while storms are raging high
Ship-watching was strictly forbidden, which was probably why she enjoyed it so much. There was a thrill that came with doing something against the rules, a rush quite unlike anything else. It was one of the more harmless offenses one could commit in Atlantica, and it was the most popular among any of the small rebellions young mermaids could take part in without getting into serious trouble. The ships that generally traveled the area were familiar and known to have no cause for mer-hunting, so it was generally safe this far from the coastline. She had participated many times before, despite the strong disapproval of her older sisters, and the hustle and bustle of the ships' crews had endlessly fascinated her. It was interesting but safe, a little adventure in itself.
This, on the other hand, was more than a little dangerous, and far more thrilling that any glimpse of ships passing in the night would ever be.
The moon was high in the sky when the lights first came into view, the brightest of them just a hazy gleam from the southernmost harbor. Water lapped at the docks where crates brimming with trades from exotic lands were stacked one on top of another, loaded off the ships that gently rocked to and fro with the tide. A strong, fishy scent hung in the air, mingling with the crisp flavor of the sea air for something that unmistakeably belonged to a harbor town.
Winter's chill had descended upon the land, biting at the exposed skin of her arms and stomach as she hauled herself up onto one of the jagged rocks closer to the shoreline for a better view. The cold had chased all but a few indoors to inns and taverns, the remaining sailors scurrying through their mammoth ships' shadows like rats. Any of them could see me, she thought as a shiver ran up her spine, a cold splash of fear, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Her lookout point was avoided by most because of the sharp rocks, and if anyone spotted her at all, she would appear as nothing more than another jagged stone to be wary of when steering the ship to sea to most.
Her eyes flitted over the ships in the harbor, a few of them familiar from her ship-watching excursions. There was The Morrigan, with her huge white sails that she had first thought were clouds held captive by the sailors, and Sea Temptress, her bow-head a beautiful woman carved from glossy wood, one hand stretching out ahead to lead the way. Many still were foreign to her, and she felt a rush of heady excitement. They had seen far-away lands, waters far beyond her own dull city's. Those ships could tell a thousand tales of adventures, just like their sailors. Keen envy prickled in the back of her mind at the thought of all the places they had seen that she never would. Papa would be furious even if he found out about this.
It was no secret that traveling away from Atlantica wasn't approved of. No mer wished to see their children strike out on their own, into the wild where danger lurked at every turn. Papa disliked the idea even more than most; princesses weren't supposed to shirk their responsibilities or neglect their kingdoms. They were supposed to stay at home, preferably marry well, and attend to their people.
Besides, sweetheart, her father had told her once, I would miss you too much if you left. You and your sisters are all I have now, and we have to look after each other.
Farewell, farewell. The tune leaped unbidden to her mind, and a slight smile curved her lips. She had heard the song often from passing ships, where even the most somber of tunes were more lively than any of the marches they played during royal processions. She hummed low in her throat for a moment, the sound cutting through the still night air, and her eyes drifted half-closed as she began to sing.
The mermaid did not think she had many things she could claim to be proud of, but her voice was one of them. A voice instructor had seen to each of the princesses when they were younger, and he had quickly proclaimed that she was the only one among them that had inherited her mother's perfect pitch. She had trained, practicing as diligently as some of her sisters did with instruments or weapons, and she enjoyed singing more than most things.
Her voice softened as the chorus' final refrain came to an end, drawing out the final note in a tone almost too solemn . The wind whistled around her quietly, carrying a whisper of the song out to sea with it before she grew silent and the sound died out entirely.
That was when she heard the clapping.
He was standing on one of the closest ships, a mammoth vessel tethered to the docks. If she squinted, she could barely make out a dark figure standing on deck, still applauding loudly even after the song had ended. He cheered, a raucous, exhilarated crowing that made her shiver. A thousand horrifying thoughts whirled around in her skull, remembering the stories of cruel sailors hunting merkind for sport. She moved to push herself off of the rock, and the applauding sailor froze.
