Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You hated the sea.

Always had.

Which made no sense — you’d grown up in a landlocked town, miles from the nearest saltwater. And yet, whenever it rained or you stood near a fountain or even washed your hands, that whisper would stir beneath the surface of the water.

A name spoken like a breath.

Arthur.

You tried ignoring it.
Then avoiding water entirely.
You took baths instead of showers.
You drank bottled water.
You stopped swimming.

Because the worse your emotions got, the louder the voice became.

On your fifth birthday, you cried after scraping your knee — and a puddle on the sidewalk rippled with waves. Your mother laughed it off. The neighbors blamed a passing truck.

You knew better.

You had been born wrong.
Or marked.

---

Tonight, rain hammered the streets — the kind that flooded everything. You rushed under an awning, jacket soaked through, the rhythmic pounding of water against asphalt too loud, too familiar.

Then it started.

The whisper.
Soft at first.

Arthur.

Then louder.
Insistent.

ARTHUR.

You clutched the edge of the awning, breathing hard. “Stop. Please stop.”

But the water didn’t stop.

It surged.

Rainwater pooled at your feet, swirling like something unseen was moving it — shaping it. The puddle stretched outward, snaking toward the street, connecting to a storm drain as if pointing.

Like it wanted you to follow.

No — like it wanted to lead you.

Your chest tightened.

“Not this again.”

You tried backing away.

The world brightened white.

Lightning cracked.

A wave — an actual wave — roared down the street.

Not possible.

And yet —

---

A massive figure stepped through the wall of water, the torrent splitting around him like he commanded it.

Tall.
Strong.
Salt-tangled hair.
Eyes the color of storm-lit waves.

He was soaked, unbothered, power radiating off him in quiet, ancient authority.

Arthur Curry.

Aquaman.

His gaze locked onto yours the second he saw you — and something in your chest snapped tight.

Like a tether pulling home.

His voice was low, barely audible over the rain.

“It’s you.”

You shook your head, backing up instinctively. “No. No, whatever this is — wrong person.”

The rain hammered harder, the wind roaring like a living thing. He frowned, taking a slow step forward.

“The storm reacts to you. The sea reacts to me.”
Another step.
“You’re frightened. The ocean isn’t.”

You swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

His expression softened — something aching behind his storm-grey eyes.

“I’ve heard your tears in every storm since I was a boy,” he said quietly. “Every time you cried, the ocean broke.”

Your heart stuttered.

He was real.
The voice in the water was real.

“It’s you,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re mine.”

A crack of thunder shook the earth.

The rain stilled.

The water around you rose — lifting gently, swirling around your arms, harmless, embracing.

You whispered, “Soulmates.”

Arthur’s jaw flexed, like the word carried weight.

“Atlantis calls us tide-bound. Tides choose. We don't get a say.”

You exhaled, shaking, voice barely audible. “What if I don’t want to drown?”

Arthur stepped close enough that the storm went silent between you.

“You won’t,” he murmured.

He held out his hand.

“I know the ocean speaks to you. But I will never let it take you.”

Water responded to him like a heartbeat.

And when your fingers touched his —

the sea calmed.

Like it finally knew where to rest.

Chapter Text

Rain still clung to your skin, cold and sharp, but when Arthur’s fingers brushed yours, the water around you warmed. Almost like it recognized you — or bowed to him.

You didn’t take his hand.

Not yet.

“Atlantis has legends,” Arthur murmured, voice low, “about a person whose heart beats in time with the sea. When they cry, the tides rise. When they’re happy, the waves sing.”
His eyes searched yours.
“I thought it was a myth.”

You swallowed hard. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

Lightning flashed, reflecting in his eyes. He didn’t flinch.

“How long?” he asked.
“How long have you heard the water speak?”

There were a hundred answers, but only one truth.

“Always.”

Arthur exhaled — not in surprise, but relief. Like something inside him had finally settled.

“Then I’m not too late.”

Before you could respond, a car alarm blared somewhere down the street, water rushing around its wheels. The storm looked wild… but Arthur wasn’t even breathing hard. He lifted his hand and the rain softened, pattering instead of slamming.

You stared. “You control the storm?”

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “I only calm it.”

You realized — the storm wasn’t reacting to him.

It was reacting to you.

Your heartbeat kicked up — too fast, too loud — and the rain spiked hard, slapping against the pavement in sheets.

Arthur stepped closer.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “You’re safe.”

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until his voice steadied you.

He lifted your hand slowly — like approaching a wild animal, cautious, patient — and pressed your palm to the center of his chest.

Warmth.
Steady.
Grounding.

“Your pulse is racing,” he murmured.

“And yours is calm,” you whispered back.

“Because the storm doesn’t scare me.”

He lowered his forehead to yours, voice a breath of thunder.

“Losing you does.”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond—

A sound ripped through the air.

A deep, echoing boom — like something enormous striking metal.

Arthur’s head snapped toward the water.

“That wasn’t thunder.”

You barely had time to react before the ocean surged, a wave slamming against the seawall and collapsing onto the street in a roar of foam. Shapes moved under the surface— fast, too fast.

Arthur shoved you behind him, muscles tensing.

“Stay close,” he ordered, voice suddenly all command and authority.

The water split.

Three armored figures rose from the surf — Atlantean soldiers — plates of iridescent scale armor, helmets shaped like predatory fish, tridents leveled at Arthur.

The leader pointed their weapon.

“Arthur Curry,” the soldier barked, voice distorted through the breathing rig. “You were ordered to return home. The Council demands your presence. Immediately.”

Arthur didn’t move.

“Not happening.”

The soldier shifted, eye line cutting to you.

“What is that?” he demanded. “A surface-dweller?”

Arthur stepped between you like a wall of living granite.

“They’re mine.”

Your stomach dropped.

Mine.

The soldiers exchanged a look — shock, disbelief — then lowered their tridents to you.

“The Council predicted this,” the leader spat. “The sea chose. The tide-bound bond. You brought danger to Atlantis.”

Arthur’s jaw flexed. “If the Council wants me, they can ask without threatening my soulmate.”

The water at your feet rippled violently.

Your emotions were spiking — and the storm mirrored every second of it.

Arthur laid a hand against your cheek, steady and warm.

“Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t let them scare you.”

But the lead soldier turned their trident toward Arthur.

“You have until sunrise. Come willingly… or we take both of you by force.”

Then they vanished — pulled back into the sea like the ocean swallowed them whole.

The rain stopped.

Silence hung, thick and stunned.

You swallowed. “They’re serious.”

Arthur nodded.

“So am I.”

He offered his hand again — palm up, steady.

“You’re coming with me,” he said. “To Atlantis.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“I can’t— I don’t belong underwater.”

Arthur smiled — small, sad, reverent — like you had no idea what you meant.

“You belong to the sea.”

And when you finally placed your hand in his—

The world shifted.

Water spiraled around you both, swirling into a protective sphere. The pavement vanished beneath your feet as the sea pulled you in, not drowning you, but cradling you.

Your last sight of the surface was the storm dissolving.

Then—

Darkness.
Depth.
Magic.

Atlantis called.

Chapter Text

The ocean swallowed you whole.

Not violently — not like drowning —
but like being taken home.

