Work Text:
Folk tales carry themselves light as seafoam, buoyant to the tongues that spread them for generations. Shape-shifting thanks to the winds of fantasy airing them out, it seems like stories of forest monsters and sea creatures never really shrivel to the wilt of time - no matter the mouths they may come from.
Do sailors believe in mountain giants, just like they do sirens? It would make sense for men to trust in what they feared could put their life in direct danger - still, folk on land spread stories of sea witches with the same frequency as they did rumors of hunting trophies. Being familiar with the likes of those who’d exploit such misinformation, Arthur had heard his fair share of bullcrap tales throughout his lifetime.
No, he did not fall victim to the fear-mongering of ambulant story tellers or the supposed anecdotes of bar drunkards. He always laughed them off like a father would his young son’s rampant imaginations, condescending enough that none would approach him with more stupid, fantastical legends. For Arthur, actual happenings in his life kept him distracted enough that he didn’t need to come up with tales of make-believe animals who’d hauled him in the woods.
That said - it doesn't mean he’s not curious about some.
While he does not believe in some over-the-top, completely fake anecdotes, he does like to hear about abnormally large animals in the areas the gang currents: he’s had a handful of encounters with some that were certainly bigger and angrier than other members of their species. While what he childishly called ‘legendary’ animals were strange happenings, they were far from alien creatures: mainly, because he saw and felt them with his own senses, and the stacks of cash some of their pelts gave was certainly real.
One day, rumors of an unknown creature reach his persona: fresh off his horse and new to the city, Saint Denis offers more than just muddy streets and gloomy clouds of smoke. There’s talk of an abnormally large fish, one with fins that seem to glisten by their own means from the murky depths of the river’s mouth.
Arthur needs no more than a few mentions to associate this with some of the other fish he’s caught inland: a good man he’d once met paid him well for whatever sizable catches Arthur mailed his way. Checking out whatever lurked in the estuary’s waters seemed like a profitable way to spend an afternoon.
Foolishly, he’d believed some special lure, along with some serious arm muscle, would be enough to pull the beast out of the water. A trip down to Lagras later, he was ready; unbothered by the merchant’s tale of men who’d set out to catch the creature and never came back, their drowned bodies rescued from the city’s port days after their disappearances.
Glittering tangerine, the still surface of the estuary’s waters reflects the changing hues of an afternoon sky. Calmness keeps the air still as Arthur pushes a precarious wooden canoe out of its aground position, hopping inside with the bobbing of his boat.
Subtle waves disturb the mirror of the water, spreading in his wake as he rows further out from the shore. It would be a picturesque image, if it weren’t for the dirtied spot of Saint Denis’ brick buildings to his left.
Strangely enough, there doesn’t seem to be a strong current birthed from the river’s flow; Arthur can only rely on his momentum to streamline his way to deeper waters. Encompassed solely by the splashing of his row, he determines a spot just as the sun hides under the horizon. He’s alone now, destiny left to the whims of night and sea.
Splash. The lure sinks down under the murky waters, disappearing from view merely inches under the surface. As much as he squints, Arthur cannot spot anything past the haze of gray that stirs below the safety of his canoe, swaying dangerously where he stands.
Once, twice and thrice he casts his line, patient for the first half-hour of waiting. Stars gleam overhead, but they don’t serve to shine a light on his worsening view into the depths.
Catching big game is a matter of waiting, but waiting becomes eternal when he sees no visible progress. It seems like life underwater is nonexistent in the estuary: there’s not a single tug on the line from normal fish, let alone the beast everyone talked about.
By the fifth cast, Arthur grows tireless. Usually, he’d already managed an encounter with the fish; either caught or not, he’d have evidence that said sea monster was real. Right now though, there’s no signs of its existence.
Then, a tug. A big one.
Caught off guard, the wooden rod slides right out of Arthur’s grip, sinking deep into the sea with a splash.
Cursing himself, Arthur peers over at where the line disappeared. The canoe wobbles with his motion, pushing him to stand straighter.
What now?
There's no use in aimless waiting: grumbling, he sits back down, feeling for the row against the dark bottom of the boat.
Had he moved his head an inch further right, he'd have missed it. In his peripheral, there's a glow that momentarily disturbs the darkened water, birthed from the very depths of the sea.
