Chapter Text
George loved the water.
Most merfolk did, of course, but he couldn't imagine himself ever leaving it. He knew friends who sometimes longed for the chance to walk alongside humans, but he could barely fathom it. The water was fluid, and calm, where the surface was rigid and harsh. Humans were bound by the confines of one part of land, where merfolk had the whole world to explore.
Sure, he couldn't touch the human trees, or climb the roof of a house as he had heard they were called, but why would he need to when he could swim as far as possible into the depths of the blue, until his gills could hardly take the pressure. When he could play tag games among the largest coral reefs belonging to his world, despite the warnings of his mother that he could damage his scales, or be spotted among the shallow waters by passing fisherman boats. When he could go shoaling, blending in beautifully with the deep blue fish who shared his ancestry, running the risk of being caught up in the net of the 'dangerous humans,' so he'd been told.
While most would practice the deadly sport for the thrill of it, to be closer to the land-walkers perhaps, or even just to get a glimpse of the surface themselves, George went shoaling because he felt at home. And when the sunlit surface waters began to darken due to the storm brewing overhead, he could simply slip out of the group of fish by diving down, letting himself fall to deeper waters and head back to his pod.
That is what happened today. Although it was forbidden, he couldn't help but take a chance at seeing such a large school today. It was rare nowadays, to find schools larger than a few hundred, but he could have sworn there were at least a thousand among this group. It was a bit colder this time of year however, so he wasn't surprised. It was most likely they were migrating for the season, and a few smaller schools had joined up to create this one.
It was, however, beginning to storm, and his innate fear of the thunder and lightning asked him to swim down to his pod once more. It wasn't that he didn't have reason for being afraid of storms—other than instincts completely taking over—he only rarely heard of storms. Storms so proud and raging against the gods, storms so violent and untrustworthy that even he, a creature of the moon's own tides, could not bear to stand up to them while they battled their heavens.
As he neared the large cave the pod had found a few days ago, a small figure swam out and he grimaced slightly. Uh oh. She was shouting, and George's pace slowed a little as he approached the cave entrance.
"George Periwinkle Shellborn! What in Poseidon's name do you think you're doing?" She held a dried coral fan in one hand, waving it upon herself as she grabbed George's arm, dragging him through the cold and bringing him back to the cave like he wasn't already headed there. "I was fine, Aunt Niki!" They entered the sea cave, a few heads from the pod turning their way at the sudden commotion, and Niki dragged him deeper in.
"Cara! Look what your son has been getting into again!" George rolled his eyes, yanking his arm from her grasp and rubbing it. Looking up, however, a familiar face swam up to the two.
His mother, gasping slightly, put on a slight glare directed straight at him. "You better not have been out shoaling again, you know our rules on that! For heaven's sake, you could be kidnapped, or killed, or worse! Those fish swim far too close to the surface and you know that, George."
"I'm 24 mum, I know how to handle myself." He held back another eye-roll, wondering how it was that merfolk were so overprotective. "Besides, these are the safest waters around, nobody's spotted a ship for weeks. I wouldn't do it if I didn't know that."
She scowled back, not buying into it. "That doesn't change the fact that the surface is dangerous." He bit his tongue, refraining from saying something like 'I never even went close to the surface anyway,' knowing that if he had the sense to talk back he'd find himself grounded to the sea floor for eternity.
Suddenly, a familiar voice popped up behind him and he whipped his head around to greet it.
"So George, I was thinking about the latest migration patterns- oh, hi Miss Puffy." Karl's mouth shut instantly, and George bit back a giggle. His mother's eyes only narrowed, and she made one last glance at the two of them before disappearing once again. She muttered quietly, "If you two didn't have the pod to protect you..dear gods, I swear.."
George grinned at the boy now beside him, thankful to have a forgiving mother. Aunt Niki was long gone by now, so George turned to Karl and headed to a new area of the cave with him as they sought to catch up on some things.
George loved the water.
—————
Dream loved the wind.
He loved the sound it made on a particularly chilly day, as if it had its own song. The song was different each day, too, and for hours if he really wanted to, he could stand upon the deck of his ship, listening, and listening, and listening, until the wind changed its tune once again.
The problem was, the wind didn't always play loud enough to be heard over the sea. Waves lapping against each other, the sounds of gulls soaring overhead, it was overpowering, and while he loved the smell of the saltwater he felt on his skin all the time, he preferred the wind. It was...calmer. It could float alongside the sea, instead of with it like his ship did.