Water wrapped around you and Arthur in a sphere of swirling turquoise, pressure equalizing instantly. You expected panic — expected to choke — but all you felt was warmth. A current brushed your skin like silk.

You clung to his hand on instinct.

Arthur squeezed back.

“Just breathe,” he murmured, voice perfectly clear despite being submerged.

Your heart hammered. “Arthur— I can’t— humans don’t—”

“You’re not just human,” he said softly.
“Not anymore.”

The current twisted around both of you, whirling faster, gathering beneath your ribs like a second heartbeat.

The water pulsed.
You felt pressure inside your chest—
not painful, but awakening.

Your lungs burned, instinct screaming don’t inhale — but Arthur stepped closer, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing the edges of your jaw.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You’ll breathe because the ocean already knows you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You trust me?”

You nodded.

He leaned in — not quite a kiss but damn close — and the world narrowed to salt air, swirling currents, and his breath ghosting your lips.

“Then inhale.”

You did.

Water rushed into your lungs —
and instead of choking—

you breathed.

Cool.
Clean.
Effortless.

Your fingers dug into Arthur’s shoulders, eyes wide. His grin was slow and disbelieving, like he was watching something sacred.

“There you go,” he murmured.
“Told you I’d never let you drown.”

Relief hit you so hard you laughed — an actual laugh — and the water around you shimmered with ripples of light.

Arthur’s eyes widened.

“You just— the currents responded. They’ve never done that before.”

“Responded to what?”

“To your laughter.”

Your stomach flipped. “That’s insane.”

His expression softened.

“It’s soulmate magic. Not mine.”
He brushed a strand of wet hair behind your ear.
“It’s yours.”

---

The sphere of water began to move, pulling you deeper — but there was no fear anymore. You floated alongside Arthur as the ocean opened into vast blue.

Bioluminescent schools of fish streaked past like stars.
Columns of ancient stone rose from the seafloor.
A whale song vibrated through the water like a lullaby.

And then — far ahead — a soft glow.

Arthur pointed. “Atlantis.”

Your breath caught.

It was like seeing a myth waking up.

Towers of coral and carved stone rose from the sand, lit by pale-blue lanterns that floated like captured starlight. Bridges arched between structures, covered in flowing sea vines that swayed gently with the currents.

It was impossibly beautiful.

You whispered, “Arthur… this is—”

His voice was low, reverent.
“Home.”

You stared. “You’re taking me straight there? Won’t that— cause problems?”

“Oh, definitely.”
His mouth tilted into a smirk.
“The Council will lose their minds.”

You gave him a look. “And you’re… excited about that?”

He shrugged. “If the sea chose you, no one tells me otherwise.”

The water current slowed as you approached massive gates carved from pearl and obsidian. Guards in biologic armor swam into formation, tridents raised.

Arthur lifted your hand to his lips.

“Stay close.”

“I wasn’t planning to wander off,” you muttered.

He leaned in — lips brushing your ear — voice a dangerous whisper.

“They’ll sense the bond the moment we cross the gate. And they’ll know…”

He pulled back, eyes burning into yours.

“…that I would drown the world before I let them take you.”

The gates groaned open.

Welcome to Atlantis.

Chapter Text

Atlantis was breathtaking.

But the stares were not.

The moment you crossed the gates, every guard, every noble, every merchant froze. The water itself felt still — like the ocean held its breath.

Whispers rippled through the current:

Surface-dweller.
Soulbond? Impossible.
Arthur broke tradition.

Arthur ignored every single one.

He held your hand as he swam through the grand entrance corridor — smooth stone columns draped in glowing kelp that reached toward the surface. Light filtered down in shifting beams, catching on Arthur’s golden armor like fire.

When the enormous doors to the Council Hall opened, you expected… anything.

You didn’t expect anger.

Seven council members sat in a half-circle, towering above the chamber. Their eyes glowed with the cold blues of deep ocean predators. The water felt dense, pressure heavy on your ribs.

One of them — dressed in black pearl armor — slammed a trident onto the floor.

“Arthur Curry,” he snapped. "You were ordered to appear alone."

Arthur didn’t stop walking.

“I don’t take orders that put my soulmate at risk.”

The word soulmate hit the room like a shockwave.

Murmurs exploded around you.

The council leader — a severe woman with eyes like cut crystal — leaned forward.

“The tide-bound bond,” she hissed. “We believed it to be a story. A myth.”

“It’s real,” Arthur said simply.

You tried to steady your breathing. The weight of every gaze pressed against your skin like a physical thing.

The leader’s gaze raked over you with cold precision.

“A surface-dweller,” she sneered. “We do not bind ourselves to land.”

Arthur’s arm slid protectively in front of you.

“The sea chose. You don’t get to unchoose it.”

The council hall vibrated with uneasy energy. A second member — younger, harsher — slammed his seat forward.

“You end the bond,” he ordered.
“Or Atlantis ends it for you.”

The water around you pulsed — but not from fear.

From anger.

You felt it boiling under your skin — the storm inside you reacting again.

Arthur’s voice dropped into something lethal.

“Try.”

The younger councilor bared his teeth. “Your connection destabilizes the currents. The storms—”

“Those storms happened because she was terrified,” Arthur snapped.
“Because she was alone.”

The water behind him churned — responding to his temper — but your hand on his wrist grounded him.

Arthur inhaled sharply.

The currents softened.

The council leader leaned back, eyes unreadable. “You are king, Arthur Curry. Your duty is to Atlantis.”

Arthur turned to you.

And then back to the council.

“My duty,” he said quietly, “is to the one the ocean chose.”

Dead silence.

You blinked up at him, stunned. “Arthur—”

The council leader’s expression went glacial. She stood.

“Then hear the decree,” she said.
“The soulmate bond may remain… only if the surface-dweller survives the Trial of Tides.”

Arthur stiffened. “No.”

“She will prove she belongs,” the leader continued, voice colder than the abyss, “or the sea will reject her.”

“It’s a death sentence,” Arthur snarled.

You stepped forward.

“I’ll do it.”

Arthur turned on you, voice shaking.
“No. Absolutely not.”

You held his gaze, steady.

“I’m done running from the ocean.”

Your words echoed through the chamber like a ripple.

A faint current wrapped around your wrist — gentle, encouraging.

The council leader’s mouth curved into a thin, satisfied line.

“Prepare her.”

Arthur’s voice was a storm.

“You touch her, and I tear this palace down stone by stone.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the chamber, the doors slamming behind you.

---

Outside, in the quieter corridor of coral-lit blues, he finally stopped.

His chest was rising and falling fast.

“You can’t do this,” he whispered. “That trial is designed to break soldiers. Atlantean soldiers.”

You stepped closer, palms resting on his chest.

“You keep saying the ocean chose me.”

“It did,” Arthur breathed.

“Then maybe,” you said softly, “it won’t let me drown.”

Arthur closed his eyes like the thought hurt and healed him at the same time.

“Please don’t die,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly. “Then teach me how to survive.”

His eyes snapped open — fierce, determined, afraid.

And then he said the words like a vow.

“I’ll train you myself.”

Chapter Text

The training arena wasn’t a room.

It was a canyon.

Columns of ancient coral and scaled stone circled a massive open space where currents twisted like living ropes. Schools of fish scattered as Arthur led you through the wide entrance arch. Bioluminescent moss coated the walls in shifting blue-green shades, making the whole place feel alive.

