With Morality Like a Polynomial

Could You Still Show Me The Way?

TW: Gaslighting, panic attacks, implied/referenced self-harm, vague suicidal ideology, emotionally abusive father-son relationship, claustrophobia

Orin felt sure of the fact that, even if one was to learn every language, every technique of writing, every form of speech, no one could ever truly capture the beauty of Atlantis with words. Maybe not even with memory. It was far too tremendous to be seen or experienced or imagined in any way except physically being there.

There had been a point in time where he couldn't gaze upon Atlantis without almost being visually overstimulated. There was so much colour and detail on every angle from every direction. It had taken time to acclimatise.

Now his son gazed at it all with a look so full of wonder it was intoxicating, and Orin found himself looking on his kingdom with refreshed eyes. He remembered what it was like to be a child, staring at the waves from his father's shoreside home, gazing upon a beauty he felt he understood more than others and wondering exactly what was underneath. When he'd grown up and become a man and been brought to Atlantis as its returning heir he'd been met with suspicion and superstition. Now his son got to grow up in an Atlantis that thrived in spite of its old history.

They'd certainly come far from the age when mere blonde hair had become a sign of misdeed.

Orin watched as his boy, Arthur, frolicked among the coral. They had no designated location set, merely the plan to be home at some point, and Orin was perfectly happy to meander and watch as his child gazed upon on the colours with eyes full of innocence.

He smiled ever so slightly, hovering in the water. A move of the current displaced clothing and he fixed the fabric slung over his shoulder.

He rubbed at the stump where his left arm had once been, feeling a ghost of pain.

Black manta had been awfully quiet in the past few years after the battle he'd attempted to wage. They'd gotten close to breaking the defences of the capitol, and several of the bordering cities were damaged to such a degree that Orin had thought they'd never recover.

But all they needed was time. Time and help.

His scars had not healed over entirely with time and help. He'd managed to regain control of his left side after the magical attacks he'd taken when defending Arthur- after he'd stupidly tried to help some civilians in the middle of battle, having escaped his babysitter to go find his father. Orin still couldn't do the same magic he used to be able to, couldn't wield the same amount of power. But he was still a good king and his people had been nothing but supportive as he lead them forward.

And now they were healed, the colours back and the wonder and the innocence. Arthur shot Orin a grin and called to him the challenge of beating him home. Orin laughed lightly and played along; well aware he had no chance.

People laughed, greeted them with giggles as they watched father and son speed through the streets.

Orin almost managed to swim by the observatory without glancing at the mural.

It was still well-kept, bright, perfectly elaborate. Lines of script and lines of movement that depicted Aquaman's battle with Ocean master.

The one that had brought Kaldur'Ahm to Orin's side.

Orin saw it, and he slowed, breathing deep as he swam by it. he almost felt he should duck his head, mumble an apology, take a minutes silence as he passed. He felt he should pray.

Arthur hesitated, turning and swimming back to him.

"Father?" he asked, eyes filled with innocence, "what's wrong?"