Wide Wild Deep

Chapter VIII: Between Land and Sea


The red dot blinked insistently on the screen, and the relief Orm felt was instantaneous and involuntary. Mera – and therefore also Arthur – were alive. They had succeeded in their escape, and were certainly already planning their next move to ruin Orm's carefully constructed plans. He hardened himself: any softening feelings towards the pair was a weakness that had to be purged. Mera and Arthur had both chosen to act against Atlantis, act against him.

They were his enemies.

Everything had to be honed into the sharp blade of his purpose: to defend Atlantis and prove his right to rule. Orm had come so far, and was now so close to the victory long sought, and every obstacle, every betrayal, were just trials that made him stronger.

The pirate with Orm's elite commandos would take care of the half-breed and the traitor; Atlantis would forget them, even if Orm could not. The Fishermen King was weak and easily defeated, his lofty ideals turned into mindless rage by few insults. The last betrayal cut perhaps deepest, for Vulko had been once Atlanna's trusted confidant and had taught and guided Orm all his life. It was those ties to a past Orm still couldn't make himself fully shake off that stayed him from striking the vizier down where he stood, even as the old man's words continued to stung as he was led away by the guards.

Arthur may only be half-Atlantean, but he's already twice the king you'll ever be.

As Orm readied his forces against the Brine, Vulko's words still echoed in his ears like a sirens' song, haunting and painful. He knew the truth of it at last: the half-brother he had once wanted to be his heart's brother was his curse instead. Since his birth, Orm had been cursed to be always compared to the first-born of Atlanna, to stride to prove his worth over someone who didn't even try, but was being loved by everyone who mattered regardless.

That curse stayed true to the very end: Arthur came back, challenging the crown. The frenzied war turned into a raging, vengeful fire; nothing would stop them from battling to death. And what could have been more fitting, than final reckoning between land and sea?

They both landed on the belly of the warship that lay capsized on the surface of the heaving sea. The ship's huge, powerful propellers were still turning, casting an ominous and fitting backdrop for their second duel. Others surfaced, but kept their distance, no doubt eager to witness the outcome of the fight. Orm had only eyes for his brother.

Cutting rain battered them, lighting tearing the black swollen clouds momentarily asunder. Atlan's golden trident gleamed even in the midst of the darkest storm. The waves broke over them, washing the steel surface where they stood. The air was cold and raw.

"That trident doesn't change what you are. A half-breed bastard." Orm could hardly believe that Arthur had managed to find the ancient weapon. And yet it changed nothing – a mere trident didn't make anyone fit to be a king.

They circled each other, two great predators sizing each other up; Arthur let his trident drag across the ship's belly, the sound of it as loud a battle cry as any Orm had ever heard.

"Atlantis will never accept you as its king," Orm growled and readied his father's weapon.

"Well, then by bloodshed," Arthur roared and bent his knees into a battle stance, "…do the gods make known their will."

Orm bared his teeth. They both rushed to meet in the middle, weapons and wills clashing. They hit, parried, struck and slashed. Fury lending him strength, Orm kicked Arthur to the ground, slicing a part of steel from the ship and flinging it towards Arthur.

However, with a few smooth, brutal moves that Orm could have admired under any other circumstances, Arthur quickly took the upper hand. He pressed his trident against Orm's, forcing him towards the spinning propellers, their sharp blades turning lethally just inches behind his back. Orm grunted with effort, trying to push himself forward.

"Yield the throne. Yield it!" Arthur shouted, a hint of desperation in his gruffy voice.

The blades of the propeller struck the back of Orm's helmet, but the Atlantean metal held; he strained against Arthur with all his strength, until finally he was able to break his brother's hold. But Arthur twisted his weapon and Orm found himself flung to the other side of the battle ground, seeking purchase on the slippery surface.

Orm got up just as Arthur advanced on him, striking with his trident. Once again, Orm found himself on the ground, barely holding on, blocking his brother's blow and sliding backwards under the power of Arthur's rage. Ever the realist, Orm knew he was outmatched. But he would not give up. It was not the Atlantean way, and more importantly, it was not his way.

Stopping his slide by striking his weapon into the ship, Orm let the metal break his movement. He pushed himself up, every muscle screaming from exhaustion, and launched himself against Arthur. Orm managed to push his brother backwards, Arthur landing on his feet just in front of the deadly propellers. They took their battle stances again, tridents twirling. Then Arthur turned his weapon rapidly around and around, somehow making a shield out of water. Yelling incoherently, Orm rushed him, but the water was like steel – it repelled his strike, slamming him violently back.

