King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 20: Dane Whitman

[Third Person POV]

Later in the evening, when the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the skies in hues of amber and violet, Arthur suddenly sprang up from the bed with a sharp intake of breath. His chest rose and fell quickly as his eyes darted around in a frantic search for familiarity.

Nothing he saw brought comfort. The room around him was not his own—it was finely decorated, its stone walls adorned with tapestries depicting knights and strange emblems. Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, and the flickering light of torches placed in wall sconces gave the room a regal glow. It was the kind of chamber that seemed to belong to a medieval noble, not a place Arthur would ever expect to wake up in.

Looking down, his confusion only deepened. His body was swathed in bandages that hugged his torso and arms tightly. Crimson stains had bled faintly through the wrappings, a reminder of his wounds. Even his clothes were unfamiliar; his own garments were gone, replaced with simple, clean fabric that wasn’t his.

“Mera?” Arthur’s voice cracked with urgency as he turned and spotted her lying beside him. She was unconscious, her pale face turned toward him in uneasy rest. Beneath her clothes, faint strips of white bandages peeked through, confirming she too had been tended to.

As if hearing him, Mera’s brows twitched, and her eyelids fluttered. The sound of her name and the shift of movement roused her from her slumber. Slowly, she stirred awake, her emerald eyes blinking in a daze as they settled on Arthur.

“Mmm…” she groaned softly, lifting a hand to her head. Her fiery red hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, tangled from both battle and rest. Pushing herself upright, she glanced around the unfamiliar chamber before speaking in a bewildered tone, “Where… where are we?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out,” Arthur muttered, still taking in their surroundings with an uneasy frown.

Mera exhaled slowly, steadying herself as she leaned back against the carved wooden frame of the bed. “More importantly… what happened?” she asked, her tone sharp with lingering anxiety.

Arthur dragged a hand through his damp hair and replied, “Well… apart from us getting ambushed, I killed the Black Manta. After that, some guy riding a horse with wings came out of nowhere and saved us.”

Mera’s eyes widened at his words, and for a brief moment her exhaustion seemed to vanish. “Wait—you actually managed to kill the Black Manta?” she asked in awe, her voice carrying both shock and admiration. “I never doubted you’d survive your encounter with him, Arthur, but to actually defeat him… to kill him… that’s incredible.”

Arthur tilted his head, clearly lost. “Who exactly was that? And what the hell is a Black Manta?” he asked. Though he had been taught much of Atlantis and its traditions, there were still gaps in his knowledge, and this was one of them.

Mera’s expression grew serious as she explained, “The Black Manta isn’t a single man—it’s a title. An honor bestowed upon the strongest warrior of the seas. They serve as the royal family’s shield, guarding the throne against challengers who are unworthy, and they also act as the King’s blade in the shadows, carrying out the tasks too grim for others. For the past three generations, that title has belonged to the Hyde family. Their bloodline produces warriors that far surpass ordinary Atlanteans, making them uniquely suited to carry on the mantle. It’s long been said that the current heir of the Hyde family had been trained since birth to take up the role.”

Arthur frowned, digesting the weight of her words. “If they’re that powerful… wouldn’t they have tried to take the throne for themselves by now?”

Mera shook her head firmly. “You underestimate the bond of tradition, Arthur. The Hyde family understands better than anyone the sacredness of the royal bloodline. Becoming the Black Manta means swearing an oath—to serve the throne, never to usurp it. They are both feared and respected, a living reminder of loyalty to Atlantis’ crown.” She let out a weary sigh and added, “Honestly, I’m still amazed you were able to defeat him. You don’t really understand what the name means to us—what kind of fear and reverence it inspires. But to see you triumph… it’s nothing short of extraordinary.”

Her words hung in the air, her green eyes shimmering with admiration as they lingered on Arthur. He felt his face warm faintly under her gaze and allowed himself a small, flustered smile. But before he could reply, a sudden knock echoed against the heavy wooden door.

“I’m coming in,” came a calm voice, followed by the creak of hinges as the door swung open.

A young man stepped inside, handsome and refined, with chestnut-brown hair slicked neatly back. He wore a loose shirt tucked into dark trousers, the casual attire doing little to dim the confidence in his bearing. His friendly grin lit the room as he greeted them.

“Ah, good, you’re both awake,” he said warmly. “I heard voices and thought I should check in. Forgive the interruption, but I also thought you might be hungry. I’ve prepared dinner, if you feel up to joining me.”

Arthur and Mera exchanged a quick glance before shrugging in unison. Pushing the blankets off their legs, they carefully rose from the bed, their movements slow but steady, and followed the stranger.

