Chapter Text
Life can change at the drop of a hat.
Erik knew this well.
Well enough that he knew better than to let himself settle into a routine and expect it to remain.
He’d grown up living by this knowledge, as he watched his hometown change as the silkworm mill he’d worked at had to shut down.
He was only a child, could only recall the fuzziest memories of that last day…
He didn’t have one of the harder jobs there. He worked at the looms, his fingers were callused, but he didn’t have the worries of infection or burns like the kids at the vats.
He wasn’t one of the children that fought back. He knew his place, knew that he would someday be able to leave that mill, saving up the pennies he earned to someday go off on his own.
It just happened sooner than he expected.
The foreman had drunkenly killed one of the younger children, and in a moment of madness, or maybe even clarity, one of the older had killed the foreman in retaliation, before fleeing the mill, not to be heard from again.
The mill owners looked past much of the foreman’s cruelty, not caring for the well-being of those inside as long as they got their profit.
But when a child was murdered in cold blood, and the foreman as well?
That wasn’t something they could brush under the rug.
Erik didn’t much remember the blood of that day, now. What he did remember, however, was the dye that morning, the bright cyan blue the foreman used on him at seemingly random intervals.
All the children that worked under him had their hair dyed one color or another so that at a glance he could tell if they were where they belonged, or if they were off loitering by the wrong station, or trying to sneak out back home.
A wisp of his still-blue hair fell into his good eye, and Erik brushed it away.
Had all that re-dying really been necessary?
His hair hadn’t come anywhere near the toxic-smelling substance since that morning, and somehow it still retained the color.
He didn’t mind the unnatural shade, actually. Blue wasn’t the worst he could’ve gotten out of the range, some of the poor sods may still be out there, bright orange hair announcing their presence wherever they went. But that aside, his blue was one thing that stayed the same.
One thing he could count on, even if in the grand scheme of things it never changed a thing.
But that wasn’t his point.
Blue hair or not, that was the first time he learned that lesson.
And this lesson was only reinforced as time went on.
He was still small when the mill closed, too small to be on his own, and thus, he was thrust into yet another thankless job, but one that gave him a future without gangrenous cuts or ruined lungs.
He got used to the smell on the boat faster than others.
Silkworms hadn’t been a pleasant smell either, but at least it didn’t stick to his clothes like the smell of dead fish did.
But Erik found that he enjoyed the sea.
After his nose went numb to the rancid stench of fish blood, he found that the sea itself was so much more pleasant.
He loved the warm breeze that came from the endless waters, the salt spray, and the call of the seabirds.
Even with the backbreaking labor of the fishery, the cramped quarters he had to share with the other boys, the ocean felt right.
For as long as he had the privilege of working on it.
His humble little work lasted him a good handful of years. They weren’t the happiest times he knew, but they weren’t bad.
The work was methodical, and became muscle memory easily, allowing him the amazing new luxury of daydreaming.
He’d seen how the shipowner lived, sitting back behind the helm, giving orders, leaving the ship every night they were ashore to go sleep in his bed in his more than modest home with his more than modest family…
Erik could just imagine living like that. Owning his own ship, having his own crew…
Seeing his hands in linen gloves flipping through notes instead of slicing through the belly scales of the fish they caught, cleaning and preparing it to be sold to someone else.
He could look into his bowl of gruel every night and imagine real cuts of meat, buttered and salted potatoes, and the wine he saw poured for the portly man, instead of the beer he and the others were given to stave off scurvy and the other handful of troubles that came with living at sea.
Those fantasies, so far out of reach but so easy to imagine lasted him long, kept him company through the lonelier nights, kept him strong through the harder days.
But one day came that the fantasies couldn’t save him from, and taught him again that what he had was as fragile as the fish bones that broke in his hands.
It was late at night when their ship was stormed.
Erik liked to think that he slept through the worst of it.
But even after those on the deck were taken, recruited, or tossed overboard, they came for those under deck.
Pirates.
Erik had only heard stories until that point, of the outlaws that sailed the seas, taking what they wanted, spilling blood carelessly, flying flags and banners of skulls and crossbones.
They’d sounded like the stories of the selkies and sirens told to children to keep them away from the riptides, like the tales of the fae and the werewolves to keep them from the deep woods.
But there they were, all too real, all too tangible in that night, herding them aboveboard, hands tied behind their backs and to each other to keep them in line. If one tried to escape, if one made a move, it would ripple down the line, risking them all.
Only one child had been brave enough, foolish enough to try anything.
Erik had seen his fair share of bloodshed.
That last day in the mill, the accidents that happened before, when the nets cut hands, when his knife slipped in his hand, when the sailors were drunk, playing a game with a blade and a song…
But there was something different with these pirates.
