Archive of Our Own

Keith hadn't been expecting much on his free day. The fact he'd been allowed to walk to the beach alone was a godsend, after months of being stuck in his castle with his good-natured, but overprotective guardians. They still had him carry his sword cane, just in case, but he was just taking a refreshing walk-well, limp-on the royal family's private beach. No one was allowed to trespass. No one could even access it unless that passed through the castle.

Keith had been looking forward to fresh air. Instead, he found a dead body. Or, at least he thought it was dead, but as he got close enough, he could see their chest slowly rise up and down. It was a man, washed up his beach. He was unconscious. And very, VERY naked.

Oh, no.

Trying to keep himself from turning bright red, Keith immediately rolled his sand-caked body over, observing that while the man is alive, he's not exactly in the best shape. His throat, for one, is lined with bright, bloodied gouges. And his arm...well, there's just a bloodied stump where his right arm should be. While Keith has certainly seen worse, it doesn't fill him with hope. If this stranger doesn't get medical attention soon...

The mysterious man lets out a moan as Keith takes off his coat.

"Please hang on," he murmurs quickly to the bloodied intruder as he covers him as gently as he can. "I'm going to get help. Don't move!" With that, he stands and turns, running towards the castle to sound the alarm.

Soon enough, the man is under the care of Keith's doctor, and he is discussing the unexpected guest with both them and Kolivan, leader of the Marmoran Guard.

"Clearly the victim of a shark attack," Dr. Ryner comments as she wraps the man's stump up. "There's extensive damage to his throat. It's unlikely he will ever be able to speak again, if he awakens."

"We found no clothing that was washed up with him," Kolivan folds his hands behind his back. "Nor any identification. That is most unusual, don't you agree?"

"We can't make any assumptions," Keith speaks up. "Not until he wakes up."

"If he wakes up, sire."

"He will." Keith turns to look at the man, now bandaged and in bed. "I'm sure of it."

He's lying. He isn't actually sure of the man will wake up. Still, as he looks at the man as he sleeps, he feels his heart skip a beat. His face is angular, with a long, nasty cut across his face. His body and remaining arm is muscular, and his long, wavy hair is dark, save for a large stripe of white that adorns his forelock. In other words, he is one of the most handsome men Keith has ever laid eyes on, even with all of his scars and injuries.

Who is he? Where in the world did he come from?

"Sire," Kolivan's voice cuts through his thoughts. "That is what I intend to find out." 

Oh. Did he say that out loud? Keith feels himself turn red again, and he forces himself to look at Dr. Ryner.

"May I stay with him? Will it be safe?"

"I don't see why not," the doctor shrugs. "But I shall be tending to him, by your leave."

"Of course, of course."

Keith has a chair brought in so that he might sit by the stranger's side through the night. Once Dr. Ryner has given her patient morphine to help ease his pain, Keith waits until she leaves to get something to drink, before leaning over to grasp the stranger's hand.

As he does, he feels a strong, undeniable wave of familiarity wash over him. It is strange. He has never seen this man before, yet the touch of his hand, the softness of his fingers, evokes in him a sense of déjà rêvé. The cool sky. A distant bell. Then, a gentle voice.

No...no, that cannot be right. He is certain he has never met this man before. In any case, Keith shies away from those dark memories, even as his other hand clenches his cane, his crutch, ever more tightly as he continues to think. Yes, he is certain this man is a stranger-but then why does it feel like these hands have touched Keith before? He doesn't know. It makes no sense-

The stranger's rasping breath brings Keith back to the present. The man's hand is clutching his. Keith's eyes widen at the sight. Could this man somehow comprehend the confusion of his situation, even under the influence of drugs?

He can feel himself redden again as the implications of his situation sink in. If this man survives, he will no doubt be staying with him for some time. This very handsome-looking man. Keith hopes he does pull through, even though he shouldn't. After all, he's going to be married in a month. To a woman, a princess like a proper prince should be, with no one the wiser about his...true preferences. But if this man remains...

Ah, this could be a problem.

The stranger wakes the next day. After that, the rate of his recovery is almost miraculous. Within the week he is walking again, his injuries little more than nasty scars. Just as Dr. Ryner warned, he cannot speak. But when he lights upon Keith, he smiles. There is something beautiful about that smile, and Keith cannot help but feel himself grow warm from the sight every time. And every time, he curses himself for being so amenable to the man's beauty.

After all, his country is small and new, and he is a second-generation royal. His parents-the very first king and queen of Marmora-died the previous year. And he is not yet crowned-that can only happen when he's married. In other words, he must be beyond reproach. He must be seen as morally upstanding. Falling in love with a man would be a disaster, not just for him, but for the state.

Still, at the end of the week, Keith makes a decision. He hobbles over to the stranger's sickbed, and makes a proposition. Would the man wish to be his servant, once the doctor clears him?

Kolivan, naturally, had been against it. There were no official records to indicate who this man could be, he had argued, meaning he is a foreigner of unknown nationality. When questioned, the man apparently couldn't read nor write. He could be an escaped slave, or convict, with unknown crimes to his name. He might even be a spy, sent directly from the Daibazaal to harm the monarchy-after all, Zarkon never forgave Keith's parents for seceding from the empire, and made no secret of his desire to reconquer the territory they had taken from him during the war.

Keith would hear none of it. Besides, he pointed out, if the man was an escaped slave, then he, as the head of a country that had abolished slavery, was beholden to ensure he stay free. If he was a dangerous convict, surely someone with such distinctive features would have already caught the attention of the international papers by this time. And if he were a spy from Zarkon to cause trouble, the stranger failed; only two options were left to him. Taking his own life, or...

...well, working for Keith. Such information about threats to the prince's life would be valuable, if the man was indeed sent by Zarkon. Better to have such a man on your side, he had argued.

Ultimately, Keith won out. And at the offer, the stranger's face lights up. He nods emphatically, bringing his remaining hand to his chest. It's such a happy reaction. Enthusiastic, even. And that smile...oh, boy.

Keith has to quickly excuse himself from the room before his cheeks fully turn into tomatoes from the sight.

As the next week goes by, Keith's interest in the stranger only increases-as do all the indications that his new servant is anything but normal.

The first thing is clothing. The stranger just seemed to know nothing about them at first. In fact, if the stranger had his way, he'd probably walk around naked. Antok, of all people, had to teach the stranger how to dress himself. Once the stranger figured it out, though? He is more handsome than ever. And that has gotten the attention of the court.

"Who is that man, wearing the prince's livery?"

"So rugged...is he a soldier?"

"Like a sculpted Adonis, he's so beautiful..."

"I heard he was rescued from the sea!"

"It's just too bad about his arm..."

All the ladies swoon whenever he is spotted around the castle. He doesn't seem to acknowledge their attentions, which only makes the ardor of everyone who is interested-including Keith, much as he pretends otherwise-soar.

There is also the matter of his hair. At first, the stranger refused to cut it. He seemed scared of the idea. He even chased the royal barber off the first time the poor man tried to approach him. It was only after Keith took him aside to explain that shorter hair is much easier to take care of, on account of his arm, that the stranger acquiesced. The result was, and is, devastating, at least for Keith. The new, shorter style he sports as a result brings out his bright grey eyes. They seem to glisten like pearls as they alight on Keith beneath his significantly smaller white forelock.

Keith barely manages to excuse himself from the room, getting to his private quarters before he falls into bed, hands on his chest. Oh god, he's starting to fancy the stranger from the sea, and he barely even knows him. This is bad, very bad.

It gets worse. 

The night after the stranger gets his haircut, an actual assassin tries to kill him in his bed. One moment, Keith is sleeping. The next, a sound of clicking that awakens him, followed by his loyal dog, Kosmo, barking. There is a man standing over him, gun pointed at his face. Then, suddenly, the assassin is tossed away. The gun goes off, breaking a mirror. It doesn't go off again, as the stranger from the sea plucks it from the hand of Keith's would-be killer. With a single clench of his fist, the gun crumples like paper in the stranger's grip. Keith can only watch in shock.

The assassin tries to run, but he is just as quickly subdued. As the assassin-Prorok, no doubt sent by Zarkon-is dragged off by his guards, Keith can only stare at the crushed gun after the stranger tosses it onto his bed. He doesn't get any more sleep that night. 

It is this same man, capable of bending steel who, the very next day, gently plays with Keith's dog when Keith introduces them to each other. The stranger's forehead touches Kosmo's, and suddenly, the dog's eyes seem to come to life. Never has Keith seen his pet so amenable to another person, drooling all over him and trying to sit in the stranger's lap even though he clearly doesn't fit. It's as if Kosmo had never had a better playmate before this moment.

"I want to honor him," he later confides to his advisors. "Surely there's something I can do for him, since he saved my life. A knighthood, or some land. Anything."

"We can't honor someone without a name!" One of his advisors-Ministress Ezor of the Privy-protested. "Much less someone who washed up on the shore without rhyme or reason!" 

"Then the solution is simple." Keith isn't going to give up on this. "We give him a name."

It's an easy enough task-Keith already has two names in mind for the stranger who cannot speak. When he proposes them, one ultimately wins out by a small margin. Thus, the man from the sea with strange strength is named after a Titan who had been the son of the waters. With that settled, Keith goes to the stranger, clasping his hand with a bow.

"Stranger...I don't know your name. So, for now, will you allow me to call you Atlas?"

The stranger blinks, looks over at Kosmo as the dog barks, then finally smiles. He nods, and Keith can almost ignore the strange familiarity that once more appears in that blinding smile-and the glimmer of sadness that seems to shadow his pearl-like eyes. Maybe it's because he dislikes the name. But--fine. It's all fine. In the end, at least officially-or until the stranger can learn how to write his real name-the matter is settled.

The stranger from the sea is now Sir Atlas, personal bodyguard to Keith.

The wedding is pushed back.

Keith is not surprised. The situation is not good at the moment. Apparently, the woman he's betrothed to had also been targeted by an assassin. The Daibazaal is definitely stepping up on its attempts to destabilize the region to its advantage. The reason is all too obvious: the alliance between Marmora and Altea-the Daibazaal's erstwhile power rival-has been Emperor Zarkon's bugbear since it was first announced upon Keith's birth.

Successfully sealing the alliance through marriage would be devastating-to understate it-to the Daibazaal. For Altea, it would give it a buffer zone between their smaller allies and the empire's encroachment. It also gives them access to the ports in the Dalterion Belt-a region in the Baltic that directly connects to many continental rivers and cities-and an unprecedented economic boon. For Marmora, it would give them and their royal family the legitimacy and national pride they needed as a newly-made country. It might also encourage other disaffected ethnic groups to rebel and break away from the emperor-which would destabilize the tyrant's regime.

In other words, it's just another royal marriage, but one Keith and his people needed. Especially since Keith's parents are dead, which means Keith is the last Marmoran noble of royal bood left. The country needs sons-royal sons that can inherit the throne, which only Keith can provide. Keith shouldn't be happy that it's delayed. He shouldn't be happy that it means he can spend more time with Sir Atlas as he finishes the last of his civics classes, and his bodyguard tries to learn how to read and write French. He shouldn't stare at how Atlas' formidable muscles tense as he scribbles the court language, how his eyes light up as he comprehends it, as he learns faster than any illiterate peasant of his type, until he is tackling German, then English, Russian, Latin, Greek.

"Your Highness?" He is snapped out of it by his tutor, just as Atlas is frowning at Plato's Dialogues. "I know you were paying attention to me and not to your low-born friend, so I am certain that you can repeat to me what I said in regard to Altea's American colonies?"

