Chapter Text
Max shook himself out of his memories. His whole body was trembling despite the warm weather in the hut.
That silver flash in the ocean, the very same he saw as he fell off his ship.
It couldn’t have been!
His mind felt as if it was going to split. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it.
He looked more closely at his recollection of memories, trying to search for more information. What had happened after the siren had turned to seafoam? What of the other siren? It had happened so long ago, but while some memories were as clear as day, unable to be erased or forgotten, other memories were buried, like flowers under snow.
Regardless of how hard you tried, some trying to recall these trapped memories was like finding a needle in a haystack, nay, much more akin to finding a ring tossed out at sea. Try as he might, his memories of that night stopped there.
He remembered watching the seafoam wash away, but after that, his memories went completely dark. When he awoke, it was already the next day, and he was in bed. His arm had been carefully wrapped in gauze, and the rest of the crew that had been on deck that night had all reported that they didn't remember much.
Soft sunlight shone through his cabin window, erasing the shadows of last night. It was as if the events that had transpired the night before were nothing but a bad dream, washed away by the arrival of morning. In spite of that, the dull ache from his bandaged arm proved it otherwise.
His quartermaster looked at him with worry. They both knew what happened was no dream, no nightmare would ever be that realistic. The man that had fallen overboard had indeed been missing from his cabin and station, nowhere to be found. So, they had to come to a tactile understanding, to never speak of the incident ever again unless absolutely necessary.
But there had to be more than just this. Sirens preferred to move in packs, and two lone sirens attacking a ship the size of Verstappen’s was unheard of, bordering on insanity and stupidity. Sirens drew power from their voices, and with only two songs, it would have been impossible to capsize the ship. There had to be an ulterior motive for such a move.
Max Verstappen was a clever man, it was very easy to see that George’s hatred for him ran deep, perhaps as deep as the trenches along the ocean floor. This incident alone would not be enough to elicit a hatred that seeped into one’s bones. There had to be another event that had transpired before both sirens had decided to attack him.
With the revelation of George’s legs… perhaps an event that took place before that tail of his came to be.
Max shifted uncomfortably at the thought, his frown deepened as he looked out of the hut to the tides that pushed and pulled along the white sands.
–
The sun’s rays were bright, and George hissed slightly as he opened his eyes. His eyes had long grown used to the oceanic abyss, and usually when he awoke as human, he would’ve been inside the hut. This time, he had to unwillingly relinquish it to Max, leading him to sleep within this cave. Honestly, if he wanted to, he could’ve kicked Verstappen out of the hut instead, but blinded by anger, he had left in a hurry.
He sat up, and upon remembering what sort of state of undress he had fled in, a blush spread down his face. He had left some clothes inside the hut, but he never got the chance to get them before he left. The sun had barely raised past the horizon, and it was still in the early hours of the morning. The birds had yet to chirp, and the ocean tides had yet to recede too far. From his cave, he looked out to the clear seas, and spotted where land was. He still had enough time before nightfall, maybe he could spend a longer time there this time…
George gathered his wits and pushed off the hard stone floor and made his way towards the hut. If he had to speak to Max, then so be it.
–
Max remained inside the hut, choosing to pick up the book to read. It would help him keep his mind off things at least… that was until George pushed open the door. Max sat up straighter immediately, but found he had no idea what he could say to George.
The room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as George walked in, using his feet to stomp on the floorboards. Eventually, he hit one that echoed more than the rest, and he bent down to pry the wood up.
Max watched on curiously, and George pulled from under the board some dusty clothes. He held the shirt up by its sleeves and whipped it, getting all the dust off in one go. Max coughed as the dust entered his lungs. George then pulled the shirt over his head, and did the same for a pair of pants.
The clothes were simple, the shirt which was possibly once white was now a colour akin to tea stained, and the pants were a simple faded black that reached to his ankles. At the corner of two walls sat a pair of black boots, Max had noticed them before but hadn’t questioned who they had belonged to.
George slotted his feet into them, and bent down to lace up the intricate shoestrings. As he did, Max took in the sight of George. Finally dressed in human clothes, his figure was tall and imposing. His shoulders were strong, and the stretch of the fabric as he bent down to tie his shoelaces only made his back seem broader.
George stood and straightened up, dusting off any remaining dust on his shirt. As a siren, he gave off an ethereal air about him, that belonging to a beauty not of this world. But as a human, his appearance gave off the air of a refined aristocrat, poise and perfection eluding from his precise movements.