Even the foreman’s death had a reason, in a way. He’d been killed in vengeance.
But that boy…
Erik didn’t know his name.
The children didn’t play on the ship. They didn’t speak or joke with each other, fearing reprimands for wasting time.
But still, the little boy with the uneven black bangs and the birthmark on his face had been there just as long as Erik had been, and in just a heartbeat, he was cut free from the rest, and cut down before their eyes.
No one else moved.
The shipowner was killed next, and then the stores raided.
They didn’t have much of anything of any real value, and that had made the pirates angry.
They took out that anger on who remained.
But not once did Erik flinch or cry.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t afraid. The chattering of his teeth and the shake of his legs was testament to that, but it was only that there wasn’t anything in his meager power that he could do.
Either he would survive that encounter or he wouldn’t, and well, if he didn’t, that wouldn’t be his problem any longer.
But the pirates saw something in him, and the few others that behaved akin to him.
They took Erik and the two others with them as they carried their plunder to their ship, the three children now added to the spoils of the attack.
Erik didn’t know what became of his old work. What happened to those stranded on the ship, their provisions taken, their employer murdered. He tried not to think about it.
His new life as a pirate lasted much longer than his last two. Erik didn’t know how long, exactly.
He didn’t know how old he was, but on that pirate ship, he grew up.
For years his tunics were too big, but his shoes too small. But that was okay.
Maybe he’d be able to swipe something better the next time they stopped a ship or docked in a port.
He was freer, as a pirate, but that freedom came with a price.
His fantasies of the future were much harder to envision with his face on wanted posters.
Harder to hold onto when he knew his life was held ransom at all times, to be taken if he stepped out of line.
The third child hadn’t lasted long before they gave up before the captain had taken his life.
Leaving only Erik, and the other child.
Derk seemed to be somewhat older than him, but he didn’t know how old he was, either.
But what matter was age on a ship like this?
Erik liked to think they were friends but didn’t have much in the way to know if that’s what you would call them or not.
But that was okay.
He and Derk kept each other company, told each other stories, and shared what little they had to stay strong through the rougher times.
He helped get those daydreams back.
Even if they were different now.
Even if then, Erik’s future ship flew a jolly Rodger, and the nets had been replaced with cannons.
Someday, they had promised each other one night while they nursed bruises the crew had given them, this ship would be theirs.
They would be the ones reaping the spoils, the ones standing at the helm, charting their course.
Someday, they would sail the world.
They heard whispers of lands across the seas, fruitful of exotic treasures and treats, unlike anything they had ever seen.
They would’ve dismissed these hushed words as pure fiction, taken from the pages of the books Erik could not read if it hadn’t been for one thing.
The captain had a sword in his cabin, unlike anything Erik learned to wield, long and thin, sharper than a butcher’s cleaver, intricate but not delicate, engraved with patterns that may be a language, that may be something else.
A single, priceless treasure from these unknown lands.
Someday, they would find these places for themselves.
But of course, Erik knew better than to think these dreams would ever prove to be anything more than fantasy.
When his last fight happened, Erik knew he was an adult, having not grown an inch in years, but that would be to imply he ever grew much at all.
No matter how much time passed, Erik never got very tall, never filled out in the way the other pirates were, but his slightness never bothered him.
Until he got hurt.
It was an accident.
But those just happened, no matter how careful, how prepared he could’ve been.
It was a single misjudged move, but it cost Erik so very much.
The fight had been going well, the gods on his side as he fought, the smaller dagger blades that he favored strong in his grip, and his opponent unsure of themself. He could almost taste what was to be had after his victory, the respect he would earn, the ranks he could rise… But a heartbeat was all it took, and in a heartbeat, he was on the ground, on the wrong end of a sword.
On bad days, he could still feel the blood trail down his cheek.
And even on good days, he still felt the ceaseless ache in his hip from the break.
Somehow, they’d survived the raid from another pirate ship.
Somehow, they’d gotten away.
Somehow that Erik did not know.
Days, he spent in the infirmary fighting against infection and shock and all sorts of nasty things that wanted his life.
But when he pulled through, he was down an eye.
This wasn’t the end of the world.
He wouldn’t be the only one on their ship that was missing half their sight, and his depth perception could be trained.
They all had two eyes for a reason, after all. That one he lost had been nothing more than a spare.
But it wasn’t the eye that caused such trouble. It was the break that was a problem. It was bad, the bone not breaking his skin, but it wasn’t where it belonged. There were no doctors he could see. The man who set his leg had no training, no experience, and it showed as his leg healed crooked, and he was unable to set it down flat against the ground, unable to make it take his weight without protest.