Arthur floated in front of you, trident in hand. His hair moved with the water like it was part of the current.

“In here,” he said, “the ocean tests your body and your mind. You don’t fight the water.”

He offered you a hand.

“You move with it.”

You let your fingers slide into his. A surge of warmth raced up your arm — the bond pulsing steady, confident.

“First lesson,” he murmured, voice low, “stop thinking of the ocean as an enemy.”

You frowned. “It’s tried to drown me most of my life.”

“No,” Arthur said gently, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “It’s been calling you.”

Before you could reply, he released your hand and — in one effortless movement — flipped backward, body slicing through the water like it was air. You stared, equal parts annoyed and impressed.

“Show-off.”

Arthur grinned.
“Second lesson: don’t get distracted by how good I look swimming.”

You sputtered. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

You absolutely were.

---

Training, Round One

He guided you into a circular section marked by swirling currents.

“I’m going to push the water toward you,” he warned. “Your instinct will be to brace against it.”

“Is that… not what I should do?”

“Nope.”
He tapped your sternum lightly.
“You let it move through you.”

Before you could ask how, the current shifted. Water surged toward you — not harmful, but strong enough to throw you off balance.

You panicked and shoved back, arms flailing.

Arthur caught you by the waist before you could tumble.

“Stop fighting,” he whispered against your ear. “You don’t have to force anything. Feel it.”

You swallowed hard.

“Try again.”

The current pushed.
Arthur released you.
This time, you closed your eyes and let your body move with the flow, twisting with it instead of bracing.

Your shoulders relaxed.
Your movements smoothed.

“Good,” Arthur breathed.
“Again.”

You did it — three, four, five times — until you were gliding through the water like something born to it. When you opened your eyes, Arthur was watching you with an expression that could only be described as—

Awe.

“You look like the ocean finally stopped searching,” he murmured.

Your heart stuttered.
The water warmed around you.

---

Training, Round Two: The Trident

He swam to a weapons vault built into the coral and withdrew a smaller trident — lighter than his, silver and high-polished.

“Your weapon,” he said.

You blinked. “You’re giving me a trident?”

He smirked. “Borrowing. If you impress me, I’ll consider giving.”

He extended it toward you.
When your fingers wrapped around the shaft, the metal hummed softly — reacting to your touch.

Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction, like he recognized something he hadn’t expected.

“It… likes you,” he murmured.

“Should I be flattered or scared?”

“I’ve fought men who held this weapon and couldn’t get a spark out of it.”
He floated closer.
“You hold it, and it wakes up.”

Your grip tightened. “Now what?”

“Now you swing.”

He guided your hands, adjusting your stance, stepping into your space without hesitation. His body aligned behind yours, chest brushing your back as his hands slid over your arms, positioning them correctly.

“Wider stance,” he whispered.
“Center your balance.”
“Lean with the current, not against.”

You swallowed hard.
Heat flooded your face.

“I can’t think when you’re—”

“Exactly,” Arthur murmured.
“You don’t think. You feel.”

He released you.

Water surged.

Your body moved before thought could interfere — trident sweeping in a perfect arc, cutting through the current like slicing ribbon.

A shockwave of power rippled outward.

Arthur actually froze.
“You channeled the current.”

“I what?”

He swam around you, circling, eyes bright with disbelief.

“That shouldn’t be possible.”

“I told you,” you teased, breathless with adrenaline, “maybe I’m just naturally gifted.”

Arthur grinned — wicked, reverent, thrilled.

“You’re trouble.”

“You like trouble.”

He swam closer — slow, deliberate — until your trident pressed lightly to the center of his chest and you were wrapped in his shadow.

His voice dropped low.

“I like you.”

The water vibrated.

Like it agreed.

---

A conch horn sounded in the distance — summoning Arthur back to the Council.

He groaned.
“I don’t want to leave.”

You offered a teasing smile.
“I’ll be here.”

Arthur brushed his knuckles down your cheek, slow and reverent.

“You’re not just going to survive the Trial of Tides,” he whispered, voice thick with certainty.

“You’re going to own it.”

And then he was gone — streaking through the water like lightning in the deep — leaving you with a humming trident and a bond that pulsed like the tide.

Chapter Text

Word spread fast.

Faster than currents.

By morning, Atlantis buzzed like a living hive.

Surface-dweller.
Soulbond.
Impossible.
Unworthy.

You were walking beside Arthur toward the royal wing when the first stares began. Groups of Atlanteans paused mid-conversation, watching with thinly veiled disgust or fascination.

Arthur ignored them.

His hand brushed yours once — subtle, grounding — but he kept a respectful distance in front of the eyes of the kingdom. He was a king here. You were… a threat to tradition.

Then someone stepped directly into your path.

A wall of armor.

Polished black scales.
Built like a sea fortress.
A trident strapped across his back.

The man bowed to Arthur — a bow that meant I acknowledge your power, not your authority.

“King Curry,” he said with cool civility.

Arthur tensed. “General Atlan.”

General Atlan’s gaze slid over you like a blade.

“So. This is the tether.”

“The soulmate,” Arthur corrected.

The general ignored him.

He circled you, slow, studying every inch of you.

“No gills. No armor. No heritage. And yet the sea calls her.”

Arthur moved before you did — one step forward, blocking Atlan’s path.

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence.”

Atlan tipped his head, amused.

“I challenge her.”

Your blood chilled.
“What?”

“For the right to stand beside our king,” Atlan said. “Soulbond or not, she must earn her place.”

Arthur’s voice turned lethal.

“She’s already earned it.”

Atlan smirked.

“Then she will have no problem surviving.”

He turned to you, eyes glinting with cruel interest.

“The Trial of Tides is not a test of strength. It is a test of soul. If she falters—”

He leaned close enough that the water between you went still.

“—the ocean will take her.”

Arthur shoved him back so hard the water rippled.

“You want a fight?” Arthur hissed. “Fight me.”

Atlan smiled lazily.

“I cannot challenge what fate has chosen.”

His eyes slid to you again.

“But I can make her drown.”

Every drop of water around you reacted — trembling from the emotional spike.

The string between you and Arthur yanked painfully tight.

Arthur’s voice was pure threat.

“Touch her, and there won’t be enough of you left to bury.”

Atlan only chuckled — infuriatingly calm — turned his back, and strode away into the blue corridors.

The second he disappeared, Arthur grabbed your shoulders.

“You don’t face him alone,” he said urgently. “He pushed for this trial. He wanted it.”

You swallowed hard.

“He wants me dead.”

“No.” Arthur shook his head, voice rough. “He wants me broken.”

Your throat tightened.

“Arthur—”

He pulled you against him, forehead pressing to yours, voice breaking in the quiet.

“You don’t have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to Atlantis. Not to me.”

You slid your hands up to his jaw.

“I’m not doing it for them.”

He froze.

“I’m doing it for us.”

The bond thrummed — warm, pulsing — like the ocean itself agreed.

Arthur’s eyes softened, ruinously tender.

“You are the strongest thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

Then, as if the sea itself wanted to interrupt, a conch horn sounded through the palace — summoning you both to the Trial Arena.

Arthur’s jaw locked.

“It starts now.”

He laced his fingers with yours — no hesitation, no hiding — and pulled you toward the heart of Atlantis.

