Work Text:
Leave some room in your heart for the unimaginable.
- Mary Oliver
Days after Ariel returns to land, Eric argues with his mother.
He finds her reading by candlelight, from a book bound in glimmering leather and filled with fear-mongering folklore about sea gods and merpeople. Eric tries not to bristle. He understands that it will take time for her to accept the impossible things that have become true.
“When did you know what she was?” Queen Selina asks. Her face is impassive, but her eyes are quick. Her hands are folded primly, but her wrists quiver.
Eric softens.
“I found out when you did,” he says.
She doesn’t believe him.
It comes as a terrible blow, having his mother look him in the eye and call him a liar. But even more uncomfortable is the reality that her disbelief is not so very unreasonable.
“A fish tail emerged from her dress, and you did not relinquish your hold on her!” his mother exclaims. “Do you truly expect me to believe that you accepted the revelation that she was a sea creature so instantly? That your judgement of her benevolence was based on blind faith?”
Eric doubts he could expect any reasonable person to believe the truth.
He realised Ariel was a mermaid at the same time he realised she was the girl he loved, and so he tightened his hold on her. When she was put in danger, he tried to protect her. Perhaps being bewitched prepared him for believing the unbelievable - or perhaps he was prepared by the time he spent with Ariel. For as long as he had known her, he was aware of the strange, ethereal quality she possessed. Looking at her, he knew that she was out of place on land, that she was unlike any person he had ever known.
There was a point where he thought what he perceived was only the product of burgeoning love. In a way, the discovery that she was a mermaid made sense.
This conclusion was reached without much thought, without much presence of mind. It wasn’t until after they had fought the sea witch and he had washed up on shore, without her, that he considered the fantasy in which he was entangled.
Eric takes a shaky breath.
“I admit it is difficult to believe,” he tells his mother. “But the simple truth is that it didn’t matter to me. Even as I vowed to let her go, my affections never wavered. I don’t care what she is, nor what she was. I only love her.”
He grits his teeth and curls his fists, expecting further argument and dreading it.
But his mother, never one to be predictable, only sighs. She approaches him with her arms outstretched, and as she hugs him, she murmurs under her breath, “You dear, foolish boy.”
Eric presses his face into her hair and laughs with wobbly relief.
As a child, Eric often consulted his mother’s horror book of fairy tales. He flicked through the pages in search of verification for the fear held for merpeople. When inspecting the illustrations inside, he was struck only by how similar they were to humans, from the waist up. He wondered if they had hearts and minds that operated similarly.
Sharing this opinion only brought forth dispute. His tutors scolded him and the sailors laughed at him. His mother was affronted. Eric quickly learned to keep his thoughts to himself.
“I had to learn that lesson early, too,” Ariel says. The sadness in her smile is undeniable.
Eric feels it in his chest, the ancient shame of being different. He’s pleased not to be alone in this plight, but he wishes he could have spared Ariel from it. He strokes her hand comfortingly.
“Our children will never be punished for their curiosity,” he murmurs. “We’ll encourage them to be free-thinkers, and we’ll do everything in our power to answer their questions.”
It’s the first time he’s mentioned their future children in words. Ariel is startled, but breathlessly happy, her smile stretching into a beam. “We’ll take them on adventures, and give them opportunities to explore the world around them.”
Eric beams, too. He can see the picture as though it is a memory - Ariel, standing in a rocky cove with a tiny, dark-haired girl on her hip, pointing out crabs and starfish in the sand. She settles her daughter in the shallow sea water and helps her to hold the shells she finds.
He almost wishes the picture could manifest at once. He imagines flitting through the wedding and the voyage and all of the wonderful memories he plans to make with Ariel before they have a child - but then, the world might not be ready for her.
“I hope we can bring them into a kinder world,” he says, softly. “A kingdom that does not treat the unknown with prejudice and fear.”
“Your mother says that our marriage will make a difference in that.”
“As will our travels,” Eric says. “Our seclusion on this island has been detrimental for our diplomacy. Considering what our parents thought of one another’s kingdoms, I can only imagine the misconceptions in need of correction.”
