Aquaman (2018): Pilot Fish
by Mirwalker
1. Reunion
"Highness, no!" Shant couldn't help but turn with a look of stern horror.
The prince's self-pity seemed genuinely interrupted by his dresser's unprecedented outburst; he blinked in surprise. But, he had asked for input. And he did appreciate this sole, sure drop of support. Unaccustomed to being surprised, much less showing it, he quickly smirked, "So now you have an opinion?"
Realizing the scale of his daring, and even its possible suggestion that the fallen king was appearing weak, Shant reined in his body language and tone, blushing but still observing bluntly, "I simply meant that… he seems too… impulsive… to delay himself such an obvious satisfaction." He'd have done it already if he intended to it all…
"Perhaps he means to appear magnanimous, while drawing out my suffering. Or adding to my shame before finishing what he's begun."
Shant's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, still not liking Orm's unusual lack of confidence, but lacking a ready response to the very Orm-like suspicion of an ulterior motive. While he didn't know the new king's mind, he surely did not like the old king's mood; and so he simply turned back to sit at attention and in silence.
Orm turned toward him, amused, distracted, and now genuinely curious, "No going back in your shell now… What would you suggest, beyond contrite clothing?"
Reassured that the prince had understood the materials' messaging he'd already provided, Shant took a deep breath, hoping the inflow would include a brilliant idea.
Instead, the door chimed.
Vaulting the bench in a single move, Shant placed himself almost entirely between his master and the opening.
Standing slowly behind the offered defense, Orm saw the bodyguard glance back for instruction on how to proceed. "Come in," he allowed, seeing no benefit in delaying whoever and whatever had arrived. That they had rung rather than bursting in on their prisoner was actually slightly encouraging…
The doors parted and two soldiers out of their surface armor entered. Glancing about and finding no threat, they stood to attention at either side of the portal.
In marked contrast to the sharp movements of the military figures, a resplendent Atlanna flowed in gracefully, glancing about her son's grand space in his grand flagship. Her eyes turned quickly to him and his shield.
The attendant bowed low before the queen, but gave no indication he was otherwise moving.
"Leave us," she commanded, tipping her head to indicate she also meant the soldiers who had arrived with her.
Still not fully upright, Shant glanced back for some confirmation or other instruction from his commander.
The prince hesitated, his competing personal and political instincts muddying his mind.
"Majesty," Shant injected with another, slighter bow. "With respect, I remain Prince Orm's martial aide, personally responsible for his safety. My duty compels me to ensure he will remain… unharmed."
A quick conflict of reactions played over the queen mother's face as well: irritation at being even politely challenged; disappointment at being suspected of heralding harm; realization that such a threat had been the Atlantian norm for decades; and finally settling on relief that her son had such a stalwart defender. Sensing the other soldiers had already removed themselves to the hallway, she decided she could afford to model more of the needed change in leadership style… "I understand how your fears would have been well founded in past years," she admitted. "But this is a new day for Atlantis, for all of us. And my son continuesto havenothing to fear from me."
The valet again glanced to Orm, having braved as much independent action as he dared, and fearing now that it had already been too much for his own security in the new order.
But Atlanna continued her shift to the unexpected. "As for you, loyal soldier, your accent is… Saragassan?"
Orm finally joined the exchange, coming around the bench to place a grateful hand on his bodyguard's shoulder, "Subtenant Benthys is the youngest son of the dean of Saragassa."(1)
Atlanna smiled genuinely at the connected memory, and engaged the young man before her. "Tulmar was always a proud governor and good man. He and Lady Pelaga are well?"(2)
Shant nodded first at her, and then to Orm. "They will be better knowing of your return. They would also want you to know that His Highness has been a good friend to our family and a constant champion for our people."
Atlanna couldn't help but smile, even knowing what some of that championing involved, at least of late. But that was not for this audience. "You do him and your family credit, Subtenant. But if you could now trust him to his mother's care, I would have a word with my own son."
Dismissed a second, and now specific, time, and sensing no objection from his master, the attendant backed toward the service door. But, before going too far, he supplicated a final time, "Only…, my queen, Lord Orm had just been sharing his wish that with his own needs tended, that he had the authority to dispatch me toward the larger relief efforts. Perhaps your Majesty could so order me, for the duration of your visit?"
Despite his complete lack of such intent, Orm merely nodded to his mother's unspoken question. He would, and had no choice but to, trust his servant's sudden desire to leave him.
