Things He Carried

The cove drew nearer now, and she slowed the boat a little. A dark figure on the beach stood up at her approach, partially lit by a lantern at its feet and the faint glow of the little lights behind him. On his head was the outline of a crown—the same crown he always wore. This time, like the last, he wore no armor.

She had made it into the bay, and he waved in greeting. She switched the motor off and paddled closer to shore, where he was already wading out towards her.

"The water's pretty deep here," he remarked, standing in the waist-high surf.

"I can tell," she replied. "Does it get shallower at the beach?"

"Not by much—there's a steep dropoff just before the coast." He stretched his arms towards her, cradle-like. "Allow me,"

"No—you don't have to do that," she replied, feeling the heat rush to her face. "I don't mind the water," she said. I weigh too much for this, she thought.

"It's no trouble," he replied, "but if you're sure you'd rather wade…I won't argue."

She nodded, and he lowered his arms, lingering near the boat. She dropped her anchor over the other side of the little vessel, and a splash of cold water hit her arm. She shivered.

"I didn't think the water would be so cold tonight," she said, grimacing at the thought of being submerged in it. Orm seemed unaffected—probably accustomed to this temperature. Maybe Atlantis was at such a depth that it was even colder there.

"I can still carry you if you want," he offered. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

"Yes, please—" she said, "as long as it's no trouble." He laughed.

"I was the one who offered. You're fine," he said. He extended his arms once again and she climbed into them, clumsily, from the boat. With surprising ease, he carried her towards the shore and up the steep slope onto the beach. She was warm against his chest, making him realize how cold the water had been. Lowering to one knee, he deposited her onto the sand, feet-first. He rose again as she regained her footing.

"Do Atlanteans have super-strength or something?" she laughed. "You're barely winded, and you just princess-carried a grown adult through the water." Orm grinned.

"I can't tell you that—it's classified." She laughed. He lowered to the sand, but she wanted to wander the little cove and investigate the lights on the cliffside. As she approached one of the beacons in the slate-colored wall, she noted a miniature version of Orm's lantern nestled in a hollow. It was a pinkish color, like the inside of a seashell, and cast a warm glow on her outstretched hand. Running her fingers along the smooth surface, she noted that it was cool to the touch.

"Did you put these here?"

"Yes, I had some time while I was waiting for you." He replied. "Do you like them?"

"They're splendid," she replied. Backing away from the cliffside, she counted a dozen of them encircling the cove walls. A pouch, which appeared to be made from something like leather, lay a few feet away on the sand. How do they tan leather underwater?

She turned back to Orm, who had remained seated near his lantern—the lantern he had brought the night he called to her from the cove beneath her house. She moved towards him and knelt on the sand at his side, placing her hand over his where it lay in his lap. He leaned closer. Softly, he brushed his lips against her forehead.

"So you like the new cove?" he murmured. She nodded, squeezing his hand.

"It's nice here. I wouldn't have even noticed this place if you hadn't put up the lanterns," she replied. "and if we were here in the dark, you'd be able to see all the stars in the sky. There's no light pollution for at least a mile."

"If we were here in the dark, I don't think I'd be looking at the stars," he responded. She laughed, subconsciously bringing a hand to her face, which was warm to the touch. She knew that he could see her blushing in the warm lantern light, but she could not have known that he was too busy enjoying the sound of her laughter to notice.

"I don't think I'd be, either," she said at length. He smiled. "But, for the moment, we are here in the light. So tell me how you've been,"

"Nothing ever changes with me," he sighed. She waited for him to continue before determining whether it was a sigh of despair, or a sigh of relief that he had somewhere to vent. "My father has demanded I take a more active role in court politics. He's making plans for a war we won't fight yet, a war we can't possibly fight right now, and he has requested I spend time formulating strategies. I won't bore you with the details—I'm not at liberty to share them anyways—but I will say this. I don't understand why he needs to involve other people in his strategies at such an early stage." She nodded.

"Is he overestimating the kingdom's capability to wage this war, or does he know you can't fight it yet?"

"Oh, he knows full well that we aren't equipped for this yet. He intends for me to carry out the battle, long after the bastard himself is dead. And I already know how I would do it, so this is a waste of my time."