Impossible.
But it's not. There's a clear disturbance of the surface tension: something has poked out of the water, sending small fluctuations against the wooden canoe.
As much as Arthur squints, all he sees is darkness. Yet, he waits, sure that his eyes aren't deceiving him.
It sparkles again.
Almost teasing him, a clear streak of iridescent green flashes in and out of view: a magical light that moves like dancing ribbons underwater, alien to anything Arthur had ever seen before.
His hands grip the edge of the boat, leaning into the water. He doesn't feel the dangerous tilt of the canoe, mere inches away from toppling over. But he's mesmerized, completely enthralled: even if he tried, Arthur couldn't look away from the spectacle. It was hard to believe, but there was something there that was not an average fish.
As sudden as its apparition, the green light dissipates out of view. He waits for a few seconds, unsure of what had happened. How could he bring it back? He needed it back - but with no rod and no lure, there was little else to do other than to reach into the water.
Something stops him before his palm hits the surface. From the very pit of that gray, a gleaming white light emerges. It slowly enlarges, growing wider by the second.
He almost gasps when the image clears. A woman's face.
She stares up at him with big eyes, mouth agape as if she's not underwater. Her skin shines a pearly sheen that illuminates her like a halo, just like the hair that flows all around her.
It couldn't be, yet he was holding eye contact with one. A real mermaid.
She's like an apparition, more gorgeous than any lady Arthur had ever crossed paths with. Like a figment of his own imagination; there's no fitter adjective than perfect.
Her smile widens at his surely baffled expression. Teasing, she swims under the canoe, her long tail lined with luminescent scales.
The boat rattles over her path. Arthur tries to follow her, but when she reaches the other side of the slim vessel, she dives right back down.
Arthur was a rational man: never had he gotten in trouble when his gut told him to oppose an idea. Yet, for some reason, he feels a pull to that creature that makes him peer precariously into the water. He must follow her. Letting her escape would be absolute madness.
There's no real reasoning behind his actions. He just dives into the murky water, right after the mermaid's trail.
Cold water soaks him to the bone, pulling him in when his clothes are fully blotted. He dives with an athletic form, yet he cannot seem to reach that green glimmer in the distance. She's too fast, and the waters are way deeper than he'd expected. Without her light, he'd be surrounded by complete darkness.
There's merely a speck of green before him when the pressure on his chest becomes apparent: bubbles tease their way past pursed lips, signaling their imminent release. Still, knowing the danger luring upon him, Arthur could not bring himself to turn back; he's more than knee deep into that mess.
Either the water is being stirred, or his vision becomes hazy: when the green light seems out of sight, he snaps from his delusion. It's a minute too late.
Reaching the surface seems like a distant feat, as Arthur's muscles grow weak from oxygen deprivation. Despite his push of adrenaline, he's short of quite a few feet to break free from the sea's greedy pull. Chest aching in compression, he just sees his extended hand shadowed against the moonlight when he opens his mouth, water pouring into his system.
Air bubbles float to the surface in a cloud of lost hope. As fast as he'd dived in, Arthur's body sinks to the bottom, another victim to the ocean's desires.
☽ ☆ ☾
There's a light at the end of the tunnel.
Arthur wakes in a blur, coughing hoarsely immediately after inhaling through gritted teeth. His insides feel like they've been rubbed shiny, while still being sore from the salt's effect.
The only thing he remembered was a sinking feeling in his chest, all while the world closed in around him. How he's alive and at bay, he doesn't know: he can just use the little energy left in him to regain his breath, eyes glittering with the constellations above him.
He couldn't have been out for long. It was still dark out and his shirt clung uncomfortably to his chest. It's only as his oxygen levels replenish that he can think critically.
Just how the hell had he been pulled to shore, if he'd sunk to the bottom? There was no current, no way had the sea been as merciful as to spare him a second chance so quickly. It's then when he pulls himself up with a groan.
A pair of wide eyes stare from above the water line, glowering in an opal haze. The second Arthur stands straighter, they sink back into the water.
Arthur feels like he's due to wake up any minute. Merely hours ago, he'd have discarded the idea of mermaids being real as the delusions of a drunkard who spent his days glued to a bar - he wouldn't have believed it if he'd been told he'd be saved by one.