Derk was the only reason he survived that hell, his old friend bringing him water, watching him through the fevers, but even he had his limits.
When his leg was healed, and he walked with a wince and a limp, there wasn’t a thing Derk could do to save him.
He was useless, now, thanks to his fragile build, and his own mistake.
He couldn’t fight, could hardly work, and it wasn’t even as if he was literate enough to help with the atlas.
They were just going to kill him.
And Erik wouldn’t have minded.
Things were all changing again, and this time there wasn’t anyone to drag him into a new life.
Erik loved the ocean. It was his home. He wouldn’t have minded it being his tomb, as well.
But Derk had one last trick up his sleeve, and Erik still had his life, still had his ocean, but less freedom than he had even in the mill, two lifetimes ago.
But he still had his life, and that was what mattered, right?
Right.
Morning came once again, and the warmth in the morning air didn’t do anything to lift Erik’s spirits.
He’d been on this godforsaken island in this godforsaken lighthouse going on three years now, and it still felt like a prison, and really, it was.
This was the price for his life, Erik knew, as he took the cane from where it was propped against the wall by his bed, and got himself up. He had too much information about his old crew. Too much to be safe, but here, isolated from the world, operating an old lighthouse and guarding the treasures his crew found without him, he wasn’t a threat to anyone.
His bed was at the bottom of the stairs, tucked away into a corner, with what various little amusements Derk brought for him.
Derk had gotten all the glory after Erik’s final battle. He deserved it, he really did.
He deserved the place he was in, now. Not quite at the helm himself, but not far from it.
Their old captain was old.
Grey streaks ran through his hair, these days, and it wouldn’t be long until he’d be tossed to the waves or buried in the earth.
Maybe he’d even retire. Not that Erik would know where an infamous man like he could ever go to live quietly unless their crew tossed him to this island as well.
Was this life what Erik could have expected if the mill never closed? A house, some livestock, routine, calm, quiet…
Leaning heavily on the brass handle, Erik took his time making it outside.
There were chickens to feed, a garden to weed, fish to catch, and when the sky turned orange, a lamp to light.
He’d need the evening to climb those winding stairs on his bum leg, and by the time he got back down, he’d need all the rest he could get before the cycle restarted.
Retirement. Heh. He may walk like an old man, but he was far from being one. Erik didn’t know how long he could take this monotony.
He’d begun to talk to his chickens, feed the seals that came to visit. The creeping beginnings of madness? Perhaps, but it wasn’t as if there was anyone around to call the white coats to toss him in the asylum.
Sad as it was, he’d never used to need the company of his fellow man.
He’d been a lone wolf, and he’d been happy.
But everything was different now, that he’d known companionship, known hope, and had it ripped away.
There was no ship in his future.
There was no foreign land.
There were no riches.
There was no modest house.
There was no family.
There was only a lighthouse, and the fleeting visits from his old friend, climbing the ranks in his ship.
Derk’s ship.
Not Erik’s.
Never Erik’s.
He had his chickens and the friendly seals.
And that was his lot in life.
It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he had, more fortunate than some.
It didn’t always hurt.
But some days were worse than others.
Some days… He wondered if he’d have been better off sinking through the depths all that time ago.
He wondered if he’d have been better off trying to escape on the fishing boat.
If he’d been the child killed in the mill.
But he was no better off for wondering.
No better off for getting his hopes up with silly fantasies.
He had breakfast to catch, for himself, and for his seals.
You’d think having learned the lesson thrice over now, that Erik would know that nothing would remain the same and that he couldn’t rely on anything that wasn’t himself, and yet the world still found a way to change everything in a way he had no way to foresee.
The sun was still not yet risen when Erik had finished tossing feed for the chickens after he’d fetched his fishing pole and bucket, so when he saw six glowing golden lights on the lowest shore where the seals normally slept, he hadn’t any idea what to expect.
He’d seen plenty of luminescent jellyfish and plankton on the surface of the sea, but they’d never stopped being mesmerizing.
But this was something entirely new.
Halfway into the shallows of the low tide and halfway onto the slate dark stone, was a man.
Or, more accurately, a merman.
Water-darkened hair spilled down the golden-toned skin that then faded into a lavender tail… Three glowing patterns in the scales.
Erik knew of sirens.
Knew all the stories, all the legends.
He knew that this creature did not mean well, knew that no matter the method, this creature was a man-eater, and if Erik knew better, he’d be turning around, letting the fish in the tide pools live, and let the seals fend for themselves today.
But…
Even in the pre-dawn dark, Erik could smell the iron tint of blood in the air. This creature was not on his shore for the fun of it, washed up, and beached rather than resting.
Erik felt a twinge in his hip, a pressure that stretched down to his knee.