He can't, of course. His tutor scolds him for a good ten minutes. Once the tongue-lashing is over, he is made to write out the entirety of the Altean constitution for the rest of the afternoon. Sir Atlas, meanwhile, is dismissed from the room. Keith just barely manages.

When he finally emerges from the room, he is met by Atlas and his dog, who trots up to him and nuzzles him. That's when Keith notices that Atlas is holding up a piece of paper.

(Hello, Your Majesty.)

Keith's heart soars at the sight.

It's not the best method of communication-there must be something more he can do. But for now, it can suffice. He can talk to Atlas now. He can talk to Atlas and-

Keith finds himself flushing again. He nods and buries his head into his dog's fur, to hide just how smitten he is.

It takes a great deal of convincing, especially after the assassination, for Kolivan to finally allow Keith out to tour his country, especially with Sir Atlas at his side. But Keith has been cooped up in and around the castle for months since...well, since the accident. And Atlas is...something. Big, strong, and smart. Keith is certain he will be fine with his bodyguard.

Finally, Kolivan relents, and Keith is doing his first solo tour around the country-albeit unofficially. His first real royal progress is reserved for after he weds. Of course, no one is fooled about who he is as he tours his little country by river over the week. ‘Thunderstorm Darkness, Baron of Hansa’ is not exactly a subtle alias. Still, he's mostly treated like a normal citizen-albeit one with lots of money-as he makes the rounds.

He is especially observant of Sir Atlas during the trip-and the more he sees, the more he finds himself pondering. For starters, Sir Atlas seems utterly fascinated by horses. Like, overly so. He likes to pet them and bump his forehead to theirs every time he meets one.

Strangely, all the horses he encounters seem to like him back after he touches them in that fashion, becoming calm and even-tempered in his presence. Indeed, the team they brought to ride with includes a hot-tempered colt named Rød, yet in his bodyguard's vicinity even Rød becomes docile and friendly.

Another thing he finds, as they remain in close quarters over time, is that Altas doesn't seem to eat any fish. Indeed, he simply refuses to partake eating any that has been cooked for their meals, preferring vegetables and seaweed. As for meats such as pork or beef, Keith has to coax him. From the way his face contorts when he tries his first medister, it's clear the bigger man has never had anything of the sort before in his life.

It's very...odd. Maybe Sir Atlas was actually a monk of some kind? He is tempted to ask.

Another thing Keith learns is that, meats aside, his guard seems happy with everything he sees on the trip. He tries to go barefoot in the grass whenever possible, and tries to enter as many houses as he can, looking into every nook and cranny if he’s permitted to do so. He looks at everyone he passes with a smile, and of course everyone can’t help but smile back.

But there are also the other moments. The ones that Keith manages to catch, when Atlas believes he is alone. Whenever they sail, he sees the one-armed stranger staring into the river waters, his pearl-like eyes glittering. There are no glad tidings in his expression.

When they reach the other end of the river, where the North Sea lies and the summer castle of Nalquod, Keith finds his bodyguard staring at the cool sea beyond the balcony. There is a deep melancholy in his eyes as he looks on. Keith can see the longing, the regret...

He wants to go and comfort him. He wants to ask what the matter is, if he misses the seas, what it is that caused him to wash up on his beaches without a voice or arm. Yet he knows if he does, there will be no turning back. It will be more than mere comfort he will give. It will be an admission of his true and ever-growing feeling towards this perfect, strange man who, with each passing day. That he cannot do. He quickly turns to leave, unnoticed-only to immediately reveal his presence by going too fast and tripping over his bad leg.

He lets out a cry from the pain that shoots up his thigh, and he tries to regain his balance. It's too late, however-he's falling head-first onto the hard floor. Seeing the silhouette of his bodyguard's legs running to him is the last thing he sees before he blacks out.

When Keith wakes up, his head is bandaged, and the sun is streaming into his room. The bandage feels slimy and not at all like cloth, and he lets out a moan as he wakes up. He has a headache that is throbbing down to his eyes, but nothing feels broken, at least.

Atlas is sitting next to him, his eyes widening as he wakes. Once he registers it, Keith can’t help but smile.

“Oh, uh. Sorry I scared you.”

Immediately Atlas’ single hand squeezes his, before a paper is pushed into it.

(Are you all right? You lost your balance. I wrapped your head.)

At this, Keith sighs. Well, he knew he'd have to explain this at some point.

“I’m all right. It’s just my leg, it happens sometimes.” The furrow in Atlas’ brow only deepens. “…It’s why I use a cane.”

Atlas’ pearl-like eyes are staring right at him, with an intensity that makes the irises seem like steel.

“I lived, I mean…” He weakly shrugs. “It was a birthday voyage, just a little weekend jaunt around the straits and the peninsula in a clipper. Something to cheer me up after my parents were taken by cholera. But we got caught by a freak cyclone, the likes which no one had seen in their lifetime…and…first we were blown off-course, and for a whole day, we were trapped on the sea.”

Quietly, he points to his right cheek. There is a long scar there, from neck to eye. It is something that no one ever comments on-mainly because no one dares to point out a monarch’s physical defects, lest the world use it as an excuse to mock his imperfection. Not even his official portrait-painted while he was recovering in the past year-has it.

“You know this scar, right here? I’d been trying to secure the rigging, but it snapped, and whipped me in the face, marking me through burns. And the ship just…no matter what we did to save it…the storm never let up-”

The roaring thunder and howling wind. The fire, and the booming explosion that shot shrapnel into his leg like a bullet and tore his boat apart with the ease of tossing toothpicks. The cold, unforgiving waves of the sea as he ended up plunging into the depths. Then, at last, his lungs filling with water as he screamed, with no sound coming out. Keith shuts his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to banish the vivid terror of those dying moments.

“I-I don’t know how I managed to survive when my crew and I had been so separated, but…I was told that I washed ashore in Altea, barely clinging to life. There was a church near the beach, and those that lived there nursed me back to health as best they could. But I…don’t really remember that. I don’t know how I got there at all.”

It’s true, in a sense. All he can recall is the water, so much water, as he dipped in and out of consciousness. After that, sensations that seem more dream than memory. A shadow like death hovering over him, then whispers and words he still can’t comprehend. The color of blue, then pink, then the sound of a church bell. A feather-gentle touch on his forehead, then a woman’s angelic voice speaking as he feels himself lifted up to heaven-

He feels a hand squeezing his once more, and as he comes back to the present, he finds another note being placed in his hands.

(It’s all right if you don’t remember. What matters is that you survived, and I am glad you did.)

Keith blinks, then looks up at Atlas. He’s pretty sure his heart has stopped at the sight that he beholds. The smile the other wears is so soft, so kind, so relieved. So devastating. Any woman would melt at the sight.

And Keith…as for Keith…

No. No, he can’t, no matter how much he wants to. Keith immediately shuts his eyes.

“I-” he stammers. “I think-are you hungry, Sir Atlas? I sure am all of a sudden. Could you please have some food brought here?...”

He can practically feel the smile falter, even with his closed eyes, and he doesn’t open his eyes again until he feels and hears Sir Atlas slip away from him, his footsteps becoming a distant echo.

Once he's certain Sir Atlas is gone, he opens his eyes. Curse his vice, he sighs heavily. He has to be better than that, for the good of his country. After beating himself up, he looks towards the great inlaid mirror across from his bed.

Immediately his hand goes to his bandages-which are not bandages at all, but seaweed, wrapped tightly around his forehead.

“Wh—who—!?”

Once Keith has recovered from his little tumble-which seems to be more quickly than normal, thanks to the seaweed wraps-he is immediately spirited back to the royal palace by Kolivan. Once back, the gates slam shut, and to his horror are then locked.

It's after he is brought to his antechamber that he is given the news that another assassin had been captured trying to sneak into his bedroom, in order to await for his arrival back to the palace. More than that, an army is rumored to be massing on Marmora's border with the Daibazaal. It's clear the Emperor is using the show of force to try and threaten the impending marital alliance. Keith's life is in more danger than ever. So, no more trips of any kind, official or otherwise, until the wedding.

Just like that, he is again confined to the palace grounds. Naturally, Keith can't help but chaff at this order. Kolivan means well, and he knows his safety is the country's safety. But he's already spent a year convalescing in this place, and the idea of not having his freedom a second time is irritating. He's not a child.

At least he has Sir Atlas by his side, his traitorous mind helpfully supplies. With a huff, he flops into a chair in his salon, crossing his arms as he stares at his desk; nearby he can hear the telltale rumble of Kosmo’s snoring on his bed.

That is when he spots a letter on his desk, the envelope framed with gold.

"Oh..." He sees his name on the front, written in fluid cursive, and he immediately knows who it's from. Brandishing his letter opener, he slices the top open, unfolding the letter within with a snap of his wrist. Looking up, he sees Atlas sit in the chair across from him.

"It's from the princess." Sir Atlas' eyebrows go up as Keith flips it over to show him. "A last letter before our wedding-apparently they've rescheduled it to be three months from now." He turns the letter back towards him, eyes scanning the finely-written missive.

From salutation to signature, it contains many of the rote expressions Keith has come to expect from her-how she's excited to marry him, how he looks handsome in his portrait, how it fills her with pride to be his future bride. As if any of it is really true, he thinks. If she's at all like him, she's really dreading the marriage, and she's only writing down what her aides and guardians have ordered her to dictate. He drops the letter down on the table.

"I don't want to marry her, but I have to," he can't help but grouse out loud. "If I don't..."

He sees the stranger lean in, head tilted in concern.

"I bet you think my country's amazing after our trip." Keith brings his head onto his hand, crossing his legs. "But Marmora's nothing compared to Altea. Theirs is an empire so big they say the sun never sets on it."

A soundless huff comes from Atlas at this; Keith can't help but agree with regards to the hubris.

"Seriously, the woman I'm going to marry is named Alexandrine Alforine Adelaide Allurina Augusta Giorgiana Melusina Victoria Louisa. How many names does Altea think someone should need?"

The woman he’s going to marry. It's what he's been told ever since he was young. Not only that, but the princess was the heir to Altea, given her parents had also died when she was young. When the next heirs in line, her childless uncles-the deceased Alfor’s brothers, for it was through the males born of Alfor’s father the succession ran through-died in more recent times, she became empress of the greatest empire on Earth in her own right, albeit with regency until she came of age.

However, Marmora would not be apart of that empire. It would remain independent of Altea, even if Altea would become integral to its survival. The marriage treaty ensured of that, as well as Keith's right to choose his own heir from his own blood relatives without undue interference from Altea. But that's all technical stuff that makes Keith go cross-eyed thinking about it.

When Keith opens his eyes, he finds another paper on his table.

(You don't love her?)

"Love has nothing to do with it. It never did." Keith can't help the bile in his mouth as he responds to his good and kind bodyguard. "A prince doesn't marry for love, but for duty."

A pause.

"Those that do make a love match..." He can almost imagine his own parents, based on the frozen, lifeless portraits that hang through the palace. They had married for love, after all. It is ultimately because of their actions that Keith is in the position he is in, much as he loved them while they lived. "They almost always have a bad end, no matter the good they might do."

There is something in Sir Atlas' posture that seems to sag at this. Maybe it's the shadow that seems to pass over the bodyguard's face that betrays the silent man's own feelings. Before Keith and speak again, he is quietly standing up with a bow, getting ready to turn to leave the salon. That's when Keith spots something...odd.