Of course, that wasn't to say he didn't love his ship.
The Silver Morrow floated with the sea, not on it. He felt as though it were attached to the water, and therefore, so was he. In that way, the sea was simply a vast expansion of himself. An expansion of what he and his crew did. Could do. Dream controlled the sea, and yet the sea and he were equals. As with any pirate, that bond was something rivaled only by the companionship of their fellow crewmates.
Dream smiled suddenly as his first mate appeared at his side. The white ceramic mask that separated his smile from his friend was the same mask that portrayed a very different smile. A smile familiar to any sailor, any ruler, and any warrior; a smile that could strike fear into the worst kinds of hearts.
Dream turned to Sapnap, letting out a sigh. Things were… fine, at the moment, but he knew the man wouldn't have news. It was unlikely a solution had been formed between now and the last time anything was spoken about.
"Any word from L'Manberg?" He pushed first, hoping to get the conversation out of the way for the day.
Sapnap returned a short shake of his head. "No, nothing. Unfortunately we won't be docking for several weeks, so I doubt we're gonna get any surprise messengers sailing around these waters to deliver some news for a while."
Dream bit his lip, nodding slightly. A beat of silence passed, before he let out a defeated grunt, running a tense hand through his hair. "We're so screwed, Sap." The younger man didn't bother replying, unable to deny the truth, and unwilling to stoke the fire that Dream was burning.
The two had nothing more to speak about for now, business-wise, so the blond leaned over the rail once again and stared out at the endless blue surrounding them. "Do you ever wonder what life is like on land?"
Of course, mainland wasn't a foreign concept to them, they'd set foot on the earth countless times, but after spending nearly their whole lives aboard this ship, both Dream and Sapnap could easily consider it their home. They'd never known being on land, free from bounties on their heads and government naval vessels chasing after them if any pirate came so much as near the borders of their kingdom.
"Of course, don't we all?" He replied after a moment.
Dream hummed a little, finding something amusing. "I don't. I mean, I never have.. until recently."
"Recently?" The other man inquired, interest peaked.
"I don't know, the past few months, when things all went to shit I suppose. Maybe it's me wishing we were wherever he is...maybe it's me wishing I could forget this whole thing, live like a normal human... but I've never wished it before, you know?"
Sapnap hesitated, and Dream could sense his friend was unsure of how to respond. "Nevermind. Maybe I've just been on the ship for too long. After tonight we'll stop at Dry Waters, take a swim in the island's lagoon. We could all use a cooldown, if you ask me."
The brunet nodded in response. "You want me to tell the crew, or should you?"
"You go ahead, I have some things to attend to. Oh, and let Fundy take the wheel for today, I'm sure he'll be excited about stopping by his parents' place, of course."
After Sapnap had left, Dream was the sole admirer of the waves once again, besides Sam who was—of course—tending to all the ship's needs at the moment. Dream readjusted the mask covering his face, before turning and finding his way to the floors below.
Descending the stairs, he headed down to the lowest deck. Reaching the last step he peered in front of him, at the countless large, glass tanks that filled the room. Each one, most between 8 and 10 feet in length, sat in a wooden barred cell. It had all the atmosphere of a prison. Well, that's what it was, wasn't it?
Looking towards the glass tank closest to him, he gave a small, malicious grin.
"Let's catch another mermaid today, shall we?"
—————
Merfolk hate lagoons. That's a well known fact, considering those areas of water are clear and easy to spot them in, could trap one in far too easily for George's liking, and are so shallow in some places that there is no room for a long tail.
Lagoons are, however, areas full of magic, which naturally would attract any creature of the night.
George's pod was currently staying several miles out of the coast of Dry Waters Island, some of the safest waters known to merkind for years. Here and there a passing ship could be seen overhead, but not many hunters, if any at all. This was mainly due to the nature of the abandoned location. While magic drew in merfolk, it drew away humans.
Unless they had a specific target for going there, or their attention to their surroundings was immeasurable, it would be very easy for a human to just simply...veer a bit to the right, or maybe the left, or perhaps turn around altogether, regarding the island. It was a small trick or the mind, but it had come in handy many times.
Karl has been to the surface twice. Aunt Niki has been to the surface four times. His mother has been to the surface once.
George has never been to the surface.
