Chapter Text
Sylvain sighed, staring out at the wide expanse of sea that surrounded him, the waves softly rocking the ship in a way he’d begun to grow accustomed to. Sure, he made no bold claims of having sea legs—not in the way the captain kept teasing him about—but at least he wasn’t falling over himself like a newborn foal. Not that it seemed to do him much good, anyway.
He would never be as skillful at sea as he had been on the ballroom floor, his feet deft and steady as he weaved through waves of prospective suitors. Nor could it compare to the way he twirled girls across the floor as easily as the wind curled into the sails, every dance one step further into admittedly reckless behavior. And his movements here certainly weren't as subtle as his whispers to Dorothea, a sly smirk on his lips as they spoke of recent events—particularly of the salacious variety.
He frowned, his mind flicking back to the celebration. It was tradition to be invited to the coronation parties of neighboring kingdoms—and he certainly didn’t object as Edelgard took her throne. Certainly she already showed signs of being far more competent—if perhaps a little less forgiving—than her father had ever been. Besides, good signs showed in the company she kept. It meant better things for both of their kingdoms, particularly compared to the past.
Though, this time, the company he’d been interested in had been clad in bright dresses and flashy jewelry, fake smiles and false words. It had been in the distraction that such a celebration supplied in abundance…even though he knew that probably wasn’t what any proper prince would pursue. No, a proper one would act like Edelgard’s advisers—prudent in who they spoke to and the reputation they built.
But it didn’t really matter anymore. Whatever he did out there, out in the realm of color and intrigue, it wouldn’t come back home. Home was far too empty for that, regardless of what he did.
“Your Highness.” A sailor stepped up to him, bowing his head slightly.
Sylvain turned and leaned against the railing. “Go ahead.”
“Storm’s coming.” The man glanced across the horizon, where admittedly dark clouds were building. “’Tis safer inside for those who ain’t crew.”
Sylvain didn’t miss the ‘dead weight’ lingering on the man’s tongue, but there was no point arguing it. On this ship, he was hardly anything more—certainly not adding anything to their functioning. Honestly, it was a bit of a refreshing change compared to the way he was regarded back home. At least the sailors didn’t leave much space for guesswork.
Still, just because he was useless out here didn’t mean he wanted to be a burden. There would be plenty of excuses if he ‘somehow’ wound up over the railings—which was sure to happen if he annoyed them enough.
“Sure. Got it.” He nodded to the man, turning on his heel to head back inside. It wasn’t like he had any better footing in the cabins—he was sure to be thrown about if this was an intense storm—but at least then he wasn’t going to fall over. And that had to count for something.
As he stepped into the cabin’s doorway, though, something caught his attention. His head snapped around, lips pressed together as he looked past the railings.
But there was nothing there but the waves.
“Sir?” The sailor stepped behind him, a small frown on his lips. Apparently he was more of an escort than an adviser. “Did you see something?”
“No,” Sylvain said, waving the thought away with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “Probably just my imagination.”
That frown only deepened. “I’ll inform the captain.”
“Of what?” Sylvain teased. “That I’m seeing things?”
The sailor shook his head. “Better safe than sorry. ‘Specially in these waters.”
“What, worried about pirates?”
The sailor smiled a smile Sylvain knew all too well—a liar’s smile. “Yes.”
Sylvain only watched as the man bowed his head again before heading to the stern, his steps quick and light despite the growing strength of each wave. He knew unease held his tongue; he wasn’t unaccustomed to people lying, but it was something else with the sailors entirely. They had no reason to lie—there was nothing they could fear from him, at least.
Unless they didn’t want him to worry, to make a fuss that could become a burden. Sure, he knew pirates weren’t a concern; for the most part, those criminals were little more than a fantasy, nearly obliterated by targeted campaigns and time. Those left were skilled—which reasonably could be a point of concern—but a man was as likely to meet a unicorn as he was to be attacked by a pirate.