"One moment, Atlas, before I dismiss you?"

The bodyguard turns back to face Keith, eyes blinking in confusion, and the prince sees it again. He thought he'd been imagining it, but he's certain now he isn't. After another long moment of scrutiny, he nods.

"All right. You may take your leave."

With that, Sir Atlas bows again, an easy, beautiful smile on his face, and leaves Keith to his thoughts. His very troubled thoughts, especially given what he'd just seen. Had he not been looking at the other's face, he might not have realized it. Now, he can't unsee it.

Like magic, as their conversation had ended, Keith had just seen every single hair around his guardian's temples and down his side burns, turn as white as his forelock had been.

Keith doesn't see Sir Atlas the next day, or the day after that. It isn't a question of avoiding him, far from it. Rather, Dr. Ryner has appeared and insisted that Keith's valet present himself to her, for a routine, albeit extensive, checkup.

It's not the only reason, if court gossip can be believed. Apparently, Sir Atlas is getting a brand new arm, one made by the Holts. They are a family of watchmakers that live in the neutral Switzerland, who are also known to dabble in automata of animals and dolls. Ensuring that such a delicate device works will take time, and so Keith is deprived of his bodyguard during the better part of a week.

Thus, he finds it a surprise when Dr. Ryner unexpectedly approaches him on the third day, quiet concern in her smile as she bows to him.

"If you would please, Your Majesty," she beckons. "I believe Atlas is in need of your assistance."

Keith doesn't understand why he is the one who needs to assist his bodyguard, when it's usually meant to be the other way around. Besides, is she not the royal doctor? Is medical assistance not her expertise?

Once she leads him to the room where she has been operating on him, however, he immediately understands the second his eyes alight on the handsome man. He is topless in the bed, his entire scarred torso shining with a thick, wet layer of sweat. His pearly eyes are bloodshot and wide, even bulging. He is staring at the steel device that is his new prosthetic. He shakes violently, as does the arm, from his skin-toned cloth shoulder sheath to the thin articulated metal fingers.

Immediately, instinctively, Keith moves in, kneeling on the bed so that he is on the periphery of his bodyguard's vision.

"Sir Atlas?"

Immediately Atlas' head comes up, and the look Keith is given is both frightened like a kitten, yet terrifying and dark as a storm. There is no recognition, and his pupils are mere pinpricks. For a moment, Keith is certain Atlas will remain senseless of where he is and attack him; he leans back, his voice small.

"Sir Atlas...it's me. Keith. Please."

It is a long, endless moment that passes. Finally, though, Sir Atlas' eyes begin to focus, his shoulders tremble and shiver, and he looks at Keith with recognition. Then, he looks down at the prosthesis, and his mouth opens, his eyes shutting. The sound that manages to come out from his throat is indescribable. He has no voice, but there is still sound which comes out-a vibrating, breath that rasps out like a horrid death rattle. He is alive, but it's clear that seeing this is evoking a great deal of pain.

"...It's ok." Keith grabs his flesh hand. "You...you needn't wear it!"

To Keith's surprise, Sir Atlas merely shakes his head, pulling his hand from his grip. He instead shakily scribbles on a pad of paper on the nightstand, thrusting it towards Keith when he is done. His writing is sloppy and terrified, not at all like his normal fluidity.

(its not moving it doesnt move why)

Keith stares at the note. Well, of course the prosthetic doesn't move-at least not like a real arm would. Even the most advanced limbs available can only give articulation that must be moved manually by the remaining arm.

It makes no sense, except that its got to be a malingering of the arm stump that Atlas is experiencing, and he doesn't know how to soothe his bodyguard on such a thing. All he can do is rub his shoulder, his still-flesh arm, until the other leans into his neck with another inhuman moan.

This feels...good. To comfort this man, to give hum something to make him feel loved- It takes all his willpower not to shove Atlas off and run as he feels his own emotions well up within him. He can't leave his bodyguard in pain, no matter how improper his actions seem. This moment isn't about how he feels, after all. And if anyone tries to pry, he can play it off as merely giving comfort to a man's grief, as any decent person might do.

So he holds Sir Atlas in his arms until dusk, his trepidation slowly dissipating like mist.

In time, Sir Atlas comes to...tolerate the new arm. Like is too strong a word, for who in the world likes not having all their limbs after a lifetime of having all of them intact? Keith does try to help him as much as he can-without looking too invested, of course.

He manages to discreetly send a servant out to a tailor, after asking Dr. Ryner for the measurements of the false arm. Within three days, he's gotten back a black opera glove that covers the whole of the prosthetic, with special cushioning to help it mimic a full hand. He sneaks it into Sir Atlas' room while he is on the pot.

Later that night, he finds an unexpected note on his bed.

(Thank you.)

The prince can't help but smile at the stealth response, roses on his cheeks; thankfully, no one is present to see him in such a state.

The next day, when he sees his bodyguard in the palace halls, he is startled to see his countenance. Not because he's wearing the glove-it looks nice, and the glove's internal cushioning ensures that the right arm looks fuller than it truly is at first sight.

Rather, it's his hair again. The white has spread from the temples and sideburns, and now it sprouts from the hair that cups the bottom of his skull. There's no pretending it's not there, no trick of the light that can explain it. His hair is changing color, and fast.

"Look at Sir Atlas!" He hears whispers as he starts to pass. "He's still quite handsome, despite his hair turning white at such a pace."

"Well," a more malicious tongue wags, just in earshot, "one can only imagine the toll stress takes when looking after an idiot..."

This hits a nerve. Keith can only let out a growl and stomp off, not bothering to hear the giggles, insinuations and recriminations about how he's a boy, how he's an idiot, how he looks ridiculous with his limp, how it would be better if his parents lived and there was no regency. He'd heard it all before. He really shouldn't be insulted about it by now.

Now, however, the gossips are lumping Sir Atlas in with his own assumed incompetence. He wouldn't stand for it. He brusquely motions for his bodyguard to follow him; silently, Sir Atlas obeys.

He walks all the way to his inner chambers before he punched anything-this time, his wall is the victim, as are his knuckles. He staggers back, letting out a whimper from the pain. He again loses his balance, falling backwards. Yet this time, he doesn't hit the floor. A strong arm-and an unreal, soft cushion of one-caught him before he fell to the floor.

Looking up with wide eyes, he saw Sir Atlas' face above him, a mix of worry and concern etched into his strangely-glowing eyes. Before Keith can speak, he is suddenly being lifted up. As if he is light as a feather, his bodyguard picks him up and places him on his bed; then, he brings the cane up and offers it to him, placing it on the bed next to Keith.

The prince feels water sting his eyes. This strange man is too good to him. He doesn't deserve it.

"Am I a burden, Sir Atlas?" It comes out of him, without warning. "The court thinks it, I know they do. They don't think I'll be a good king. If not that, they wish my parents had more children so they can choose someone who isn't me as their sovereign ruler."

Atlas is silent as he slowly stands up. His stare is fixed on Keith as he continues his angry rant.

"Now they say things about you because of me, and I can't say a word about it. So many of the people who are supposed to support me just want me to fail, and even those who support me treat me like a glass doll! I can't stand it! Why can't they just have faith in me!?"

At this, he buries his head in his hands, letting out an angry, wracking sob. It's not fair, even as he knows that he is meant to be beyond reproach. He is meant to be a king. He is meant to be better than a petulant, sobbing wreck.

A strong arm quietly wraps around him at this, and Keith's heart stops. Sir Atlas is strangely warm, and the smell he gives off-a salty scent that isn't like any perfume-is comforting. It reminds Keith of the beach where he found this man, and indeed, of the sea in general. This, despite the fact that so far as he knows, Sir Atlas has not set foot into the ocean since his near-death experience. He inhales the scent in for as long as he is held.

Finally, his bodyguard breaks the embrace, and quietly takes out his paper. Quickly he writes, presenting Keith with his words.

(Let them talk. In the meantime, you'll find a way. Take your time and let your better actions speak for themselves.)

"My better actions..." Keith's shoulders sag. "I wish I knew what those were, without people hounding me all the time."

(You'll find them, with time. You can do it, as long as you remember that patience yields focus. You just need to breathe and see everything for what it is.)

See everything for what it is...Keith doesn't know if he can do it. But if Sir Atlas believes in him, perhaps he might be able to do that. If not for his sake, then maybe for the sake of those of the Marmorans who still think he might be a good king after all.

"You are wise," he finally murmurs. "I wish I knew something of how you manage it."

Atlas' eyes furrow at this, and he writes again.

(I wish I could tell you how, myself. My own life is-)

Several words scribbled out first before he finishes his sentence.

(-complicated.)

Keith sits up at this.

"How so?"

Atlas bites his lip, and he writes nothing in response. Keith swallows; his bodyguard had never offered even a hint as to his past before this moment. Having this bare crumb of an inkling-barely even a hint-only makes him want more. Of course, he's always been curious about the more muscular man, but it's not like he can just openly ask and not somehow lose his virtue as an upstanding prince. His courtiers want him to fail, after all. Showing real interest of this strange man from the sea, who he has already raised up so high, could be disastrous. It could taint his reign and threaten Marmora's stability. More than that, it could also make Atlas a target.

He wonders if Atlas can sense this as he can, and that is why he has not spoken of his origin. On the other hand, they are alone right now. Not even Keith's dear dog is present. More than that, Atlas has already made an admission, vague as it is.

Maybe, just maybe...

"Atlas..." So he tries. He fears he will not get another chance to know his bodyguard's story for a long time, if ever, if he didn't take the topic up. "Every day, ever since I found you, I've wanted to know more about you. I've wanted to know how you've come here...and why."

Atlas looks away at this, and Keith's tone becomes more pressed, and hopefully not more desperate, as he continues.

"Please, I must know. You've saved my life more than once, and been more devoted to me through these few weeks than many could be in a lifetime."

Still silence.

"You know a great deal about me, but I know nothing of you. Why? Are you in danger? Does someone pursue you?" Keith's fists clench. "Who are you really, Sir Atlas?"

Another silent moment. Finally, Sir Atlas relents, his hand slowly writing a response. What he writes makes Keith's heart plunge.

(I fear that you would not believe me if I were to write you the truth of my existence.

Forgive me, your Highness.)

Before Keith has a chance to respond, Atlas has stood up, stiffly bowed, and turned to leave.

"Wait-!"

But his bodyguard, his face shadowed with regret, is out the door before Keith even as a chance to stand up and stop him. By the time he's gotten to the door, Atlas is gone from sight.

Things get awkward for Keith after that. He knows he's somehow pushed too far, and the way Atlas distances himself from him tells him all he needs to know. It's not a physical distance, though; Atlas is always at his side, keeping him safe and alive. It is in emotions that it becomes apparent. It's more than just Atlas hiding something from him about his past. It is as if Sir Atlas is frightened of him, of what might happen if Keith should learn the truth about him, whatever that might be.

Keith knows he can't press the issue, lest he be a hypocrite. After all, isn't he pretending he doesn't have those shameful thoughts towards Atlas? Doesn't he deny that his feelings for Atlas seem to grow daily, even with this new separation between him and his bodyguard? More than that, is this the stress that causes Sir Atlas' hair to steadily go as white as snow, until-mere days before his official marriage by proxy-only a few ebony locks are left?

It all troubles him more and more as time goes by. It troubles him enough to distract him during council meetings. Finally, during a brief discussing a claim that the Daibazaal is trying to send agents through Marmora to incite violence against the royal marriage-Keith's thoughts are interrupted by a slamming door.

