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Orin only half expected to find Rajar out here.
The cliffs lay beyond the city’s outer quarters, past the places where people gathered and laughed and drank themselves warm against the coming night. Music drifted on the wind in overlapping strands, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clatter of cups. Electric torches burned bright along the avenues, their light reflected in polished stone and silk banners that snapped sharply in the breeze.
It was his coronation night. And that, of course, came with celebration. People all over the city, from the palace to the most sequestered taverns, were taking the excuse to make merry, laughing raucously and indulging in all manners of Earthly pleasure.
For most of the night, he'd done much the same. He'd shared more than a few hours laid out alongside Narmea, caressing her bosom and partaking in her lips, breaking for drinking and dancing between bouts where his stamina waned.
When required of him, he'd done his duties; ceremonies and speeches and appeasements to the court, but even so, most of his time had been spent celebrating.
Celebrations which Rajar very much should have been attending alongside him…
Orin frowned as he crossed the uneven ground, trying not to trip and give away the fact that he'd already had perhaps a few too many chalices worth of wine.
His friend never missed a celebration entirely, especially not where Orin was involved. He may never have been the most sociable, but he more than certainly could have his pick of women and always enjoyed a stiff drink. If nothing else, he had a tendency to linger at the edges, nursing a cup and watching the crowd with that distant half-smile of his, waiting for Orin to make his way to him.
Especially on a night such as this, he'd expected Rajar to be there…
But for some reason, he wasn't.
Instead, he was here-- sitting at the edge of one of the cliffs, knees drawn up, arms resting loosely against them, his gaze fixed solemnly on the darkening sea below.
Orin squinted against the force of the wind, drawing closer.
“Rajar,” he called. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
Rajar didn’t turn right away. The breeze tugged at his hair, rattling the beads strung amongst it. When he did look back, his expression was somber-- nothing like the smile he wish he'd seen there instead.
“I've been looking for you for an hour, you know,” he said. “Checking all of your usual places. All while I could have been sampling bustard or being washed in the pools.”
Rajar did not respond.
“They opened the good wine,” Orin added, trying for lightness. “Limnio. I thought that might at least tempt you.”
Rajar smiled faintly. “I know.”
“And yet?”
“And yet,” Rajar echoed, then gestured toward the waves. “I needed to come here first.”
Orin followed his line of sight, tracing down jagged ledges to the lapping foam below. The sea stretched wide and dark beneath the rising moon, waves breaking white against the rocks.
It looked no different than it ever had.
“I don’t see anything special,” Orin said.
Rajar’s smile softened. “No. I suppose you wouldn’t.”
Orin rolled his eyes and huffed, dropping down beside him. The stone was still warm from the day’s sun, rough beneath his palms. As he settled, another gust rose to meet him, sharper than before. It carried the scent of the ocean with it-- brine and blackness and something mysterious underneath.
He let his tongue press briefly against his teeth.
It tasted of salt.
He wiped at his mouth with a frown. “Pardon my ignorance, then, Rajar. Pray, tell me what is so important here that you've forced me sober against my will.”
“The ocean.” Rajar replied. “It feels closer somehow.”
Orin glanced at him with raised brow. “Don't tell me you've gone mad.”
Rajar tilted his head, poignantly ignoring Orin's remark. “I had a dream last night,” he said.
Orin stiffened. When they were young, Rajar’s so-called prophetic dreams had kept him up at night; worried half to death about earthquakes and pain and the sun disappearing. None of them had ever come true, of course, which was lucky considering the amount of swords and axes and death they always seemed to contain. But still, it never took away the sincerity with which Rajar spoke of them.
“What about?” He asked.
“In the dream,” he said, “the ocean rose to meet us. There was noise beyond all belief. Screams, mixed with the crashing of waves, the roaring of the Earth… and death. All around us, death.”
Orin swallowed against the small knot of fear that had tangled in his throat. “Cheerful as always, Raj,” he said, shutting his eyes against the thought.
Another wave struck the rocks below, deeper and louder than the last. The sound echoed up through the cliff, vibrating faintly through the stone beneath them.
“I apologize, Orin. I did not wish to bother you with this. Not tonight.”
“So, you'd simply pick a different night to plague me with nightmares?”
Rajar’s lip twitched upwards against his will. “Yes,” he replied. “Someone has to to.”
Orin laughed despite himself, throwing an arm around Rajar’s shoulder.
“Well,” he said, “Whenever these prophecies of yours finally decide to come true, we'll face it together, won't we, old friend?”