In both forms however, he had the same untouchable and unapproachable air around him.
Finally finding his voice, Max asked, “Where are you going?”
The man before him froze, his shoulders stiffening.
“It’s none of your business,” he replied coolly.
Max wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t gauge the exact size, but he could tell the cove was decently sizable, and a cove like this doesn’t appear out of nowhere in the middle of an ocean. The types of fish he saw swimming within the waters told him he was near a reef, meaning there would be other islands close by. And with islands came villages.
“If you’re going to a village, take me along,” Max said.
“And why should I?”
Max stopped to ponder for a moment, before replying, “I have money. And I need new clothes.”
George looked him up and down, and raised his eyebrows. The tattered rags that hung off Max could hardly be called clothes, and they were dirtied to a point where neither man could tell what colour they were supposed to be.
Given his broken leg, it wasn’t as if Max could run away, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be far. But once his leg healed, that would be a different story. Letting him know where the village would be would give him a chance to escape in the future, and that wasn’t a risk George wanted to take. But bones don’t heal quickly, and maybe, there was a chance George could take advantage of before his bones stitched back together.
George weighed the options in his mind, finally but unreluctantly agreeing.
“Fine, upon the condition that you stay by my side the whole time,” George sneered at the idea of Max being close to him, but he had no other choice, lest he wanted the pirate to flee.
“Fine by me,” Max replied. He wasn’t planning on escaping, and with his leg, he wouldn’t be able to get far anyways. The peace he had been enjoying prior to last night was something he thought was long lost to someone like him, and he didn’t want these small days of peace to slip through his fingers. He’d keep what he had, no matter how little. He knew if he stayed close to the sea, that man would eventually find him, but until then, and until his leg healed, he couldn’t act too rashly. Plus, by sticking close to George, maybe he would be able to recall more memories.
–
George left Max by the rocks outside the cave as he went to find the small wooden boat he kept hidden. It was a small dingy thing, but fitting two adult men on it was no tough task. The boat swayed as they boarded, Max instinctively reaching out his arms to support George as he stumbled slightly. His arms faltered and fell back to his sides the moment George shot him a pointed look.
To avoid being useless, Max picked up the oars and started to row, the muscles along his arms working vigorously. Under the early morning sun, sweat shone as it coated his skin, running down his face and dusted his cheeks a lovely pink as he huffed in exhaustion.
Throughout his rowing, he diligently kept the tattered sleeve on his left arm covered, despite rolling up the other sleeve, even using the hem of his shirt as a makeshift towel to wipe away sweat. George took silent notice but didn't comment.
The overall ride to the village didn’t take long, but with the painful silence that stretched between them, save for Max’s muted grunts as he rowed, it might as well have taken a whole lifetime to reach the other island.
Max had things he wanted to ask the other man, but with how strung tight and keen on ignoring Max he was, he decided a better opportunity would arise in the future. They docked the boat in the village docks, allowing it to bop up and down in tandem with the waves. They hoped, with how dingy and aged the little boat looked, that no one would try to steal it.
The village was by no means small, but it wasn’t large either. At this point in the morning, the market was bustling, with noises arising from all corners of the market. A greasy man was busy haggling with a plump woman about the prices of fish, while another young lady managing a stall was chattering away with another woman excitedly. Two young boys were running around, wooden swords in hand as they sparred, laughing and shouting merrily.
The sounds echoed in George’s ears, and his eyes softened as he watched the scenes before him serenely. Compared to the sprawling kingdom in his memories, this little village could hardly compare, yet the rose tinted warmth of nostalgia spilled over his heart regardless, coating it in a layer of sugar.
As for Max, it also had been a long time since he had seen such a scene, but he held no such nostalgia. At best, he saw bits and pieces of his crewmate scattered amongst the commoners, but nothing more. He didn’t want to put too much thought into it. What concerned him most now was getting new clothes. The villagers that walked past them had already thrown him more dirty looks that he could count.
His eyes landed on a nearby stall, one that was selling a variety of clothes. The person that manned it was a young man, and when he saw Max approach with a grand stature of 181 centimeters, his eyes lit up in delight. He started talking to Max, recommending what clothes to buy. Max didn’t have a particular eye for fashion, and told the young man he would simply wear whatever he had chosen for him.