He blinks, and he finds he is alone in the room, save for Kolivan. The old man is standing, hands folded behind his back, his stare fixed right on Keith.

The prince, for his part, swallows thickly. Oh dear.

"...I didn't know the meeting finished so early."

"It is not." Kolivan's voice sharpens. "I merely dismissed the ministers for a few moments to speak to you in private, as it was quite clear you weren't listening to a single word being told to you by everyone else."

Keith stiffens at this admonishment. He can practically hear the lecture coming now.

"I suspect I know what is distracting you," Kolivan begins to pace around the table. "Indeed, everyone at court knows, or at least suspects. You've done a poor job hiding your fondness for the mute man from the sea."

Keith cannot help but bristle as he snaps back.

"His name is Atlas."

"So you have called him." Kolivan wheels around to face him again. "But with all due respect, your Highness, you know nothing of him other than what he has chosen to present to you. Don't you understand how dangerous such an influence can be at your court? Have you forgotten that you are going to be a married man and crowned in the next two weeks? More than that, you are the only living member of your noble house. You cannot let your vices mar your public image."

He knows this. He knows all of this. Yet Keith flushes angrily as he glares at his guardian, pouting like the petulant child that Kolivan must assume he is.

"It is only a matter of time before the Daibazaal uses your flaws against you. How many times must we tell you that? In associating with that man, you merely gift them a new weapon to destabilize your rule!"

Yes-his fancy for that good man is a flaw, he's always been aware of this. Keith shuts his eyes. Then, to his surprise, the old general stops, and sighs. He turns towards a window in the council room, from which sunlight floods in, illuminating the bags under his eyes.

"...I do not wish to make you unhappy or unwilling to perform your royal duties. But if I may be so bold, I must draw the line now before it is too late. We-and you-still do not know the true nature of this man, and once you become king, the gaze of the world's interest in him and you shall become ever more impossible to shoulder." A deep breath. "For the sake of the realm, and your future, you must release Sir Atlas from your service." Keith stands up, mouth opening to protest, but the general continues. "I will give you until after your church wedding-again, two weeks-to dismiss him. Otherwise I will do what I must for the good of Marmora. Now..."

With that, Kolivan went to the door, inviting the ministers back into the council room. Keith doesn't pay attention to the rest of the meeting, even after the ultimatum. His heart is beating too fast to even try to look interested-and sinking too fast for him to care. He only just manages to suppress the shudder of dread once the council finally ends. Then, he buries his head in his hands. It's too much.

One way or another, unless a miracle happens, Sir Atlas is going to have to leave him, and he might never see him again.

Well, Keith is married now. At least legally. He had met the princess' proxy throughout the previous week as he was preparing for the proxy wedding-which finally happened the previous night. Sir Coran, for his part, is another uncle of his new wife's-on her mother’s side, it was helpfully pointed out to Keith upon their first meeting-and he is...certainly a character all on his own.

"I hope my kicking last night during the proxy bedding wasn't too rough!" The orange-haired Altean muses as they board the ship. "But it's an old Altean tradition for proxy weddings. After all, how can my dear princess know you're really her legal husband if you don't have bruises on your feet?" The man pulls his mustache. "The moment she sees that when you finally go to bed with her, she'll be well assured!"

Keith responds with a noncommittal hum. He isn't entirely looking forward to being on this ship or the actual wedding night, but now, there's no turning back. The proxy wedding saw to that-it is a fait accompli handed down through time, from an age when the dangers of travelling and the mores of royal life made proxy actions necessary. There is no backing out once the proxy wedding is held; as far as the world is now concerned, Keith is going on this trip as a new husband bringing his wife to her new home.

Well, the Daibazaal doesn’t see it that way, but that's why Keith has the small flotilla of military ships accompanying him on his journey-such was the danger that he wasn't allowed to bring Kosmo, lest the dog become target practice for Zarkon's soldiers. He does have Sir Atlas, despite the looks that Kolivan keeps shooting over to him as they stand on deck.

Sir Atlas, meanwhile, is still keeping his polite but awkward distance from him, unless it's absolutely necessary. Keith swallows as he turns away from his bodyguard.

"We should be landing tonight at Naxzela, your Highness." The ship’s captain bows to him as he is about to enter his cabin. "Provided the weather holds."

"Thank you, Olia."

Naxzela. It is a small island, ten miles wide, and usually uninhabited. At the same time, it is a symbolic place, one that holds great importance to Keith’s people. It isn't just the island which straddles the middle of the agreed-upon border between Altea and Marmora; it is also where Keith's parents first fled when they declared Marmoran independence, and where they first landed when they returned to free the countryside during the Galra War. It is a perfect place for the transfer of the princess, even as Keith spots Daibazaal steamers in the distance.

"Never fear, your Majesty." Coran smiles, waving off the sight. "That nonsense over there is merely a stunt. They know that if they attack you or Allura, Altea will declare war."

"Allura?" Keith blinks. "I thought her regnal name is Alforine?"

"In Altea, yes, in honor of her dear father!" Coran nods. "But we in the family call her Allura, which comes from her unique middle name. You may also call her such in private-you are family now, too!"

Allura. He can call his...wife...Allura. She's otherwise a stranger, but he can do this. He has to.

The sun is far to the west when the ships finally dock at the tiny port. Even at a distance, Keith can see the wooden building that has been erected on center of the island.

By now, the pri-Allura will have changed from her Altean clothes to those reflecting the Marmoran style, per tradition, and all the papers finalizing the marriage, and all that the accompanying treaty entails, will be there for them both to sign. After that, she'd cross over to Marmora-and to him.

Swallowing as he rolled his shoulders in his own formal clothing, he turns away from the sight of the building-only to find Sir Atlas next to him, looking down at him. His face is strangely impassive as the ship docks, even as Keith sees his flesh hand clench into a fist. He seems to know what is happening, seems to be steeling himself for meeting this mysterious figure who has overshadowed so much of Keith's brief relationship with him. Keith can't blame his bodyguard; he is nervous as well.

Then the ship abruptly stops. They are here. It doesn't even feel real, as Keith walks the gangway down onto the wooden dock, which gives way to grass. The wooden building is closer than ever, and Keith can see a cadre of men behind it, all of them wearing Altean military attire. Beyond them is the shape of a fleet. The Altean navy-or at least a small part of it-with their steam ships are the bane of the Baltic and North Seas. The Daibazaal ships are barely visible from where he stands.

He pauses once he is within a few yards of the entryway of the building. His wife is in there, waiting...

For a moment, Keith hesitates. He's suddenly tempted by the idea of grabbing Sir Atlas and running as fast as he can to the nearest ship, taking it as far away from Naxzela as he can. Somewhere, anywhere, that isn't this place, with these people, with this burden. Maybe he'd be shot and killed trying. Maybe Sir Atlas will be executed for corrupting the prince. But that's only if they get caught, right? That's...he can't...

His breath begins to hitch. Then, he feels a firm hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. He looks up to see Atlas. His face betrays nothing, yet there is something dark and quiet in those eyes of his. Keith wonders if Atlas is angry with him, or if he suspects that his time with Keith is near its end. Or did Kolivan tell him already that he must go?

Then, Atlas' eyes soften, and Keith can see the kindness that he'd come to respect, if not love. Because for a prince, of course, it's totally not about love. Especially not with another man.

"Atlas-"

The bodyguard simply nods his head towards the doorway, before letting go.

Well, now he has no excuse. Even Atlas wants him to do this. So he takes one step, then another, until he has finally passed beneath the threshold and inside the building.

There is a table in the center of the room, right where the countries' precise border lays. Standing on the Marmoran side of the velvet tablecloth is his council of ministers, along with Kolivan and a small group of the royal guard. Among them are a gaggle of girls, who, once this meeting is over, will be Allura's attendants when she leaves the building as his queen. On the other side are the Altean delegates, whom Coran has easily slipped among when he wasn't looking, and a group of weeping women, many in religious habit, as they crowd around someone.

Then, a nun spots Keith, letting out a gasp.

"He's here...!"

Immediately, the nuns parted, and that is when Keith sees Princess Allura for the first time. Except, to his shock, he realizes that's not true at all. Suddenly, he is back at the convent in Altea, after the wreck; he is being carried into a small room by a figure in a habit. Though he had been certain that his memory of those days were hazy, if not simply gone, seeing this girl-her sky-blue eyes, her dark brown skin, and her blonde hair so light it can be easily mistaken for white in the wrong light-brings enough back to cause him to gasp at the sight.

"-You?!"

He knows his eyes are wide as saucers, and indeed, her eyes also widen, when they look upon him at last.

"You..." Her voice is just as he remembers it as he drifted in and out of consciousness, firm and feminine. "Why, you're the boy! The one I...found and nursed...!"

"And you...you saved my life."

Its not a question. He remembers her. She is the one. Suddenly, Keith doesn't feel so terrible as he strides forward, ignoring all protocol as he goes to grab her hand. He watches her blush fiercely at the breach, yet she starts to smile.

"That’s right. A year ago, you gave me a second chance," he speaks, straightening his back and speaking as regally as he can as the words come out of him, unbidden and unrehearsed. "Now you're giving all Marmorans the same. I would be honored to have such a life-giver as my queen, and...I hope to make such a great princess as you happy."

Whether or not he can truly love her is another matter. But she saved his life, and he can at least try to make her not regret being his wife. He gives her a smile, one that hopefully reaches his eyes.

"Keith," Allura blushes as Keith leads her to his side of the room. "I hope to give Marmora, its people-and its king-a great future."

At this, everyone in the room breaks into applause. The clapping noise seems to spread to the outside, where the soldiers are, until, after five minutes, an Altean cannon booms in the distance. Keith flushes, grin on his face, as he turns to look towards Sir Atlas. His smile falters, however, when he finds his bodyguard is nowhere in the building, nor is there any sign of him immediately outside the building as he strains to look.

Suddenly, Keith isn't quite as buoyant as before. Especially since, in less than 24 hours, he will be king as well-and Atlas will be summarily banished soon after.

"Your Majesties?" His worry and his dread about Atlas are interrupted by Coran. "I do hate to be the spoiler here, but you both still must sign the treaty! Remember, sign simultaneously, so we might avoid unnecessary diplomatic snarls!"

...Oh. Of course.

Keith nods, shuffling over to the table where the papers wait. Very well-matters of state must always come first, no matter what. Once more, any personal feelings about his bodyguard that he possesses will just have to wait.

After everything has been signed, and amid another round of cannon shot, Keith returns to his ship, Allura's arm crooked under his. He is blushing, not so much out of love, but out of pride. Pride that he is at last making his country great, and he is doing his most important duty successfully. All the sailors and soldiers on his boat, and all of the servants who accompanied him, applaud him as he leads Allura up the gangplank and onto the main deck. Then, they all bow deeply to him and their all-but-in-name queen.

Sir Atlas, however, is not among them.

"Kolivan?" He turns to his advisor, once the clamor dies down. "Have you seen Atlas?"

"The men spotted your bodyguard returning to the ship some time earlier." The answer is blunt, and Keith does his best not to wince. "He seems to have taken ill and has retired to his room for the night."

"He is sick?" Keith swallows. Is he sick because of Keith? Or is it shame, instead? He ought to ask, to explain, and apologize for what is to come. "May I see him?"

"That would be unwise, especially if his illness is catching. Would you want that to waylay you on your wedding day?"

There is an undercurrent of sharpness in Kolivan's voice that brooks no argument. It's clear that if Keith makes an objection, his marriage might be at stake, even at this stage. He would certainly alienate his main security advisor, and at such a delicate moment...

