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It had been a fun day over at the pool.

Garth had been invited to watch the Swimming and Diving World Championships being held in New York City, and he’d actually had a pretty good time. The races were ridiculous, of course, but he’d had fun hanging with some of the swimmers and after the last race, when the stands were clearing out, he had agreed to a friendly pick up match race with a couple of the guys.

Ian Thorpe and Mike Phelps had bet dinner they could keep up with him in a 200 meter freestyle. There had been a lot of laughing and the rest of the competitors who were still hanging around had found standing room around the water, placing bets and cheering the three of them on. Somebody even got the official timing clocks going for the lanes they were using. The ESPN and ABC cameramen were still there and turned on the cameras, both under and above water. The race would be broadcast on almost every news and sports program the next day and still no one really believed it—the efficiency and speed of movement, the fluidly in the turns—incredible. Atlanteans tended to keep their swimming lights under a bushel when possible. Showing off was just so, well, tacky, especially against surfacers. It was like—what was that old saying they had? Oh right, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

While Ian and Mike were just making the first of the three turns—in world record time, no less, Garth was touching the wall for the end of the race. The world record—Ian’s world record of 1:44.06 was reduced to 0:17.79. Garth had swum the distance two seconds faster than the world track and field sprinting record for that distance. Of course he’d stayed underwater the whole time, claiming that when they’d said ‘freestyle’ he’d thought he could use any stroke he wanted, but they’d let that go in the spirit of sportsmanship. He was barely winded—after all, they were friends, it was just a fun kind of thing and it wasn’t like he was about to go flat out against them or anything. He knew better than that and it wasn’t like he was out to embarrass them; he was just a whole lot faster than they were. Besides, the Olympic size pool was really too small for him to really stretch his legs, as it were.

“Dude—you going in the Olympics? You’ll toast us!”

“Can’t, the IOC said we’re ineligible for any event in a pool, but if we ever take up field hockey…”

He’d modestly acknowledged the compliments and the congratulations, changed out of the borrowed racing suit and dried off, hungry and ready to go eat.

Later, over Chinese food with a group of a dozen or so, Garth had let slip that some day they should see the Atlanteans who held the records back home; he was all right, but they were really fast.

So now, around twelve-thirty, he was back at the Tower and about to hit the pool to rehydrate for the night when Toni caught him on his way past the monitor room.

“Hey, Garth? There was a call for you from Atlantis about two hours ago. They said it wasn’t urgent; didn’t want you paged or anything, but they wanted you to call back.”

“Did Arthur say what he wanted?”

“Oh, it wasn’t him, it was a woman; she said to tell you to call your mother. I have it here somewhere, she left a number where you could get her.”

“My mother?” The question was tinged with disbelief, annoyance, bemusement and some curiosity.

“Uh-huh. That’s what she said. You forget her birthday or something?”

Garth didn’t answer, just got a strange look on his face and walked through to the other door, disappearing down the stairs to the lower levels. Five minutes later Toni watched him on the monitor diving into the pool and not coming up.

…Maybe if she angled the camera she’d be able to see his butt if he was doing laps or something. God knew he didn’t have any kind of liking for wearing a bathing suit when he was in the water—and with a body like that, well, who could blame him? And what was that thing with his mother?

God, mothers—they were the same everywhere. Was there anyone on the entire planet who didn’t have ‘mother issues’?

 

* * *
 

Garth was idly swimming back and forth near the bottom of the pool. In fact, if he were on land he’d probably be pacing.

His mother had called.

His mother.

Berra.

Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Mother of Shayeris, currently serving as Regent in the King’s absence and refusal to accept the throne. The King; that was him. He was an Imperial Majesty when the mood struck him, which it almost never did.

Whatever.

He hadn’t seen nor heard from his mother since one day almost five years ago. She’d introduced herself when he’d gone to the city looking for some way to fight against his Uncle Slizzath—and who names a kid Slizzath? No wonder he’d turned out the way he had, when you came down to it. She begged him to believe her and tried to explain why she’d been forced to abandon him as a newborn to certain death and he hadn’t bought any of it.

His condemnation to death as an infant was initially blamed on old suspicions; that anyone born with purple eyes was deficient mentally and physically. Add to that his purple-eyed father was generally believed to be violently insane and they simply couldn’t take a chance on him following in the same footsteps, now—could they? Really, it was for the good of the city, honest—nothing personal. In actual fact the superstitious idiots wanting him dead story turned out to be complete garbage and his death sentence was simple politics and a power grab by the corrupt priests and his uncle. Greater good, my ass.