“Do you perhaps have a shower I could borrow too?” he asked.
The young man nodded and led him inside the house behind his stall, while George stood outside, leaning against the wall. After a few long minutes, Max reappeared. Gone were his tattered robes and sweat and grease stained skin. Despite the simplicity of his clothes, the young man had cleverly chosen shades of dark blue for Max, which contrasted against his skin well. Though far from sun kissed, his skin was not as pale as George’s, yet the dark shades served to accentuate his features. His chest was broad, stretching the front of his shirt almost obscenely, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, with his left forearm covered by strips of fabric. From his waist hung leather belts and a gun holster, and his pants clung tightly to his legs. Paired with long, black leather boots that reached just below his knees, they served to make his legs seem longer. Though he was not as tall as George, his figure was still tall and striking. A few men and women who were walking past the clothing stall stopped to appreciate the sight.
While the air that George gave off was that of a cold, lofty aristocrat, Max eluded a sense of danger and arrogance. Paired with his blue eyes, as sharp as a knife and as strong as a lion’s, it certainly made for an alluring sight. A different allure from George’s, but just as eye-catching.
The young man clapped in delight. He mentally pat himself on the back for doing such a good job. Max reached into his pockets and drew out a small string purse, giving the young man a few coins of silver and thanking him once more.
“What about your partner?” the young man asked, pointing at George.
George blinked. He hadn’t expected the young man to address him.
“Would you like some new clothes?” Max turned to ask him.
“No need,” George brushed off. His clothes were still in fine condition, they still fit him.
Max turned back to the young man and told him maybe next time.
The pair then set off towards other stalls in the market. There was no need for Max or George to buy fish, since George was adept at hunting them, instead they turned their focus on other stalls. George didn’t have anything he really wanted to buy, and even if he did, he didn’t have the money to. That wasn’t particularly accurate, he didn’t have any money on him right now, but he kept a small pile of money that he had found sunken into the sea stashed away. Plus, if he did need money, Max had volunteered to be his personal wallet.
They looked at a stall selling crystals, and another selling ships in bottles. One sold wooden toys for children, while a few stalls sold some foods on skewers. Eventually, they stumbled upon a store selling a variety of herbs.
Max looked at the herbs and spices on display. Some star anise, cinnamon and bright red streaks of saffron held in small glass jars, stalks of coriander and fennel, some mint plants, garlic and ginger. As a sailor on the seas, his crew had kept some spices to flavour their otherwise bland food, and he knew how to prepare a few simple dishes. He picked a few of them and set out to pay.
Seeing this, George was surprised and asked, “You know how to cook?”
“A little bit,” he replied. The stall clerk handed him his items, wrapped neatly in wax paper and tied with flax twine. By then, it was close to afternoon, and hunger had started to set in. The events of yesterday had them both forgetting dinner, and by now they were starving. George asked for directions to the village tavern, and was given two choices.
The first was a tavern that stood on top of the waters, by the piers, frequented by sailors. It had better food, and was larger than the other one, but hearing it was frequented by sailors, George shot Max glance. The other man seemed to not notice. The second choice was a far smaller tavern, more akin to a pub. The food ranged from decent to questionable, and George, having not eaten human food in a while, decided for the first choice.
Both men walked to the pier, and George finally deigned to ask, “Are you not worried that someone will recognise you?” He didn’t want to get kicked out, or even worse, start a fight.
“Why should I be worried?” Max replied. The man that was standing before him was a pirate king, feared across the seven seas. Why should he be worried in the first place? But upon reaching the front door of the tavern, George found another reason why Max had been so relaxed.
Next to the front door was a billboard, where villagers would nail posters for various things, and right in the center of the aged wooden board was a large, yellowing paper. Upon it was inked the face of a hideous man, with eyes set wide apart and an ugly sneer that showed broken teeth. Cuts and scars were drawn across his face, a large, dirty looking beard, and on his head sat a crooked hat. The only thing that helped George identify who the man on the paper was supposed to be was the name under the portrait, which screamed in black, bold letters, “MAX VERSTAPPEN.”
George was baffled. The man in the picture looked nothing like the man standing next to him. The man on the paper was in every sense of the word, hideous, while the man next to him had distinct features. Thick, full eyebrows, a long, sharp nose and plump lips. His eyes were not set dramatically far apart, and held piercing blue eyes. Though there were some scars on his face, none of them were inherently obvious, and the poster had completely missed the sweet dimples on his cheeks. There was no crooked hat upon his head either.