If his shoulders sag, no one comments on it, not even Kolivan.

"Now, your Majesty," Kolivan turned and motioned to the female courtiers. "I believe you haven't introduced your queen to her new household yet? Perhaps you might also show her to her rooms before we commence the party."

"I-" Well, he can do that. Then, when he gets the chance later, he can check up on Sir Atlas. "Why, of course, I can do that. This way, Allura..."

Keith doesn't stagger into his chambers, full of cheer and drink, until 4 am.

Everyone had made Allura so welcome, even as they passed by an entire flotilla of menacing Daibazaal battleships. Some shot their cannons, albeit away from their ships, but their displeasure and presence did nothing to dent the overall mood of those on board. Keith himself had been so swept up by the festivities that his worry for Sir Atlas was, for a time, forgotten.

Now, though, as he sinks into his bed, he lets out a sigh. The amount of time he has left to try and figure out a way to prevent Altas' exile is becoming razor-thin. His official marriage ceremony and crowning will be at the royal chapel, at sunrise the earliest and noon at the latest, after they dock in Marmora. Then will be another party at the palace, and after that the ritual bedding, and in the morning the royal progress of the country will begin.

All these things will be completely in public. He will not be truly alone in any fashion the moment he sets foot in his homeland. Even in the evening, his prospective taking of Allura's virginity will be watched by a dozen people at least for a good part of the night, and Allura will likely expect him to stay with her after that. Trying to get to Atlas in private could be close to impossible.

He walks over to the windows of his room, staring out at the dark blue sky beyond. Soon the colors would change with the onset of dawn's twilight, with all its color of blue, and cyan, and purple, and orange and yellow and flashes of white like magnesium-

Wait. Flashing?

Keith's eyes widen as his windows are suddenly filled with bright light, in multiple colors and in rapid concession. It reminds him of a volley of explosions, like the fire and lightning that overtook him in the shipwreck; for a moment he freezes, unable to move or think.

Finally, letting out a cry, he throws his hands over his eyes. He needs to get help. He needs to find Kolivan, or Atlas...Atlas, why didn't he say something to him before-

The colors have brightened by the time he grabs his cane and stumbles up into the open air. Those hues that flashed through his windows are encompassed in a strange aurora that emanate, but from the sky, but from the waves on the sea. All around him, deckhands and revelers have collapsed into a deep stupor; even Kolivan is still against the ballast, shoulders slumped and head down.

"Kolivan-!?" No amount of shaking seems to wake his councilor up, or anyone else for that matter. "What...am I dreaming? Am I dying!? Was there something in my drink!? What is happening!?"

He tries pinching himself, then slapping himself. Nothing works to wake him up. It is only after he tries to stomp on his own foot that he hears the sound emanating from the waves below. It is a hum like the noise of buzzing bees; listening to it closely makes Keith's head swim. Suddenly he is tired, weak, and almost drops down asleep on the deck then and there.

He would have done so, too, had he not heard Allura's shout.

"Cover your ears! Now!"

Keith does so, and immediately the headache and strange desire to sleep lifts. Quickly he turns to face Allura. His future queen looks shocked at the scene before her, if not terrified.

"Allura-" As he tries to speak, Allura throws a necklace with a rune-etched jewel over his head. She motions him to uncover his ears. "What is happening? Do you know?"

"I do."

Her ears are uncovered, and her blue eyes take on a strange pink glow in the light from the sea. Likewise, her hair seems to halo whiter than ever. It gives her an unearthly quality that he hasn't seen before. Underneath her gaze, Keith cannot help but obey her.

"Look, over there." She points towards the stern-then grabs his shoulder when he tries to move forward. "No! Observe, but don't venture closer. It's a bad idea."

"But..."

"The wave-rune I just gave you will keep you awake and safe from spells, but it won't protect you if you interfere with a mermaid's concert!"

"A..." Keith's brain imploded. "I'm sorry, what?"

Allura's lips pursed at this, her brows furrowing. For a moment, all is silent.

That is when the necklace begins to glow with the coolness of a midsummer's wave, and he hears a voice screaming. It is unlike a human voice, warbling and distorted; instead of ringing through the air, it sears through the mind. It is full of agony, of mourning, of rage.

"((-price! We paid sevenfold!))"

The voice is joined by others until it is a cacophony of want and demand. As the voices shout, Keith can see the glowing silhouette of someone leaning over the stern rail. Were they talking to someone on the ship? If so, who...?

"((Yes! All of us!))" The psychic cries continue. "((It was with our locks sheared and our blood sealed that this blade was created by the Abyssal Witch!))"

Beside him, Keith can hear Allura gasp at the name. It means nothing to him, meanwhile. He's obviously not up on…mermaid politics?

Oh god, mermaids are real. This is really happening.

"((Brother! All you need do is stab him and the one he loves in the heart!))" The cries becoming pleading, hopeful. "((Let seven drops from each fall on those human legs...then...!))"

The cries became more insistent, and suddenly Keith feels a twinge of dread at the words.

"((Come back to us, brother!))" Splashing in the water punctuates the words of the beasts that speak. "((The sun need never touch you again under the sea, and so you can avoid the witch's curse on you, she promised us!))"

"((We need you back, Champion! The war...our people...brother, surely we stand a chance if you come back!))"

"((Champion! Please! The prophecy can still be fulfilled!))"

"((Be our leader again, Champion! Don't abandon us!))"

"((You don't have to die in the morning, Champion...take the blade! Hurry!))"

At this, a bright purple light suddenly bursts from the sea, and the figure at the stern thrusts a hand out in order to catch it. Instantly, the voices in Keith's mind go silent, and he finds himself taking a reflexive step back as the colors in the sea turn purple and red, reflecting up into the sky to plunge the ship into a bloody light. He needs a sword, a weapon, anything. Someone is going to die on this ship if he-

His resolve dies before it even blossoms, as the person at the rail turns with the light in his hand. The shape of the light changes until it is a long knife with a long, wavy blade. On its hilt is a glowing purple rune, and as for the man who wields it...

Keith immediately steps in front of Allura, as it might protect her from the figure who now quietly walks towards them. Yet he knows its futile. He doesn't see a weapon he can grab from those who sleep. Even Kolivan seems to lack his customary sword and gun as he snores away.

More than that, Keith can't help but falter when he sees his assailant's eyes. In the light of the blade's rune, his grey irises take on a bright ring of violet where the pupils might be; it transforms his kind face, highlighting the shadows that now line his jaw. He no longer holds anything but stoic determination in his expression as he stalks forward, and Keith can only stammer out his name as he throws his hand out.

"A-Atlas..."

It's all he can say to defend himself. He tries to shove Allura away, but she stands firm.

"Please." This time, it's Allura who speaks. "I don't know who you are, or why you would hate us so to bargain with the mer, but you don't want to do this-"

Atlas only raises the blade upward, the point seemingly aimed at Keith's heart.

"NO-"

He plunges down-and Keith closes his eyes, not wanting to see the end. Maybe he's a coward for it, but he doesn't want to see Atlas betray him. More than that, he can't blame the bodyguard for it. He never told Atlas that he loved him.

He brought this on himself.

Yet when he opens his eyes, he finds Atlas plunging the knife, not into Keith's heart, but into his own belly.

"NO-!!"

With shocking deftness, Atlas then rips the weapon out of him, dark blood gushing from his gaping wound and covering the blade as he falls. Behind him, Allura cannot suppress the gasp that escapes her mouth.

All around them, the psychic voices immediately screech with shock and indignity, and the colors on the waves brighten to white.

"((WHY? WHY!?))" they all cry. "((CHAMPION! CHAMPION!!))"

The waves begin to violently rock the ship, threatening to tear it apart and plunge the remnants into their open mouths.

“((THEY’RE JUST HUMAN! JUST HUMAN, AAAH…))”

Before that can happen, however, Keith finds himself grabbing the knife with shaking hands from his collapsing friend, then running to the rail, waving it towards the frothing creatures.

"Leave us alone!" He cries as the waves splash in his face. "Leave him alone!"

He throws the blade as far as he can from the ship. The razor-lined mouths in the ocean howl in seething resentment and rage; for a moment, Keith is reminded again of the storms that caused his shipwreck. He shudders and closes his eyes, trying to drown out the horrible noise.

Had his accident been a result of a similar displeasure? Had someone broken a pact with these bizarre sea-dwellers beforehand, resulting in his near-death experience? Worse-could someone have exhorted them to try and kill him? He doesn't know. He might never know.

In the distance, he can see the light of the blade land in the water with a plop. There is a great flash of red, a roar of thunder and a peal of lightning bright as day-- And then there is unnerving silence. The light on the waves dissipates, plunging the ship into unsettling darkness; the teeth and screams also seem to dissolve into the sea foam that splashes against the ship. Even the wind seems to disappear from the mast, leaving little more than unending calm in its wake.

With a shaky breath, Keith forces himself to step away from the railing. Turning back to Atlas, he finds him on his knees, cupping his bleeding injury. Allura is kneeling next to him, trying to tend to his wound. Then Keith sees that Atlas' hair has gone fully white.

"I..." Is that his doing, as well? Is Atlas' hair connected to whatever curse compelled the monsters of the sea to bray for his blood? "Oh god, Atlas-"

The bodyguard's breath is heavy, and when he looks up at Keith, his eyes are glazed.

"Forgive me!"

Keith falls to his knees, crawling over to the one he truly loves. He doesn't care, at least right now, that he's about to burst into tears in front of both him and the royal wife he's supposed to passionately care about for the sake of his country.

"Please...!"

He tries to hover, to find a way to staunch the blood, but Allura bats his hands away.

"Don't bother."

"Allura...!"

"There's nothing you can do, Keith." Her voice is firm. "This wound is fatal, to a human."

"...No. You're wrong."

Unsurprisingly, Keith can only deny what is right in front of him. Because of course it is a fatal wound. It's what he deserves, after all the things Atlas has done for him, only for Keith to spit in his face. Yet even then, Atlas would kill himself before harming Keith-

"...I'm really not. However, you aren't really human." Keith is brought back from his existential grief by Allura once more, who stares at Atlas with steely eyes. "At least you were not born as one, so your vital organs are not where you pierced yourself. And your blood...I can see the blues and greens in it, even if Keith can’t. No human bleeds such a color. Would you dare to deny that?"

Atlas' head pops up, and his glazed eyes widen, at this sudden accusation, before narrowing in thought. He stares back at Allura, as if to scrutinize her, before slowly, finally, his shoulders sag. Then, to Keith's shock, he shakes his head.

He doesn't deny it.

"I...what?"

Keith's mind can't comprehend it. Not human. Atlas not human. But he looks human. Arms, legs, a paling face that turns and stares at Keith with a strange fear that seems to foreign to that face, yet so familiar at the same time.

"But...you...he...!"

A bloody hand weakly clasps onto Keith's hand. The prince swallows at this contact, staring back at the bodyguard, trying to search the man's face for an answer, an explanation. Something. Anything to help Keith understand Allura's recrimination. Then, Atlas feebly beckons him to come closer.

Keith does. Yet the closer he gets, the more fervent the gestures seem to be, and the hotter Keith feels his cheeks becomes. Soon he is close enough to feel Atlas' breath on his nose, to see the crinkles in the other's mouth. Then, Atlas leans forward, closing his eyes-

-and his clammy forehead gently touches Keith's. Keith's eyes widen at the contact, but that shock is nothing compared to the jolt that runs through his body. The sudden surge of energy that shocks through his mind is overwhelming, and it threatens to implode his brain.