"No, don't go!" he called, and she was surprised by the youth of his voice. "I'm not going to—everything's okay, I—just stay right there, okay?" He turned, the moonlight allowing her a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin, and disappeared as he walked off.
She hesitated. Humans are dangerous. Humans can't be trusted. Humans will kill a mer just because they can. She had been told this hundreds, even thousands of times by anyone who could make her listen. Everyone insisted that they were strange, feral, cruel for the sake of being cruel. You'll be better off just leaving them alone, sweetheart, her father had told her once.
But what do you think they tell their children about merfolk? That question had always gone unanswered, no matter how many times she asked.
She lingered hesitantly on the rocks as the young sailor began rowing her way in the tiny boat.
He carefully navigated his way through the jagged stones, the round moon providing enough light for him to row by without a lantern. She slipped into the water, meeting him halfway. He was already speaking when she neared, and the mermaid smiled.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that, but you were just absolutely fantastic. I swear, better than anyone I've ever heard. I've known that song since I was a little kid, y'know, when my mum used to sing it to me, but you—you made it sound like a completely different song. There was this woman back home who used to sing at festivals that everyone said sounded like an angel, and she couldn't even hit high notes like you can."
He stopped abruptly, flashing an embarrassed grin that was snow-white under the bright moon. "And now I'm rambling without even introducing myself. Bad form, very bad form. I apologize." He dipped his head in what she could imagine was a small bow before holding out his free hand to her, the other one preoccupied with anchoring the rowboat to one of the jutting rocks.
She took the proffered hand before studying his face. His hair was dark just as she had thought when he had still be on board the ship, but his skin appeared darker up close, tanned by the sun. His smile was wide and eager, with the kind of enthusiasm she normally expected from small children still giddy and surprised by the world. She looked to his kohl-rimmed eyes, and her own widened in response as she noted the color.
She knew blue like the back of her hand, could name every soothing shade of sea and sky and even the blues that were invisible, the desperate, hungry colors that stained every searching soul. But those eyes were like raging storms and winter's first chill and the ice her warm waters had never seen, and the mermaid had never seen anything like them before.
He chuckled, fingers twitching in her grasp. "You're supposed to shake it, you know."
She grinned, rolling her eyes at him. "I know, I know." She gave his hand a firm, brief shake before letting it drop. "It's a pleasure to meet you. What's your name?"
He gave another one of his small bows, this one a bit more exaggerated. "Forgive me for my terrible manners, milady. James Killian Jones at your service, madam. I go by Killian, since James isn't much of a name for a sailor." The dark-haired boy raised his eyebrows at her, flashing another one of those moon-bright smiles. "And yours?"
Killian, she mused. It fitted him, certainly more than James did. She returned the smile with a small one of her own, dipping down in an imitation of a curtsy.
"Ariel."
Killian arched a dark eyebrow at her. "I still think it's ridiculous, Ariel."
Nights and days had melded together into boring stretches of light spent in etiquette lessons interspersed with midnight escapades to see Killian in the harbor. The rocks had become their regular meeting place, sunset to sunrise spent with her leaning as far into the rowboat as possible, riveted as she listened to the tales of a scruffy sailor boy.
Her sisters knew, Ariel was positive. Whether or not they cared, she was unsure. If her father had any suspicions, he kept them to himself, and that suited her just fine. She kept up with her royal duties despite her lack of sleep, and she wasn't harming anyone in visiting him.
She sighed, raking a hand through her red hair. "It's just not allowed, Killian. No one leaves Atlantica."
"But why? You deserve to see the world as much as anyone else, but instead you're trapped there. If anyone knew you were coming here, you would be in trouble, right? That's ridiculous! I can't believe that your father would—it's not fair of them to—I just don't understand, Ariel," he finished with a frustrated sigh. "You're not happy here."
"No," she agreed quietly. Ariel shook away the solemn expression that had graced her face, smiling as she nudged his elbow with her own. "But that's what I have you for, right? You've been everywhere, Killian, and you tell me about them all the time. I can just picture the other kingdoms in my head sometimes."
