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Rays of gentle sunlight pierce through the surface, wavering in the currents and reaching for the depths. Sea fans flutter and weeds twirl as small, brightly colored fish dart amongst the foliage. Coral ripples with life and jellyfish float on the tides that ebb and flow through the water. A grouping of seahorses cling to grasses, watching as shadows pass overhead and darken the sun.
Light rolls along glittering scales, growing brighter as the shadows descend into the depths of the sea. Pinpoints of bioluminescence glow along pale arms and criss cross over powerful tails, illuminating the sharp ridges of fins and fans and flickering at the tips of whiskers. The smaller shadow darts forward, losing a flurry of pale white scales in the rush of water that follows.
“Mama, look!” A young mermaid, barely more than six seasons, turns over to bare sharp teeth in a grin at his mother. His face is framed with scales and light, his whiskers short and billowing around the crown of his head.
The larger shadow reaches out for him with webbed fingers, taking his hand in her own, “I see, Jaskier. Soon, you’ll have no baby scales to speak of.”
Their words are more trills of song than any sort of speech, meanings conveyed through crescendos and staccatos, triplets and legatos. Jaskier flips gleefully, watching a few more translucent scales slough off of his tail and revealing deep blue beneath. “Will my scales be as beautiful as yours, Mama?”
“Jaskier, my love, your scales will be even more so.” She pulls him close to press their foreheads together, nudging their noses. Jaskier wrinkles his and laughs, the joyful peal of a child. Fish pause and turn their attention to his radiance, the sea grasses stretching higher and turning greener as his magic flits around without aim. His mother grins and nips at his nose before tucking him onto her back. He winds his arms around her shoulders with no prompt and they shoot forward, propelled by his mother’s stronger tail.
Her scales shine a reverent gold, with the same deep blue of Jaskier’s tail accenting the edges and giving her tail a beauty unknown by any other mer. Royalty, however, has always been the gaudiest of the mermaids, shining brighter than any other. It’s a danger as they stand out instead of camouflaging with the sea, but also is a symbol of status. They don’t need to blend in because of their position in the hierarchy.
Ordinarily they have guards with them, highly trained mermaids to protect them from any sort of threats they might face; but Jaskier’s mother had pulled him from his bed of sponge in the wee hours of the light, whispering of an adventure. So they snuck out together and zipped their way across the reef and into the open ocean. Jaskier has done his best to be as unobtrusive as possible, only asking where they’re going thirty seven times instead of his usual eighty three, but he’s starting to get bored and impatient. The seas all look the same after a while.
Just as Jaskier opens his mouth to ask yet again where they’re going, his mother slows her swim and points ahead of them. “Look, my love,” she says softly to him, “What do you see?”
Jaskier squints at the dark, jagged shape that sits on the seafloor. Long protrusions unnaturally mar the ocean, and something pale billows from them in the current. He frowns and shakes his head, not understanding what’s in front of them. “What is it, Mama?”
“It’s called a ship.” She says the word in a strange language, rough and ugly to the ear. “Land walkers sail these upon the surface to explore our oceans.”
“Land walkers?” Jaskier gasps, “Do they really?”
His mother hums affirmation, “Indeed. They can’t swim as far as us, love. Their tails are skinny and small, not meant for long distances.”
“They have more than one?”
“They have two.”
“They have two tails and can’t swim as fast as us? That seems silly.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She laughs and takes his hand in hers, allowing him to roll off her back. “Come, let’s go see what the land walkers might have had aboard this ‘ship’.”
Jaskier swims eagerly alongside her, nearly pulling her in his wake as his excited curiosity gets the better of him. His mother grins and follows with ease and soon they’re dipping down into the open side of the wreck. Sharp edges line the gaping hull which they’re careful not to catch their fans on, black eyes adjusting to the darkness within the ship. Crates and barrels line the seafloor, tossed from their places when the ship wrecked, some burst open with the remnants of goods scattered across the sand. Skeletons grin at them, eerily white in the dim light.
Jaskier flits to and fro, distracted by each new thing he sees. A shining silver disk, barely larger than a sand dollar; a coil of plant material, heavy and waterlogged; a pair of odd looking gloves, with no holes for fingers. His mother names them all for him in that ugly language: coin, rope, boots; and Jaskier finds himself more intrigued with each new find. Bed, knife, sail, barrel, wood, ax, sword.
He finds a strange ‘metal’ thing that’s heavy in his hands and has a nub sticking off of it. It clicks when he pulls on the nub and Jaskier tilts his head, curling his fingers around the round part and peering into the hole on top. There’s a stick of metal protruding from where the thing bends, and he starts to push on it.