The electric sensation, however, passes in in an instant, and Keith finds himself falling flat on his behind, grabbing his still-tingling forehead with a yelp.

"(...eit...Keith...)"

Keith shakes his head, ears buzzing. Who is talking to him when he has such a headache?

"(Keith!)"

A hand once more comes onto his shoulder; yet again Keith looks up from his confused and addled state to find Atlas staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. How he manages to find the strength to comfort Keith when he's the one injured, Keith doesn't know.

"I..." Keith speaks, dazed. "Allura? Who spoke, just now?"

"(I did.)"

That is not Allura's voice. It is male, with a warm, deep, kind, resonant timbre. At the same time, there is no other male awake but Atlas, whose brow furrows with each passing second as he looks at Keith. Finally, Atlas lets out a sigh. Simultaneously, the voice rumbles with a note of complaint, not out loud, but in Keith's mind, much as the voices of the sea creatures had.

"(Does it not work on humans? Yet, humans came about by the will of the sea as well...and you heard the others…)"

Keith nearly screams.

Nearly, because the voice is of course in his brain. Yet he doesn't, because suddenly he realizes.

"A...tlas?!"

When his bodyguard had approached animals, he had touched his forehead to theirs. In this way, he had inexplicably befriended even the most skittish of creatures. Had it been because of this that he is hearing now? Is this Atlas' voice? The ghost of a smile that forms on Atlas' face seems to confirm it.

"You...could speak this whole time!?"

It is too much to bear. Keith wants to punch him. How dare he lie about himself--

"(Only like this.)" The voice becomes solemn as Atlas shakes his head. "(Only to those who I decide to mark for hearing my inner voice. That is how weak I am, now.)"

"Weak." Keith scoffs. "This from the man who can snap an assassin's gun in half."

"(It is true. My voice was different, before, when I still had the glimmer.)" Atlas closes his eyes as the voice in Keith's mind speaks again. "(I had what all my people had-I could speak the language of all things, and the magic of the sea's bounty lay in my throat.)"

Allura, meanwhile, frowns as she continues to treat Atlas. She rips a piece of her nightgown sleeve off and wraps it around his torso.

"(But...I don't anymore. I gave it up.)"

Atlas looks over to the east, his air almost wistful as the wind blows through his bangs. He looks strangely beautiful like this, as even in the darkness those pearl eyes seem to shimmer softly despite the lack of light. Keith clenches his fists and growls.

"So...is this what you said I wouldn't believe? That you're some kind of...what, sea monster?"

Atlas winces, but he nods regardless, shame clouding his expression.

"(That is why. That, and...)"

"And?"

A long silence, before the voice resumes, hesitant.

"(Keith, I...it's...it's complicated, like I said-)"

"Then feel free to uncomplicate it for me, Atlas." Keith grits his teeth. "No time like the present, right? Especially after I just had a bunch of your people screaming for you to kill me and my wife."

"Indeed." Allura chimes in. "Mermaid concerts almost never end well. You at least owe us an explanation why you thought summoning one in the first place was a good idea."

"(That was-)" A quiet sigh. "(They did that without asking me. I never wanted to hurt you.)"

There is an unsaid caveat that hangs, even in the strange new bond they now share. The idea that Atlas had hurt him, at some point in time. Given how Atlas refused to tell him the truth before this moment...

But Keith is hardly innocent. He'd also pushed Atlas away, and soon, Atlas will be banished from Marmora thanks to his own stupidity and feelings.

"(...No I won't be.)"

Wait, had he spoken--well, no, he'd thought it, so perhaps Atlas had heard it, somehow.

"...How can you be so sure?" Keith can't help but be bitter as he responds, out loud this time. "You being at court is...I can't...even if I don't banish you, my councilors will send you out because...you distract me. That's what they said."

Atlas' eyes soften at this.

"(You can't banish me, Keith, or hurt me in any way. Not anymore.)" The bodyguard closes his eyes. "(I'll be gone forever, come sunrise.)"

"Forever-"

Keith’s eyes widen at this, but before he can question what Atlas means, he blinks.

And is plunged into a bright blue abyss.

He opens his eyes when he comes to, or tries to, but finds he cannot move. Not to scream, or cry, or even think or breathe. He is in water, which progressively becomes darker with each passing moment until he is in pitch blackness. Two orbs glow and swirl in the darkness like whirlpools.

A hand stretches out, but it is not his, and the thing with the eyes moves to allow the arm to touch it. A small, timid voice rings through the water, clear as crystal.

((What is a soul?))

Keith starts. It is not his voice, but that of a younger Atlas. A much younger Atlas, one from his distant memories of childhood. Memories that Keith is now experiencing.

The multi-colored eyes open again, and the ancient beast in the dark lets out a strange, deep trill. Through the terrible noise, the child can understand the past of his people-and the curse that all Keith calls mer bear.

In ancient times, during the first ages of the world, the children of the sea were blessed with immortal souls by their Allfather and ruler, He who Keith calls Poseidon. There was no dry earth, with no human or land animal to be seen, and there was abundance and contentment among all. From Poseidon came Triton, the trumpeter of the deep golden palaces and heir of the world, and from him were the Tritonides, the seven fairest mermaids who ever lived. Each sea was their domain, and thus the Seven Seas were divided into equally-sized principalities

It is from these seven maidens that all living mer now descend; it is because of these seven maidens that the mer, once the beloved race of the age, lost the gods' favor. Keith finds himself floating through Atlas' memories of the story, spoken to him by the beast in the shadows.

No-Atlas' grandmother, through one of her countless children born through the eons. Atargatis, the Everdeep Terror. She'd once been a legendary beauty, the fourth Tritonid, and a queen. But then her grandfather began to raise rock from the bottom of the sea-land. He asked His people to aid him in creating new creatures that might walk these dry places.

While many obeyed the Allfather, the Tritonides refused to take part, for infusing these new land beasts with life would mean losing part of their own immortal essence, to create what were to be inferior mortal beings, whose existence would also encroach their divinely-appointed domains.

An unforgivable act! These land beasts and their dry rocks would not be tolerated! Six of the sea realms, led by the greatest of Triton’s daughters, thus rose up to fight this fate. The war that followed had been long and bloody and glorious, but ultimately foolish. What are all the world's armies, after all, against a creator-god?

So they failed, and the Allfather's retribution was swift and brutal. No longer would the Tritonides or their mer children be so favored by the gods. No-it would be to the animals made in the dry dirt, who would now reign supreme over the world, forever. It was to them that one-third of the world now went. To them-and to the ones made in the Allfather's image on land, those that came to be called 'human'. Even the bounty of the sea, should they covet it for themselves, would be theirs first and foremost by right, even long after the gods left the earth to its own devices.

The mer, meanwhile, were laid lower than low, and cursed with a fate worse than death. Those of the rebellious six who had not been destroyed outright were turned into hideous monsters of the deep, unable to rise to the surface and live should the light of the sun touch them. And for the rest?

The Sundering of the Blood guaranteed they would never again challenge mighty Poseidon. Before, all mermaids who existed had a soul, which allowed them passage to the afterlife if they were to die-a rarity, for as children and grandchildren of gods, they had been immortal. No more. Now, all mermaids who are born will live for three hundred years at most, before transforming into inglorious, unassuming sea foam on the waves. No soul or afterlife, and no hope of amassing the power to challenge the still-immortal Triton, or the single loyal Tritonid and her children-those few blessed souls who now reside in the ethereal golden sea of the Sege Perilous for their loyalty-much less the Allfather Himself, in battle.

It is terrifying, knowing one will become nothing, and knowing the absolute limit of one’s time. It becomes even more so when one is born into a world that knows nothing but war. For while the remaining descendants of the impure Tritonides cannot battle the gods, they can still-and do-war with each other.

Keith continues to find himself immersed in the memories, watching as Atlas grows up and finds himself immersed in the conflicts which have long plagued the oceans since the Sundering. He was a prince of the Everdeep and a leader of mer, albeit one of thousands of princes, and thus a leader to very few.

He was taught to protect his shoal-and to despise humans. After all, it is because of land beasts that the sea is in such a state. They dare to traverse the waters in giant wood and steel ships and make off with their plunder of flesh with sharp spears and tangling nets. Their technology has made them especially proud and daring in recent times, and their actions bring them closer and closer to wiping out the mer if left unchecked.

Of course, some of the stories he is told about humans are...odd. Yes, some land beasts eat fish-but there are merpeople who regularly commit such a sin. Yes, the humans in particular are notorious for cruelty, and to boot have weapons that maim and tear and bleed. Yes, they have their wars for domination, and a callous disregard for life when they fight one another, with even less for those creatures they consider animals.

Yet there were plenty of ships and humans that he'd observed sailing in peace, only to be subjected to mer-made storms that were far more sadistic than any harpoon was-storms that were meant to draw out the suffering and horror of those on board for as long as possible. After all, the great warlords of the oceans are hardly a better option than humanity is made out to be. They, too, desire domination, resources, power-anything they can get to have an advantage in the increasingly fraught seascape. That's what the conflict between the mer kingdoms and territories had always been about since the Sundering, after all. Even Atlas, a boy who pondered the world he lived in, couldn't avoid the fighting.

And fight he did, discarding his wonder for a spear, and his curiosity with cold logic. He never gave up on defending his tiny piece of the ocean, where he and his small army of a few hundred could at least help a few dozen families eke out a stable, if not entirely comfortable existence. But he always knew that one day, his princeship would end. So it did, when the Heptakkin overwhelmed his shoal and scattered what was left of his people to the currents.

Keith shuts his eyes, yet the memories continue. The warlord who captured him was sadistic, forcing his prisoners of war into slavery. Atlas was no different. He became a gladiator and was forced to fight his own men. It was meant to break him. But he refused to give in. He wouldn't harm his people, wouldn’t finish them off as the Heptakkin wanted, and so he was punished terribly. He could only watch as his men were fed to sharks, before he was then sold into a network of abusive owners as a means of breaking his spirit further.

Then, after untold years, he was at last sold to the gladiator pits of the Sendakar. The Sendakar in Atlas’ mind reminds Keith too much of the Daibazaal-xenophobic and superior, they were the strongest enclave of mer, with the greatest reach and influence beneath the oceans. There was no doubt their king, Sendak, had certain deeper ambitions-not merely to claim dominion of all the seas, but perhaps even challenge the gods. He was also dangerous and savvy enough to integrate technology from the surface in his military arsenal, which gave him control of the former kingdoms of three Tritonides-a great area which included the seas which border Marmora and Altea.

It is said that no gladiator survives in Sendakar arenas, not for long. Yet Atlas survived, and even somehow thrived, despite swimming through a sea of blood, always sparing the worthy and granting swift mercy to the weak. Other gladiators, and even some of the Sendakar's own people, began to look up to him as an idol. A hero.

Champion.

Soon whispers began to reach him in his confinement. Some desired freedom from Sendak's grip. What was the point of conquering the world, when there was nothing but endless war as a prospect? And did the world include the land above sea-and did Sendak intend to fight the humans as well? Might he even succeed in taking Triton and the Allfather?

Many found this prospect thrilling-a chance to regain their honor and birthright from the inferior humans. Others were not so sure that such a war could bring anything but self-destruction-and Atlas was among them. Indeed, when Sendak began to force gladiators into the army in anticipation of a war to conquer the southern and northern ice fields-and the massive, sparsely-populated islands above sea that existed there-he finally fled.