Eric is both surprised and relieved when Ariel laughs lightly. She reaches to touch his face, and reminds him, “At least we won’t have to contend with a difference in species again.”
He sinks closer into her touch, letting himself be reassured. He knows she’s right, that no human kingdom is likely to regard them with the same fear and hostility Atlantica did. In truth, anything seems possible, after forging an alliance between their respective parents.
“I suppose that will make things significantly simpler,” he admits.
Ariel smiles, and Eric forgets his worries.
Their first night on the ship, they tuck into their tight bunk and relish their newly permitted closeness. Close has never felt so close, for even in royal quarters, space is always sparse on a ship. Eric finds that he doesn’t mind at all, smiling as Ariel curls carefully around him.
Things are quiet and intimate as they settle to sleep. They talk quietly, of everything and nothing. Eric reaches down to touch her hip, his hand moving as though of its own accord, and he finds himself considering her legs, bared where her gauzy nightdress has ridden up her thighs.
“It must be unusual, still,” he says, hesitantly.
“It’s very unusual,” Ariel agrees. She doesn’t seem offended in the slightest by him drawing attention to something that he thought might be a sensitive matter. He’s glad.
“Your tail was green, wasn’t it?”
She nods. “It was dark green. Sometimes it looked more blue than green. There was a violet red colour towards the bottom - ” she cranes down, gesturing around her shins, “ - and my fins were a softer purple. They matched my top.”
“They reminded me of flower petals,” Eric says. “Most illustrations I’ve seen of merpeople had sharper fins, but yours were soft and floaty. They were beautiful.”
Ariel seems shy, shyer than she usually is about receiving compliments. She cuddles closer to him, hiding her face in his chest before managing a meek, “Thank you.”
He squeezes her, runs his fingers up and down her back.
“I wish I could’ve seen you as a mermaid. More than I did, I mean.”
She resurfaces at this, looking at him sceptically.
“Of course it’s better that you’re human,” he adds, hastily, afraid that she might misunderstand him. “I only mean that - well - I only had a glimpse of you as a mermaid, and you were beautiful. I wish I had the chance to see you as you were, as you had been through your childhood, through all your life. Have you pose for a portrait, maybe.”
Ariel’s dubious look has faded and been replaced by a watery smile. Her eyes are definitely wet, and she wipes at her cheeks before her tears even fall. Eric knows that crying is still a novelty for her, that she’s often taken off guard by blinking salt on land.
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Eric adds, miserably, unsure what she’s thinking.
She shakes her head. “No - no. Of course not. I’m just surprised.”
“Surprised?” he asks, gently.
“I shouldn’t be,” Ariel admits. “I know that you’ve never shared your mother’s views on merpeople. But when I remember the fear and disgust in her eyes when she saw me for what I was, I can’t believe that you could have seen me and thought I was beautiful.”
The confession strikes Eric as though by a blade. A multitude of feelings follow - an anger at his mother, an ache for Ariel, a desperation to soothe her, a worry for his inadequacy in accomplishing such a feat. He cups her face, wanting to look her in the eye as he apologises.
“I’m sorry,” he says, starting at the simplest, truest point. “I’m sorry that she looked at you that way. I’m sorry that she believed such terrible things about you and your people. I’m sorry that I haven’t made my unconditional acceptance clear to you, until now.”
“But you have,” Ariel mumbles.
“It hasn’t been enough, if you are surprised by the compliment I’ve paid you,” Eric insists. “I hope you know that your form makes no difference to me. If you had returned to me as a mermaid - if you had dragged yourself up to the castle on your hands with your tail trailing after you - I still would have taken you in my arms. I only love you.”
His hand trails from her cheek and lands on her chest, above her heart.
“I love you,” he says, with reverence. “I love you for who you are here.”
“Eric,” Ariel sniffles. “I love you, too, more than I thought it was possible to love someone.”
Eric smiles, grateful to know he is not alone in having his perceptions of possibility broadened.