( A;N: Did y'all miss me?)
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### A King's Bluff, A Prince's Gamble
The sea roared low and restless around them. Beneath the ocean's mirrored surface, the soldiers of Atlantis stood at attention, their spears glowing with azure light. Above, the naval fleet of the world hovered in uneasy formation, gun turrets aimed yet silent. Between both worlds—water and air—hung a stillness that threatened to shatter at the sound of a single command.
At the center of it all stood two men. One was the Sea King, his golden trident glinting with authority and restraint. The other—a young prince named Lucian—stood upon the deck of a flagship, bathed in sunlight that danced on the sea foam. His posture was deceptively calm, yet every warrior present could feel it: he was coiled, alert, and unwavering.
Behind Lucian stood the Justice League—Batman, Superman, Cyborg, and the rest—united in silent support. Diana, her silver-blue armor catching the light, gazed steadily between the two men. Her blue eyes softened for only a fraction when they landed on Lucian. She did not breathe; none of them did.
Though every muscle in her body ached for battle, Diana held her sword in check. War was no trivial matter to her—never had been—but the man she stood behind, the one who now faced the King of the Sea without flinching, had earned her silent loyalty. His calm voice, earlier words, and his sense of honor echoed faintly within her, cutting through her warrior's instinct to attack. She had heard disrespect before, worse even, but coming from the sea king himself—whom she once had respect for—had stung more deeply than she cared to admit.
Had it not been for the fragile peace hanging in balance, she might've shown this arrogant king exactly what the daughter of Themyscira could do.
The silence stretched unbearably long.
Lucian's steady gaze never wavered. His eyes revealed nothing but calm conviction, and yet—the subtle play of muscles beneath his uniform, the placement of his feet, the faint shift of balance—none of it escaped the trained eyes of those present. The veterans among both armies recognized the truth immediately: the prince was someone who had fought many times before. Relaxed, yes, but only in the way storms rest before breaking.
A fighter's stillness.
A predator's patience.
Aquaman—though no one dared call him by name here—held his gaze as the waves lapped against the hulls below. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the king wondered how things might have gone differently if this young man had not arrived.
He hadn't meant for any of this to go so far.
All he had wanted was leverage: the submarine that carried the plutonium core could have powered a reactor that would change everything for Atlantis. A machine conceived by Atlantean scientists—nuclear energy clean in theory but useless without the missing power source. The land dwellers' device could have secured his people's survival for decades. A weapon they could've used as a deterrent.
This display of aggression, this posturing before the League—it had all been a bluff. A dangerous one. But a king must bluff when his hand holds desperation and duty in equal measure.
If it failed, if war came, it would be his fault alone.
The thought pierced his heart sharper than any trident tip.
Atlantis was not weak—not anymore—but it wasn't invincible either, and he knew it. His people had been growing restless since the Darkseid invasion. The land dwellers' victory had shaken their faith. "If the surface world could defeat gods," the whispers said, "then what stands between us and annihilation?"
Arthur—though no one here needed his name—had been searching for an answer. He had thought that answer would come through strength. Through securing power. Through this risky move.
But looking at Lucian now—a young prince standing steadfast not out of dominance but conviction—he began to question his own motives. Perhaps this man's gamble was greater than his. Perhaps this prince was bluffing too… but bluffing for peace, not pride.
He found that thought disturbingly humbling.
Funny, he mused inwardly. Nine years ago, I was worrying about which bar had the best pint. Now… I command an empire beneath the waves.
The tide broke against the flagship, drawing him out of reverie. Around them, his soldiers watched silently, tridents at the ready. Above, missiles waited for orders. His next few words might ignite both.
Arthur exhaled quietly, the sound carrying across the calm.
"Your logic," he finally said, voice deep as the trenches he ruled, "is one hard to refute, O Prince. I find myself… at a standstill. But your people's invasion of Atlantean waters cannot go unanswered."
The naval officers tensed. The League straightened.
Then he continued, softer, "I will not engage in war. We are not weak—but as king, I will not shed blood needlessly. Tell me, O Prince of the land, what will you offer in exchange for peace?"
Lucian's lips curved faintly—not in mockery, but understanding. He exhaled, the tension unwinding from his shoulders like smoke.
"A treaty," he said simply. "If aggression was born from misunderstanding, then perhaps understanding should be our answer. You feared enemies; I bring allies. I offer my service, whenever Atlantis calls. A word of honor. As for the matter of politics—the League and the world's leaders will help finalize the terms."
Behind him, Batman's gaze flickered toward Superman, and the two exchanged curt nods. Superman spoke next, voice steady as the sky itself. "You have our support, Your Majesty. Let this be the start of something greater than distrust."
