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A look of wonder crossed Clark’s face as Victor recounted his tale. The possibility of a whole race of people under the ocean, people who were similar to him in some ways, was intoxicating. He wanted to go and meet them, mainly to understand what their intentions were when it came to the surface world, but also just to be around someone who understood what it was to be other.
Diana had rebuffed his attempts to understand how she felt on the subject. J’onn was too unreadable. It made conversation difficult when you couldn’t read the emotions of the person you were talking to.
So, both as a show of good will to Bruce (who still hated that Clark knew his identity) and as the only available member of the League who could withstand great depths and didn’t technically need to breath, Clark volunteered to go into the ocean.
It helped he didn’t feel the cold, either.
The currents moved around him as he descended into the Atlantic, approximately in the same place Cyborg had fallen. He heard the songs of whales in the distance, distorted by the water but beautiful nonetheless. A pod of dolphins passed by him, one or two of them nudged at his legs and played with his cape as it floated around him. The sight made him laugh and a simple ease settled over him as they clicked and chattered to him. He swam with them a little, let the pod surround him as they swam under him and over him.
Then a sound caught his attention.
A chuckle.
It was close, barely 100 meters to his left, but didn’t sound demeaning. Clark spun to face the sound and the pod of dolphins swam towards the sound as though called. A shape was in the middle of them, a man with something in his hands.
“They like you,” the figure said, coming closer. Clark took in the dense muscles, the orange shirt and green trousers, and the gold sceptre in his right hand. “It isn’t often they find someone with agility like theirs.”
“I… Thank you,” He said lamely. The man drifted closer until he was only an arm’s length away.
“You aren’t human,” He said matter-of-factly. The resonance of his voice, the authoritative timbre of it, put Clark at ease. He’d often been called alien, freak, weirdo, but like when Bruce referred to his heritage, this… Atlantean had made it seem factual instead of insulting. Clark nodded. “I assume you came down here to speak to me.”
“Yes,” He crossed his arms over his chest and offered a small smile. The man extended his left arm, fingers outstretched, and nodded his head.
“I am Arthur; King of Atlantis and the Seven Seas.”
Clark took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. Arthur’s strength was no match for his, not really, but he had power. That Clark could feel. He hadn’t realised he would be shaking hands with a king though. Diana should be here, he thought, she’s the princess. But he was there instead.
“I am Kal-El. I represent the people of the surface, as their champion,” The words were stiff in his mouth; he wasn’t used to calling himself Kal or champion but it seemed appropriate to separate himself from the people up above.
“Kal-El, it would be an honour if you would join me in Atlantis in three day’s time. We know of your ‘Justice League’ and wish to speak with them,” Arthur lowered his trident to point down into the depths. Clark kept his expression neutral. “I will send an envoy. Arrangements will me made so that none will be harmed in the journey.”
With a curt bow, Arthur kicked his legs and spun backwards and down into the ocean, several small schools of fish descending with him. Clark watched as he left and pursed his lips.
Bruce would not be happy about leaving Gotham to visit an underwater palace of possible enemies.