It will rain today, said the pain. And Erik knew that it wasn’t lying. He’d learned to read the twinges and aches, knew better than to ignore it.
This creature was injured, and it wouldn’t stand a chance in the torrential rain on its way.
Erik knew what it was like to fend for himself in the harsh world and curse his bleeding heart, but Erik couldn’t just leave the creature to perish .
Climbing the hill to his lighthouse with his arms full would be hell on his leg, but it wasn’t as if he had any other options.
Carefully, slowly, in case the bioluminescence was not the only trait it shared with jellyfish, Erik lay a hand against its tail, before rolling the creature closer.
The sun had only begun to creep over the horizon, its pink light illuminating the creature in a way that couldn’t possibly be real-
The purple scales dotted over his cheeks, under his eyes like freckles, only becoming darker as it moved over the ridges of his cheekbones until it reached where his ears would have been if a fin wasn’t protruding from the side of his head instead.
But Erik didn’t have a spare thought to wonder about its function, when he caught notice of the blood trickling down from the creature’s hair, fresh rivulets running down and pinkening the water.
A head wound.
Maybe from impact?
Erik tucked his cane under his arm, and hooked what he could under the siren’s tail, lifting him up easily.
The creature, weighing so much less than he’d expected, hardly noticeable until Erik had to stand, had to brace his bad leg against the ground.
The pain, the weakness from favoring his other almost sending them both back down into the wash.
Almost enough to make Erik think twice, when the man in his arms let out a pained sound, without any conscious thought, it held to the collar of Erik’s shirt, and Erik knew he wouldn't be able to let go if he wanted to.
This creature- siren- this living being needed his help, and poor directionless Erik…
Well, he hadn’t anything else to do, did he?
His ascent was slow, it was unsteady, and he nearly lost his footing on the slick stone and over his crowding chickens more than once before he managed to get the two of them inside, just as the clouds split open, and a steady drizzle began to fall.
It was light, but the rain would get worse before it was better.
And speaking of worse…
Erik wasn’t exactly equipped for guests, let alone fish men…
Well, if he didn’t have any other option, there wasn’t any worth in hesitating.
Erik lay the siren down on his own bed.
He could always wash his sheets later. Saltwater wasn’t a hard stain.
But blood , however…
Erik lit the lantern by his bed and turned the flame up high.
He didn’t keep much in the way of medical supplies here. The worst wounds he dealt with these days were pecked fingers and the occasional mild burn or speared thumb from a fishhook.
He didn’t have anything to stitch with, so as Erik parted the soaked strands of brown hair, he hoped the gash wasn’t too terrible.
He worked quietly, against the backdrop of the pattering rain, wiping away the blood, tying up bandages, and hoping for the best.
The gash on the siren’s head was not as terrible as it could have been, the blood mostly just from scrapes, but that did not mean that the impact that caused the bleeding did not leave a concussion to worry about, and Erik hardly knew what to do for that.
Aside from his head, the creature’s wrists and stomach were marked in raised red lines, welts that burned and stung, and that Erik was all too familiar with.
There wasn’t much he could do for rope burn, but it would go away on its own, in time.
But what would have given him these marks?
Erik could have guessed from a freak show if there was any such thing roving around his lonely little corner of the earth, but there was not, leaving him with a few more believable ideas.
Someone had fished the poor thing up, and instead of tossing him back, had tied him up, intent on selling him at a market?
That is what the stories Erik knew would say.
But what did he truly know of this creature?
He hadn’t any research, hadn’t any prior knowledge or reliable sources to consider.
They said that sirens lured sailors to the deaths, a watery grave at best, and at worst, becoming the monster’s supper.
Perhaps this creature was harmless, or no more intelligent than any other fish.
Or maybe it was all accurate, and he’d just brought his own demise into his home.
But what would be new? Erik had slept shoulder to shoulder with pirates, men that would kill him over petty squabbles and to just take his place if they thought he might have it better. Erik was no stranger to sharing close quarters with those that meant him harm.
Erik picked his cane up and stood, looking over his work.
The siren’s tail was long, his fin intricate and sprawling, hanging off the foot of the bed.
Now that he was patched up…
Was this a good place to keep him?
Clearly he did not breathe only water, or Erik would’ve lost his patient long ago, but surely he’d be better off in the water?
But Erik couldn’t yet toss him back into the sea when he wasn’t even sure if he’d done the right thing by trying to help.
A basin is what he needed. A good-sized water basin.
His bath was a small thing, no good for a merman needing rest, but…
There was a trough just by the coop. Unused, since Erik hadn’t the room nor any need for a donkey on this isolated little scrap of stone.