Chapter Text

Atlantis did not build an arena.

It carved one out of the ocean.

A colossal bowl of living coral and carved obsidian descended into a spiraling whirlpool — a vortex of shifting currents and glowing runes. Thousands of Atlanteans gathered around it, seated on terraces of bioluminescent stone. The entire city held its breath.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

Surface-dweller.
Impossible.
She will drown.

Arthur stood beside you on a ledge overlooking the abyss, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch in his cheek.

You squeezed his hand once.

“I can do this.”

He didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do.”
For you. For the bond.

A platform rose from the center of the whirlpool — a circular stand of ancient stone. Runes glowed along the edge, humming like distant whale-song.

General Atlan stepped forward, smug and slow.

“The Trial of Tides begins when she enters the ring.”

Arthur snarled. “I swear, if you rigged—”

Atlan held up a small seashell disc.
“You can stop her at any time, King Curry. Crush your mark and the trial ends.”

Arthur froze.

A choice.

If he saved you, the bond would be nullified.
If he didn’t — you would face whatever the Trial demanded.

Atlan smirked. “Of course, if you end it… she forfeits her right to Atlantis.”

Arthur crushed the disc in his fist.

The arena gasped.

“Arthur—!”

His voice was steady.
Deadly.
Certain.

“She doesn’t need an escape route.”

Your throat tightened.

He believed in you more than you believed in yourself.

Arthur guided you to the edge of the platform, fingers sliding down your wrist. Just before you stepped off, he caught your chin and kissed your forehead.

“Come back to me.”

You stepped off the ledge and sank into the whirlpool.

---

The First Trial: Fear

Water surged into a wall around you — a sphere.
Clear, cold, isolating.

You floated alone inside the arena.

No Arthur.
No crowd.
Just you.

A voice — ancient, layered — echoed in your skull:

FACE THE SEA AS YOU ARE.

The water darkened.
A storm brewed inside your mind.

Memories surfaced.

The first time you heard the ocean whisper.
The panic.
The feeling of drowning on dry land.

You heard children laughing in the stands — a cruel contrast.

Your pulse spiked.

The sphere darkened into a cage of churning currents.

You couldn’t see.

You couldn’t breathe—

No. You can.

Arthur’s voice echoed in your head.
Steady.
Anchoring.

“You breathe because the ocean already knows you.”

You inhaled.

Water filled your lungs—

and you lived.

The sphere brightened.
The currents slowed.

The voice returned.

FEAR DOES NOT RULE YOU.

Your chest loosened.
Your spine straightened.

You had passed the first test.

But the water didn’t stop.

---

The Second Trial: Strength

The sphere exploded outward.

You dropped onto the stone trial platform — breath steady, trident in hand.

The entire arena watched.

Atlan smirked, leaning back like this was entertainment.

The ocean floor beneath your feet cracked.
The runes lit up.

A massive shadow moved beneath the sand.

Arthur’s voice ripped through the water:

“DOWN!”

You dropped and rolled as something erupted from the arena floor —

A Leviathan eel, thirty feet long, teeth like crystal blades.

You barely dodged the first strike.

Arthur surged forward, ready to jump in.

Atlan blocked him with a spear.

“Touch the water,” Atlan said, “and she fails.”

Arthur growled. “If she dies, you die.”

Atlan smiled.

“You could save her.
You just have to renounce the bond.”

Arthur froze. His jaw tightened in pain.

“I will never choose a world without her.”

The Leviathan bared its teeth.

Your pulse hammered.

Fear isn’t the enemy, you told yourself.

Arthur believed in you.
You would believe in you.

The eel lunged.

You raised the trident—

But instead of blocking, you moved with the current.
Just like Arthur taught you.

The water wrapped around your body, redirecting you upward and over the beast. You landed behind it, turning in the same motion—

And drove the trident down.

Not stabbing.

Channeling.

The current shot through the weapon like lightning.

A shockwave erupted.

The Leviathan slammed into the arena wall, stunned.

The crowd gasped.

Your trident was glowing — not silver anymore, but blue-green light running along the metal like veins.

Arthur stared, wide-eyed.

General Atlan’s smirk fell.

The arena fell silent.

The runes on the platform blazed, swirling up your arms, burning like ice and fire and the ocean choosing.

The water whispered:

CHOSEN.

Waves surged around your feet, wrapping up your legs like a coronation robe of living current.

Your eyes glowed — same shade as Arthur’s, same shade as the sea.

Arthur whispered your name like a prayer.

“Damn,” he breathed. “You’re the storm.”

Chapter Text

The arena was silent.
Then it erupted.

Atlanteans stood, shouting — shock, fury, disbelief rippling through the water like aftershocks.

“She wields the current!”
“Impossible!”
“No surface-dweller could—”

General Atlan’s voice sliced through the noise.

“This changes nothing.”

Arthur turned slowly.

“Oh, it changes everything.”

Atlan stepped onto the arena platform, eyes bright with something dangerous.

“We all saw it. She can channel current. Impressive trick.”
He smirked.
“But power does not mean belonging.”

Your grip tightened on the trident.

Arthur moved between you and Atlan — not because he doubted your ability, but because that’s what a shield does.

“She passed the Trial,” Arthur said, voice deep and controlled. “It’s over.”

Atlan smiled like a predator.

“There is one more requirement.”

The crowd quieted.

Atlan raised his voice, letting it reverberate through the water.

“The surface-dweller must kneel.”

The world stopped.

Arthur went still.

“What did you just say?”

Atlan gestured to you.
“She kneels, acknowledging Atlantis as superior. As ruler. As owner.”

The water around Arthur changed.

Pressure spiraled outward.
The current thickened — heavy and sharp, like the entire ocean leaned in.

“Atlantis does not own her,” Arthur growled.

“She is not Atlantean,” Atlan countered. “She must submit, or the bond is illegitimate.”

A hush swept the arena.

You lifted your chin.

“If you think I’m kneeling to prove I deserve my soulmate—”

You planted the trident in the ground, current flickering off the metal like lightning.

“—then you don’t understand the sea at all.”

Atlan’s smile vanished.

Arthur’s voice dropped low and lethal.

“She kneels to no one.”

Atlan turned to the Council seats at the top of the arena.

“Then you condemn us all.”

The Council leader stood slowly, her armor shimmering like the inside of a shell.

“If the bond goes unacknowledged, we face instability. The tides could turn against Atlantis. The sea may punish us.”

Arthur didn’t flinch.

“She already passed your Trial.”

“And now she must pass mine,” the leader replied.

She extended her hand toward you.

“Kneel.”

Arthur snapped.

The water exploded outward.

He didn’t move — didn’t touch her — but the ocean did.

Currents whipped around him, spiraling like a cyclone, power radiating off him in hot, dangerous waves.

“You dare command my soulmate?”

Arthur stepped forward, voice a razor.

“She owes Atlantis nothing.”

“She owes Atlantis everything,” the leader snapped. “Her existence disrupts what we built. She is an anomaly. A threat.”

You looked between them.

A threat.

That’s what they feared.

Not weakness.

Power.

Your power.

You lifted the trident slowly.
The water responded instantly.

The glow beneath your skin intensified — not forced, not summoned.

Answering.

You spoke calmly, clearly.

“I don’t kneel to prove I am worthy of him.”