“Jaskier, no!” His mother’s shout is fortissimo, shaking the very ship itself and startling the little mer. The metal makes a deafening sound. Jaskier cries out, releasing the thing as his hand blisters an ugly red.
“Mama!” Jaskier sobs, rushing into her arms. Shrapnel and detritus float down from a hole shattered in the ship above them. “Mama!” His ears are still ringing from the concussive sound.
“Jaskier, baby, you’re okay,” she reassures him, running her fingers over his whiskers and along his spine, smoothing down his fan and searching for injury. “You’re okay, you’re alright. Shh, calm down you’re okay.”
“What was that?”
She sighs, cupping his face in her hands and wiping away the slick tears, “It’s called a ‘gun’. Land walkers use them to kill each other.”
“They kill each other?” Jaskier gasps, a tortured expression settling on his young face, “Why would they do that?”
“As wonderful as land walkers are, they’re dangerous, Jaskier. Do you hear me?” She looks at him seriously, the blue of her irises only a thin ring in the black of her frightened eyes. “They kill and maim each other to settle conflicts. They can be very violent, baby, so you always need to have caution when exploring their remains.”
He nods and sniffles, his gills fluttering on his ribs. Jaskier shoves his injured hand forward, “This got hurt by the ‘g-gun’.”
His mother’s expression softens and she gently takes his hand in her own, dragging her tongue over the wound. The throbbing pain in the burn eases and the blisters soften, quickly returning to smooth skin as the redness fades away. “All better,” she murmurs and presses her forehead to Jaskier’s. They inhale together, releasing a shared breath in a flurry of tiny bubbles that drift up to the wood above them, a few escaping through the newly made hole.
“Stay close to me now, love,” his mother doesn’t allow him to drift alone anymore, holding his hand in her webbed fingers as they explore. She points out more interesting finds and Jaskier listens with rapidly waning attention. It’s just not as fun to explore when he has to only look at the things his mother is looking at.
Then something catches his eye. It’s an odd looking wooden thing with a fat end and a thin stick protruding from it, a hole in the center of the bulbous side. The thin part folds back on itself and there are the remains of some sort of gut strung from one end to the other. A beautiful pattern is carved into the wood around the hole.
“What’s that, mama?” He points to it, slipping free of his mother’s grip to dart over to it. It’s very large in relation to his small body, his fingers barely able to hold the long part as he gingerly lifts it from the debris. His mother follows with a smile, gently taking the thing from him.
“This, my love, is an instrument.” She explains, twisting some little wooden pieces on the folded part of the stick. “I can’t remember what it’s called, but it makes music. It might not do it underwater, though.” She strums her fingers over the strings and the instrument just makes a dull thudding sound.
“Can you make it work, Mama? What about your wish?” Jaskier reaches for the necklace that rests upon his mother’s breast. It’s a silver thing with the fierce snarl of a wolf carved into the face.
She takes hold of his wrist before he can touch the pendant, “I only get the one, Jaskier, you know this. It must be preserved for when it is needed. I know you like the instrument, but the wish can’t be used to make it work below the surface.”
“It’s magic,” Jaskier says solemnly.
His mother nods and chucks him under the chin, “Just like you, my dear.”
“I’m not magic! Not like that. I can’t grant wishes or make things out of nothing, Mama.”
“No, but you have a powerful gift, darling,” she gathers him into her arms, resting the strap of the instrument over his chest, “You’ll make a great king someday.”
Jaskier giggles, tucking his head under her chin and shivering as the ends of his whiskers brush her throat, “I can’t be king! Papa’s the king.”
His mother hums a laugh, pulling back to take his hand once more and lead him towards the final room in the ship, “Perhaps. But one day he won’t be. And on that day your reign will begin.”
Jaskier makes a face that expresses his doubt but doesn’t speak further on it as he watches his mother pick through the wreck for anything of interest. How could he ever be king? His father has always been king as long as he’s been alive and always will be king. Jaskier can’t imagine his father being anything but king; although, maybe he’d make a nice florist, or perhaps a seasmith.
He’s still deliberating over what kind of life his father would lead were he not the ruler of the sea when he and his mother leave the wreck, drifting near the surface to soak up the warmth of the sun. Maybe his father would be a guard? He’s certainly got the stern constitution for it. Or possibly a strong-mer in the fair, his muscles are large enough for that.
Jaskier doesn’t see the orca until it’s upon them.