Arthur's eyes lingered on them. Then slowly, he lowered his trident. The waters rippled around him in response—the first sign that the tension had broken.
From below, murmurs rose among the Atlanteans. Some were frustrated, others relieved. But none contested their king. They had seen in his eyes the weight of the choice he carried.
Within minutes, the sea calmed again. The naval fleet began to retreat. Superman and Cyborg assisted the navy in recovery operations, while Batman discussed post-treaty logistics with command officers. Diana remained where she was—beside Lucian—watching the horizon.
Lucian stood at the ship's edge. The wind tousled his dark hair as he looked out over the vast blue, his Ki steady, his thoughts quieter than ever before. A month ago, he might have lashed out, let emotion dictate action. But today… he had spoken like a man who understood the burden of leadership.
Behind him, a deep voice rumbled like approaching thunder.
"You are a brave man, Prince of the Land."
Lucian turned as the sea parted briefly and Arthur rose onto the deck, droplets sliding down his armor like molten glass. His tone was sincere, stripped of pride.
"It seems as a king," Arthur continued, "I still have things to learn."
Lucian smiled faintly. "I'm no leader," he replied. "Merely a spokesperson. The others were occupied."
Arthur chuckled lowly. "A modest one, aren't you?"
"Or just honest," Lucian said, shrugging.
A moment passed—long enough for the wind to carry the smell of salt and steel between them. Then Arthur leaned closer slightly, studying him. "You bluffed, didn't you?"
Lucian's smirk told its own story.
Arthur threw back his head and laughed—a full, booming laugh that startled even the seagulls circling above. "I thought my gamble was madness," he said, wiping a hand across his beard. "Turns out I met a man even madder than me."
Lucian only smiled, saying nothing. Sometimes silence answered best.
They stood like that—two men bound by rank, yet connected by truth: that both had risked everything for the sake of something greater than themselves.
Diana approached then, her footsteps light but commanding. Arthur turned to face her, expression softening. For the first time since their conflict began, his voice carried a note of genuine regret.
"I owe you an apology, Diana of Themyscira. For my words earlier. Disregard was unbecoming of me." He paused, eyes glinting. "You have my respect… and my envy. Your partner is quite the bold one—even for the King of the Seas."
Diana's lips quirked. "I'll keep an eye on him," she said, her tone light but layered with something unspoken—a promise, perhaps.
Lucian shook his head with a restrained smile. "An eye? You might need both," he murmured quietly.
Diana arched a brow, pretending she hadn't heard. "Perhaps," she replied, the faintest smirk touching her lips.
Arthur caught the exchange and laughed again. "You two are as dangerous together as war itself."
"Only when necessary," she countered.
The moment settled into an easy calm. The sky opened wider, streaked with gold and the fading hush of danger. Peace, fragile yet real, lay between them.
Arthur stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Lucian heard. "You have earned my respect. Should you ever visit the sea again, you will not be met as a foe."
"And if your people ever walk among ours," Lucian answered, "they will not be met as strangers."
They exchanged a nod—solemn, mutual, final.
When Arthur returned to the depths, the ocean folded after him like silk. The last ripple faded from view, leaving only the reflection of sunlight.
Lucian turned toward the horizon once more. Diana came to stand beside him, arms crossed, her golden lasso glinting faintly in the dying light.
"You handled that better than anyone expected," she said quietly. "Including me."
He chuckled. "So you doubted me."
"I admit your boldness made me assume you to be a fool," she corrected, smiling. "Now I might even be impressed."
Lucian didn't reply immediately. The waves whispered below them, and for a moment, neither spoke. Then softly, almost as if the sea itself were listening, he said, "Being calm doesn't mean being fearless. Only… choosing what deserves your fear."
She tilted her head, observing him in that way only Diana could—like she could see through armor and bravado straight into truth. "Wise words, Prince Charming."
"Don't call me that," he said with a faint grin. "Makes me sound like a storybook fool."
"Oh? And what would you prefer?" she teased gently.
"Lucian is fine."
Diana's lips curved. "Very well, Lucian. But for the record, storybook fools often win the hearts they shouldn't."
He gave her a look that was half amusement, half surrender. "And yours?"
"Hmm maybe," she said, gazing back toward the sea, "Time will tell."
Their laughter mingled with the ocean wind as the sun dipped lower. The battle that never came would be remembered not as a clash, but as the day two worlds almost broke—and two men chose instead to build a bridge of words.
And somewhere beneath the waves, the king who had once sought power smiled softly into the dark, thinking that perhaps, sometimes, the strongest act of war is peace.
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