So the response meant that either there were more pirates out here than he thought, or there was something of a much greater concern. Something like—
The ship rocked hard with a sudden jerk—so forceful that it had Sylvain falling against the cabin’s doorway, his fingernails digging into the wood so he didn’t fall on his face.
Still clinging to the doorway, Sylvain’s gaze snapped around. Some men were clinging to the railing, others to whatever happened to be nearby—the masts, cannons, or even each other—all of them with stunned looks on their faces. A couple glanced over the railings, but that they weren’t shouting meant that they were as confused as everyone else.
It was strange; they weren’t near enough to the ports yet, so it had to be impossible that they’d run aground or hit any shallow reefs. It was possible some idiot had decided to weigh anchor, but even then—
The ship rocked again—harder, more violently—with such force that it slammed Sylvain’s head against the hard wood, making his vision blur. He winced and rubbed at the spot, his teeth gritting so hard that it hurt.
“To arms!” the captain roared, his voice traveling far amidst a silent sea. His next words made Sylvain’s blood run cold: “Kraken!”
Sylvain couldn’t hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears. The world moved so slowly around him—some men scrambling across wood as they reached for rifles and blades, others reaching for the cannonballs and gunpowder as they shakily tried to arm the cannons, a sailor running to him and yelling things he could not hear, a tentacle curling over the railing.
The sailor followed his gaze, the man’s lips curled as he drew his blade and cut off the tentacle in a single smooth swing. He spun around again, his hand curling into Sylvain’s sleeve as he shook him slightly.
“Into the cabins, Your Highness!” Sylvain realized the man was saying. “You’ll be safe there.”
There was little doubt of that, Sylvain knew. Krakens weren’t unknown in these waters. While his ancestors may have claimed that they destroyed ships, Sylvain knew that they lacked the strength for it. They were more likely to simply snatch men from the ship’s deck than try to split the hull in two. True, they could dig through windows and doors…but if Sylvain were to retreat into the depths of the ship, he’d be fine. He would just have to wait for the thing to be satiated by a few good men and—
Sylvain wasn’t even going to finish that thought. Instead, he drew his blade, his teeth gritting as he sprinted across the deck. It was just enough time to slice a man free from a tentacle as it wrapped around a leg, his footing just steady enough to duck as another tentacle swung for his head.
Perhaps there was something good that came out of sparring with Dorothea and her dirty tactics.
“Prince Gautier!” the Captain yelled, his glare fierce as he caught Sylvain’s eye. “Retreat to the cabins!”
Sylvain clicked his tongue, his gaze instead flicking up to a mean-looking tentacle swinging down toward the still-yelling captain. Sylvain had to do little more than flick his fingers toward it for the tentacle to be set ablaze—the fire so hot that the slimy surface dissolved into ash that rode the air that swirled around them.
Sylvain couldn’t help a grin as the captain gaped at the charred remnants of the tentacle as it slid back into the water.
“Change your mind?” Sylvain asked.
The captain scoffed at him. “Stay if you wish to die, then.”
Sylvain smiled, offering a wink. “Wasn’t planning on it today.”
The older man laughed, his blade quick and brutal as it dispatched more of the tentacles around them. Sylvain could only admire it for a moment before he had his own mess to deal with.
It was amazing, how unrelenting the creature was. True, kraken were renowned for their ferocity and the sheer number of limbs they had—making it utterly remarkable that any creature could bear so many—but it was something else entirely to experience it. The tales didn’t describe how his fingers ached from holding onto his blade so tightly, nor did they say that his breath would come out in heaving pants as his shirt soaked in sweat.
And it was clear that the sailors around him were just as inexperienced as he. One slip-up, and any one of them could—
He grimaced as he ducked under a tentacle, his hand flying up to scorch that limb as he sliced at another that tried for his feet. He was too late, though, to realize that a third approached from behind—the thick tentacle wrapping around his waist and dragging him into the sea.