Max, on the other hand, had his attention drawn to the words “WANTED DEAD” written under his name, and with it, a string of numbers that signaled the price of his head. He knew those numbers well. They were inked upon his skin, after all. Upon seeing the numbers, the area of his skin started to burn, just like the day he had them pressed in. But he knew it was nothing but a figment of his imagination, another demon of his past dredged up. He ignored the phantom pain and walked towards the front door.
An enticing and lovely scent wafted through the air as soon as he pushed open the door. The tavern was rowdy, filled to the brim with all sorts of diners. As a pirate captain, this was the sort of atmosphere that Max flourished in, while George stood to the side awkwardly, not knowing what to do.
Spotting two free seats by the bar, Max sauntered over while George followed at his heels. He plopped himself on the barstool, then looked up to see what they were offering today on the chalkboard. Noticing two newcomers, the waitress made her way over, and Max placed an order for their daily special and a beer.
“...I’ll have what he’s having,” George said after a moment’s hesitation.
The waitress took their orders and shouted it from across the room to the lanky boy standing by the kitchen. George watched the atmosphere curiously. Back when he was still human, he wasn’t the type to frequent these sorts of places… or rather he’d never had the opportunity to. He never had enough time, always caught up with some diplomatic affairs he needed to tend to at the King’s behest, and the spare bits of time he had he spent it within those castle walls, choosing to not look beyond those wrought iron gates. Perhaps the younger him had been foolish, too naive to think of the world beyond that castle he had called home.
And before he had a chance to grow, finally to look at the world surrounding him, and to smell the flowers that grew outside the castle grounds, the opportunity had been brutally ripped from his hands. The one time he had left, the life around him was irrevocably torn to shreds in front of his very eyes, leaving him with nothing but a bleeding heart and a pair of fins he didn’t want.
George had no idea what had come of his name, of his record amongst history books. Would he be recorded as a tragic prince who had died at sea? Or would he be removed from those books and annals of time, to be simply forgotten as the life on shore moved on? Knowing the King…
Before he could get lost in his depressing musing, the waitress reappeared, placing down plates that were even bigger than his face. In front of him was a hearty bowl of stew and a pie. The puff pastry on top of the pie was still steaming, and the golden crust glistened under the lit candles of the tavern.
Using the questionably cleaned spoon, he broke into the crust with a crunch, and the scent of meat, potatoes and gravy floated up and filled the air. Forced to live in the sea, he hadn’t had red meat in a long time. The taste of it would appear in his mouth from time to time, and he would reminisce of the days where the dining table before him laid a lavish spread. There were nights in the ocean abyss where he mourned that he had not appreciated it enough, that he had not savoured it when he could.
He carefully scooped a hefty portion of meat onto his spoon and brought it to his mouth. Whether it was because he hadn’t had a meal as comforting as this in a while, or nostalgia was clouding his mind, he felt the corners of his eyes prickling with unshed tears. The meat was overly fatty, and mixed with the gravy turned into a greasy mess, yet to George, it was perfect. Forced to eat nothing but fish and mollusks for these long years had made the taste of meat sweet upon his tongue, and he savoured it gratefully.
The man sat next to him was a different story, however. Max dug into the steaming pie with a fork, stabbing at it as if it owed him a hefty debt. Despite all these years, George had not forgotten his table manners and scoffed internally at the barbaric display next to him.
“Is it to your liking?” Max asked.
His sudden question stunned George, who was used to eating in silence. Back inside the castle, each meal had gone by with an air that could only be described as stuffy. No one ever spoke, and no eye contact was ever made. Only the clinking of silverware was heard during the meal, and the scraping of chairs to get out of the room after the meal.
“It’s good,” George replied after he swallowed.
“Have you come here before?” Max followed up.
George shook his head.
“How come?”
George paused, then answered, “I never spend too long on the island. I get what I need and then I go.”
Max seemed satisfied at the answer, and didn’t push any further. George was glad the conversation between them died that easily.
As George ate, he listened to the noises of the tavern, wanting to engrave it deep into his memory. He didn’t know when he would next step foot into a tavern so lively, and so he silently took in all the atmosphere the space around him was willing to give.
And then he heard something that made his ears raise.
“That pirate king, what’s his name…” Someone behind him slurred.