"That can't last for much longer, darling," he murmured, a shadow falling over his face. "Captain's talking about shipping out at the end of the week."
She grimaced. They usually avoided the topic of his departure, just like they usually never mentioned the fact that she wasn't allowed out of Atlantica. "It hasn't even been three weeks yet, Killian. Is he really wanting to leave so soon?"
"Yeah. He has a friend up north who can usually get us a good deal on the pricey things, and since most of the merchants will be moving north soon, for the princess' coronation festival, he wants to get a jump on the competition." The blue-eyed boy hesitated, avoiding looking her in the face, and Ariel felt icy anxiety trickle down her spine. "I, uh...I may be leaving earlier, though," he said softly, and she eyed him sharply.
"What?"
"A few other members of the crew were thinking of jumping ship," Killian said hurriedly, still not looking at her. "The captain's a mean bastard, Ariel. He's barely paying us at all, and you know I need gold to send to my mum. Some of the other boys have been talking to pirates, and they've agreed to take on some sailors, so long as we pull our own weight."
"A pirate ship," she whispered, her eyes wide with shock.
"I'll have a better chance of moving up in rank on their ship," he continued quickly, reading the worry in her expression, "and I'll be able to send home double the gold to Mum. If I keep at it for a year or so, I could have my own ship, and I'll be able to go anywhere I please. But if we plan on joining up, we have to be ready to ship out in a few days. I won't be able to stay as long."
It took her a moment to find her voice, but the redhead found herself nodding. "Whatever makes you happy, Killian," she said softly. "That's all that matters to me."
He flashed one of those smiles that could have blinded the entire world, and Ariel pretended not the see the wetness of his eyes. "Thank you, darling. Now come here; I brought you a present."
The mermaid quirked an eyebrow at him, swimming closer and leaning a little closer to the boat. She watched curiously as he rummaged through his pockets, finally producing a thin silver chain. "Out of everything we bought on the last trip out, these were the captain's favorite," he said. "They reminded me of you." He passed her the chain, and a glinting caught her eye as she took it from him.
It took Ariel a moment to catch her breath as she stared down at the three gems dripping from the necklace, all of them the same shade of pale green. "The same color as the sea," she murmured, slipping it over her head and straightening until they sat snugly in the hollow of her throat.
"And your eyes," Killian added, and he was grinning when Ariel looked up. "Mine are the same stone, see?" He tilted his head slightly, and a silver-and-green earring gleamed in the moonlight.
She returned the bright smile, and her arms were around his neck before she knew she had pushed herself up far enough to reach him. He tensed before sliding him arms around her, chuckling quietly. "So you like them?" The redhead could have laughed at the hint of timidity in his voice.
"Everything is perfect," she murmured, "absolutely perfect. Thank you, Killian." She squeezed him tighter, almost afraid to let him go in case he disappeared before her eyes.
If the world wanted to keep her from Killian Jones, let them try. She wouldn't give him up that easily.
He was late the next night, and her skin crawled with worry as she sat on her usual rock, waiting. Ariel lashed her tail in frustration, the wet, silvery scales all agleam under the starlight. A thousand fears and worst-case scenarios ran through her mind, and she attempted to dismiss them all. He was probably just trying to catch up on lost sleep before he set sail with the pirates in the morning. That was all, she was sure.
That did not seem to convince the redhead's hands, which shook until she spotted the familiar dark speck of the boat rowing across choppy waters.
"Evening, Ariel." Killian's voice was a broken rasp, his winter's-chill eyes hazy and unfocused. "I, uh, I'm not really up to telling any stories tonight. Just a bit too tired."
"What's wrong?" the mermaid asked, not believing his excuse for a moment. She scowled as the dark-haired sailor shook his head stubbornly.
"...wouldn't let them hear me beg," he murmured, and the coppery, sour stench filled her nose.
The back of Killian's shirt was soaked with blood.
