
He didn’t know anything about Arthur, nothing real, he’d never met him, only heard stories.
—-11
Orm wished so badly he’d been there that night. It didn’t matter what was happening, he would have done anything to protect her, fight anyone, anything. Slay monsters or level cities. But no, he didn’t, he wasn’t even there.
Away for some silly school trip. Not even an interesting one at that, not that it mattered, nothing mattered anymore. Atlanna was dead. Slayed in their own home nonetheless.
No witnesses, no evidence or clues. Hell, they weren’t even sure if this was a case of foul play at all. ‘They’ being the Atlantean military police, led by Orvax. And for this being the death of their queen they seemed far from eager to find the cause or perpetrator involved.
Orm waited with Vulko that night, sitting in some random hallway in the castle, away from any room that held meaning or thought of her. He bade Vulko not to say anything, he didn’t want to talk.
With her gone, his father would take complete control of Atlantis, ruling over both the people and its military. Commanding a power truly beyond imagining.
Orm was happy for him, he’d always wanted that. And he didn’t seem sad in the brief moments they spoke a couple hours before, after news of the queen's death had spread.
Orm was entirely blind, blinding himself to the circumstances, he didn’t want to believe his father could kill his mother, he’d said he loved her after all.
Vulko would soon carry the news to the entirety of the kingdom, and then beyond, to her small family she’d left on the surface.
Orm could only work harder from this point on, with his mother gone, he needn’t please her wishes anymore. He had no need for reading poetry or watching plays. All he had now was devoting himself to the arts of combat, learning tactics and solidifying himself as a soon to be member of their military.
—-12
“Really?” His voice low, genuine disbelief holding him back from getting his hopes up.
“Your mother wished it, so it will be so.” Vulko winked, a smile present on his old face.
“I’ve been training and working with your brother on the surface almost as much as I have been down here with you and I think it’s time you two should meet. While there is still a slight diplomatic issue, as long as we travel mainly unseen, all shall be fine.” Vulko gave Orm a heeded pat on the shoulder, his touch much more friendly and encouraging than Orvax’s.
Orm had long since longed for the chance to venture to the surface. Even if it held distaste for many, he thought if only he could just see it, even for a few moments and feel what it’s like, to breathe air instead of water, to hold your weight and use your limbs in different ways. It seemed beyond unreal, perhaps one of the last childish hopes he held onto.
“Fine.” Orm said, he hoped his voice did not give too much of his true feelings.
Orm set straight away to prepare as if he was going on a lifelong vacation. He wasn’t sure what to wear, was the surface world as dangerous as father said? Should he wear his finest armor? Would it be loud and get them discovered whilst sneaking out?
He was torn, and how long were they visiting? Would he get hungry? What if they had no food from home, was he really ready to eat surface dishes? He hadn’t even thought of that before.
Orm scrimmaged his room, surely he ought to at least bring his weapon, maybe a helmet too. Just in case.
Eventually he pulled on something to wear. Sticking to dark colors, blacks and purples. As they tended to take attention away from him when he needed it.
He nearly had gotten into some heavier armor too but Vulko had stopped him at the door.
“It’s time to go, optimal conditions, and the people of the surface should be up and about.”
“Okay.” Orm nodded, joining Vulko at the door. “Let me fetch my trident.”
“Think you’ll be needing it?” Vulko asked, Orm couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.
“Never know.” He grumbled, swimming away.
The trident could protect him, even if they ran into some street trouble here in Atlantis, it was worth bringing. Being as they were sneaking out they would have no guards otherwise.
They took a small pod vehicle out of the city, one that a single household might usually possess. Nothing to draw any suspicion. And the ride was held mostly close to silence. Orm was deeply troubled in thought, the most killer questions finally arising within him. What if he didn’t like Arthur? Or worse, what if Arthur didn’t like him?
Vulko sensed his wariness, answering his queries almost directly. “I think you two will get along fine, you may be vastly different but at heart you’re both Atlanna’s sons.”
“If you say so.”