“Max Herrmann or something,” another replied.
“It’s Verstappen!”
“Right! That guy,”
“There’s been a rumour makin’ it’s round, sayin’ he’s missin’.” A chorus of “WHAT?” erupted behind him.
“Aye, but that’s not the most juicy part,” the man lowered his voice towards the end. George scooted his chair a bit further back, leaning slightly so he could hear.
“Apparently, when his ship docked at port, a line of royal navy guards made their way to’ards the ship. But instead of arresting the pirates, the ship let down a plank and two men boarded the ship.”
“You’re bluffin’!”
“I swear it’s what I heard!”
“My friend told me something like this too,” someone else voiced up.
“Why would pirates let royal navy guards board the ship?”
“How would I know? I’m just tellin’ the story I heard.”
“Are you sure they were royal navy guards? They could be pirates playing dress up, y’know.”
“I’m certain! It happened at night, and when they appeared, all the regular guards at the dock were told to take a walk.”
“If it happened at night, are you sure your friend didn’t see it wrongly?” Someone cackled.
“Are you calling my friend a liar?!” At that, multiple chairs scraped across the floor at once, and the sound of something falling to the ground was loud and clear, even amidst the bustling tavern.
“CALM DOWN GENTLEMEN!” The waitress shouted, and George finally looked away from his pie, putting his spoon down as he turned. He watched as the fallen stein rolled pathetically on the ground, spilling golden liquid across the wooden floor, serving to make the already questionably sticky tavern floor even stickier.
“You’re just a little girlie, stay out of this!” One man shouted back as he pointed rudely at the waitress.
The waitress lifted her arm, ready to strike, but someone else beat her to the punch. Another man who had been sitting at the table had leaped up like a flying fish and struck the man who had insulted the waitress to the ground. The moment his head made a thud on the floor, all hell broke loose.
Punches were being thrown at random, and objects flew across the room. Someone had stood upon the table and yelled, “FIIIIIIGHT!” before being promptly grabbed by the legs and swung into the nearby wall. The tavern shook as the main floor turned into the eye of the storm, with insults and words being indistinguishable between the crashing and breaking of furniture.
George watched the scene in front of him with great astonishment, not knowing what to do. A man who had been slapped across the face so hard it seemed to morph his facial features and leave one side of his face bright red stumbled towards George, and pushed himself up with the help of the bar table.
“What are you lookin’ at, pretty boy?” he sneered. George watched, disgusted, as two lines of blood dripped down his nose, instead of wiping it away with his hands, he licked them away with his tongue as they dripped past his moustache and onto his top lip.
“Actually, you are pretty!” the man said, then tacked on, “so whaddaya say we get outta here?” He nodded in the direction of the door, then tossed a wink at George.
Max, who had been silent since he stopped talking to George, polished off the last of the beer in his stein and slammed it hard into the table, causing it to shake. Max dug into his coat pocket and tossed a few coins of gold towards the bartender and shot a fierce glare in the direction of the man.
“You’re an insult to his eyes,” he sneered. Despite how it pained him, George had to silently agree. When the man had asked him out, he felt a slight urge to kill someone rise within him.
The man gritted his teeth in anger and swung at Max, who stood up and quickly pushed George to the side with one arm while raising his other arm to knock the incoming swing to the side. Having his punch redirected, the man raised his other fist, but before he could swing, Max kicked his leg out to swipe the other man off his feet. The man fell on his side, hitting the wooden floor with a loud THUMP.
Seeing that the man was down and in no hurry to get up, Max placed his hand at the small of George’s back, quickly escorting the other man towards the front door and out of the tavern. Even from the outside, the loud shouts could be heard, and by the door were curious onlookers that watched gleefully from the stained windows.
The onlookers opened their mouths, eager to ask questions, but catching a glimpse at Max’s narrowed eyes and dark expression, they quickly shut it.
“You didn’t need to help me, I could’ve handled it myself,” George said as he pushed the arm Max had looped around his waist.
“Did you want to go with him? My apologies then,” Max retorted.
“I did not want to go with him! I could have fended for myself, there was no need for you to get involved,” George spat.
“Must suck that I got involved then.”
George grit his teeth, unwilling to answer Max's nonsense, while Max clenched and unclenched his fist in an attempt to calm himself down. Not only did he not get a thanks for his efforts, but he got told off as well. Silence stretched between the pair as they made their way towards the market once more. The sun still hung high in the sky, showing no signs of setting as it turned the once cool morning breeze to scorching afternoon heat.