His mother’s arms wrap around him and he’s tumbling, the surface twirling around him. Her agonized scream deafens him. The water is growing murky and metallic around them. Jaskier is released, flipping over as his heart thunders in his chest.
“Jaskier! Swim!”
He’s frozen. His mother’s tail is gone. Blood blooms in the water like a gruesome flower. The orca approaches his mother from behind, an omen of death, its jaws opening.
“GO!”
The jaws snap shut. His mother’s head rolls.
Jaskier screams.
The orca’s tail thrashes as the very water boils around it. Jaskier continues to wail, a shockwave bursting free of his chest, flattening the seagrass below and crumbling the coral nearby. The orca clicks and surges forward.
A hand grabs Jaskier’s, yanking him out of the path of the rampaging whale. He snaps his jaws shut in surprise, cutting off the echoing scream. The orca chatters in annoyance but swims away, clearly unwilling to go head-to-head with Jaskier again.
“Are you stupid?”
Jaskier turns his wide eyes on his savior, a mer a few cycles older than himself. This new mer has long white whiskers that float around his face in a halo and bright yellow eyes, his tail darker than the pitch that bubbles at the bottom of the sea. The mer is scowling, but his expression softens into discomforted concern as he watches Jaskier.
“Hey.... it’s okay. You’re not dead.”
Jaskier starts to look towards where the blood still darkens the water and the mer grabs his cheeks, forcing Jaskier to look at him. “Don’t look, okay? Come on, you need to go home. Where’s your clan?”
Jaskier takes a shuddering breath, feeling like he can’t get enough oxygen to pass through his gills. “The trench,” he whispers. He realizes he’s shaking when the mer pulls him into his arms.
“The trench, huh? What’s your name? I’m Geralt.”
“J-Jaskier.”
Geralt whistles in his throat, “No chance you’re not the prince, huh? Or that that wasn’t the queen?”
Jaskier shakes his head slowly. Geralt curses.
“Alright, your highness. Let’s get you home.”
***
The cold moon casts long shadows through tall windows as young feet creep through the silent halls of the castle. The carpet runner muffles Eskel’s footsteps upon the stone floor that’s surely cold enough to cut right through the wool of his socks were he to set foot upon it. His breath rasps loudly in his ears– how can no one else hear it?
He knows why, because he’s being quiet, but it’s still tremendously noisy to him; almost to the point of being annoying if he’s truthful. Eskel takes a shaking breath to ease his pounding heart as he reaches the staircase, descending quickly to keep the floor from freezing his toes. This isn’t the first time he’s snuck out– and he’s sure it won’t be the last– but it never gets any less harrowing.
The doors creak as he pushes through them, closing them softly behind him. Once they thump shut, Eskel sighs and leans against the wood to catch his breath, the adrenaline of disobedience thrumming through his veins and making his head spin. He pulls his boots on and, with one last glance back at the castle, runs down the path that winds back and forth across the cliff face.
The sea roars with a vengeance, something angering the waves even as the stars shine brightly overhead in the clear night sky. If Eskel were a poet he’d say it almost sounded like a wail of mourning, the way the whitewater crashes upon the night black sand and the gathering foam, the sea frothing furiously.
But Eskel’s always hated his poetry lessons so being a poet is firmly off the table.
His boots sink into the soft sand as he reaches the beach, cautiously approaching the surf. He’s not stupid, he’s not going to go into the water without someone to possibly save him, but he is curious about the way the ocean rages without a cloud in the sky. Swells roil and roll into enormous waves that pummel the shore with a vengeance, he’s never seen anything like it.
Eskel watches for a few silent minutes before turning his attention to the sand, searching for anything shiny in the moonlight. He pries a few shells from the wet sand when the tide recedes enough for him to stand beyond the froth, and gathers a tidy collection of shimmering rocks rendered smooth by the sea. He’s starting to search for the holes that indicate sandcrabs when something glimmers farther down the beach, shinier than anything he’s found so far.
Eager curiosity pushes him towards the glittering thing, his collection of rocks and shells forgotten in favor of something better. It doesn’t shine quite so bright as Eskel gets closer, and it’s difficult to find it in the shadows of the night, but he’s determined: sweeping the beach with thorough care.
Just as he’s about to give up the toe of his boot catches on something buried beneath the sand. Eskel drops to his knees, digging in the sand and carefully unearthing the item. It looks like a chain, thin and delicate but sturdy as well, the clasp stuck shut with sand and salt. Eskel pulls the chain from the sand and gasps in surprise.