It took all he had not to gasp—to keep air still in his lungs. It was difficult as the tentacle curled more around him, squeezing harder with each second. It made his blade tumble from his hands and sink into the depths, his fingers clawing at the limb in a futile attempt to be free.
He bit down on a grimace at a particularly potent squeeze, the damned thing trying to press the air from his lungs. It would be a miracle if he didn’t make it out without a broken rib…
…if he made it out at all.
He swallowed, the thought making acid linger on the back of his tongue. People didn’t just casually survive being dragged from their ship. People didn’t survive an encounter with monsters. He was going to die. He was going to die in the depths of the sea, everything of him devoured by a tentacled monstrosity.
If he was going to die, then it only made sense if he went out in a blaze of glory. Right?
He swallowed, his hand reaching out. The force of his own magic sent him flying back, the severed tentacle slipping from around him as he flipped and spun from the sheer concussive force.
But he didn’t have the time to be dizzy; he shook his head, his gaze snapping up to the light above him. His arms moved on instinct, the burning in his chest making him desperate for the safety of the ship. This time, for sure, he’d go into the cabins. He’d let better men than him fight the beast. He’d—
He paused, the shadow of the ship still surrounded by tentacles. Even if he got back to the deck, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be dragged back down here. And, next time, he wouldn’t have the energy to fight back. Hell, there was no guarantee he’d even make it to the surface before the kraken grabbed him again.
Against his better judgment, he changed course and swam deeper into the sea—down to the source of the tentacles. As he swam down and down, giant eyes that didn’t see him fell into view, as well as a giant beak that snapped so sharply he could feel it in the water around him.
When those eyes fell on him, he couldn’t help a smile.
His fingers burned as he pointed at the creature, a barrage of fire raining down from somewhere above—making the water around each one nearly boil before striking down upon the creature. He could only watch as it writhed, its beak open in a soundless screech as its tentacles flung around to protect it in vain.
And then it stopped, the tentacles going as limp as the beast. Slowly, so slowly, it began to sink into the depths.
Sylvain hummed, his arms sore and tired as he began to sink back up to the light. He was certainly going to pay for a spell of that caliber, but it was better than dying. And especially better than dying via beak.
Then again, he wasn’t entirely in the clear, yet. He knew the ship wouldn’t wait for him for long; sure, they might spend some time waiting, but there was only so long before they could safely assume he was dead. And, with the current and the upcoming storm, there was a good chance they wouldn’t see him if he wasn’t quick. And even then—
He gasped as something wrapped around him, crushing around him so hard he was sure he was going to burst. He cried out—only to earn a mouthful of salt water. His lungs burned as he gaped for air that wasn’t there—the attempt entirely futile as he was being crushed more and more—more than he thought physically possible.
His vision blurred at the edges, tears adding meager salt to the water that surrounded him. Above him, the shadow of the ship was getting further and further away.
Darkness engulfed him entirely as he was dragged into the depths.
Sylvain blinked slowly, his vision blurry at first but slowly—so slowly—focusing. Not that there was much to focus on; the sky above him was bright, fluffy clouds crawling across. The sound of the waves’ crashing was louder than the slow heartbeat in his ears, relaxing in its constancy. Warm water lapped at his hips, the occasional wave splashing up over his chest. A breeze toyed with his hair, no doubt heavy and stiff with dried ocean water.
If this was the afterlife, it wasn’t a bad one. He could imagine just closing his eyes and sleeping here forever. It would be a nice change compared to—
A sudden cough racked his chest, scraping through his throat like gravel. He rolled over on instinct, coughing harshly into white and pristine sand. Salt and seawater wrenched itself from his stomach and lungs, the taste bitter and unpleasant on his tongue. It made his chest burn, his coughs not enough to bring him any semblance of peace.
He jolted as a hand pounded hard and firm against his back, each strike just as forceful as the last. But it did force the last remnant of salt from his lungs—rendering every breath satisfying, if not a little achy.