By then, the market had started to pack up. It was less bustling than in the morning, but the people still lingered about, with late wakers rushing to buy whatever they still could. Max told George that he wanted to have a last look around the market and see whatever supplies he could stock up on, and George nodded and decided not to follow him. He found his way
And somehow, rumours about the bar fight had already spread. Gossip arose within the market, with each line coming from each mouth more atrocious than the last.
“I heard someone died!”
“I heard there were pirates involved!”
“I heard Max Verstappen was involved!”
George slowed his pace as he heard the last line. Well, there was some truth that Max was involved, but certainly not in the way these nosy gossipers were thinking of. He listened half heartedly to the conversation, wanting to know more about the people’s opinions on Max. He walked to be closer to the men standing by the small dock of the island, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on a wooden pole, idly watching the push and pull of the waves.
Yet what he heard didn’t line up to his expectations at all.
“Did you hear about the royal guards boarding his ship?”
“Yea, what was that about? Someone’s failing eyesight?”
“No, but do you remember what High Chancellor for the Kingdom of the Netherlands’ name is?”
“What’s his name?”
“It’s Jos, but the important thing is his last name; it’s Verstappen.”
George’s breath stilled in his chest.
“Then that’s one hell of a coincidence.”
The person who said that got hit on the back of the head.
“Ow!”
“I don’t know how common the name Verstappen is, but think! It can’t simply be a coincidence! The royal guards board the ship when it’s docked, not to capture anyone, in the dead of night. All the other guards around the dock were forced to ‘take a walk’, and no one else was able to get close to the docks during the time. Don’t you think there’s some suspicious connection there?”
“Yea but there still could be a lot of people who share the name Verstappen.”
“That’s right, how are you so sure it’s even spelt the same?”
“Well I can’t spell but I asked around other sailors and they reckon it’s the same…”
“Then what about how the High Chancellor looks? If they’re related, they should look the same.”
“Well, I’ve never seen the High Chancellor so it’d be hard to say, but the main problem is that no one who’s seen Verstappen lives to tell the tale. All we can go off of is the posters of his face they plaster around, and you know how accurate those can be,” the man pointed out.
“Hey, then why is the High Chancellor the one who put the reward on Verstappen’s head?”
“I don’t know. Family feud maybe.”
“Haven’t you heard? Another rumour’s popped up. Apparently, Verstappen no longer goes around plunderin’. He goes around the islands and seas stopping petty pirates now. Has been doin’ so for the past… 3 years?”
“What? Then what about the part where ‘no man who’s seen Verstappen lives to tell the tale’?”
“I dunno, it’s just a rumour. Says he’s changed his ways. Looks like he’s changed his ways. Last town I stopped by was so desolate the first time I went, yet it was flourishin’ the last time I arrived. They said Verstappen helped them. Wonder how long that’ll last.”
“Like the people are gonna trust a pirate!”
The men cackled and continued chattering away, conversation shifting from topic to topic, yet George was still stuck on what they had just revealed. Aside from whatever was going on about Verstappen “changing his ways”, his brows furrowed at the other detail mentioned. The High Chancellor’s last name is Verstappen.
That’s right.
Within his memories, he seemed to recall something.
The High Chancellor of the Netherlands had once paid their kingdom a diplomatic visit, many, many years ago. He was still young then, barely understanding the ways of the world. The King had instructed him from his study that he was to come greet the honoured guest from afar, and he had begrudgingly pulled himself away from his book.
As he entered the throne room, he noticed the air felt chilling, and even more stifling than it usually was. He followed the etiquette that had been drilled into him to a tee, and greeted the High Chancellor. As he lifted his head up to meet the man, he nearly flinched as those ice cold eyes. They seemed so devoid of human emotion, it scared him.
How had he not realised, when he first encountered Max Verstappen, that those eyes were the very same?
–
George remained silent the rest of the way back to the island. Max had finished buying whatever he had set out to buy and finally returned, and George walked ahead of him the entire way towards their dingy boat, uncaring of Max’s broken leg.
They returned to the island, and Max pulled the boat up where the tides wouldn’t reach and tied it to a palm tree, while George walked on ahead, seemingly back to the hut. By then, the sun had slowly made its descent towards the horizon, painting the sky in vivid hues of bright orange and streaking the clouds across the sky.