Hardly knew why he had it when his flock numbered less than ten. But if fate had left him what he needed then he was not going to question it.
Leaving the siren with one last look over his shoulder, Erik made a steady pace to the tin trough.
It was turned on its side, resting against his chicken coop, and thankfully lightweight.
Turning it back onto its bottom made a crash loud enough to rouse the dead, the sound echoing through the empty skies, ringing in Erik’s ears, and setting his chickens off with upset clucking.
It wasn’t often loud here, nothing reaching anything higher than the rooster that liked to crow each morning.
The sound of cannon fire crashed loud in his ears and his chest, and the fall of cold rain did nothing to ground Erik’s panicked mind.
His heart thudded out a patternless march against his ribs, but the echoes he was hearing were but in his head.
Cannon fire wasn’t something he often heard, these days. There was no gunpowder smoke to clog the air around him.
But it was choking, all the same.
It took a few moments, a few stuttering breaths, and a peal of thunder off in the distance before Erik came back to himself, and the rapping pulse in his throat came back down to something reasonable.
Another attack.
They were coming more and more, in recent days. Set off by little things Erik didn’t ever seem to expect.
He’d cut his finger while gutting a fish just a few mornings before, and had a similar experience when the sound cut out around him, and nothing existed around him but the memories of his old fishing boat, the days catch behind him, and the thumping of enemy boots above his head.
He felt nauseous, even though he had not yet eaten today.
But what could he do about that?
He could keep working.
Push past everything wrong, and find a way back to his comfortable emptiness.
It was an awkward affair, trying to lug the basin in one hand, supporting himself with the other, up the slope back to the lighthouse.
His hair was slicked to his scalp, and he could feel the water drops running down his skin, soaking his clothes uncomfortably against him.
By the time he was inside, dripping a puddle onto the concrete floor, he was breathing heavily, and his bad leg was shooting pain up through the rest of him, punishing Erik for daring to try and use the limb.
But still, he wasn’t done yet.
His home wasn’t small by any means, but the fact that the stairs were always such a hassle to climb meant that most of the living space he could’ve used was cut off from him.
He wasn’t going to make the climb to the top more than once per day if he could do anything to help it.
And it was fine that way.
He had room for his bed, for his table, and his little kitchen nook.
He had space for an old armchair, and the bookshelf filled with bound books he could almost read.
But he didn’t have room left over to move comfortably with this tub dragged into the middle of the room.
But he could manage.
Erik could take a towel to the water spots on the floor later, but for now, he needed to get the tub filled.
The rainwater had filled it a good portion, but not enough, Erik felt.
It would only be a few trips, letting the now pouring rain fill his fishing bucket to tip into the basin before the water reached halfway up the sides before Erik admitted defeat, soaked to the bone and dead tired, but still having his own work to do that day with the energy he’d already spent.
He took a moment to check over the siren again, to make sure the bandage over his wound was still wrapped tight, that the bleeding hadn’t soaked through the gauze, and that the creature was still breathing.
He was different, in the light.
Erik finally began to understand what it was about these creatures that made men that knew full well what they were capable of turn to fools and follow them below the sea.
Even like this, even injured and ill, Erik found himself captivated by the siren’s beauty.
The hair that looked murky and dark from the water had begun to dry and fluff out, turning a much light mousy color, and now that he was looking at the siren without focusing on what was wrong, he was noticing so much more.
Little cowrie and conch shells were woven into his hair in tiny braids, and what he had thought was a fin by his ear was pierced much like his own, a ring the color of dried coral looping through.
Before Erik had even realized what he was doing, he had placed his hand on what would’ve been a hip for a human, but where flesh became scales on this siren.
Running a light touch over the divide, Erik just took a second to be still, to be amazed at what had crossed his path.
Luck was something Erik didn’t believe in.
Lady Luck didn’t rule over the strange happenings of the world, and coincidence was a simple answer to most of the things that happened.
Erik could have been anyone, and anyone could have been in his shoes, and it was not luck, good or bad that had gotten him to his point, and yet…
Coincidence could hardly be used for something like this.
Whether he believed in anything or not, something about this encounter felt nothing less than miraculous.
If there was anything to spring his faith to life, something to make him begin to believe that maybe there was some higher power out there, pulling at the strings of the world like a marionette, this would have to be it.
And yet still, Erik couldn’t produce even a spark of piety for whatever sent this creature his way.
Carefully, Erik took the creature into his arms again, and even as his arms ached and his back strained against the weight this time around, he did not jostle or disturb the merman’s rest, slowly lowering him into the water, so that his head was resting against the wall on one end.
His fin still stuck out from the other side, but there wasn’t much Erik could think of to do to amend that.
The merman could figure himself out when he woke.