Sylvain let out a shaky sigh, his hand massaging his throat softly. He was going to taste salt for weeks, for sure.
But still, he couldn’t forget his manners. He turned his head, a charming smile automatically on his lips. Immediately it faltered, his words of thanks lost as if he’d never spoken a word in his whole life.
Because there, right beside him, was a man who couldn’t possibly be real.
His whole body was bare, his skin puckered in places by old scars that hadn’t healed right. Every muscle in his body was toned and prominent in a way that had to be physically impossible—after all, Sylvain had certainly given it his best in his early philandering years and still hadn’t managed to completely eliminate a smoothing layer of fat. Deep gashes ran along his sides, just around the edge of his abdomen muscles, and yet somehow they weren’t bleeding.
No…it was because they weren’t gashes at all. It dawned on him as his gaze slid further to the tail—the tail—that it wasn’t a man beside him at all. And the gashes, he realized, were gills.
He swallowed as he realized that smooth scales pressed along his leg—part of a dark navy tail that was so smooth and slick that it had to rival even a shark’s. With the fin along the back part of the tail, it was very likely that the mer was part shark.
Sylvain winced as a hand grasped his chin, the webbing between fingers rough against his skin. It wasn’t half as rough, though, as the way that the mer turned his head one direction and then another as if looking for something.
It was then that Sylvain let his gaze flick to the mer’s face—and that he realized that he’d somehow been in the frying pan, skipped the fryer, and leapt right into the furnace.
Because the mer was handsome. Long navy hair fell over his shoulders—somehow perfectly pristine even though it was common knowledge that ocean water and hair didn’t mix well. And in contrast to his body, his face was completely bereft of scarring—not even one along the deep frown on his lips. And those eyes—so intense as they stared at Sylvain—were of such a lovely color that Sylvain was certain that he could get lost in them for ages.
He couldn’t remember the last time his heart thudded in his chest like this. It made the blush on his cheeks feel foreign, his tongue heavy in a way that it hasn’t been since he was an amateur. He wanted to blame the near-drowning, but he knew he couldn’t.
Because the fact was clear: he was utterly smitten.
There were a million things he wanted to say, that he wanted to ask. Unfortunately, the only thing that passed his lips was a simple, “Ah.”
That frown on the mer’s face turned into a small smirk as he pulled his hand away. “Did the water addle your brain?”
Sylvain swallowed, every thought and question dissolving into nothing at the sound of that utterly delightful voice. His mouth was dry as he fell on a brainless classic of: “Are you free tomorrow?”
It was a stupid question; it didn’t take the mer’s sudden withdrawal to make that clear—even though it was certainly more painful. The merman was quick as he snapped away from Sylvain, so easily out of reach from Sylvain’s sluggish reach. Sylvain could barely even manage a complaint before the mer was vanishing into the water—only the flick of a tail visible before the sea was left calm and utterly undisturbed.
Sylvain smacked his face, rubbing at it harshly. He was an idiot; even with his mind foggy and unclear, he should have known better. For instance, saying ‘thank you’ was far better than a half-assed attempt to flirt. After that, there was the obviously polite thing that had been drilled into him since he was young: asking for a name. Then he could have flirted.
Now he just felt like an idiot. A guilty idiot.
He sighed, slowly bringing himself to his feet. His knees were still a little shaky, and his body ached, but he was in relatively good shape considering what had happened. He was at least in a good enough condition that he could ask around, perhaps even haggle his way back home and—
He blinked as he looked at the building behind him.
That was a castle—his castle. And the place where he stood was a beach he’d played on thousands of times as a child—a private little nook outside of the view of curious people and wandering eyes. He hadn’t been here for years, but it was hard to forget.
How had the mer known to take him here?
He shook his head. He could dwell on that later; he’d already been stupid and inconsiderate once today. He couldn’t do that again, and especially not to his own people.
After all, he needed to tell them that he wasn’t dead.