Eventually, Max made his way into the cave. He had brought more branches and dried leaves from outside, and dumped them onto the fire from the previous night. Striking rock against flint he had bought in the market, he was able to produce a flame, and he watched as it engulfed the branches and leaves. Using a flat rock, he set it to be above the flame, and he waited for it to heat up. As it finally did, he pulled a delicately wrapped package from within his lapels, undoing the binding and the string to reveal a slim slab of meat.
Living by the sea gave the people little opportunity to buy meat, so this took a considerable amount of his money. He took his time, delicately flipping the meat over, seasoning it with the spices he had bought. The smell wafted through the air, filling the cave with a rich, almost creamy smell.
George laid within the hut on the sad excuse of a mattress, thinking over what he had heard, connecting the little bits and pieces of information. Max had changed his ways? He was possibly related to the High Chancellor? Was it true? And what if it was? What was he going to do? What could he do?
Before long, the smell of meat reached his nose, and his stomach grumbled in response. The scent was certainly appealing, yet he didn’t want to ask for food from Max. He didn’t need to be concerned about asking, however, because the door of the hut swung open.
“I bought some meat at the market today. It’s too much for one person to finish, so you should have some,” Max said.
George contemplated, would it be worth his ego, to eat food made by his enemy? But before he could voice his rejection, his stomach let out a loud growl. Embarrassed, he pushed himself up and pushed past Max, making way towards the fire.
The pair sat opposite of each other as they ate in silence, letting the cackling of the fire take over. The meat was cooked well, with no foul odours remaining and not cooked to the point of being overly chewy, and the seasoning paired extremely well with it. Though it was far from the standards George was used to almost a lifetime ago, it was leagues better than the shoddy tavern from this afternoon. George appreciated it in silence, yet his mind wouldn’t stop wandering over to how the High Chancellor and Max were likely related. Those eyes… they truly bore an uncanny resemblance to each other.
Max noticed George seemed to be lost in thought, but he decided he needed to ask.
“I… remembered something last night,” George looked up as Max spoke. “A few years ago, my ship was attacked by two sirens.”
George’s face immediately turned sour, and his lips started to curl into a snarl.
“One of them was you, correct?”
“So you finally remembered something,” there was a hint of danger in George's voice.
Max took it as an agreement to his question, and slowly nodded.
“And what good is remembering, Verstappen? Will it bring back the other siren? And do you remember anything else?”
“My memory after that night is pretty bad-”
‘I’m not talking about after the night!” George snapped. “We’ve met before that, or is your memory really that bad?”
Before that night? That was news to Max. He tried to look through his memories, only to find a fuzzy mess. His memories were scattered and fragmented, he could only form bits and pieces from whatever pieces he could sew up. Maybe taking one too many glass bottles to the head had done this to him, he chuckled bitterly.
“It’s really that bad. My childhood was… not the best. But I promise you, I will try my best to remember when I had met you,” Max said.
George’s anger had nearly reached a boiling point, yet when he heard these words, it was as if someone had slammed a lid onto it, forcing it down. Hearing Max mention his childhood though, however brief, gave George something to snag on. He narrowed his sharp eyes and hoped his predictions were right.
“Hold it. I overheard something today by the docks. Who is the High Chancellor of the Netherlands to you?”
Upon hearing the question, it was Max’s turn for his face to turn sour.
So they are related, George thought.
Max gritted his teeth as he scrunched up his face, which seemed to cycle across a myriad of different emotions. Finally, the crease between his brows smoothed out, and he sighed as he said, “He’s my father.”
George didn’t look surprised at the reveal, and Max contemplated for a bit before continuing. After all, he’s carried this burden within his heart for long enough. It wouldn’t hurt to let it unravel, just the slightest bit. Between the two men were the earth, the sky and the sea, who else would listen to this small moment of his wretched, broken past?
“The kingdom of the Netherlands… The current monarchy is just a figurehead, nothing but a sitting duck. Who really controls the power within the kingdom is the High Chancellor, and he does this through force. To ensure our kingdom stays rich, he orders me to plunder and burn down other kingdoms, and when the other kingdoms have been plundered, set sail on the high seas, stealing from whoever crosses my path. To make sure it’s never linked back to him, I’m to kill anyone who stands in my way. Anything and everything I get my hands on is to be sent back to the Kingdom, and even then, I’m sure my father pockets half of the treasures for himself.”