He hid in the shallows far from civilization, even as he found that the rebellion hailed him as the mer who will end the wars, as the prince who might overthrow tyranny and bring a new era of peace to the Sendakar and beyond. They claimed a prophecy claims a “champion of the people” would become the new Triton, king of land and air, by piercing the boundary which separates Sege Perilous from the rest of the world, and usurping the trumpet and trident of the Allfather. And who better to fit that prophecy than the actual Champion himself, a prince who could still command the respect of the different tribes of mer through his clear sense of justice?

Yet Atlas knew he wouldn't. He knew no one would be able to. Even if he tried, he was certain he would become little more than sea foam before such a dream of forced unity was realized. It was all pointless, so pointless-mer fighting mer for scraps on the ocean floor, trying to cling to a nostalgic past that cannot be returned to, and doing nothing but deepening the rifts between the tribes, and spilling even more blood. He was tired of war, of fighting, of the selfish things mer desired and the ballyhooed claims of destiny that always involved slaying all humans or storming Triton's palaces. He wished there were something out there worth living for, other than merely meager survival or easily-lost power.

Then the uprising against Sendak began one day without him, and he broke the surface one night to find a typhoon raging a destructive path for miles on end-a sign of the terrible battle in the water. In the center of the mer-made disaster was a ship, which is being torn apart by lightning and wind and water. He heard people screaming, and his eyes widened when he saw most wore no military or whaling garb that he could discern.

This was not a war ship. It was not even equipped with weapons. There was no reason to involve these humans--

That is when he saw someone swinging on a piece of mast as it snapped off the side of the ship. The figure was thrown so hard that they smashed into the deck of the ship as it finally broke apart from the pressure. Then, the mast followed suit, falling and smashing down as the ship sank; a sickening crack of lightning and bone filled the air.

Immediately Atlas reacted. He dove to find the figure drowning in blood and netting. Without a second thought, he ripped the netting in half with his claws, freeing the dying man from what weighed him down before bringing him to the surface.

The man he rescued was pale, and—and—

"Oh—"

For a moment, Keith forces himself out of the haze. His mind still assaults him with images of what he just experienced-of being the savior, and the one being saved, at the same time. It can't be. It's impossible. Yet that had been his ship, and the man Atlas saved is—

—plunged back into Atlas' memories of keeping his head aloft, swimming miles upon miles until, finally, they hit land that was unaffected by the storm. It is the shore of what he knows now is Altea, where a small settlement seemed to lie up on the cliffs nearby. It was here, and only after he had ascertained that the other will survive once help arrives, that Atlas finally got a look at Keith as he gulped in a breath.

And...oh.

Keith can't believe how beautiful he is in Atlas' memory, even though he's caked in salt and blood. He looks like he stepped out of a Renaissance painting, if not more perfect. Atlas gently wiped his brow and sweeps his bangs away, and then-- then he heard the sound of shouting from above. It was a group of humans coming to the rescue. He could see Allura among them.

Any question Keith may have had about why Atlas didn't stay were immediately answered: he couldn't. As much as he wanted to, it would be dangerous with the wars the Sendakar were dragging everyone into. Who knew if his presence might cause another typhoon, or another disaster, to fall on these humans? Or on him, the man he saved?

Better, then, to be unknown and keep everyone safe, instead of lingering and risking catastrophe. Yet, he couldn't get that man's face out of his mind even as he fled. It was a beautiful face, one filled with kindness and goodness and even innocence. And in thinking of that face, he came to wonder when the mer lost their concept of such innocence, or if they had ever possessed such at all. In the darkness of his safe places and hiding spots, he started to ponder humans more than he'd ever done before in his many years of life. He asked himself why-why the mer, who had been given so much, had opted to tear each other apart for the sake of greed, and whether his people could even be saved from themselves. Of course he knew humans weren't perfect, far from it. Yet the mer lacked something in comparison to humans, for all their claims of being truly superior.

The more he thought on it, the more he questioned. The more he questioned, the more he began to come to a conclusion. The conclusion being that maybe his grandmother had been wrong about humans. Maybe there was something about humans that allowed them to have an immortal soul, no matter how terrible their crimes would seem to one like him. Maybe there was more to humanity than anyone gave them credit for.

Maybe...maybe he might know this thing which makes humans so worthy of a soul. But surely such a thing he was thinking was impossible. A mer couldn't just wake up a human, even though he began to dream of having legs, even though he thought about what life on land might be like for one like him.

Then, one day, he was approached by a shark. It was pale, toothless and withered; the fish around his hiding place swam through its ghostly visage.

Yet it spoke clearly to him, its eyes glowing purple.

"You have a want that cannot be fulfilled. Take heed, child of the Everdeep-the Abyssal Witch has heard your pleas. Follow me, for you have gained the right to entreat her."

He hesitated at the offer. He had heard...stories. The Abyssal Witch was another fallen Tritonid, the eldest of the those cast down, and one who used abominable powers for a myriad of selfish ends. She was a being feared even by the gods due to her command over dark magic, and no one spoke of her out loud. To visit the Abyssal Witch, to elicit her help, was considered blasphemy of the highest order. Anyone even suspected of seeking her out were shunned by the ocean's denizens, if not simply killed outright.

Still, Atlas followed the specter in the end. He was tired, and life under the sea, such as it could be called, was already hellacious. The Witch’s interference in his existence couldn't possibly make it that much worse.

That didn't mean that the way to the Witch wasn't treacherous-it was, for he had to traverse the razor-sharp seaweed, the screaming stargazers, and chilling ice floes which surrounded her home-or that the Witch herself wasn't terrifying to behold when he finally did meet her. Long white tentacle hair yanked him under as he finally plunges into the dark trench. Yellow eyes glowed on thin blue skin, under which he could see the bony skeleton, the thick membranes, and the massive pink brain that made up the majority of the body.

"((Welcome, child.))" The brain pulsated as the Witch's voice purred. "((I know why you come to me. You wonder what lies in your future. Ponder you should, for two paths lay before you. Two paths-and two deaths.))"

Keith can feel Atlas' remembered sensation of horror as he heard this pronouncement.

"((Know that my eyes were blessed by Poseidon to pierce the veil of fate,))" the witch laughed as vapor rose from the floor. "((Are you so shocked that I possess such a thing? I suppose my sister never spoke of my power of prophecy!))"

As she spoke, two orbs appeared in her tentacles, one red and one gold.

"((Within the gold is your future beneath the waves, and within the red is your future above them. Shall I explain each of them before you choose?))"

She began to almost playfully roll the two orbs between her tentacles, almost tauntingly, as she continued.

"((Your future beneath the waves is to rule,))" she crows. "((Not as a mere warlord, or even a king, but as the almighty ruler of all the oceans from Sege Perilous! The power of Poseidon shall be yours, and the mer will owe its resurgence to you! Your name will be spoken of in open glory by all-even humans!))"

A pause, before she turns to the red orb.

"((Your future above the waves shall be brief and painful. You'll only have until your last hair turns white as snow to live. On the morning that happens, you will ignominiously dissolve into sea foam when sunlight touches you.))" Then, she laughed. "((Ahaha, and yet the devil is in the details, isn't it? Both futures have a price! And such things cost dearly to make reality, make no mistake.))"

Of course, he was aware that the Abyssal Witch knew which future he was meant to choose. To be above the waves...he already knew the terrible depths he had gone to, just to keep himself alive beneath the waves. He couldn't even imagine what he would need to do to take the path of the king of all the world. Worse, he knew he was more than capable of fulfilling that bloody path, and the Witch knew that he knew.

But that wasn't what he wanted. It never had been.

"((You'd doom your own people to eternal strife? Surely you know that is what choosing otherwise brings?))"

Yet, the Abyssal Witch had mentioned each path led to death. At this, she cackled.

"((Well-played! Who said it had to be literal death!))"

The more he heard, vague as it was, the firmer he found his decision to be. He wanted the future above the waves, because quite frankly he could not even begin to fathom what staying under the sea-what becoming that king of the world that so many wanted him to be-would mean for himself.

"((Very stupid, I see. So be it. Become human and damn your people as you please, prince! You would not be the first to make such a silly choice.))"

The gold orb was casually smashed to smithereens against a rock, and volcanic vapors hissed from the remains.

"((The terms, then. As you must have suspected-you must become like a human to live on land. It shall not be pleasant for you, either before or after your transformation. After my price is paid, you shall feel as if a great sword is plunging through your body. The bones of your gills will snap and bend, the skin around ripping and stitching itself together, even as your chest grows human lungs and struggles to breathe.))"

The creature’s tongue began to lap excitedly.

"((Your claws will fall out and be replaced by weak fingernails, and from your eyes you shall lose the sight which lets you cut through darkness like it's day. All those pains will be nothing compared to losing your tail, which will rip itself apart…the stumps will shrivel into legs, and your scales will molt into dust. And when you take a step, whether it be your first or last, you will not feel soft grass beneath your feet, but sharp knives!))"

More cackling. Clearly this monster was engorging herself on thoughts of his future misery.

"((I think it goes without saying, my little princeling, that you can never return to the sea, and you will never see anyone you care about in the depths ever again. If you after you dare step foot into the waves of the ocean while you live, you will begin to melt into sea foam!))"

The truth was, there were few, if any, left who he cared about. His grandmother was halfway across the ocean, and had so many descendants that having one less wouldn’t matter. Maybe one or two of his fellow gladiators from the pits if they still lived. But otherwise, he had no one, and nothing, to return to. The rebellion in his name hardly counted, when they knew nothing about him aside from his ability to kill anyways.

"((So it is agreed? Oh, yes...I almost forgot.))"

If Keith had thought that this Abyssal Witch was terrifying before, the memory of her deranged smile as she named her price was far more searing and vivid that he will ever care to admit. It was just as horrifying as the price Atlas paid, on top of everything else he had endured. She demanded the arm that would have held aloft the trident of the Allfather in his other, glorious destiny was to be given to her, for he wouldn't need it now.

  Also to her would go what they called the glimmer, his gift of the sea's bounty, that one thing which all mer were able to retain even when they had lost all else: his voice. The marvel and scope of a mer's true voice cannot be properly conveyed even in memory. It is beyond the most beautiful of song and the most rapturous of music, filled with a magic and power that humans couldn’t hope to approach. Even what Keith had experienced earlier was just a small taste of what such a power was capable of.

But he no longer has it. He gave up his gimmer and all that it entailed freely, along with his arm, for a future as a nobody on the surface. Keith won't see the actual moment of his change, as it were. There was nothing but blackness once the Abyssal Witch and her minions lunged for him with teeth and claws, swarming onto him like ant on food. It was clear that Atlas himself could not bear to remember the actual moment of the infernal transaction, even in comparison to all the other horrors in his life.

Yet there was one final indignity that manages to echo into Keith's mind before he is plunged back into the present. A promise, of a twisted sort.

"((Oh, yes...I should mention you...do have a way to escape your miserable fate as a human-you must gain an immortal soul of your own. And there is only one way to have that happen!))”

It was hope, cruel hope, and even when it is uttered by the witch, Atlas knew it was being dangled in front of him as one final insult. After all, even the prospect of happiness had a price when it came to the Abyssal Witch.