Power crackled down the trident’s prongs.

“Arthur and I chose each other.”

Arthur’s head snapped toward you.
He hadn’t expected you to say it aloud.

You took one step forward.

“And the ocean chose me.”

A wave surged up the arena walls — not destructive, but protective — wrapping around you like a cloak.

Gasps echoed from the crowd.

The Council leader’s composure cracked.
“Impossible.”

Water curled up your free hand, gathering into spiraling rings around your wrist like bracelets.

You didn’t need to raise your voice.

You only needed the truth.

“I am not here to take from Atlantis. I am here because the sea brought me.”

You lowered the trident tip into the ground.

The stone cracked beneath it.

“The ocean does not kneel.”

Arthur stared at you like he’d never seen anything more breathtaking.

General Atlan’s rage broke through his disbelief.

He lunged.

Before Arthur could move—

you did.

You raised your hand.

Water obeyed.

A wall of current slammed into Atlan and launched him backward across the arena. He hit the arena wall hard enough to crack the coral.

Silence.

Total silence.

Then — from somewhere in the stands —

Someone knelt.

Then another.

And another.

Until the entire arena bowed.

Not to authority.

Not to fear.

To recognition.

The Council leader stared down at you, pale and shaken.

“The ocean… answers her.”

Arthur was at your side in seconds, hand slipping into yours, pride burning in his eyes like molten gold.

He whispered, full of awe and disbelief:

“You didn’t just survive the Trial.”

He pulled you close — forehead to yours, voice trembling.

“You conquered it.”

The ocean around you roared like applause.

Chapter Text

Atlantis quieted behind you.

The arena, the crowd, the Council, all faded into distant echoes as Arthur led you through a series of tall archways carved from opal and black stone. His hand was wrapped around yours, warm and sure, but his grip trembled slightly.

Not from fear.

From relief.

From awe.

From the way you had stood alone, surrounded by thousands, and the ocean had answered you.

He said nothing until the guards and corridors disappeared behind closing doors — thick, reinforced, impossible to open without the king’s permission.

Arthur’s private chambers.

The water felt different here — softer, calmer. Diffused lantern light painted the room in muted blues and greens. A wide alcove held a floating bed of woven kelp-silk, gently rocked by the slow current.

Only then did Arthur stop moving.

Only then did he turn to face you.

For a heartbeat, he just stared.

“You should be furious with me,” he murmured.

“Why?” you asked.

“I brought you to Atlantis without a choice. I pushed you into a Trial that could’ve killed you.” His jaw clenched. “And you nearly drowned because of me.”

“Arthur,” you said softly, stepping closer, “I didn’t drown.”

He laughed, breathless and disbelieving.

“No. You controlled the ocean.”

He lifted a hand — slow enough that you could move away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

His palm brushed your cheek.

“You faced a Leviathan eel with a weapon you’d held for the first time an hour earlier.”
His thumb traced your jaw.
“You swam like you were born to currents.”
His voice dropped.
“You looked at the Council of Atlantis and refused to kneel.”

You swallowed. “Did I embarrass you?”

Arthur exhaled, something raw breaking behind his eyes.

“You humbled a room full of monarchs.”

He tilted your chin up gently.

“You were extraordinary.”

You almost laughed — not because it was funny, but because you didn’t know how to hold so much emotion at once. Your chest tightened.

“I didn’t do it alone.”

Arthur leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. Underwater, the closeness felt different — weightless, intimate.

“Yes, you did,” he whispered. “You chose to be more than what you were afraid of.”

His hand slipped from your cheek, tracing the inside of your wrist — right where the bond pulsed.

“The ocean doesn’t choose lightly,” Arthur murmured.
“And it chose you for me.”

Your heart stuttered.

You couldn’t help it — you spoke the truth.

“You didn’t hesitate. You threw away your escape route.”

Arthur huffed a soft, incredulous laugh.

“I saw you step into that arena,” he whispered, “and I knew escape would be an insult to fate.”

You swallowed. “Arthur—”

He cut you off, voice breaking.

“I wasn’t afraid of losing the bond.”

He leaned closer.

“I was afraid of losing you.”

The water vibrated between you — not power, not storm, just connection.

You didn’t close the distance.

He did.

Arthur kissed you underwater.

It was slow — reverent — like he had waited a lifetime and refused to ruin any second of it. His hand slid to the back of your neck, guiding you deeper into the kiss as currents swirled around you, soft and warm.

No lightning.
No storm.
No battle.

Just two heartbeats finding the same rhythm.

When he finally pulled back, breath uneven, he whispered:

“You’re not my weakness.”

His thumb brushed your bottom lip.

“You’re the reason I’m not afraid to be king.”

The bond pulsed between you — warm, steady, sure.

And for the first time, the ocean around you was silent.

Not watching.

Not testing.

Just… resting.

Because you and Arthur were finally where you were meant to be.

Chapter Text

Atlantis had never been silent.

Not once.

Not in its entire history.

But when the palace doors opened and you and Arthur stepped into the Grand Hall — it was as if the ocean itself held its breath.

Thousands of Atlanteans lined the towering chamber: warriors in scaled armor, nobles draped in iridescent silks, children perched on balconies carved into living coral. Lanterns glowed from suspended jellyfish, painting everyone in shifting sea-glass light.

And at the center, the Council sat on their raised throne dais.

Waiting.

Judging.

Arthur didn’t drop your hand.

He didn’t hide you or step in front of you — he walked beside you like equals.

A ripple of shock passed through the crowd.

Atlan stood at the head of the Council in formal armor, jaw tight. The woman councilor — the one who had demanded you kneel — rose to address the gathered city.

“In the Trial of Tides,” she announced, voice echoing through the hall, “the surface-dweller was meant to prove her worth.”

Murmurs.

Scoffs.

You stood still.

Beside you, Arthur radiated fury held on a tight leash.

The councilor continued.

“Instead, the ocean revealed something unprecedented.”

She gestured toward you.

“Arthur Curry’s soulmate channeled current. Not borrowed it. Became it.”

Gasps, whispers, disbelief.

A noble shouted from the crowd:

“Power does not equal belonging!”

Another snapped:

“She is not Atlantean!”

You should have felt small.

Instead, you planted your trident on the marble floor, and power hummed through the metal like a living pulse.

“I belong to the sea,” you said, voice steady.

“And the sea belongs to no kingdom.”

Silence hit like a shockwave.

Arthur looked at you like you hung constellations.

The councilor raised her hands toward the rising tides that circled the chamber as if summoned by your presence. The water didn’t fight.

It waited.

“The Tide-Bond,” she declared, “is not political. It is ancient. It is law. It is fate.”

She pointed her trident toward the dais.

“Kneel, Arthur Curry.”

Arthur squeezed your hand once, reassuring, and released it only to stand at full height. Instead of kneeling before the Council…

He turned toward you.

And he lowered himself to one knee.

Gasps.

A ripple of shock shook the hall.

Arthur bowed his head, placing his palm over his heart — over the place where the bond hummed.

“To the one the ocean chose,” he said softly, reverently, “I kneel.”

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t giving up power.

He was honoring fate.

The councilor spoke again.

“The sea has spoken. And so must we.”

She lifted her trident.

“Atlantis recognizes the Tide-Bound bond.”

