Chapter 9

Being forced to travel with their upper bodies out of the water slowed down the travel time from Poseidonis to Exile, but Arthur was still able to get himself and Diana to the island swiftly. He knew time was important; he had dealt with drowning victims before. He wouldn't admit to anyone, least of all to the unconscious woman in his arms, but there were ulterior motivations to her rescue. Her death under the waves would attract the Amazons' attention once again, true, and that was something he desperate to avoid. There was no way he could fend off a full on Amazonian invasion and fight with the challengers and rebels at once; and depending on whether her sister Donna took up the throne of Queen, she might band with the rebels…

Another part wished to keep her alive, at least for the time being, to help him defeat Triton, once and for all. Not that he physically needed the Amazon's help, but her presence on the battlefield would be a great distraction to the Son of Poseidon, who had clearly shown his preference for the beautiful woman.

His mind cleared of all these things as he came across the small island she had been "retired" too.

The rocky island was tiny, nothing to boast about; Arthur imagined it wouldn't take long to walk the circumference of it, even with the jagged and rocky coast line. He remembered when he had first visited the island, the lush greenery that had blossomed everywhere, as Diana, blushing and shy, held his hand, a big deal for her, less so for him, and walked him through what was basically a wedding gift from the Goddess of Love herself. How could they have gone so wrong with such a sponsor for their romance?

It looked nothing like the paradise he had remembered, and the cold rocks certainly brought to mind exile and hardship, isolation and loneliness; come to think of it, he kind of liked it this way.

Her body was limp in her arms as he dragged her up on to the rocks. With deft hands, he unclipped the binding chest plate, dragging it off her body; he needed to get access to her chest in order to resuscitate her. Arthur tilted her head back, pinching her nose shut with his fingers, pressing his lips to hers in order to get a tight seal. He breathed deep into her before moving, pressing his hands to her sternum and pumping, once, twice, three times.

Though he might wish her death, he'd rather see the light go out in her eyes himself than have her die by such a freak accident. Perhaps he wished a glorious death for her as for himself; a death that would see both of them, warriors forged and hardened in battle, die with the same courage and fortitude with which they lived.

He breathed into her mouth, pumped down on her chest, three more times before she gagged, salt water splashing out of her mouth, blue eyes going shock wide, desperate for the air that had been denied her.

Calmly, with minimal anger, Arthur helped her up into a seated position, an arm bracing around her lower back. "Sh..." he whispered, his hand moving up her back to rub her shoulders with the flat of his palm, his hand warm through her soaked shirt. "I brought you back to your island, it's going to be okay."

Her breathing slowed down and, unbidden and unconsciously, she leaned her shoulder into his chest, her head finding a comfortable spot against his shoulder. Her eyes fluttered shut and she revelled in the warmth of touch for a moment. It wasn't that it was Arthur, but that it was someone, and not Triton. She had been so very alone, and for the first time in her near eternal existence.

She hadn't expected herself to fall in love when she was paired with the King of Atlantis. She had expected a cordial relationship; that they would be friends and political partners, perhaps to share a bed and create an heir or two, the best option would be to produce two. She hadn't expected herself to fall into his arms, fall into the role of a princess blinded by her emotions.

He allowed her the brief moment before pushing her away, in truth enjoying the moment more than he would admit, even to himself; it had been a long time since Arthur had compassionate contact like this. "There is no time for stupid sentimentality," his voice was harsh, as the hand that had been comforting on her back became harsh and pushed her away.

Diana hated to admit it, but his harsh words were rather hurtful. She hid the feelings deep and nodded. "You are correct," she said, allowing her tone to affect a more regal, more military, tone rather than one of a sentimental and foolish girl swooning over a handsome man. There was no time for it. "The creature bore no marks," she started.

"Not all of his slaves do," Arthur said, getting himself to his feet before extending a hand to Diana, a courtesy and muscle memory from his father. Always help a lady to her feet, it makes it easier to sweep her off them; his father was a hopeless romantic, and in the years following the war he had found himself thinking less and less about the man who had taught him about life above the surface. "But you are correct, I get the feeling that was a challenger for me, and that you were just caught in the cross fire."

Diana could barely believe it, was there remorse in the sound of his voice? Couldn't be! She filed it away in her memory, along with the comforting feeling of his touch and the salt on his lips; now was not the time. "Regardless, we have work to do," she looked at him. "We need a plan."

"Killing him and then you isn't good enough?" he said, a rare but cocky smirk pulling at his grizzled face.

"I hope you were not trying to make a joke," she said, finding his attempt at humour out of touch and out of character. Diana turned her back to him, something she would never have thought about doing a short two years ago, leading him towards the temple, where among the relics and memories of a better time she kept her weapons from the war, including her sabre and her shield, she would need both for the journey ahead.

"Well, follow me, then," she said, turning her head to watch Arthur over her shoulder. "You're going to need more than just that pitch fork to wage war." The Amazon queen smirked to herself as she turned away from him, crouching to grab her chest plate from the ground. "We need to work fast, Triton did not give me much time; the sun is beginning to set, which means we are already down a day."

What a witch! Arthur thought to himself, narrowing her eyes at her. How dare she impugn on his Trident, the mark of the Champion of Poseidon. This weapon was more powerful than any in her arsenal, crafted by Hephaestus himself for the God of the Seas. He was so distracted by his inner rambling monologue that he hadn't noticed she had gained significant ground on him and was almost at her temple.

"Witch," he muttered under his breath as he began to stalk towards her, mindful of the rocky nature of the shore line.

"I heard that," she called back, her voice loud and clear but lacking the strain of a yell, a trait he recognized in her long ago. She could command a battlefield with a powerful voice and presence and never seem to have raised her volume.

"Good!" he shouted back at her. Oh how he couldn't wait for this to be over and to be rid of her forever.