He turned toward Rajar and smiled.
But Rajar did not answer him.
His eyes were still cast out on the sea, unmoving as he watched the waves crash on the shore.
“We will, won't we?”
The wind pushed even harder against the crests of the dark swells, sending a curtain of sea spray up to meet them.
The knot re-tightened in his throat.
The sea tasted of salt.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝
The savages did not understand what they had taken.
They said they wanted peace, and he'd believed them. He allowed them into his city, chose to deal with them, to give them a chance to prove themselves.
He was wrong. He was so very wrong.
Rajar’s head had been placed high, impaled upon a sharpened stake driven into the ruined ground upon the mountain. His hair drifted on the wind, beads rattling a death knell that Orin felt to his very core.
How dare they.
This should have been a time for celebration. His beloved daughter, Cora, was naught but two weeks old. Rajar should have been able to spend more time with her. He should have been able to hold her, watch her grow, become old and wrinkled alongside he and Narmea; have wives and children of his own…
Tears lurched unbidden into his eyes, dripping down his cheeks and into his mouth.
Know it or not, the savages had sealed their fate; sealed all of their fates. Even if they could reach the proper placement in the savage's land for the laser to be mounted, now it was likely to be too late. The meteor would destroy them all, and Rajar…
Rajar’s eyes were open; unblinking and unseeing, colorless flesh silhouetted against the darkening sky.
Beneath his feet, the Earth continued to tremble, and the meteor only continued to get closer, slowly beginning to block out the rays of the sun.
A part of him wondered when the ocean would rise to greet him; when the screams would start.
“My Lord, what… what do we do?” A man behind him asked.
What, indeed…
Right now, he needed to be a King; to be the level headed and wise leader that he was meant to be. But how could he be expected to now? His lifelong friend had just been slaughtered-- sacrificed for nothing.
And now, his prophecies were coming true. And the world was falling apart.
He opened his mouth and drew in the air, like it might be the last time he'd ever do so. Something sharp hit his tongue, rolling back over his palate and into his throat.
His tears, like the ocean, tasted of salt.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝
Aquaman wasn't sure if he'd really been looking for anything specific when he swam out from the city and into the abyss beyond. Out here, the dome could no longer protect him, no longer keep the sharks or sweeping tides at bay, but that fact didn't bother him.
He didn't need it; he never had.
What he did need right now was some peace and quiet.
The days since his wedding moved quickly. Too quickly, as a matter of fact. Celebration folded into responsibility without pause, joy braided tight with expectations until it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began.
It wasn't all bad, though. He had Mera, and that was already more than he'd ever expected to have. And how many people could brag to their friends about being the king of the sea?
All of it just happened so fast…
It felt like just yesterday, he was still wandering out in the great blue, Aqualad at his side, keeping an eye out for people in need of their help.
… Speaking of Aqualad, where was that little scamp? Even if Aquaman tended to be busier than he used to be, he could usually still find the boy hanging around somewhere nearby, waiting until he was handed something to do. Either that, or he'd at least notify Aquaman if he was going to be headed off somewhere. But for some reason or another, he'd barely seen him at all in the past few days. It left him feeling not exactly worried, per se-- he knew Aqualad was more than capable of taking care of himself-- but it was strange.
He knew the whole situation at the wedding was a bit… stressful. For all of them, really. Megistus’s attack and his ramblings about prophecies and remolding the Earth had left them all a fair bit rattled. But he figured Aqualad would have been alright by now…
As quickly as he could, he made his way out past the krill farms and into an area where the seabed started to rise up towards the surface, cliffs jutting upwards from the ocean floor. Here, salt rocks littered the hillsides, forming shelves where little life thrived.
Most days, he'd find it unnerving at best, but today, it was perfect.
He'd just been about to seat himself when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
Well, speak of the Tadpole!
Aqualad sat on a pale outcropping, shoulders drawn inwards, gaze unfocused as he stared out into the open sea. He didn't appear distressed, exactly, but certainly not chipper either, and even from a distance, Aquaman could tell that something was wrong.
He called out before he could second-guess himself; quiet be damned.
“Are you alright, Minnow?”
Aqualad's head snapped up, surprise flashing across his face. His expression brightened into an open smile, and he quickly rose to greet him.
“Aquaman! What are you doing all the way out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know,” he said, ruffling Aqualad’s hair.
Aqualad hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “Just… thinking about some things.”
Aquaman raised an eyebrow at Aqualad’s rather obvious dismissiveness. “What about?”