A wolf’s head medallion gleams in the light of the moon.
Eskel delicately washes the sand from the necklace in a tide pool before pulling the chain over his head and letting the medallion rest upon his thin chest. It seems to be warm, even before touching his skin, and Eskel marvels at this miraculous discovery as he runs his fingers reverently across the smooth face of the wolf.
“Eskel!”
“Prince Eskel!”
“Eskel, where are you?”
Eskel’s head snaps up towards the source of the shouting and he looks at the medallion once more, curling his fingers over the pendant. He looks out at the ocean, the sea calmed slightly since he’s picked up the jewelry, and watches the swells glitter with the moonpath said to lead to eternity.
“Prince Eskel!”
Eskel whispers his thanks to the sea and tucks the medallion into his shirt, turning towards the servants searching for him.
“Coming!” He shouts and runs from the shore.
Eskel sighs as he watches the ebb and flow of the surf from his perch high up in the west tower, one leg dangling from the open window and swinging with the crisp, salty breeze. In his hands gleams the medallion he found as a boy as he spins the pendant around the chain, the wolf snarling at him for his insolence. The wind blows his dark hair around his face and he props his elbow upon his bent knee.
He hears footsteps on the wooden stairs that spiral up the rickety tower and groans, letting his head fall back against the window. He recognizes the bickering voices that grow louder with each step and wishes they hadn’t found him as quickly as they have.
“...if you weren’t so stubborn all the time we wouldn’t have to climb two hundred steps every time he disappears.”
“An awfully bold claim for someone who avoids feelings as if they have the clap.”
“You’re spending far too much of your time with Lambert, Triss, honestly.”
“Better Lambert than the company of silent stones and bubbling beakers.”
Triss and Yennefer’s squabbling continue all the way to the threshold of the attic, only dying when they see Eskel’s unimpressed look. Triss at least has the wherewithal to look sheepish even as Yennefer evenly meets his gaze.
“Prince Eskel, your mother has half the castle looking for you. Again.” Yennefer says flatly.
Triss elbows her and smiles apologetically, “I know you aren’t… excited about your name day ball, Eskel, but it won’t be so bad!”
“It’ll be awful,” Eskel grumbles, turning back to the view.
Yennefer sighs harshly, “It’s food, women, and wine, Eskel, what more could a young man want?”
“Perhaps the company of someone who actually desires me and not my position?”
Triss and Yennefer exchange a glance before Triss walks over and gently lays a hand upon his shoulder, “How would you know that’s beyond your grasp if you don’t attend the ball?”
Eskel shakes her hand off but tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear and gets up with a sigh, “Yes, fine, alright. What must I do?”
Yennefer’s mauve lips curve into a wicked grin and Eskel’s heart sinks as she grabs his hand and swiftly leads him from the tower and down to his chambers where his manservant waits to dress him. He’s poked and prodded and pushed into a stiff suit, his hair styled and slicked and shoes shined. All the while Yennefer and Triss yammer along about the high profile attendees of the ball, Lords and Ladies and the eligible sons and daughters who will be present that night.
Eskel says little and allows himself to be guided around; however, the only thing he insists upon is wearing the unusual necklace he found as a boy. Some bread is fed to him to curb his appetite before he’s guided through the doors and into the ballroom, his arrival announced by a page. The sea of faces that turn to peer at him make his heart skip uncomfortably, his breathing becoming more shallow and his knees locking until Triss nudges him into motion. He’s then introduced to more people than he could ever remember, Viscounts and Earls and Barons and Aldermen that hail from near and far. Eskel gives up on recalling their names after the fifth Baron von Schmidt who kisses his hand.
He’s trapped in an uncomfortably stiff conversation with a young lady who he believes might be named Selene when a hand grabs his elbow. Eskel jumps at the sudden contact and whips around, ignoring the outraged whine from the lady.
“Gotcha, didn’t I?” Lambert gives him a snarky grin and Eskel rolls his eyes.
“Oughtn’t you be down at the docks, Lambert?” Eskel teases.
Lambert punches his arm, “You’re coming with me down to them, dickhead.”
The lady gasps at Lambert’s uncouth behavior, drawing his attention. “What are you looking at? Go on, get out of here and bother some other unfortunate lord.”
Lady Selene huffs, “How rude. I think perhaps I don’t want your companionship after all, Prince Eskel, if this is the type of company you keep.”
Eskel waves her off, “Go on, then. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” she sniffs and turns on her heel, disappearing into the crowd.