A roar of water surged through the hall as every column of the palace glowed a deep blue-green — the color of ocean magic.

Water swirled around you, wrapping like silk, forming an elegant mantle over your shoulders.

An Atlantean coronation.

Arthur rose, stepped closer, and lowered his forehead to yours.

“In our world,” he murmured, “a king never walks alone.”

You whispered back, “Neither does the ocean.”

And every wave in the hall bowed.

Not to a king.

Not to a throne.

To you.

Chapter Text

Atlantis celebrated.

You could feel it — vibrations of drums echoing through the coral walls, currents swirling with color, the pulse of a city finally exhaling after centuries of fear and tradition. Arthur kept close, hand warm on the small of your back as he guided you through cheers, nods, reverent bows.

But under it all…

The ocean felt wrong.

The tides tugged at your bones.
The currents whispered warnings.

Arthur stopped mid-stride. His eyes narrowed.

“You feel that too.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. “The water’s… nervous.”

Not fearful.
Not excited.

Bracing.

A guard swam at full speed toward the throne alcove, armor dented, face scraped. He fell into a kneel before Arthur.

“Your Majesty — an incursion at the border trench. Unknown forces.”

Before Arthur could speak, the guard added:

“They’re flying the banners of Xebel.”

The name landed like a weapon.

Xebel.
Atlantis’s rival kingdom.
Militaristic. Proud. Ruthless.

Arthur cursed low. “Mera’s people.”

But no — Mera had left her birthplace behind. This wasn’t her.

The guard swallowed. “They’re demanding an audience.”

“Demanding?” Arthur repeated, furious. “They dare—”

A deep sound rolled through the water — like a whale call, but darker, heavier. The entire hall trembled.

The massive palace doors slammed open.

They didn’t open from magic or guards.

They were forced.

Six armored figures swept in, wearing plates of sea-glass and shark-bone, shaped like living razors. At their front stood a tall woman in black armor, hair floating behind her in a crimson sheet.

Not Mera.

Her eyes locked onto you.

“So,” she said, voice carrying through the hall like ice cracking over a lake, “the rumors are true.”

Arthur stepped in front of you instinctively.

“Kai’ra of Xebel,” he spat. “You aren't welcome here.”

Kai’ra smiled — slow, feral.

“We sensed the storm. Felt the currents shift. A surface-dweller… wielding our ocean.”

Her gaze slid past Arthur and pinned you like a spear.

“The Council should have drowned her the moment she touched saltwater.”

The crowd gasped.

Arthur snarled, power stirring in the water around him. “You want a war, Kai’ra?”

“No,” she said sweetly.
“I want what belongs to Xebel.”

Her eyes glowed like deep-water blood.

“The bond.”

Arthur’s breath stuttered. “Absolutely not.”

But Kai’ra wasn’t looking at him anymore.

She was looking at you.

“The sea is power,” she said. “But power must be held by those born to it. Xebel claims the tide-bound.”

You took a slow step forward.

“The ocean chose me.”

Kai’ra’s smile sharpened. “No. The ocean tested you.”

She drew a blade forged from obsidian and coral — a weapon crackling with contained magic.

“And now I will break you.”

Soldiers drew their weapons.

Arthur shoved you behind him, rage in every line of his body.

“You’ll have to kill me first.”

Kai’ra pointed her blade at him — then, slowly, deliberately — flicked it toward you.

“Oh, I don’t want to kill her.”

Her eyes gleamed.

“I want her to surrender.”

And every drop of water in the room recoiled.

Your pulse spiked.
The ocean inside your blood responded — violent, immediate.

Water spun into a vortex around your body, trident humming.

Kai’ra’s smirk faded.

“Oh,” she whispered.
“You’re already awakening.”

Arthur reached for your hand.

You didn’t need to look at him to know he was ready to tear a kingdom apart to protect you.

“Stay behind me,” he breathed.

You shook your head once.

“No.”

You stepped forward — trident glowing with raw current.

“I don’t run from the ocean anymore.”

The water behind you surged into a wave, rising like a wall.

Arthur stared.

Kai’ra swam back a fraction.

Even the Council held their breath.

You raised your trident.

And every drop of water in the palace answered.

Chapter Text

Kai’ra didn’t back down.

Neither did you.

The water surged around you in a spiral, currents forming a vortex that lifted your hair and cloak, bioluminescent particles flickering like stars in the dark.

Arthur slid into position beside you — shoulder to shoulder — trident angled forward.

“Stay behind me,” he murmured.

You didn’t move.

“Try and make me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, half frustration, half awe.
“You’re impossible.”

The water pulsed through your veins.

“And you love it.”

Kai’ra flicked two fingers toward her soldiers.

“Kill him.”

They moved — fast.
Sharkskin armor. Razor tridents. Pure lethal training.

But Arthur was born to the ocean.

He shot forward like a spear, slamming his trident into the seafloor. The impact sent a shockwave through the currents, knocking two Xebel warriors backward.

The third lunged for you.

You spun the trident in your hands — uncertain, instinctual — and the water surged with you, wrapping the shaft in spiraling ribbons of light.

You didn’t block.

You redirected.

The Xebel soldier’s attack twisted harmlessly past you, turned by the current itself.

His eyes widened.

“She bends the water—”

You moved.

The current obeyed.

Three movements:

Flick your wrist → pull the tide
Twist your hips → redirect force
Plant your feet → unleash

A wave shot forward and slammed the soldier into a column, shattering coral into a spray of pearls.

Arthur let out a low whistle.

“Didn’t teach you that.”

You didn’t look away from the battle.

“I think the ocean did.”

Kai’ra bared her teeth.

“Then let’s test how much it loves you.”

She lunged.

Arthur intercepted her, trident against her blade — sparks of magic rippling through the water.

“You’re done, Kai’ra,” he growled.

“No,” Kai’ra hissed. “She is.”

She released something from her gauntlet — a crackling orb that pulsed with deep red sigils.

Water recoiled.

Arthur’s eyes widened.
“Don’t—!”

Kai’ra crushed the orb.

The world changed.

The water around you went dark — not from lack of light, but from something older than darkness.

A rumble shook the palace, deep and resonant, like something enormous shifting far below the ocean floor.

Kai’ra smiled like someone who had just lit a fuse.

“Let’s see if your soulmate can survive this.”

From the depths below the palace…

Something answered.

The seafloor cracked.

The water temperature dropped.

Every Atlantean in the hall froze.

Ravenous, ancient pressure vibrated through the current — not anger, not hunger.

Recognition.

Arthur swore under his breath.
“No. She didn’t—”

The crack widened.

A shadow rose.

Something colossal began to emerge.

Long, massive tendrils of kelp and barnacled hide uncoiled from the abyss.

The water whispered through your bones.

The Leviathan of the Abyss.

A creature so ancient Atlantis worshipped it in murals.
A being so powerful the ocean itself bowed.

Kai’ra lifted her blade toward it.

“Behold. The ocean answers me.”

The Leviathan roared.

Then—

It stopped.

Every tendril stilled.

Every glowing eye locked on you.

Not Kai’ra.

You.

Your trident vibrated — not humming, but resonating — matching the Leviathan’s frequency.

Arthur whispered, stunned:
“It recognizes you.”

Kai’ra’s confidence shattered.

“No. No, it should obey me—”

You raised your hand.