"Captain?" the queen barked over her shoulder, instantly summoning a guard from the hall. "See that the Subtenant is able to join the work outside until Prince Orm recalls him."
With a nod, the solider looked to his more casually dressed counterpart, and nodded him to follow.
Shant tilted his head to Orm with slightly raised eyebrows, before bowing a final time to the queen, and leaving them to their reunion.
"You have quite the loyal man," Atlanna observed as the door closed on the relatives' first time alone together in decades.
"It's nice to have someone in life you can always count on," he pointed out, gesturing to the table he'd barely touched. "He is also a very good steward."
"And how are you, Orm?"
"More calm and sober than anyone could reasonably expect given how my day has gone." He held up a freshly filled vial toward her.
"You're angry…" she suggested, without acknowledging the offer.
He eyed the drink hopefully, before downing it in a single squeeze. "That is… an incredible understatement."
"I know this is hard—"
"You have NO idea what this is like!" he erupted more honestly, a sweep of his arm scattering the buffet into the space around him. "You have not been here, in decades! So you don't know what I've done, or why! Or what I've been through to get here, to get so close to uniting our peoples, to protecting them from your beloved surface…"
Her disappointment and grief were equally as obvious. "War, assassinations… even your father was not that bold. And this is not the strength I taught, not the boy I knew."
"I grew up. Motherless," he reminded with an icy fire.
"Orvax changed you."
"He wanted me."
"I wanted you! You are my son," she moved toward him, hands clutched above her heart.
"The one you were obliged to bear, not the one you chose. We've just seen that confirmed, haven't we?" He pushed away, floating back to the main window.
"I have always loved you, Orm; I still do. It was your father who…"
"Don't you dare tell me about my father! I was left as the sole focus of his 'love' after your betrayal was exposed and you left me to him! I suffered him alone, survived him alone. I inherited a kingdom under siege by your preferred people. And all the while I set about defending the seas we all loved, Vulko groomed your firstborn to supplant me, whether in your memory, or at your command, I don't know." He finally glanced back over his shoulder accusingly, "And now, in a remarkable coincidence, you return at the exact apex of their coup, not to me, but to celebrate their treachery…"
Atlanna sighed, saddened but not entirely surprised at this reaction. Despite his protests, she knew her son. "You don't have to believe me, but I anguished every day for losing you, and for what Orvax would likely do to you, what you might become…"
"But rather than secretly tasking Vulko to my care…?"
He felt he could taste her tears across the room; but not following that flow, her arms dropped to her side and her jaw flexed. She slowly approached the bench beyond which he floated. "I am sorry that I wasn't here, for what I missed and couldn't give you, because I do love you. But whatever their causes, your actions are your own, not mine, not Orvax's, or Vulko's. Or Arthur's. And yes, from what I've heard in my brief time back, I am very disappointed in those recent choices. So, I'm here, now; tell me the stories, the accusations are untrue."
He turned to her, his expression repeating the silence of the defense he chose not to make. "Presuming this was not my trial, and you are not my executioner, please pass word that my valet may return. Even left to dry, a prince shouldn't have to put away his own clothing." He turned curtly and headed toward the dressing chamber.
His mother floated in place for a few moments, stalled by a new level of grief that she had feared, but hoped against, in every dream of this reunion through the solitary years, and more so in the hours when it had finally become possible. He had survived Orvax, only to surpass his father's legendary ruthlessness and cruelty. And if this brief audience was any indication, the family reunion and sheer renewed presence would not quickly, easily, or even eventually renew the bonds or heal his heart. As near the lights beyond the window, this damage was deep.
Orm counted to ten after the door closed behind her, before unleashing a level of vocal and physical violence his wardrobe had never before known.
NOTES
1. A quick note on some of my Atlantean ranks and names: A sub-marine lieutenant would naturally be a subtenant. The name of the vast kelp seas of Saragassa might leak to the surface world as "Sargasso." I imagine Atlantean provinces to be headed by deans, as in schools (of fish). And the benthic is the ecological region just above the floor of a body of water, where water and land meet.
2. Tulmar is Swedish for "porpoise." Following on Orm (Swedish: snake; Danish/Norwegian: worm), I have given my Atlantean OCs first names from Scandinavian languages. Shant is short for Swedish "betjänt" (valet), which is also used as colloquial greeting, suggesting "I'm your humble servant," similar to Spanish "a sus órdenes" (at your service). Pelaga is an exception, being a feminine variation on Greek-based pelagic "of the sea."