They stepped into a long corridor lined with tapestries and suits of armor.

As they walked, Arthur broke the silence. His sharp blue eyes fixed on the man’s back as he asked, “I assume you were the one on that horse? The one who swooped in and saved us from our… predicament?”

The young man glanced over his shoulder with a nod, the corners of his lips lifting into a faint smirk. “That I am. You can call me Dane. Dane Whitman,” he said formally, before adding with quiet pride, “Though around these parts, I am also known as the Black Knight.”

“Arthur… Arthur Curry. And thank you for your assistance,” Arthur said with a nod, his tone carrying both gratitude and measured caution. Beside him, Mera introduced herself formally as well, her posture regal even in her weariness.

“Were you also the one who bandaged our wounds and… changed us?” Mera asked, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Dane, her suspicion plain.

Dane blinked and quickly waved his hands, almost flustered. “Oh goodness, no! I wouldn’t dare. I only managed to stop the bleeding and keep you both stable long enough to call in a doctor and nurse. They handled everything else. Very professional people, mind you,” he said, slipping his hands back into his pockets as he guided them down a winding stairwell.

He glanced at them sidelong as he continued, “Although I have to say—they were amazed by your physiology, the speed of your recovery. And to be honest, so am I. The wounds you both had were… severe enough to cripple most men. Yet here you are, up and walking around after only a few hours’ rest.”

Arthur and Mera exchanged a quick glance at that, though neither spoke.

By the time Dane led them into the dining hall, the rich aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air. A long oak table was laid out with more food than three people could possibly eat: golden fowl, steaming vegetables, fruits stacked high in polished bowls, and carafes of wine and water. The candlelight glittered across silver platters, giving the entire room a warm, welcoming glow.

Dane scratched his cheek nervously, his grin slightly sheepish. “It’s been a while since I had any guests over. I might’ve gone a little overboard… but I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves.”

Arthur, out of instinct, pulled out a chair for Mera before sitting down beside her, while Dane positioned himself across the table.

Mera inclined her head politely, her tone steady but gracious. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us, Mr. Whitman. Atlantis is in your debt.”

Dane froze, halfway through serving himself a portion of roast. His fork hovered in the air as his eyes widened. “Excuse me… what? Atlantis?”

Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mera…”

“What?” she said innocently, glancing between them. “He saved and helped nurse the Crown Prince of Atlantis, not to mention he's now feeding us. Atlantis is indeed in his debt once you become king.”

Dane nearly dropped his fork. “Hold on—wait! Crown prince of Atlantis? As in, Atlantis Atlantis? The lost city of Atlantis?!” He gawked at Arthur, awe and disbelief flashing across his features. “Just… who the hell did I bring into my home?”

“As I said,” Mera replied matter-of-factly, taking a sip of wine before continuing, “Arthur is the Crown Prince of Atlantis. You caught us in the middle of a quest to retrieve the lost trident of the first king, in order to solidify Arthur’s right to rule. Once that is done, we will ensure you are compensated for your aid.”

Arthur shot her a look, his brow raised. “Oversharing a bit, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Mera countered smoothly, already reaching for her plate. “He deserves context. It helps him understand the gravity of our situation.” She popped a bite of roasted meat into her mouth and her eyes lit up. “Mmm—this is actually very good.”

Dane barely registered her compliment, his gaze fixed on Arthur as his mind reeled. “So you’re really a prince. Actual royalty. That’s… incredible. Fascinating, really.” He leaned back slightly, one hand coming up to stroke his chin thoughtfully.

“That would explain a lot, actually,” he went on. “Those men who attacked you—perhaps they were trying to prevent you from claiming the throne. And your healing—Atlantean resilience would explain it. It also makes sense why she would send me to find you.”

Arthur and Mera froze mid-bite, their heads snapping toward Dane.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed into suspicion. “Find me? What do you mean by that? Who sent you?”

Mera’s eyes glowed faintly, the wine in her cup rippling before rising slightly as her power stirred.

Dane immediately raised both hands in a defensive gesture, his expression wary. “Wait, wait—don’t get the wrong idea! It’s not sinister. She only sent me because she foresaw you were in danger. She wanted me to rescue you.”

Arthur’s tone dropped lower, sharpened like a blade. “Who. Sent. You?”

“The Lady Vivienne,” Dane answered, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “The Lady of the Lake. She foresaw your plight and commanded me to find you—to protect you both, and to guide you to her.”

Arthur and Mera exchanged a look, disbelief written plain on their faces, before slowly turning their gazes back to Dane. The young knight shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.