The ocean didn’t check if you were worthy.

It already knew.

With one slow, steady motion, you lowered your palm.

The Leviathan bowed.

The largest creature in the deep —
Atlantis’s myth, Xebel’s weapon —
bowed to you.

The entire palace gasped.

Arthur stared like you hung the moon.

Kai’ra looked like her world had ended.

You spoke, voice layered with the ocean itself.

“The sea does not belong to kings.”

You stepped forward, power thrumming through every current.

“It does not belong to thrones.”

Your eyes glowed tidal blue.

“It belongs to those it chooses.”

And the Leviathan roared its agreement — a sound that shook Atlantis to its foundations.

Arthur moved to your side and raised his trident.

“You heard her,” he said to the entire hall.
“Stand down.”

Kai’ra’s bravado cracked.
Her warriors dropped their weapons.

And Atlantis knelt.

Not to a king.

Not to fear.

To the sea.

And to you.

Chapter Text

Xebel did not retreat.

They regrouped.

Kai’ra stood at the shattered edge of the arena, eyes blazing with humiliation and fury. Her warriors formed a defensive ring around her — not to protect her, but to protect the hall from what she was about to do.

Arthur’s voice echoed like thunder.

“It’s over, Kai’ra.”

She laughed.
Not unhinged — confident.

“You think this was a battle?”
Her blade crackled with red sigils again.
“This was a test.”

Your chest tightened.

A test.

Not her real strike.

Kai’ra pressed two fingers to her wrist cuff, activating a sigil array. You heard the unmistakable low boom of a war horn — distant, deep, miles off-shore.

Arthur went rigid.

“That came from the Trench.”

Kai’ra’s grin widened.

“We offered the High Trench King a bargain. Your soulmate in exchange for Xebel’s allegiance.”

Arthur’s blood ran cold.

“You made a pact with the Trench?”

Kai’ra lifted her chin.

“The ocean bows to power. If I cannot control the chosen one, I will give her to someone who can.”

A tremor shuddered through the water — a different vibration than the Leviathan. Darker. Leaner. Hungry.

Every Atlantean in the hall felt it.

The Trench were coming.

Atlantis guards drew their weapons. The Council rose to their feet, terrified. Families grabbed children, hiding behind marble pillars.

The Leviathan lifted its head, low growl rolling through the water.

Arthur stepped forward, placing himself between you and Kai’ra.

“That was your last mistake.”

Kai’ra smirked.

“No, King Curry. My last mistake was thinking I needed to kill her myself.”

A shockwave blasted from the sigils on her armor.

The palace doors blew inward, and currents of freezing, inky water rushed through the hall.

Through the cracked entrance, the first wave of Trench creatures swarmed in — jaws unhinged, eyes black, claws razor sharp. Screeching.

Hundreds.

Maybe thousands.

Arthur grabbed your hand.

“We need to get you to the vault!”

“No.”

The Leviathan shifted behind you, sensing the threat, ready to strike. The water tugged at your blood — not fear, not panic.

Instinct.

Your instinct wasn’t to run.

It was to protect.

“I’m done being taken or hidden.”

Arthur hesitated — torn between rage and fear.

“(Y/N)—”

“Atlantis is my home too.”

Your power flared.

The ocean responded.

You stepped forward, trident raised.

“Let them come.”

The Trench roared and surged like a living tidal wave.

Arthur moved with you, fury and pride in equal measure.

“Then we end this together.”

---

The first Trench creature lunged.

Arthur impaled it mid-air, spinning and using its momentum to knock another aside. His trident glowed with gold energy, movements precise and brutally efficient.

You faced the second wave.

You didn’t fight them.

You commanded the water.

The ocean around you twisted into a spiral, forming a shield of current that shredded any creature that tried to breach it.

Trident up.
Heel pivot.
Forward sweep.

A massive vortex exploded outward, pulling Trench soldiers off their feet and hurling them back into the hallway.

The Leviathan joined the fight — wrapping tendrils around clusters of Trench creatures and crushing them like shells.

Chaos.

Violence.

Water obeyed your every thought.

Kai’ra watched — fury cracked into awe.

“She— she commands the sea itself—”

Arthur slammed a creature into the seafloor and snarled:

“She is the sea.”

---

You felt pressure build in the deep, like gravity pulling inward.

The Leviathan lowered its head toward you — a massive eye the size of your torso staring into your soul.

Command me.

Not words.

Instinct.

You lifted your trident.

The Leviathan roared — a call so loud that every Trench creature froze in place.

Water pulsed around you, currents swirling faster, building pressure until your entire body glowed blue-white with power.

Then—

You unleashed it.

A tidal wave blasted outward, slamming the Trench horde into the palace walls, pinning them like insects in amber before the water receded, leaving them crushed and motionless on the seafloor.

Silence.

Then—

Cheers.

Actual cheers.

Atlantis roared your name.

Arthur swam to you, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you hard and desperate, water swirling around you like the sea itself was celebrating.

“You didn’t just win,” he whispered against your lips, breath ragged.

“You ended the war before it began.”

---

You turned back toward Kai’ra.

Her soldiers were defeated.
Her horde destroyed.
Her alliance broken.

Still, she lifted her chin — proud even in defeat.

“Do it,” she spat. “If you’re truly Atlantean. Finish it.”

Arthur’s voice dropped into something cold and ancient.

“No.”

She blinked. “What—?”

“We aren’t savages,” he said.
“Unlike Xebel, Atlantis doesn’t kill out of ego.”

He turned away.

Kai’ra screamed, furious.

“This isn’t over!”

You didn’t look back.

“It is,” you said.
“The ocean knows who commands it.”

And Kai’ra did not follow.

Chapter Text

The ocean surface had never felt so heavy.

Arthur broke through first, pulling you upward with him, currents arranging themselves around your body as if they’d prepared the moment for centuries. The world above exploded with sound.

Helicopters.
Searchlights.
Megaphones blaring through loudspeakers.

A ring of warships surrounded the spot where you surfaced — destroyers, submarines, aircraft carriers. The U.S. Navy. British Navy. A handful of UN flags. Guns angled toward the water like spears.

Every commander on every deck had weapons locked on one target:

Aquaman.

Arthur didn’t flinch.

He lifted a hand in greeting, diplomatic, calm.

You did the same — palm rising out of the ocean, trident held down and non-threatening.

The sea stayed still.

For the first time since the Trial, the water wasn’t reacting to fear or anger.
It was waiting.

A bullhorn crackled.

“This is Captain Hale of the USS Sentinel. Stand down and identify yourselves!”

Arthur’s voice carried easily across the waves.

“I am Arthur Curry, King of Atlantis.”

He did not shout.
He did not posture.

He simply spoke truth.

The waves obeyed.

Whispers tore through the ships — disbelief, shock.

Then you felt it.

A shift in the water.

Like a heartbeat.

The Leviathan breached beside you.

Not violently.
Not threatening.

But magnificent.

The massive creature rose just beneath the surface — only its dorsal ridges and crest visible — glowing ocean-light beneath a thin sheet of water. Helicopters veered off, terrified and stunned.

Arthur didn’t look away from the ships.

He spoke to you quietly.

“You’re guiding it.”

You shook your head.
“It’s listening.”

The captain’s shaky voice crackled again.

