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“Gillion Tidestrider, we hereby declare you to be the prophecy’s Chosen One. The Champion of the Undersea, the Hero of the Deep, and the protector of our home and our people.”
He gave them a champion. He gave them a figurehead, somebody to cheer on when times were good and someone to blame when times were bad. From the moment he faced the Council of Elders and took the whalebone sword presented to him, he slotted himself into the role that had been Chosen for him from the moment of his birth.
He gave them a template, a blank lump of clay to mold into the perfect hero. Days of training blurred into weeks of training, months of training, and years of training with nobody but his sister to talk to. Even then, she wasn’t properly able to visit- there were hushed “hellos” in the hallways and midnight rendezvouses that left a sour taste in his mouth- of course he was grateful to see Edyn, and the visits were some of the only joyful moments he had. But he was breaking the Elders’ rules, so why should something so frowned on give him such happiness?
He gave them hope, hope that their enemies would be defeated and hope that he would defeat them. The first time he was instructed to lead a trial by combat he was 9 years old. The poor criminal was so desperate to escape that he twisted Gillion’s wrist, disarmed him, and used the whalebone sword against him. The Champion of the Undersea defeated by a lowly commoner, with his own blade? The Elders made sure that he was safe before swiftly removing the criminal from the palace. And that night was filled not with sleep, but with swordplay, until he could block disarmament and attack without hesitation.
The next trial by combat, when he was 10, ended much more swiftly.
He gave them a vessel, for he was not an individual the moment they called his name. Gillion Tidestrider became not a name, but another title tacked at the beginning of a growing list. Gillion Tidestrider. Champion of the Undersea. Hero of the Deep. The One. All monikers to describe an idealized Triton, the person who would fulfill the prophecy with grace and precision, the puppet with which destiny would string along in perfect sync with the music of the sea. Gillion Tidestrider was a heavy suit of armor to don every time he left his room, and there were some nights the boy inside the armor would lie awake wondering how on Mana he would be able to live up to the impossible standards thrown onto his shoulders. There were some nights the nightmares supplied answers he didn’t want after all.
He gave them blood and sweat and tears, bruises and blisters that no amount of healing would ever truly fix. For who needed healing if you were just going to be injured the next day? After all, the Hero of the Deep needed to be tough, strong, able to take blows that the weaker citizens couldn’t. Every bandage went from a mark of weakness to a mark of honor, for what greater honor was there then protecting someone else? And the marks that didn’t come from protecting someone else… Well, the Champion of the Undersea should know better than to break the rules.
He gave them a prophesied victory, until the day they decided he wasn’t good enough for their prophecy anymore. He thought he was doing everything right- he was Chosen to defeat evil, and the Navy officer was clearly evil. In a twisted bit of irony, he finally realized why he was Chosen when he was the only person who knew what was wrong. He could see the evil, but the Elders were blind to it. Surely the Chosen One could be trusted to know what was evil and what wasn’t, right?
Just as quickly as his life had changed the first time, he had disappeared from the palace with nothing but his sword, his armor, and Pretzel.
No goodbyes with his sister. No farewells to his people. Just a blindfold around his eyes, a hand on his shoulder, and the hasty exit of the unfortunate Triton who had to escort him.
He gave them every part of himself until there was nothing left but a shell, a collection of training and heroism that never quite reached his eyes. He was banished for a reason, he thought, so he must try and continue his duties on the Oversea if he was no longer needed in the Undersea. Every recitation of his titles became an affirmation, a reminder that even away from his home, he had been Chosen by the gods to follow his destiny. Every evil slayed and honor won was another duty he had fulfilled, another piece he could present to the Elders and say “Look at this. I’m still trying for you.”
He gave them a Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, but they never gave him a second thought.