Ariel forced down the bile that pooled at the back of her throat, taking a deep, calming breath. "Killian, what happened?" she hissed, moving to remove the shirt. She pushed herself up onto her tail, peeling off the drenched tunic. The skin beneath was torn to shreds, lash marks still visible on the skin that hadn't been beaten to bloody red pulp.
He inhaled sharply as she removed the shirt, biting down hard on his lower lip. "Stealing," he ground out between tightly-clenched teeth. "Caught me...necklace...bastards..."
Once again the urge to retch pushed at the back of her throat as a wave of guilt crashed over the redhead. He had been beaten for stealing the necklace she was wearing, the captain's favorite jewels that he had taken because they reminded Killian of her eyes.
Ariel had never been violent. The desire to hurt others was not something that afflicted her easily, but for a single crimson-hazed moment, she wanted nothing more than to be the ruthless siren of human legend and lure the ship and its damnable captain to a watery grave.
Killian groaned, jolting her back to reality, and her hands trembled as they moved feather-light over the lesser injuries. "I think..." the mermaid began uncertainly, "I think I can fix it. Hold still."
He grunted in agreement, and she closed her eyes. A pale, flickering glow filled the air around her hands as she gently passed them over his injured back. She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, teeth gritted as she focused every ounce of energy into the healing, and when she opened her eyes again, a thick network of healed scars lay over his back.
"Those will be permanent," she said softly, and Killian looked over at her in shock. His eyes had cleared somewhat, the piercing blue of them more alert, and a grin stretched over his face as he ran a hand over his back. The dark-haired boy threw his head back and laughed, almost the same crowing she had heard when he had applauded her that first night on the ship.
"Well, what's a dread pirate without his scars, anyways? Not much of a pirate." His expression grew more somber, and he looked over at her. "Indeed, where would a dread pirate be without the lady he loves?"
When Killian kissed her, she wondered if there was any way to persuade the gods to stop time and freeze her in that moment forever. He tasted like freedom.
"So," Ariel said softly, "this is it."
It was the first time she had seen the harbor's murky green-gray waters during the day, the wan sun of a winter afternoon shining down on them. Her fingers were intertwined through his, and she tried to memorize the exact color of those blue eyes as she wiped away one of a few traitorous tears with her free hand.
Killian shook his head. "No, don't say that," he scolded softly, reaching up to brush another off of her face. "It's only for a little while; I'm not dying. I'll come back soon, I swear to you."
That earned a faint, if not very convincing, smile. "And what then, Killian?"
"Then, we'll find someone who can get you out of Atlantica. There had to be magic that can turn you human, Ariel, and I'll find it. Then, you can become a pirate, too." He tried for a smile, but the tears were streaming down his face as well. "I'm going to show you the whole world after that, Ariel, every single inch of it. I'll have my own ship by that time, and you're going to visit all the places I've told you about and more. And when we've seen everything there is to see, we'll find a place where we won't ever grow old, and I'll build you a castle that will last forever."
"Killian..."
"Don't start that. There's all kinds of magic in the world, Ariel; it's full of it. I've heard sailors talk about it, an island somewhere far away. You're never going to age anyway, right?"
The mermaid nodded, and he pulled her to him, as close as the side of the boat would allow. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes open as he looked into hers. Their hair tangled together in the brisk sea breeze.
Black on red.
Blue on green.
Skin on scales.
Their tears were still exactly the same.
"Then when I come back, I'll find a place where we never have to say goodbye again."
The second woman to see his scars had a name that he couldn't remember moments after he heard it for the first time. He was very drunk, and she was very beautiful, and that was all he believed he needed to know.
"Such an ugly scar," she whispered as they laid together after the sheets have been tangled and false promises of eternal affection spoken in the heat of the moment have been forgotten, pouting in a way that the part of his mind still cynical when muddled by drink wonders if she practiced to make sure it was still attractive. Her white-blond hair fanned out over his bare chest, and he couldn't help but admire the glint of her green eyes from this angle. Eyes as green as the sea, he thought dizzily, and a grin stretched across his face.
"It wouldn't be fair if the gods made every part of me beautiful, darling," he replied, and a peal of silvery laughter rang through the air as she agreed.