“The… the creature is triggering seismic sensors across the coast. If it approaches—”

You lifted your trident.

Every ship jolted in panic, weapons clicking.

Arthur held up his hand.

“Stand. Down.”

The Leviathan dove — silently.
Not because you ordered it.

Because you asked the ocean to trust you.

And the ocean listened.

---

When silence finally settled, you turned toward the nearest ship and spoke — not with volume, but with clarity.

“Atlantis is not your enemy.”

Searchlights flickered across your face.

You continued.

“Someone tried to start a war by manipulating the ocean. Manipulating me.”

Arthur stepped slightly closer, not protective — supportive.

“Atlantis will defend itself if attacked,” he said, voice calm as the tide, “but we will not strike first.”

A long pause.

The captain lowered her weapon.

“We… don’t want war, either.”

Relief washed through you like incoming tide.

Arthur looked at you, not the ships.

“You did that.”

You shook your head.

“We did.”

---

When you crossed back through the gates of the palace, Atlanteans gathered in a silent wave.

Saints didn’t earn that kind of silence.

Only rulers did.

The Council bowed.

Not to Arthur.

To you.

Councilor Selene spoke first.

“The ocean has chosen its tide-bound. Atlantis acknowledges its queen.”

Queen.

The word settled around you like warm current.

Arthur turned to face you fully, expression open and unwavering.

“I fought a war to protect you.”
His hand cupped your jaw.
“You stopped one to protect everyone else.”

The Leviathan glided behind the palace, massive silhouette visible beyond the stained coral windows. The ocean hummed with quiet approval.

“I don’t want a throne,” you whispered.

Arthur leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours — the same way he had the moment your bond accepted fate.

“You don’t have to want the throne.”

He slid his hand into yours.

“You just have to want me.”

You squeezed back.

“Always.”

The currents around you swirled, gentle and slow — not urgent, not hungry, not demanding.

Home.

You pressed your forehead to his.

Your bond pulsed.

Like the tide returning to shore.

Chapter Text

A year later, you learned that peace doesn’t crash like a wave.

It accumulates like sand.

Grain by grain, moment by moment, until one day you look up and realize—

You’re home.

---

Morning in Atlantis didn’t start with sunlight.

It started with light filtered through water — ribbons of soft turquoise dancing across the ceilings of your chambers as sunlight bent through the ocean above. The palace was carved from coral and polished stone, and the private balcony outside your bed never stopped swaying gently from currents.

The first sound of every morning was water sliding around Arthur as he surfaced from a dive, hair dripping, eyes warm.

“You’re up early,” you teased, drawing the blanket tighter around you as he approached the bed.

Arthur smirked, climbing in beside you with that smug, rumbling voice he only used when no one else was around.

“I brought breakfast.”

You blinked. “You hunted breakfast.”

He held up two perfectly sliced pieces of fruit that did not exist anywhere on the surface.

“It’s called aquamelon. Don’t ask.”

You laughed. The ocean glowed faintly when you did — it always had, but now you noticed it. The Leviathan’s hum deepened somewhere below the palace in response.

Arthur brushed his thumb over your jaw, voice soft.

“You still make the ocean sing.”

Your cheeks warmed. “You act like that’s normal.”

“It is,” he said without hesitation. “For you.”

---

Being tide-bound meant power.

But being Arthur’s partner meant paperwork.

So much paperwork.

Today, the Council discussed surface world trade. You sat beside Arthur on elevated thrones of polished shell and obsidian. He looked bored. You tried not to smile as you slid a stylus into his hand under the table.

Stay awake, you mouthed.

He leaned closer, lips brushing your ear.

“You could make a storm just to end this meeting.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Councilor Selene cleared her throat pointedly.

“Your Majesties,” she said, arching one eyebrow, “if you are done whispering, we still need to finalize the treaty with the UN.”

Arthur straightened lazily.
“Yes. Right. The… treaty. Absolutely. Very important.”

You kicked him under the table.

He caught your ankle with his foot and squeezed lightly, eyes sparkling.

You’re no help.

Correct.

---

Once a week, Arthur insisted you visit the surface. Not for politics.

For you.

For the version of you who grew up hearing whispers in puddles and thinking they meant you were broken.

You sat at a quiet coastal café overlooking the harbor, condensation dripping down your iced drink.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, sunglasses completely unnecessary and very distracting.

Tourists whispered.

“Is that—?”

“He looks like—”

Arthur grinned. “They’re staring.”

“They’re staring at you. You’re wearing sunglasses at night.”

“Well,” he said, “someone has to be dramatic.”

You rested your hand on his across the small table.

“You’re allowed to be just Arthur here.”

He softened — instantly.

“And you’re allowed to just be… you.”

He didn’t say her title.
He didn’t say queen.

He said your name.

The waves rolled in and out, steady, quiet. No war. No council. No Leviathan.

You were two people sharing coffee and stolen time.

Arthur’s thumb brushed your knuckles.

“You know,” he said, “we could stay on land longer if you want. A week. A month.”

“I don’t want to stay,” you whispered.

His shoulders eased — relieved.

“I want to visit.”

He squeezed your hand.

“And return to the ocean.”

“Together,” you said.

“Always.”

---

Sometimes, when Atlantis slept, you swam alone beyond the palace gates. No guards. No protocol.

Only the deep.

Dark water parted around you like velvet.

You didn’t summon the Leviathan.

You never had to.

It surfaced beneath you as gently as a large whale, lifting you toward the moonlight. You sat cross-legged on its massive head, running a hand along skin as old as tectonic plates.

“You knew before I did,” you whispered.

The Leviathan rumbled — not a roar, just acknowledgment.

The water vibrated inside your bones.

Chosen.

You smiled.

“Thank you for listening.”

Its eye — brilliant, ancient — blinked once.

Always.

---

You learned that Atlantis didn’t fall in love with a queen.

It fell in love with how you loved its king.

You sat on the steps of the training arena, cheering as Arthur sparred with young warriors.

You visited schools, where children shyly asked if the ocean really listened.

You helped rewrite treaty language so isolated Atlantean districts had a voice.

You were not the ocean’s weapon.

You were its balance.

---

Arthur lay on his stomach across the bed, half-asleep while you braided strands of sea-glass beads into his hair.

He cracked an eye open.

“You using me as a dress-up mermaid?”

“Yes.”

“...fair.”

He shifted, rolling to face you. The sheets rippled with the water beneath.

“I used to think ruling meant choosing.”
His voice was low, rough.
“Surface or sea. King or man.”

You touched his cheek.

“And now?”

His fingers threaded through yours.

“Now I know I can be both,” he whispered.
“Because I have you.”

You kissed him, slow and deep, salt against salt.

He pulled back, foreheads touching.

“I used to think the ocean was home.”
His voice went soft.
“It isn’t.”

He pressed your hand to his heart.

“You are.”

You exhaled, whole.

“I’m not the ocean,” you murmured.

“No,” he said.
“You’re the tide.”

---

The palace lights dimmed.

Currents slowed.

Arthur fell asleep beside you, arm anchored around your waist, breath against the crook of your neck. Outside your balcony, the sea shimmered under the moon, whispering through the open archway.

Not calling you.

Not testing you.

Just… singing.

Like a lullaby.

Like home.

Like love.

---

END OF STORY
(for now)