“Garth, you okay?” Roy stood at the edge of the pool and Garth waited for the nasty or snide or simply rude comment sure to follow. It always did where Roy was concerned.

He lazed on his back near the edge, eyeing Roy and wondering what his point was. Maybe he was just bored and looking for an easy target. It wasn’t like they were what anyone could call close and this was about as out of character as you could get. “Fine.”

“Bullshit. What’s going on?”

“…Why do you ask?” There, Roy, the perfect opening, make your comment and leave me alone.

Roy sat down, clearly not going anywhere soon. “Because your mother called and that’s never happened before and now you’re grinding your teeth.”

“I’m not.”

Roy gave him a look which, if it were from anyone else would be compassionate. “C’mon—don’t try to con a con-man. What’s the problem?”

“You said it yourself—my mother called and that’s never happened before.”

“I take it you’d rather not call back. Okay, so don’t. End of story.” Roy just sat there, waiting for Garth’s reaction and seemed disappointed when he didn’t get one. Garth continued to just float on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll bite; why did she call?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Garth, you’re going in circles. You don’t know, so find out. You don’t want to know, let it go. Shit or get off the pot.”

Garth hadn’t heard that particular vulgarity before, but its meaning was clear. “The thing is…” He hesitated.

“The thing is what? What is the thing?”

“The thing is that I would like to speak to her but at the same time I’m don’t—I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re conflicted.” Roy smiled as he said it. “Everyone has ‘mother’ issues, except Grayson, of course. He just has Bat issues. She refuse to let you get a puppy and you’re still pissed about it?”

“She allowed me to be sentenced to death the same day I was born and hasn’t made any effort to contact me since. I half suspect she wants to let me know of her disappointment in her failure to ensure my murder.”

Roy started to laugh but stopped within a couple of seconds when he realized that Garth wasn’t joking. “Yeah, sounds like a good enough reasons to want to avoid her.”

“But I can’t help wondering why she’s trying to contact me now.”

“Maybe she wants to tell you she’s sorry?”

Garth shrugged. “Maybe.” He rolled over and swam to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out, not bothering with a towel, as usual. He started off towards the boat dock down the hall.

“You going to see what she wants? Going back to Atlantis?”

“No.”

Just that, a simple ‘no’ and nothing else but a few minutes later Roy heard the engine of Garth’s small boat start and fade as he left the building canal and headed out to the river and probably out to sea. The intercom sounded, “Roy, is Garth coming back? His mother is on the line again.”

“I don’t know, you want me to try to talk to her?”

“Sure, might as well.” There was a sound of electronic buzz and then Roy heard the connection clear. “Garth just left, may I help you?”

The voice of the woman was strong, accented and sounded stressed. “To whom might I be speaking, please?”

“My name is Roy Harper, I’m a friend of Garth’s.”

“Are you a close friend to my son?”

“Yes, I am, ma’am. Can I help you with anything?”

There was a pause while the person on the other end of the line seemed to consider her options. “Perhaps, if it’s not an imposition, you could inform him that his sister was born yesterday, his half sister.”

Damn. “I’ll let him know when I see him. Do you have anything else you’d like him to know?”

“No. No, thank you. Just see that he gets my message if you’d be so kind.”

“What was that about?”

Roy turned, “Hey, Dick. Weirdest thing—do you ever remember Garth’s mother calling?”

Nightwing gave Roy a look. “You’re kidding, right? That was her?”

“So we’re to think. She wants us to tell him that Garth has a new half sister when he gets back.”

“Where is he?”

“Venting, is my guess.” Roy dismissed the incident and headed towards his own apartment; not his problem.

Nightwing went back up to the Monitor Room and checked the board. Everyone was accounted for except Garth who seemed to have removed his GPS device again. He’d be back when he wanted and not before; it could be hours, days or possibly months if he was really upset. Or… Wing pulled out his personal communicator. “Hi Clark? I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute?”

Sure enough, ten minutes later he had coordinates for Garth’s personal craft; he was at sea, about two hundred miles due east of Montauk Point and headed ESE at close to one hundred and fifty MPH. Wherever he was headed, he was in a hurry to get there. ‘Wing opened the secure radio channel, “Garth? Come in.” Silence. He tried again. “Garth, it’s Dick. C’mon, answer me.” Nothing. “Garth, Goddamn it, answer me and that’s an order.”
This time it worked.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Why did you contact me?”

Dick shook his head; Garth knew damn well why he’d called. “Did you get the message from your mother?”

“Yes, thank you. Was there anything else?”