"But surely you could get it healed," she said once the giggles had subsided, her tone turned sickly sweet and plaintive in a way that even his whirling mind could find mildly irritating. "Any hedge witch worth her salt could give you a brew to make it disappear for good." She turned that unfairly-pretty pout on him once more, and he chuckled into her neck as he planted a kiss there.
"S'really quite simple, lovely," he murmured. "What's a dread pirate without his scars?" His lips moved upwards to her lips, and he pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Where would a dread pirate be without the l—"
The breath within him left in a sudden, sickening rush, and his stomach turned as he realized what he'd almost said, what he'd done, that the girl next to him was touching the scar that only she'd seen, and oh gods, oh good gods I'm a bloody idiot Ariel, Ariel, Ariel—
"I have to go," he whispered abruptly, and he was on his feet without thinking, his mind a whirl of disgust and shock and horror and you've really sunk this low, haven't you, old boy? The girl was glaring at him angrily, demanding something in that whiny little tone that he barely comprehended as he tugged on his breeches, hands trembling as he laced them up.
"Killian? Killian! What are you doing?" she snapped, covering herself with the sheets as she sat upright in the bed. Her green eyes were flashing angrily, and when he saw that they're that shade of green, he feels like retching. "Where do you think you're going?"
He decided to forgo the shirt in favor of simply slipping into his jacket, pulling on his boots and finding himself unable to even look at the girl. "Back home, to my ship. Thank you for allowing me to stay." The dark-haired pirate turned and walked out of the door, the blonde woman still screeching after him.
His hands did not stop trembling until he reached the docks. The sound of the ocean calmed him, he had found, and now he needed something to dull the pain more than ever.
His breaths were coming and going in short, choked gasps, and he sat down on the end of the dock when he began to feel lightheaded. He cradled his head in his hands, eyes squeezed tight shut, and for a moment he wanted nothing more than the sea to wash him away.
"Two years," he whispered, a rasp that cracked with emotion. "I came back in two years with my own ship, and you weren't there."
"I looked for you everywhere, Ariel. Everywhere. I asked every mermaid I could find, every local sailor and fisherman and merchant, and no one would tell me anything. I waited in that town for a year before someone told me you were dead."
"I still don't know if they lied to spare me from any more waiting. I hope so. I'm sorry, Ariel. So sorry."
He grew quiet again, head buried in his hands and mind lost to drink and memories for the night. Killian Jones, captain of the feared Jolly Roger, was unrecognizable as he thought of days long lost to the tides of times.
Of black on red.
Of blue on green.
Of skin on scales.
Of how his tears were still exactly the same, even though he thought he had cried himself dry long ago.
Mina Irving was not at home when the curse in Storybrooke was broken.
The docks were closer to an actual home than her lonely apartment (no nosy neighbors checking in on the odd little mute girl there), and that was where she found herself on that chilly afternoon. She sat at the edge of the pier, pushing her fox-red hair out of her face as the wind continued to blow it into her eyes. A small smile traced its way across her face as she watched the boaters that had braved the late autumn cold. She had been saving up for one of her own, maybe a little houseboat that she could live in year-round. That would keep Gold and his constant rent fees off her back, at least.
She did not turn to see the violet mist until it was already upon her, and she defensively covered her head and face with her arms, unable to scream.
When it cleared, she straightened up, blinking clear, sea-green eyes. Her hands flew to her throat, running her fingers over the thin silver chain and the three stones that hung from it. She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to recall the exact shade of a pair of striking blue eyes (like raging storms and winter's first chill and the ice she'd seen far too much of in Storybrooke the color of that first real, true love that swept her off her feet and that she'd never forget).
The memory came to her, and when Ariel opened her eyes, she began to sing.
Farewell, farewell, my own true love
this parting gives me pain
You'll be my own, my guiding star,
until I return again
My thoughts shall be of you, my love,
while storms are raging high
So fare you well!
Remember me,
your faithful sailor boy
- Chorus of The Faithful Sailor Boy, a folk song