As much as Erik wanted to stop, and just sit with his surprise companion, he knew he didn’t have the time.
Still so early in the morning, but now with new work to do.
Clean the water, fix his sheets, put away his medical kit…
It didn’t sound like much on paper, especially with the entire day to complete it all, but Erik was always so tired these days.
He was out of shape, out of practice.
Not that he’d gained any noticeable amount of weight from his time active, no. He was still thin and bony, but without any muscle to support himself.
He’d given up practicing with his daggers nearly as soon as he’d been left here.
There was no one to fight, and there wouldn’t be anymore.
He had no reason to keep it up, not when he didn’t have to, and not when his balance was so precarious on a single good leg.
It wasn’t worth the bruises.
The humiliation when he fell, even without an audience.
So, he let himself atrophy.
His work was harder, took more energy this way, but what was the matter to him?
He went about cleaning silently.
The lack of outside sounds was something he’d grown used to during his stay, but now, rather than normal, it felt oppressive.
The small sounds the cleaning made, the squeak of the wet towel on the ground, the little clicks of his supplies being put away, the swishing of the sheets as he pulled them from his bed…
He never knew how loud they could seem.
The man did not stir throughout Erik’s quiet work, and he was beginning to fear that he wasn’t going to be successful in repairing him.
Erik didn’t know how to really feel about this change.
Didn’t know how to compartmentalize a creature of fantasy on his doorstep, how to feel about his own actions in saving him, instead of leaving him for naught.
He was a pirate , for god’s sake! Not a nun, not a healer.
But even so, he didn’t want to watch this man die.
Was the water wrong, perhaps? The rainwater was clean and fresh, while the sea was salt. Or maybe it wasn’t anything that Erik did or could not do, and the hurt inside was just too much, his patches too little too late.
With the rain blanketing the outside world in a bleak grey fog, and without any hunger in his belly, Erik had no way of telling how much time had passed.
It may still be as early morning, or it could be just on the cusp of the evening for as far as he knew.
The merman did not stir, did not make a sound even as Erik knelt down beside him, even as he pressed two fingers under his jaw.
His pulse was not weak.
At least, not to human standards.
The pump of blood was strong, and that had to be a good sign, right?
Maybe all he needed was sleep.
Hopefully, all he needed was sleep.
Erik was in no position to offer any true medical care.
Or any true care at all, for that matter.
Aside from himself, Erik had only ever been responsible for his chickens. And while he liked to think he did a good job with his girls, he didn’t think the fish needed the same kind of attention as they did, and really, he didn’t take very good care of himself.
Erik pushed himself back up from the floor, as he felt a crack between his vertebrae, he knew he was going to need a better way of getting up and down.
Not only the gait of a huddled old man but the bones of one, too.
He’d earned himself some rest, today.
After the light.
Early or not, Erik still had one last chore.
He knew well enough by now that if he were to rest now if he were to take a break, he wouldn’t finish the job.
It wasn’t likely that the lighthouse would be needed tonight, by his crew or anyone else, but he couldn’t let it remain unlit.
He needed this job. This simple purpose to keep going.
The wrought iron staircase was familiar enough that he could climb it in his sleep, knowing every step that creaked and groaned under his weight, each and every one that felt a little unsteady in its age. It was good, that he knew it this well.
He could let his mind wander for the climb, and try to drown out the discomfort of his reality.
Step, clang. Drag.
Step, clang. Drag.
Good leg up a step, cane coming next.
Skim his hand up the banister, and drag the rest of himself up.
Over and over, up the spiral.
By the first platform, he was out of breath.
By the second, his good leg felt like it wanted to snap.
By the time he reached the Lightroom itself, his hair that had finally dried from the rainwater was again wet, but with sweat this time around.
Closing the door behind him, Erik slumped against its wooden frame, fighting to regain his breath in the higher altitude, fighting to stay upright.
It wasn’t always this bad.
Some days he wasn’t so winded, so exhausted by the stairs. But this wasn’t a good day. He had hardly slept, hadn’t caught his breakfast, hadn’t forced down any meal at all, and the morning had still been so eventful.
Hearing only the wind above his own wheezing, Erik took a second to rest.
Going down the stairs would be easier, he knew.
But with the almost painful thudding of his heart, it didn’t seem like it.
At least lighting the lantern was simple enough.
Just a bit of oil to light the fire and start the rotation.
Not a lot, just enough for it to stay lit through the night.
Just for the time that his crew would need it, on the off chance they had any reason to return.
The carefully stored jar of kerosene was nearly full. They had been by fairly recently, to top off his supplies, and leave a small array of their ransacked hoard.
Their visits didn’t last long.
Not ever more than a few hours.