The ride was quick in the pod, it wasn’t before long that the waters became lighter, brighter. Vulko started to slow his piloting. It would be unwise to leave the vessel so close to the surface, they’d have to swim the rest of the way.
Vulko led on, Orm following a small pace behind. The waters felt warmer, not as warm as viewing a volcano but noticeably so. Warm and light unlike any waters he’d ventured before. He’d never been this far up.
He could see now the water’s edge, the surface molding and waving above him, and the sea floor below him, the two pinching together in the distance. Vulko approached the pinch in ferver before the water became so shallow he was brought to stand up.
Orm too reached a point where he could swim no further, he took the water in for a moment, nervous, this was it, right above him he could already feel the sun beating down on him, rays permeating easily through the thin water but now, now he was going to feel it for real, in it's entirety.
He brought his hands before him to the sandy gravel and pushed himself. His head and body out of water for the first time ever, instantly engulfed by open air. Everything around him was suddenly so weightless, as compared to himself, he now felt heavy, and he could feel the water still on him, pulling him down. Everything sinking, his hair no longer flowed behind him, now it sat flatly to his head, soaked and sticking to his skin.
He got up further, the water to his knees as he truly stood up for the first time. He wobbled, his body adjusting quickly but still with room for improvement. His gills were capable of converting oxygen through air as well as water, but internally he was still water clogged, for a moment he coughed, coughed so hard he almost thought he was throwing up, water getting dispelled from his body.
His lungs were small, smaller than almost any normal human’s would be. Taking in straight air for the first time genuinely had a kick to it, uncomfortably painful but nothing unbearable.
Vulko was beside him, laughing. “It’ll get better, just need to adjust for a few more minutes.” He patted Orm on the back yet again which only forced him to choke up more.
Vulko now walked forward through the waters, Orm following in a stumble, as his legs propelled him forward in a way they never had before whilst also balancing against the waves rolling into them. His trident heavy, dragging in the sand behind him.
“Where is Arthur?” Orm choked, his voice suddenly lost to the air.
“He’ll be waiting along the shore somewhere, hold on.” As Vulko fully set foot onto the beach he looked along the bay, in the distance he could see the town. But now they were closest to a big tall building sitting up on a rocky ledge, this must have been the lighthouse of Atlanna’s stories.
“There.” Vulko pointed, a figure in the distance.
Both parties stomped their way further, closing in to meet. Orm observed with squinted eyes, trying to make out the details of the other person’s appearance. It was so bright, his vision was near white, slowly coming better into focus.
And closer he could see, a boy, though much bigger and taller than him, but still not yet a man, with waved hair, both blonde and brown, longer, held up by a shell and some ties.
“Arthur.” Vulko said, as he came to a stop, greeting the other boy.
Arthur, his brother, real and in the flesh, he stood silent for only mere seconds. Orm finally caught up and stepped out from Vulko’s shadow. “Is this him? My brother?” Arthur said, he spoke English, a language Orm was versed in but hadn’t used practically ever.
“Yes, may I officially introduce you two, Arthur, this is Orm.” Vulko left off calling him ‘Prince’ something he’d never done in front of someone else before, but Orm paid it no mind.
“So you’re my little brother?” Arthur’s face was surprisingly neutral, Orm felt a nudge from Vulko at his back urging him to take a step forward.
“Yes, I guess.” Orm said.
He stood awkwardly, his feet below him perhaps a little bowed. His gaze wasn’t by any means vicious but far from overtly friendly. Both brothers trying to get a read off the other. Orm held out his hand, a shake as good a place as any to start. “It’s nice to-
His face was held, unable to finish the sentence. As Arthur gave him a hug, something he’d not experienced since Atlanna’s death the year prior. Arthur was warm and reminded him instantly of her. He spoke, his voice above Orm’s head, “my little brother, finally get to meet my brother.”
When he pulled away he smiled and gave Orm a pat on the shoulder. “We got a lot of catching up to do.”
—-14
Being called upon to comfort a family member you only see once every month or two is never the most glorious situation. For Orm, he found himself often unable to relate to Arthur or his father, Tom.