"That would be…beyond annoying," she interjected. He nodded as he continued.

"He intends to take certain resources purely by force. Including entire armies. But I say, what's the use of exhausting a military through defeat and then immediately demanding that it fight for you? These things are better done through diplomacy or manipulation." He paused for a moment. "Manipulation being the only realistic tactic, between the two." She frowned at this, and he, noticing the change in demeanor, added: "—in this specific situation, of course."

"I would hope for diplomacy," she hesitated for a moment. "or at least, I would try that first."

"I need it to work on the first try. Why take a risk when I already know which method will work?"

"Maybe the political landscape will change by the time you become king."

"Unlikely. You don't know how things work down there." For what felt like the thousandth time, she was again reminded that she was out of her depth.

"I don't appreciate being brow-beaten every time I venture an opinion. I'm well aware that I don't know specifics about your life, or royal life, or life under the sea. You don't have to tell me." Without either of them noticing, as she spoke, she withdrew her hand from his.

"If you already know, then why do you keep making assumptions anyways?" he huffed. She crossed her arms.

"I'm just trying to help."

The pair sat quietly on the sand for a few moments, each withdrawn from the other. Her face was burning again, but out of anger this time. He was first to speak.

"(Y/N)…" he paused, as though he wasn't sure what to say next. "I don't resent your ideas. I don't like rejecting them. And I know I'm not kind about it, but that's not how I was raised."

"I guess I thought that princes were supposed to be courteous all the time," she responded. "Or is that just another fairy tale?"

"It's not how I learned. Maybe up here things are different." He thought for a moment longer about her statement, and stifled a laugh. "You should have known I wasn't a particularly courteous man the day we met."

"It was painfully obvious," she replied, still icy.

"I regret it. I truly do." He tried again, striking a more apologetic tone. Her arms, which were still crossed and held tight against her body, loosened a bit. "I regret being dismissive of you. I think sometimes you bring up an idea that's better than one of mine, and I don't know how to handle that." He fought the urge to voice the thought, just not this time. She nodded slightly.

"I guess I could afford to just listen to you without offering commentary on everything, too," she conceded. Her arms were still crossed, but at least she could make eye contact with him again.

"No, you're fine. If I wanted a silent, passive audience, I would stay at home." He placed his hand on her knee, relieved that she didn't recoil at the contact. "I know you only disagreed with me because you were concerned."

"I was. You were sounding a bit…"

"…like a tyrant?" he finished the thought for her. She nodded. "My intentions are…generous, compared to those of my father. Compared to the way things are done in the seven kingdoms. I have the best interest of the whole ocean at heart, and I seek unity. I'm willing to bend the truth if it will save lives."

When he puts it that way, it doesn't sound so bad, she thought. And he had let a piece of information slip—a nearly meaningless piece of information, given that she had no idea who the seven kingdoms were, but perhaps it had been given intentionally. He was always so controlled about the information he supplied to her; was this an honest mistake, or a cloaked token of trust?

"I don't know if I fully agree…but I know there's never really a perfect option when it comes to these things. So I hope that whatever you choose, it's the best possible option at the time." His hand had remained on her knee, but she didn't feel quite at liberty to take it in hers again. "I have faith that you'll know what to do." She concluded.

"I have no option but to know what to do," he mused, and she watched him stretch his shoulders backwards slightly, as if loosening tight muscles. She felt bad at how tense he seemed whenever there was even a sign of conflict—in a way it had felt unfair to get upset at him, even if it was justified.

"Do you ever think that you'd run away if it meant you could be something different?" she asked without thinking. "I mean, if you didn't have to be king, what would you be?"

"I don't think about it." He watched her lips begin to purse into the question—why not—and he interrupted prematurely: "I don't really have that luxury."

"Oh…I guess you're right. Being the only heir, and all,"

"I know what my purpose as king will be. That's more than some people can say for themselves," he said. "This is a burden worth shouldering."

"I hope so, for your sake." She said. "I hope you never have to shoulder it alone." Finally, she placed her hand on top of his, back where it had been.