Erik never knew if he welcomed them, or if he dreaded them.
Walking to the windows, Erik peered down.
He couldn’t see through the fog, but from this high up, he could just about see past it.
His island was more cliff than anything else, nearly all the green on a slant. The lighthouse was situated at the highest point, and even when he wasn’t all the way up here, the view from the edge was almost sickening with its drop to the crashing waves below.
What little flatland there was had been commandeered by the chickens and his vegetable patch, and that was fine.
Erik had no use for the land.
His breathing back to something that wouldn’t be fitting to be heard in a hospital ward, and his heart only thudding a little stronger than necessary, Erik stepped away from the window and prepared to make his way back down to his bed.
There weren’t any sheets, but that was fine.
It didn’t matter.
When the door clicked gently behind him, the first thing Erik noticed was the sound of splashing water.
He could see just the barest amount of the ground floor from between the two higher platforms, but he didn’t need to check to know what he heard.
A fish flopping against the ground was the same no matter how large the said fish was.
Going down the stairs was faster. He didn’t have to drag himself, didn't need half the energy that going up took from him, and specifically today, specifically because of his houseguest, the pain in his legs and his hand from the way he held the banister like a lifeline felt like nothing at all, and in only a few minutes, in just a third of the time it took him going up, he was at the foot, still out of breath, but what he was seeing taking it away more.
Out of the basin and tail dragging on the ground behind him, halfway between where Erik left him and the door, eyes opened wide, pale as a sheet, the fins along his spine and on the sides of his tail held wide…
But Erik was more focused on one single detail.
“I just mopped up.” Erik groaned aloud, staring at the water dripping off the siren to puddle around him.
Really now, couldn’t he have waited just a few more minutes before deciding to make a run for it?
Well, whatever.
The towels were all wet from earlier, still. He didn’t have anything to clean it up with at the moment, but the floor wasn’t exactly going to be damaged by a bit of water. He could get it later.
The siren didn’t respond. Didn’t move.
Didn’t even look away from Erik from where he’d frozen in place.
Didn’t even so much as blink.
Again, Erik wondered about intelligence. “You… Alright?” He managed to ask, reaching out his free hand… something. He couldn’t help the siren up, and he doubted any human sign of comfort translated well to whatever this creature was accustomed to.
But the second Erik moved the siren sprung back to life, moving away as quickly as he could, falling back to his hands, a drawn-out ‘ n ’ sound that almost seemed like the beginning of a word before it fell away to a frightened keening sound.
Erik took his hand away, letting it drop back down harmlessly at his side.
What was he supposed to do?
Swallowing hard, feeling his heart thudding for an entirely different reason than exertion. “I-“ he started off, unsure of himself. How did he know this creature even understood his language? But it was all he had. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke slowly and steadily, hoping that if nothing else, his tone could express what he was trying to say. “You’re safe here.”
The siren didn’t speak, didn’t move.
Still frozen, looking all the world more like a deer caught in headlights than a siren.
Erik didn’t know what had harmed him. What was entirely wrong with him that caused him to wash up on his little island.
He needed to be slow, careful, and nonthreatening.
But he wasn’t sure how else to appear that way.
He wasn’t threatening, he didn’t think. He was thin, frail. He was missing an eye and hobbled on - his cane.
He supposed it looked like a weapon, in a sense.
He could stand without it for a while.
So, he let it clatter to the floor.
The sound was sharp and loud like a gunshot, startling both himself and the siren, but before Erik could try to speak again, the siren finally made a move.
He made a lunge for the cane.
In but a few seconds and in a feat of mobility that was honestly impressive for someone without legs and with the lower half of a clumsy fish, Erik was joining him on the ground, tripped up by the said tail, and the handle of his cane pressed to his throat, the siren’s hands steady, but his eyes alight with fear.
He still didn’t make a sound through his bared and gritted teeth, each one frighteningly sharp, like staring up a shark.
Erik’s hands were already in sight, both by his smarting head, thankfully. He wouldn’t have been able to move them, otherwise if how he was being crushed by the merman was anything to go by. He spread his fingers, and spoke quickly, no time to try and take this slow.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He repeated. “I just want to help.”
The handle did not move from his throat.
“Can you understand me?” Erik asked, begging whatever it was that sent this merman to him that it could.
The siren’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded, but the handle still did not move. Erik was still an enemy in his eyes, still an unknown danger.
“Can you speak?” He decided to ask.
Another nod, then- he shook his head no.
That didn’t make any sense. How could he mean-
Oh.
“You can…” Erik ventured, “But you won’t?”
A single, short nod.
That made things more complicated.
Erik closed his eyes and took a single deep breath.
This wasn’t Erik defeated.