“Are you coming back to the Tower?” Of course he wasn’t, unless he was going to try to get there by circumnavigating the entire planet.

There was an exasperated pause; Dick could feel the annoyance coming through the transmitter. “Why?”

“Because I thought that you might want to talk about this with someone before you do something hasty.”

Another pause, longer one and then, “You may be right, I’ll be back inside of an hour or so. I assume you’ll keep this between you and me. I’d rather the others aren’t involved in a personal situation.”

Made sense. “Of course.” Garth cut the connection and Dick watched as the blip on the screen reversed course and headed back to Titan Island, a bit slower than it had headed away. He went up to the kitchen to get his long delayed lunch and wait. At least he was willing to talk.

It was almost four hours later, but Garth finally was spotted on the security cameras drifting in the pool, looking like he was either asleep or lost in thought. Dick stood by the edge of the water. “You awake?”

“Yes. What did you want to talk about?”

“C’mon, Garth, don’t bullshit me. What’s going on with you and your mother and this new sister. There’s more to this than just expanding your Christmas card list.”

Garth rolled over and lazily glided over to the edge, pulling himself out and sitting himself down on one of the lounges. “You always did have a quaint way with words.”

“Thank you. And…?”

“I assume that she had this new child to diffuse any more takeover or coup attempts against the throne. Since I’ve refused it, this way there’s another royal bottom to put there in my stead.”

“That’s it?”

“I would think so, yes. She’s hardly impressed anyone with her maternal instincts.”

Dick regarded Garth; he seemed so matter of fact about this. “So what will likely happen?”

Garth gave a very slight shrug, as though he neither knew nor really cared. “I’d think that either at some point my half-sister will be declared the new queen or she’ll be killed. It’s also possible that she may be used as a political pawn and married off to make some advantageous alliance. Or some combination of those options, I guess.”

“What will Arthur’s reaction be?”

Garth gave Dick a hard look. “Why do you care? This is all internal affairs in Atlantis and the City-States, it doesn’t affect anything on the surface.”

Because you’re my friend and you’re obviously upset.” Dick sat at the edge of the pool, his knees drawn up to keep his feet dry.

“You know the surface saying about not being able to pick your family? Some things seemed to be universal. My family, they’re…” He stopped, but the expression on his face made his feelings clear. Evidently they sucked for some reason. “My mother has tried several times to contact me, but I’ve refused to have anything more to do with her. I finally had to ask my staff not to take her calls and return any letters unopened. I don’t want any contact at all. Period.”

Dick and the rest of the original Titans knew the barest bones of Garth’s personal history, how he’d been condemned to death because of the superstitions but had somehow survived, finally being taken in by Arthur but still kind of a non-person in the collective eyes of Atlantis. He’d spent most of his time in Poseidonis like a kid with his nose pressed against the window, looking in at a world he could see but was banned from being part of.

“How long have you known about the whole royalty thing? I mean, that was pretty recent, wasn’t it?”

Garth gave a slight nod, causing some water droplets to fall from his hair onto his face. He ignored them. “It was just a couple of years ago, just after I went for the Mage training with Atlan. That’s when I met Berra; she introduced herself, seemed to think I’d be happy to see her.”

“I take it you weren’t?”

“Would you be?”

“She wanted me to take the throne, to ‘honor my father and the family’ or some such nonsense. That’s what she said, anyway. What she really wanted was for me to lead Shayeris out of the xenophobia it had been caught in for the last few thousand years and join the central council for trade and military protection reasons. It was thought that since I had some connections with the current King—with Arthur, it would be to their advantage.”

Dick hadn’t heard this, he’s just known that Garth had left Atlantis and would never discuss why or what his reasons were. No one pried; he wasn’t one to ever talk about anything personal. “So now she wants to take another try with you?”

“I suppose. It won’t work, though. I’m happy with the life I‘ve made for myself; I’m a founding member of the Titans, I’m important in establishing trade and political agreements between Atlantis and the surface and I’m reasonably content in my personal life—finally.” He pulled himself out of the pool, forgoing a towel and dripping. “Whatever they want, they can get it from someone else.”

“Do you mean that you’re never going back to your home city? Are you never going to want to reclaim what is, by any standards, your birthright?”

“Well—that’s another question. Right now I don’t want to, no, but I don’t what will happen in ten years or twenty. I don’t know what else I’m going to do with my life when I’m too old to do the hero thing or when I tire of diplomacy.”

Roy wandered back in from wherever he’d gone a while ago and sat near Dick on a deck chair. Clearly he’d been eavesdropping. “So what are you going to do, stay here on the surface forever, Gill?”