“C’mon,” Lambert claps a hand on Eskel’s back, guiding him from the ballroom, “now’s our chance before some other schmuck starts barking.”
With a laugh, Eskel hustles from the ballroom, following Lambert’s lead down to the docks. The night is cool and the town quiet as the celebrations are contained to the castle. Stars glitter in the velvet sky, fading and vanishing into the dark clouds that loom on the horizon and flicker with distant lightning.
Lambert notices Eskel’s worried glance and makes a dismissive sound, “It’ll be fine, Esk, I promise. We’ll be out and back before the clouds reach us.”
“If you say so,” Eskel sounds doubtful but continues following Lambert anyway, shedding his stuffy jacket and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. Aiden waves to them from aboard a schooner, whistling through his fingers with a grin.
“Welcome aboard, lads!” Aiden hollers, “Let’s set sail for grander waters away from that godsawful ball, what say you, Prince Eskel?”
Eskel grabs Aiden’s outstretched hand and climbs aboard the ship, “I say that sounds like a fine idea, Aiden.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Lambert asks, hopping aboard unaided, “let’s haul anchor!”
Aiden whoops and together he and Lambert ready the schooner for departure, the small boat setting sail minutes later and heading for open water. Eskel leans against the railing at the bow to enjoy the crisp sea air blow across his face and ripple through his clothing.
“Where are we headed?” He asks a short time later, returning to the aft where the steering is.
“Just a bit farther to some open water. We’ve got a surprise for the name day boy.” Lambert teases and Eskel rolls his eyes.
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fireworks stashed below deck, would it?”
Aiden gasps dramatically, “How could you accuse us of such a thing? Truly, Eskel, you don’t know us at all. And how did you even know about those?”
“I saw them being loaded onto this ship earlier,” Eskel snickers as Aiden slaps Lambert on the shoulder.
“I told you to be discreet, asshole.”
“I was!” Lambert argues, “I painted over the explosives label on the box!”
“It’s an open box, Lambert!” Aiden laughs, “You can see right into it!”
Lambert grumbles but is smiling and they drop anchor not long after, lowering the sails while Lambert grabs the box of fireworks. One by one they set off the explosives, oohing and aahing as they burst into fiery balls of color. Some whistle and some crackle and some just boom, the sound echoing over the swells of the rocky sea.
The light of the moon suddenly dims as the clouds that have been rumbling in the distance conceal its glow. The three men look to the sky just as a clap of thunder echoes across the sea and the heavens open wide, a torrential downpour drenching them in moments. The ocean roils and writhes in response, the sky and sea dancing a deadly jig. Rain slicks the deck boards beneath their boots, making the schooner dangerously slippery.
Aiden and Lambert start yelling, giving Eskel instructions as they bat down the hatches and secure the lines. It’s not enough, however, as lightning strikes.
CRACK!
The main mast is hit, the lightning racing down the wood and splitting it with the ease of ten thousand axes. The mast topples. Eskel tries to jump out of its way but is hit by the waterlogged canvas of the sail.
“Eskel!”
Lambert’s voice is the last thing Eskel hears before he tumbles over the edge of the ship and plunges into the frigid waters. The storm is muffled, the chaos of the rain muted, beneath the surface. Eskel’s head hurts and his vision is blurry as he sinks, pulled down by his clothing. He’s not sure which way is up, even as the bubbles stream from his open mouth towards the surface.
Just as his vision dims, strong arms wrap around his chest and he’s tugged rapidly forward. He tilts his head just enough to try and see his savior, catching the tiniest glimpse of vivid blue eyes and dark hair, before he falls unconscious.
It’s with a start and a violent retching cough that Eskel, surprisingly, awakens. He’s drenched and freezing but laying on the beach, wet sand caking his skin as he rolls onto his side. He vomits up the icy sea, the salt water burning his nose and throat, but finally he’s able to draw in a deep gasping breath.
“Fuck,” Eskel coughs, his eyes watering as rainwater streams down his face. He places a hand to his throat as he sits up.
The necklace is gone.
He suddenly remembers that he was saved and frantically looks around, hoping his savior didn’t just rescue him and then steal one of his most prized possessions. There’s no sign of anyone on the beach except for him.
Eskel sighs and slumps back, disappointment weighing heavily on him. They were the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, even with the haze of the water obscuring his vision; he would have liked to see them again.
If Eskel had looked at the sea he might have done just that as a young merman floats just out of sight behind a rock with the necklace clutched in his webbed fingers, wistfully watching the young prince gather his senses before standing and beginning the trek back to the castle, leaving the beach behind.