He knew defeat, he knew what it was to be truly beaten, and this was not it.
If it were, he wouldn’t be able to make an argument, he’d simply be dead.
And with an opponent like this, a creature famed for killing sailors… He was sure that if he was truly in danger, he wouldn’t be here now to consider what to do next.
No.
This siren had no intention of killing him.
All Erik needed to find were the right words to get himself free.
“I just want to help,” Erik said again, feeling the beginnings of his voice cracking. He really didn’t speak much, these days. “You washed up here on my island. You’ve hit your head, I just want to make sure you’re safe.” He explained carefully and dared to peek back up at the siren. “I mean you no harm. If you want to go, then you can go.”
The handle of his cane was gone.
The merman was moving away from Erik, much slower this time, and in a fashion much more awkward, almost comical.
Though it did make sense, Erik decided, sitting up slowly and watching the merman scoot away, and tuck his fin underneath himself, Erik’s stolen cane still in hand.
Careful to keep his weight off his bad leg, Erik found himself sitting on the ground, not unlike how the merman was, his legs off to the side, his weight supported by his hands.
Until he got his cane back, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d overdone it enough today that he knew he’d be sore and smarting for a week.
Now that Erik was getting a good look at him this close-up, awake, and not being threatened, Erik could see a couple of concussion signs right away.
The merman’s eyes looked no different than a regular human’s, but his pupils were different sizes, one smaller than the other by a good margin, and he wasn’t steady.
Now that he wasn’t feeling as if his life was being threatened, he was sitting upright, and Erik could see a gentle sway to his posture.
For as much as Erik knew, these two things could be normal, but he wasn’t willing to take a chance.
If this creature would just let him help -
Erik tried to dredge up some sympathy for the siren.
If humans were responsible for the state he was in his fear and uncooperative behavior was hardly something to get mad at.
Feeling like a broken record, Erik repeated himself one more time. “I just want to help.” He said, “You’re in no state to be out there on your own.” Unless… He wasn’t? We’re there more like him, around his island, just beneath the waves, evading him since he had arrived. “Are you alone?”
A nod.
The siren looked down at the floor, and his grip on Erik’s cane grew tight. He was alone, but not of his own choice.
Just like Erik was, really.
But a fresh new start of empathy or not, this was getting frustrating.
He needed a good way to communicate with this siren, and yes and no questions weren’t cutting it.
And if he couldn’t speak, then…
“Can you read?” Perhaps a long shot. What use would a creature of the sea have with dusty old books?
A nod. Of course. Even a merman could read better than Erik.
But it was a start. He had paper, and charcoal stick around here somewhere, if he could just get to them.
“Can I have that back?” Erik asked, gesturing to the wooden cane. “I can’t walk without it.” This was getting old, fast. “I promise, I won’t hurt you. It’s not a weapon, it’s just to help me.”
The siren gave in, letting the cane drop to the ground between them.
Maybe he felt bad, now that he knew what the stick was. Or maybe he just gave up, prepared for whatever happened next.
“Thank you.” Erik sighed, still moving slowly as he got himself to his feet, and even going as far as to move around the siren the long way to the drawer he needed, the difference in distance mere inches but more all the same.
He still didn’t know what this thing was capable of, and keeping his distance was staying safe.
By the bookshelf, there was a small desk. He didn’t know why. He never used it, never had any need for the charcoal pencils, or the blank parchment in the drawer.
He could hardly read, what use would he have for writing?
But even for just this, he was grateful.
Pencils in hand, empty notebook tucked under his arm, Erik returned to the siren and sank back down to the floor.
Eye-level, on equal ground.
He handed over his prizes. “Write.” He said, “I’ve got a few questions.”
But the siren was already pressing the tip of the pencil to the paper, the scraping sound of the charcoal all to be heard.
In seconds, the book was thrust back at him. The siren’s wet hands had left spots in the corner, but the looping, the elegant text was smudge-free.
Again, why did a merman have such neat handwriting?
Too neat.
Erik did just fine with print press letters, and with simply written blocky writing, but this was different.
The loops were confusing, joining letters together and making Erik have to squint to identify what was written. It took an embarrassing amount of time, but at last, he could make it all out.
My name is Eli.
I was separated from my colony, caught in a fisher’s net. Head hurts, dizzy. Can’t swim well.
You can really help?
“Yeah, I’ll help,” Erik answered the written question, handing the paper back over. Even if he was dizzy, the fact that he still had the ability to write meant that his injury wasn’t all too serious.
He just needed rest.
And fortunately, that was something Erik could provide for the siren-
For Eli.
For god’s sake, it wasn’t as if he was doing anything else.
And maybe…
Maybe the company would be good to have.