Aqualad glanced away, tracking the slow drift of sediment through the water. Despite their proximity, his demeanor turned distant, letting his body to be moved and shifted by the waves.
“I just…” he started, “I just sort of miss being out here, I guess.”
Aqualad didn't elaborate further, but Arthur had a feeling that he knew what he meant. Things had changed quickly for him, too. When all you knew was survival out in the open ocean, it was probably just as difficult for Aqualad to adapt to the change as it had been for him. Perhaps even more so, considering Aqualad barely had contact with anyone before the two of them met.
Aqualad cut off his thoughts from going any further, studying him thoughtfully in return. “What about you?”
Aquaman exhaled slowly, casting his gaze into the distance as well. “I needed some quiet, I suppose.”
Somehow, he knew that Aqualad knew what he meant too.
Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around Aqualad’s wrist, dragging him closer to the outcropping he'd found earlier.
Aquaman settled down onto the salt rock first, misjudging the edge ever so slightly. The mineral scraped against his palm, just sharp enough to sting, but he didn't pull away. It was nice, in a way. And compared to the luxury of the palace, there was something about it that felt satisfyingly real.
Aqualad joined him more carefully, shifting until he found the smoothest place he could. Pale dust lifted and dissolved into the water with the movement, drifting off into the sea.
“You know, I was thinking, we should go on patrol again soon,” Aquaman said.
Aqualad’s head snapped up to look at him.
“Really?!” He exclaimed. His voice squeaked a little, and he bit down on his lip in mild embarrassment.
“Yes,” Aquaman chuckled. “Just the two of us. Like old times.”
Aqualad looked so excited he could almost pop.
“I’d like that!”
Aquaman nodded. “Me too, Minnow. Me too.”
They stayed there longer than necessary after that, letting the silence stretch on between them. Eventually, they would have to return to the city, to the weight of expectations and routine. They'd have to learn how to content themselves with the new patterns of their lives, figure out how to adapt and carry on. But for a little while longer, they could allow themselves to remain, balanced between what had been and what was yet to come, propped up against a throne of salt.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟 𓆝
No body had been found, and that absence-- as horrifying as it was-- seemed like a mercy.
If there was no body, then that meant there was a chance-- no matter how slim, no matter how unreasonable-- that Garth was still alive.
Arthur lowered his head as he entered the darkened throne room.
The water here was heavy with debris, broken stone drifting slowly through the space where courtiers once gathered, fragments of history tumbling end over end in the current. The hall felt wrong-- too open in some places, and collapsed in others, its careful symmetry broken beyond recognition.
The throne lay in ruins.
What had once towered above the chamber had been shattered into jagged remnants. Columns leaned at precarious angles, littered with cracks, and mosaics once depicting Atlantean triumphs splintered apart, their images distorted beyond meaning.
And Arthur stood amongst it all, motionless.
The torn scrap of black and red rippled faintly between his fingers, stirred by the uneven current.
It felt like a lifetime ago since he was last here. Back then, it felt like he had everything. Like, for once in his life, things were finally coming together instead of tearing themselves apart.
… Now look at him.
He should have been there. Should have been here all along… Should have listened, should have stayed, should have been King when his people needed him the most…
No.
There was no time to think about that right now.
He'd made his choices. His people had not wanted him. The relationships he once had were past the point of strain, stretched thin by absence and loss until they had finally torn. And none of it could be undone, no matter how fiercely his heart demanded otherwise.
Atlantis was gone. Vulko was gone. Koryak was gone.
And Garth…
Arthur’s grip tightened around the fabric.
There was no body.
Without stopping to think, he tore off his glove and drove his fist into the nearest slab of stone. It gave way beneath his onslaught, rock and metal bending and twisting just like the rest of this damned city. The jagged pieces tore into his skin, but no matter how much it hurt, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the familiar hot swell of tears behind his eyelids.
How could he be expected to go on when his world was falling apart? How could anyone be expected to when their lives were rewritten in an instant? When forces beyond their control and understanding toyed with them like playthings; without warning and without mercy?
It was gone. All of it was gone.
There might not have been a body, but what did it matter when everything else had been ripped away from him with such callousness?
The tears came unbidden.
He felt the swell of them, the burn behind his eyes, the tightness in his throat-- but he could not feel them fall.
He lowered his head and drew in the water of his ruined home like it might be the last time he'd ever do so.
There was no hope amongst the rubble and the salt. And here, he could not cry, for his tears were the same as the sea.