“((Once I am done with you..the first man who comes upon you, once you are washed ashore will be the very same human you saved from death in the battle of the Doggers. Yes-I know of that episode too, and how you have such a little fancy for him! Oh, that fancy will grow, and you will fall very deeply in love with him, and only if he loves you back will you gain that measure of life that the immaterial cloth engenders, so to speak.))" A mocking snicker, as Keith’s own dread increases at the memory. "((Not that he will ever love a soulless wretch like yourself-you'll see! Let it be your fate that on the morning of his wedding, that your hair whitens in full...!))"

Darkness, and water. Then, at last, the beach where Keith found him...

When Keith comes to himself, he finds himself back on the ship, with Atlas and Allura looking back at him. The princess looks confused, while Atlas himself looks tired. Exhausted. Much like he had seemed with the witch.

Keith has so many questions-even more than before. But at the same time, the answer he has when it comes to Atlas makes his heart soar. Atlas...loves him. Truly does love him. Love...and he lets out a cry as realization hits him, for it is because of that love that Keith’s actions will condemn him to death when the sun comes up.

He grabs his hair with both hands, his breath quickening with the horror of his actions; already, the sky is a lighter hue of blue as dawn nears the horizon. Is this why Atlas had fled the ceremony when he saw Allura the previous night? It had to be. It meant his doom was nigh. Yet more than being the one who saved him from death-not Allura, Allura had nursed him back to health, but it had been Atlas who saved Keith, even at his own peril-he is the one Keith truly loves.

And in that moment Keith realizes that he cannot bear life without him.

"Oh, Allura, forgive me..."

The sky was going from blue to purple. Sunrise will not be far behind.

"And Atlas..." He begins to weep. "Dear, dear Atlas! This is all my fault! Why was I so stupid to not just admit how I felt?!"

"Keith-" Allura's voice becomes tense. "What are you saying?"

"I'm the worst prince," The tears continue to flow even as Keith closes his eyes. "I married you, but I do not love you...no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, I'm plagued by a vice, and the one I love, I can never have!"

At this, a bloodied hand came to gently caress Keith's chin and cheek; as he opens his eyes, he sees Atlas leaning in and up, face beautiful as always.

"...Oh my God," Allura's terseness becomes exasperation. "You are a terrible prince, just for admitting that out loud!"

"I know I am." Atlas’ flesh thumb wipes his tears away, and the gloved metal prosthesis comes up to frame the other side of Keith's face. "I don't want to banish you, and I don't want you to become sea foam. I want you to stay by my side, always and forever. Please...Atlas..."

Atlas' cheeks began to turn red at this, as Keith leans in. Of course, Atlas is not his real name. He knows it isn't, from the memories he saw. But if Atlas is going to dissolve when the sun rises, at the very least Keith can acknowledge his true identity, at long last.

"...No." The last word is a whisper, just before their lips meet. "Shiro."

Atl-Shiro's lips are soft, and he smells of hibiscus, rose and the salty undertone of salt. The kiss Keith gives him as he runs his hands through his white hair is deep and deeply desperate. How had Keith denied himself? Why? How foolish of him to only admit it when the other man is on the cusp of death? He's such an idiot. Such a big idiot.

Finally he breaks off the kiss, finding that Shiro is also crying, his tears reflecting sunlight as they trickle down his face.

"(Keith...oh, Keith...)"

The only response that Keith can give is to kiss him a second time. Then, a third time. Then-then someone pulls him away from Shiro.

"Not to be a killjoy," Allura's tone is crisp as she separates the two with a shove. "But everyone else is waking up."

Keith cannot help but flush, giving his new wife a glare.

"It's going to be impossible to explain-"

"Let my people think what they want when they wake.” Keith growls, placing his arm in front of Shiro with a protective thrust. “I don't care what anyone thinks anymore! I'll kiss him as much as I like before he dies today!"

"...A lovely sentiment, but I wasn't talking about you kissing him!"

Allura lets out a long, suffering sigh. He can only imagine the impression he’s leaving on her now, after they;d had such a promising start mere hours before.

"We can discuss your affair later." A long, slender finger points to Shiro's wound. "In the meantime, I am referring to that. Would you care to make up an excuse to conceal the existence of the mer, or shall I?"

The row that ensues upon everyone waking up from the spell of the mermaid's concert goes better for Keith than he thought it would. To be fair, Keith had never seen Kolivan so angry, and he prays he will never see that tranquil rage of his ever again. He threatened to quit the royal service right then and there over Keith's immature and obstinate nature, along with several other ministers, if he didn't quit Atlas immediately. It is only through Allura's diplomacy that his entire cabinet didn't resign right then and there.

Yet even with Allura on Keith's side, he lost his finance and deputy state ministers, and Kolivan has made it clear that he still might eventually resign as well, unless another solution presents itself soon. Keith is determined to figure a better compromise out, after the progress if not after the wedding night.

In the end, Atlas-Shiro-is staying-and, it seems, alive after that kiss at sunrise-and that's what matters. At least covering up the true origin of his wound was much less complicated than defending Shiro's honor-an accident with a knife while trying to cut bread for a midnight snack, with a conveniently bloodied galley knife hastily grabbed and dipped by Allura in the scant time they had to think up a story, is diplomatically accepted as the truth on all sides. True, everyone still looks at the now-dressed wound with a healthy dose of suspicion and skepticism, but none of the three budge when questioned, and in the end the matter is dropped.

Eventually, once things calm down, Allura pulls Shiro into her room to speak to him-whatever she tells him, it makes his eyes widen in surprise as he emerges, several moments later. When Keith tries to ask what she told him, she simply shrugs.

"Just know your Atlas is not the first, and-" She points to the necklace she gave to him, which he still wears as they disembark. "I suggest always wearing that whenever you set sail from now on. The mer have long memories, long lives, and short mercy."

Even at this point, Keith can only suspect what that means-and how Allura might know of such things.

The wedding itself is beautiful, but long, with the bishop joining his and Allura's hands together after a long service as they kneel on pillows in front of the altar, both dressed in white. The strains of Te Deum ring through the air as they kiss each other's cheeks to seal their marriage vows. Then, they both kneel once again as the bishop blesses and anoints them with scented oil on their bodies. He then invests them with their respective crown jewels and royal regalia; finally, the bishop places their crowns on them, proclaiming both as King and Queen of Marmora, with Allura receiving the extra accolade and reaffirmation of being Empress of the Altean Empire in her own right.

Now, Keith's position is secure, if not unassailable. Outside, he can hear someone shouting out ‘we have a king!’, and the roar of the crowd that responds. He feels his heart lift as he stands up again, holding the scepter and orb and cross in his hands. Looking over the crowd in the church, he watches as everyone bows to him.

"(Beautiful.)"

His eyes search the pews until he finds the man who murmurs gently into his mind. He stands in the back of the church beyond the nave, in the shadows of the wall as he bows down, his eyes shimmering as he looks up. Even from this distance, their eyes meet for a single moment. Keith can see the smile on the other's face, and the way his pearly eyes brighten at the sight of his ascension. He knows how Shiro sees him, from his memories. The new king can only hope that, one day, he can show Shiro how beautiful he looks to him, as well.

Outside, the roar of the crowd starts to rattle the church windows. The people are demanding to see their king and queen; quietly the bishop places a white mantle lined with purple mink on his and Allura's shoulders.

"Accipe signum gloriae. In nomine Patris, et Filii..." The wizened man makes one final sign of the cross. "...et Spiritus Sancti. Sta et retine."

An unknown voice rings out.

"Long live the king!"

A chorus of voices within the church rise, until the whole of the congregation is shouting, as they prepare to swear fealty to Keith.

Keith takes a deep breath. Next to him, he feels Allura, head high and back straight, the very picture of true royalty, as they turn and proceed towards their thrones. He manages to steal a glance at her; there is a serene smile on her face when she catches him. He's unsure what the future holds for their relationship, especially with the events from the previous night and morning. All he can hope for at that moment is that they may yet still become good friends, if not be fully in love. After all-even now, royals didn't marry for love, but duty.

So he sits, his eyes fixed back on the man he loves, standing quietly in the back. He wonders if Allura, or anyone else, can sense his nervousness.

"(Don't be afraid. You can do this.)"

Then he feels Shiro's voice gently lap in his mind, like waves over the sand. As the moments pass, he feels his shoulders relax, even as the shouts outside increase, and all the nobles and ministers line up to pay homage. Not surprisingly, Shiro is among the first in line, and once he bows and gently kisses Allura's ring, he comes to Keith.

Keith can feel the tension in the air as the nobility look on. It's clear no one is sure what Keith-or the man they call Atlas-will do. Yet Keith isn't afraid. There are no secrets between the three of them anymore; Shiro simply smiles, kisses Keith's ring, and bows once more before moving on.

"(Go, Keith-be great.)" There are murmurs in the crowd as Shiro steps away, smile still evident on his face even as his head is still bowed. "(I'll be waiting.)"

If the courtiers had expected some kind of scandal or reproach in this moment, they will be disappointed. Whatever fear Keith feels dissipates like sea foam; even Allura seems more at ease once the service resumes. Of course-Shiro would never hurt Keith. All else that needs to be said, whatever explanations need be made-that can come later, when the three of them are alone.

That makes Keith's heart light as the day continues-even as he spends hours in the church swamped with people, only to be swamped with people upon exiting the church, unable to get to his castle until long after day ends and night falls, where a celebratory feast waits. Not even the bedding ritual with Allura dampens Keith's spirits, awkward as it is when his ministers stay and watch them christen the bed sheets for the better part of the carnal proceedings that night. But when that is at last over, and Keith and Allura are laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, it is then that Allura finally says something.

"Your merman's waiting for you in the next room, you know. You should probably let him know you survived losing your virginity. I can practically hear him pacing holes in the floor."

A diplomat to the end, Keith thinks as he gives her a kiss on her sweaty brow.

"Thank you, Allura," his voice hitches as he replies. "For understanding. And...I'm so sorry-"

"Oh, don't apologize," Allura quietly lays back down on her back with a huff, waving her hand. "You've already said you're a terrible prince, you don't have to keep justifying yourself to me. But better a merman than a mistress, if my uncles taught me anything."

"I-" Keith lets out a sputter at this, and he quickly excuses himself from the bed, throwing some clothes on as he does so. "Aah-yeah."

"Right then." He can see a jesting smirk forming on Allura's face as he quickly exits the room; she turns to watch him as he leaves. "Like I said, we'll talk about it later. Don't stay up too late, you silly boy."

Keith's face is red as an apple when he enters the next room over. Instantly, Shiro's pacing stops, and once more his eyes meet Keith's. Keith wastes no time.

"You're both too good for me..." He walks over, and Shiro's has his metal arm wrap around him before using his flesh arm as well. "You, and Allura both..."

He looks up into Shiro's ever-prepossessing eyes. The light of the candles reflect off of them, giving his pupils a bright gold halo.

"I'm so glad that I am free to ask this of you now..." He leans up for another kiss. "Now and forever, until the very end of time...stay with me."

Just like before, Shiro's lips are sweet and salty, and his touch is gentle, like Keith is a precious treasure to be savored.

"(Forever and ever...Keith. My love...my savior.)"

"We saved each other." Keith smiles. "And I would save you again in a heartbeat."

"(Yes...as would I, always.)" They begin to kiss again. "(As many times as it takes.)"

They hold each other, caressing one another as they walk over to the balcony, their bodies haloed in the moonlight. Between them there is silence, save for the waves that crash into the beach, the waters of the oceans beyond dark and deep. Yet Keith holds no fear towards the sea or what it might threaten him with, not anymore. He already has its greatest treasure by his side, and he will never let go of it for as long as he lives.

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