Garth didn’t like getting into this in his own mind, let alone with others, even close friends. But, “No, I don’t really see myself living on the surface all my life. I’m, whether I want to be or not, Atlantean. That’s a simple fact. I’m a creature of the sea, no less than any fish or whale or coral that lived underwater. It’s part—a large part of who and what I am. But to reclaim a contested throne and all that entailed? To put myself back in the direct line of hatred and prejudice for any nutcase or political enemy to take potshots at—literally, politically and figuratively? To maybe end up with knives in my back like my father had? Why would I do that? Why would anyone want to do that?”

Plus, though he didn’t say it, he hated Atlantis. He hated Atlanteans—well, almost all of them. The ones he liked he could count on one hand.

He thought back to what his life had been like before he’d found something of a home with the Titans.

Lonely. Even after Arthur had taken him in, his life had been lonely.

That was the main thing he remembered about those times. He’d walk or swim into a room and be ignored. He’d try to talk to someone and have them turn away. He’d want to eat a meal with someone only to have them get up and leave when they saw him approach. It was because in their eyes, he was unclean, defective. Less than the others, a sub-human.

Arthur had tried to help him, in his way, but he’d had no idea of how to deal with a child, especially one as needy as he’d been when he was younger. Arthur had neither the time nor the patience to cope. Then he met Mera and had other things on his mind; there was even less time for a foundling.

Tula had changed that for a while, but Tula was dead.

Only the Titans had accepted him unconditionally, had befriended him when no one else would. They were his family. They were the only family he wanted. The hell with the rest.

“Garth?” Dick was looking at him; he’d been quiet too long.

“Sorry. No, I don’t want to go back there.”

“But you’re the king…”

“And my mother’s new daughter is welcome to be queen in my stead. Berra can rule as regent until the new one is of age to take the throne herself. Let her—both of them—deal with it.”

Roy looked more serious than he’s usually given credit for. “But if you’re their king, don’t you have some responsibilities to your country or city or whatever the hell you’re the king of?” He shifted his feet a little, seeming to be unsure about how to phrase whatever he wanted to say. “I mean, you’re their king…”

“Who was sentenced to death by them already; once is more than enough. I also point out that these are the paragons who murdered my father, their previous king.” Garth’s face was set. “If my mother is so intent on one of her offspring being placed on a throne, she’s produced one who might be more willing than I am and more power to them both.”

“But…”

“Enough!” It was the only time either Robin or Speedy had ever heard Garth raise his voice and, giving in to his wishes, they ended the conversation.

* * *

Months went by with Garth staying close to the Titans. He lived in the Tower; he went on any assignments he was qualified to help with. There was little news from any of the underwater cities until a small announcement from the Central Council was noticed buried in a standard news brief.

‘The City of Shayeris is most proud and pleased to announce the passing of the throne to Her Imperial Highness, the Princess Barda, henceforth to be known as Her Imperial Majesty Queen Barda. The Queen Mother, Berra, will rule until Queen Barda reaches her majority.’

Garth saw the announcement, gave no reaction and made no comment.

* * *

One afternoon, about six months later, Garth received a private message from the Sherayan High Council. He took the sealed diplomatic pouch into his private apartment, leaving the messenger waiting, cooling his heels in the pool while he waited for a reply. He didn’t have long to wait.

Garth emerged in less than five minutes. Walked directly over to the pool, said a very few words and dismissed the man with a sealed answer in hand to deliver when he returned to the Council.

“Garth?”

He looked over at Robin, standing, curious, nearby.

“It seems that my half-sister has succumbed to something. She died late last night. They wish me to return to take her place on the throne. I declined.”

“What? She’s dead?”

“She’s murdered.” Garth was completely calm, matter of fact. “You’re not surprised, are you?” Rob was speechless. Garth explained. “She was born to force my hand; this was preordained, I expected it.”

“They had your mother give birth so the infant could be murdered to force you to return? That’s…insane.” He was stunned.

“It’s politics.”

“But…why kill her? Why couldn’t they just let the baby grow up and take the throne? This doesn’t make sense.”

“No one said she was murdered; I was simply informed that ‘she was not a strong infant and failed to thrive, that nothing could be done.’ Leave it, Dick. This doesn’t concern you. It’s me they want.”

Garth was patient, explaining. “They didn’t want her; they want my father’s line on the throne. They want me and won’t stop until I agree.”

“…This isn’t the end of this?”

Garth looked at him as though he was either brain damaged or simply naïve. “Atlantis isn’t the surface, Dick. You need to understand that.”

8/22/08
 

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