Tom was nothing like Orm’s own father, much softer and kind, his kindness and methods of parenting were so starkly different and it created this dynamic that Orm had no idea how to navigate. Nice man who lets him come to his home once a month to eat tuna fish in between a strange food item called “bread”.
When his most recent visit to the surface was met by the lack of an audience Orm found his own way up the cliff and into the lighthouse. Climbing like a true sea monster, he found the door unlocked; only Tom was home.
“Arthur?” Tom asked, he was standing occupied in the kitchen but neglected to look up.
“No sorry.” Orm answered, taking a short step in and bringing in the door behind him.
“Oh Orm, welcome; sorry I’m not sure where Arthur is.” Tom sighed, he sounded tired.
“Is he okay?”
“He stormed out a few hours ago, probably went for a swim to cool off. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Orm stayed silent, the next logical thing to say would maybe be “did something happen?” But Orm didn't want to pry, didn't really care either.
“If you see him out there, let him know he can talk to me. I want to help him, even if it’s just listening, I’m there for him.” Tom walked over now, he set his hands loosely over Orm’s shoulders. “Can you do that for me Orm?”
“If I see him I’ll let him know.”
Then that was that. He didn’t stick around, Tom was a nice man, almost too much so. He probably pitied Orm.
Orm ended up finding Arthur out at sea an hour or so later, deep in conversation with a group of sharks. Arthur’s ability to talk to marine life was very unique, and something Orm did not share; although he could still sense on some level the energies being exchanged between Arthur and whatever organisms he communed with.
The sharks noticed him first, their bodies turning curiously, signaling to Arthur his presence.
“Orm. What are you doing up here?” Arthur did not appear exceptionally angry, merely down.
“Your father asked me to check on you.”
“How nice of him.” Arthur scoffed, and waved off the sharks. In a loss of interest they drifted away.
“Your father is a kind man, I’m sure whatever happened he just wishes to speak with you.”
“Yeah, yeah I will, I just needed a break.” Arthur began to swim back, slowly, almost like a normal human would.
Orm followed him along in a light paddle, “okay good.” Mission accomplished.
Arthur swam in much more silence, Orm still unaware of what exactly his issue was. He felt almost compelled to speak. “I am grateful.”
Arthur’s head didn’t turn, “for what?”
“To meet you, and your father. Our mother told me many stories about both of you from her time here.” Orm aired on caution as he spoke. “If you were ever to meet my father he would kill you without hesitation; but Tom has shown me a kindness of which I can’t repay.”
“He tries his best.” Arthur sighed, or attempted to, letting out a strange bubble underwater.
—-17
He wished he’d said goodbye to his father on his deathbed but that wasn’t the case. Neither of his parents even got the opportunity to have a deathbed. Both killed by outside circumstances at relatively young ages. First his mother. And now, now King Orxax was no longer.
Orm wished his father had a deathbed, it would’ve been the only time he’d ever come clean. Tell Orm all the things he’d really done. Admit to killing Atlanna, admit to years of brutality and infidelity.
The infidelity bit had just come out, that didn’t have anything to do with the king’s death though. Instead it had to do with Orm now having a younger half sister. A little girl named Tula, only six years old, being raised by her mother with almost no acknowledgement from Orvax.
Orvax’s death was years of messing around with powerful forces and people finally catching up to him. In the end it was just a few military ex-buddies who were sick of his antics, pulling the plug on their old friend.
Orm didn’t know how to feel, he didn’t quite feel sad, but he mourned. Feeling almost empty, not even depressed or frustrated, just nothing at all. He loved his father, but now that he was gone his life would be without the stress of him. No more ridiculous expectations, beatings or yelling. At least not from an authority figure; because now, there was no authority left over him.
Within the coming hours he’d be the utmost authority in the kingdom, crowned it's king. Although Arthur was older, his existence was still kept partially a secret to the kingdom, and he was not formally recognized as being the next in line for the throne.
Orm didn’t think Arthur wanted it anyway, and besides, he had been preparing for this day all his life.