Sure, if he had the chance he'd love to just pop his head above the water. He'd feel mother nature's breath with every gust of wind, he'd wait for the cold to come and sting his cheeks, but it would never come because he'd be too excited to notice when it does. He'd sit there endlessly and gaze upon the new sight, or even just for a fleeting second, but that was unrealistic.
Firstly, his pod strictly forbade that, and even shoaling was heavily, heavily discouraged. Secondly, George wasn't one for much rebellion. Sure, he had his rebellious streaks from time to time, but when it came down to things he tried to follow the rules layed down by his ancestors. Thirdly, the reason it was forbidden: the surface was dangerous. Every mer knew that. Only the most daring would risk a peak at the world above, and George wasn't exactly the most courageous merman alive.
The closest George had ever gotten to breaking the surface was once, when he had been 17. The pod was in danger that night- and the memory was clear enough that he could remember it like yesterday.
Unfortunate circumstances had led to all 19 of his pod (at the time) to be surrounded by hunters in shallow waters. Shallow waters deep enough for ships to crush the water around them and any creature too, but ligjt enough that no mer had room to escape the harpoons and nets and chains the hunters threw.
They swam as fast as possible, trying to outrun the ships, if they could get past them in the first place. So George took a chance while he could, while he was right there, swimming dangerously high, and stuck one, single hand up, to feel the cool breeze.
The sensation was ethereal. Tendrils of light grasped at his fingers, trying to hold on but failing as he cut through each one and they fluttered past in something like regret. Effortless grace met him, despite prior warnings that the world above was a cruel and dangerous place. How could something so beautiful be cruel?
It ran through his fingers like the water did, but less fluidly. He could feel the resistance more, the pressure it created as the wind slowed against his barrier of a hand. The water was faster, calmer, now deeper. When they all reached open waters, he dove.
Three of his family were lost that night.
That easily sparked his fear of shallow waters.
But George was more intrigued than ever.
The one problem was that George was a warrior. Out of their pod, 18 mer total now, 4 were elders, 4 were children, 4 adults were caretakers. The last 6, including himself, hunted and protected them.
George was a warrior solely because he was strong, young, and had common sense. That, coupled with the fact that he didn't exactly want to be a caretaker.
Karl would have been with him, however had opted to teach and raise the young. He was planning to become a warrior in a few years, however, and George would wait for the day he could share his job with his best friend.
Today they were out to hunt once again, and in shorter waters than he would have liked. He stomached it though, knowing they'd be safe.
They were split off into two groups, on opposite sides of the island, each catching fish on their own. George had caught one large tuna, and when pulling his claws away licked the blueish-green blood that coated them off carefully. He rested for a moment, watching as his two partners went on their own chase.
And that's when everything went to hell.
George heard a shout, and upon looking up realized the nature of it. A massive shadow, cast across the sea floor.
It was dark in color, but brighter in tone than the sea-steeds he was familiar with seeing: the shipwrecks, rotten and aged beneath the water. After the initial shock of seeing the alien object, he watched as a net was thrown into the water, right above his companion. He gasped, but sighed gratefully when the mer managed to slip away before his fins caught in the tangled mess of rope.
The three of them found each other, and George was grasping onto his tuna as if his life depended on it. He debated ditching it, but figured it was light enough it wouldn't hinder his swimming. They called out cries only known by merfolk, searching for help. None came.
Had there been just a few more of them, had the ship been smaller, maybe they could have taken it down like so many foolish fishermen in the open waters, but this one was far too powerful. Its speed doubled any normal vessel, the sails billowing in the wind with a menace any inanimate object should not be able to convey..
And then he was stuck. He couldn't swim any further, and for a moment, he wasn't quite sure why. That was before the knotted grid fell over his face, too. He peered through the many spaces, eyes wide as he began to thrash about in the net. He called back to his podmates, and they paused, turning back to try and yank the black rope away. It was no use.
He screeched, flipping around and around, tangling himself and the turquoise and teal skirt he wore further into the object, until suddenly it was freezing. Colder than his own waters.
So this is what the stinging cold should feel like.
He stopped for a moment, until suddenly his heart dropped. He looked down, only to find the water gone, rough waves crashing against the side of the very boat currently taking him.
He clawed his way through the black, but to no avail. His breathing grew shallower, gills struggling for something, anything to breathe in. It was no use, he hadn't used his lungs in years, them failing to kick in by pure instinct.
He saw spots, and he saw cold, and he saw the wind mocking him (for how could he be so foolish?), he saw faces: their evil grins, their taunting eyes,
and he saw the darkness.