“I’ve been groomed since I was a kid to follow his every order. Maybe that’s why my memory is so bad; any time I failed him or he thinks that I’ve failed him, he would smash a bottle against my head. Sometimes he would leave me outside during the harsh winter, sometimes he would get more creative,” Max went on, uncaring of whatever slipped out of his mouth. “I’m sure he’s left more scars on me than my enemies. I just knew never to fail him, never to step out of line, and always to follow his every word, his expectations and his demands. What you heard at the tavern is likely the royal guards my father sent onto the ship.”
“Then? What will he do if he finds out that you’re gone?” George asked.
“Don’t know,” Max shrugged. “After a while I finally realised I didn’t need to follow his every order. I started to rebel, little by little. If he hits me now I know how to fight back; and how can an old man compare to someone in his twenties? I started to break free from his control a few years ago, but I was still stuck on that ship. I thought about running away, but knowing my father, he would send men to the ends of the earth to capture me. But then I finally managed to escape when I fell off board during the storm. ”
“I didn’t expect to live back then, and I didn’t want to, but you saved me and brought me here.”
George took in all the information silently, and the little bits and parts he knew about Max slowly fell into place. Still, there were still puzzle pieces remaining, and the picture remained incomplete. Hatred wasn’t easy to wash away, especially one that was etched deep into his bones, yet whatever remained of his heart still twisted uncomfortably when hearing about Max’s past.
After a long pause, George finally said, “I see.”
Max said no further, and George didn’t want to either.
As he ate the last bite of meat, the last bit of the sun finally sank below the horizon, bringing about the long night. George jumped into the water, hastily throwing off his clothes while doing so and the pain began anew.
His human legs grew longer as they merged into one, where feet once were now fins once again. The skin on his neck split, turning into gills, and the nails on his fingers grew sharper as webs grew between skin. A piercing pain happened in his eyes as his pupils contracted and dilated, changing from eyes suited for land to eyes suited for the dark depths of the sea.
He was once again back to being a siren. He swam a few laps in the cave’s little pool, acclimatising himself back to the waters. As he did, Max watched on from shore, transfixed on the way the scales on George’s tail reflected the light, scattering it across the walls of the cave. The silver scales glittered and shone, even more brilliantly than the constellations that made up the canvas of the night sky.
Eventually, George slowed, and Max called out to him before he swam out of the cave.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” Max asked.
After a beat, George replied, “When have I never been back?”
Max nodded, and George sunk back into the cold depths. As he swam away, he thought about the events of this long, long day. What he had once known seemed to crumble away slowly, and a truth remained hidden within the rubble, just ever out of his reach. But now it remained to be seen whether he wanted to chip away at it to push the rubble away, and to unearth what had happened all those years ago. Would the truth bring about his happiness? Or would it destroy everything he once thought he knew?
He glanced back at his fins. What if it wasn’t an accident? What should I do then?
He thought once more about what Max said about his rough childhood. A small pang of sympathy still coiled around his heart, but it has been a long time since he had any use for the emotion. An opportunity to return to humanity, to regain his legs permanently, had just so happened to fall into his lap, he would be a fool not to use it.
‘Didn’t want to live’, so that’s why the curse had failed back then. No worries, there’s still time. Next time, I won’t fail.
–
Back in the cave, Max had pulled himself into the dingy hut. He stripped down to his inner layers before laying on the bed, eager to get some sleep after an arduous day. For the second time since he came here, sleep came to him uneasily.
Dreams came to him in scattered bits, showing him a fragment of time he had thought were since lost.
“Do you think you can run from me?” his father asked. It was the dead of winter in the Netherlands, and snow piled around them. He was in nothing but a thin shirt and pants, shoes forgone as his father had dragged him outside the estate walls.
Max shook his head. His eyes and nose stung from the cold, and tears threatened to well up in his eyes. But he would not cry.
“Kneel outside and reflect on what you tried to do,” his father had instructed, a belt in his hands.
Max got onto his knees as the snow around him continued to fall.
“Listen up, and listen well. As long as you remain alive, you’ll never be able to run from me.”
As his father made his way to the wrought iron gates of the estate, he shot his son a final look.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
The gates shut in front of him as he knelt in the snow, feet slowly turning blue from the cold.