Orm, groaning from pain, rose again from the ground. Arthur was still spinning his trident, the water-shield in front of him, the sea protecting him like a living thing. Orm gathered all of his strength for one more charge, but before he could even get to Arthur, his brother hurled his trident, hitting Orm and flinging him onto his back.

Atlan's trident returned into Arthur's waiting hands, and Orm's brother jumped and struck: the golden weapon crashed against the silver with a terrible crack of thunder. Orvax's trident shattered, the pieces of it clattering to the ground, brittle like glass.

On his knees, Orm could do nothing but hold the remains of the broken weapon in his hands. The water from the sky, from the sea, beat against him like the heaviest of weights, pushing him down. He had lost.

Arthur walked towards Orm. Feral and sure in his victory, he swung the king's trident with a fast and brutal grace, the sharp tip of the longest blade stopping mere inches from Orm's exposed throat.

"Finish it," Orm commanded, tired to the bone.

"Yield the throne." Arthur's eyes were wild, glowing with golden fire.

"Mercy is not our way." Orm had lost everything – only a warrior's death was left to him. Yielding would shatter what remained of him utterly; prove him unworthy to the last.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, brother…" Arthur began slowly, and then drew his trident away from Orm, letting it rest unthreateningly against his side. "But I'm not one of you."

"Do it!" Orm shouted wildly. He ripped off his helm, letting Arthur see his eyes, exposed to the core. "Kill me!"

"No!" A woman's voice suddenly sounded, interrupting the brothers' tense standoff.

Orm turned; a woman in white was walking towards him.

"That is enough killing," she ordered, her voice strong, a herald of Orm's better dreams.

It could not be true. Had Arthur already struck him down and he had entered the land of the dead? Or had he suffered such a blow it had conjured cruel hallucinations before him?

"Mother?"

"Oh, my son." She was there, coming towards him still, and Orm tried to rise, but could not. She extended her arms to him, taking his hands into hers. And as she dropped to her knees and finally took him into her arms, Orm was again a little boy, who desperately clung to her with his last strength, before she was taken away from him, cast into the Trench.

It could not be true. And yet, somehow it was. Orm only broke the embrace because he had to look at her, he had to see that she was real, right there in front of him. Alive.

"I don't understand. We thought –" He whispered, struggling to make sense of what had happened.

"I know," she said, eyes brimming with tears. "Arthur saved me."

Of all the impossible happenings of that day, that one was the most believable. "You're with him?" Orm asked, resigned, already knowing the answer.

"I am," his mother admitted, steadfast and unafraid. Even as her presence healed him, her words threatened to tear him asunder anew.

"You're both my children, and I love you so much," Atlanna hurried to explain. She cupped his cheek, willing him to listen. "But you have been misguided. Your father taught you that there were two worlds. He was wrong. The land and the sea are one."

Not knowing what to think anymore, Orm continued to keep a hold of her. He only knew that even as he had lost the crown, he had still gained something far more precious, something he had thought forever lost. He would have gladly stayed on the belly of the broken warship forever, kneeling in the rain, battered and bruised, but with her. Reality interrupted harshly however, when Vulko emerged from the waves, flanked with a retinue of soldiers.

Atlanna stood to face them, pulling Orm up with her, but she continued to hold his hands, for which he was pathetically grateful.

"My queen." Vulko went to his knees, bowing low to Atlanna. The soldiers followed suit.

"Vulko," Atlanna greeted her old advisor.

It seemed that nothing more needed to be said between the old friends. Then it was Orm's turn to face the vizier, the old man's smugness evident. After all, Vulko's schemes had succeed even beyond his own imaginings.

"Take him," the vizier commanded, and could not resist taunting, "but make sure he has a view."

Orm smiled humourlessly; he could appreciate a good barb. Atlanna's gentle kiss to his palm turned his whole attention back to his mother. She was with him still, even after all he had done. Something cracked painfully inside him. Only when the soldiers flanked Orm, taking him away, did she relinquish her hold of him.

Orm had almost forgotten Arthur; despite his big form and even bigger personality, his brother had been content to observe Orm's reunion with their mother silently, standing aside. Only now, when Orm was being led away, did he step forward and say, "When you're ready, let's talk."

Orm looked at Arthur over his shoulder, meeting the eyes of Atlantis' new king: sure, steady and full of strength. But moreover, they were also the eyes of the boy, who had offered him friendship all those years ago. His brother's gaze seemed to say, It's alright, I've got you.

And for the first time in a long while, Orm could believe it.

-o-

I return to you

like a wave into the arms of an ocean

coming home into the

wide wild deep.


This story is now at an end; I'm embarrassed about how long it took me to finish it. I won't probably write another multi-chaptered story in this verse, but I might write a single-chapter fic sometime. Thanks for all of you who continued to read this story!