The Mermaid and the Prince
Epilogue
The man wandered the beach in the approaching gloom.
It felt later than it was due to the time of year, and it was beginning to rain. He kept away from the water’s edge, too cold already to risk wet feet. He was tall; he hulked over most men he came across—and those he didn’t rarely had his bulk to rely on. In a previous life he’d worked in a castle, but that felt like too long ago to remember now. The memories were stained with sorrow, and avoiding thinking of that time had pushed them far away from the present day in his mind.
Years before that he had lived a life at sea, and he knew from those days that the swirling clouds above meant that the light rainfall and gentle breeze were soon going to grow into something far stronger. He had only just returned to this kingdom and with no where to stay he was searching for shelter.
Dark, jagged rocks rose up from the ocean, not dissimilar to where his old place of work had stood. He knew the rocks of this bay well, famous for their black sheen and how they shadowed the white sands and teal oceans in summer. Nobody ever mentioned how soulless they made the dull landscape appear in winter, veins of black blood cutting through grey clouds for months at a time.
Here those same rocks stretched out. He knew that if he looked closely enough, he would find a dark cave or two hidden into the creases of the rock that would be safe enough to pass the night in. It was hard to judge with the storm picking up, but he didn’t think the sand here was quite as pale as the beach he was used to. It reached out into the bay, white against the darkening water, as though stretching out towards the sea itself. The man’s sailor heart ached. He could feel his own chest reach out, yearning for the water, and turned himself away from its rushing tide. It had been years since he’d left dry land.
A flash of light caught his eye as he’d looked out to the sea. At the end of the bay the rocks piled upwards, building and twisting into a towering lighthouse that tipped the end of the bay. It had stood tall for longer than the man had been alive, slowly bending and crumbling towards the ground as each year passed and each storm sent another flurry of waves to paw at it. It had been disused for nearly as long—when the man had been a boy in school, he and his friends used to tease each other into seeing how far they were brave enough to climb it. There had been talk of ghosts and parents chastised any children caught venturing too close.
But there were lights now, and there had been for a fair few years. The man didn’t know who had taken over business there; no one new had come to work between the cliffs that held the bay together. In somewhere as small as the sea-locked town bordered by the cliffs of where he used to work, everyone’s business was known, and strangers were soon heard of by all who lived there.
He headed towards it. A night with a stranger would be a better night than a night with a cave.
The lighthouse towered over an outcrop cut harshly into the sand below, hanging over a soft alcove—almost a cave, really. A small, wooden boat was pushed right up into the alcove, as far as it would go and tied down to protect it from the gradually swelling tide.
The rain began to pour down, and the man rushed up towards the door of the building, thinking not of ghosts but of an old retired sailor that would be filled with stories of the sea and advice that the man would forget about until it was too late. Perhaps he would even have a drink for the man, and food.
As the rain blinded him and the wind began to rise and whip around, he pushed through the door without knocking, certain that he would be able to explain himself as soon as he came face to face with the lighthouse keeper.
Inside was warm, and the walls seemed to protect from the elements far better than they had looked like they would from the outside. There were long shelves running along the round walls, filled with books and shells and plants. There was even a clear, glass bowl that held a few fish darting about contentedly. Amongst the piles of books—a strange collection, obviously picked up over several years whenever the owner had the opportunity—was the odd notebook, and on a table by the fire lay an open book filled with sketches and illustrations of similar objects to those that ran around the room. It was an odd, eclectic style of decor. The room was almost overflowing with trinkets and trophies, all from the sea or nearby land, and the shelves spilled over onto tables and chairs. Even the plants tumbled, overgrown, out of their pots. It reminded the man of a room he’d been in before, a room that he used to clean and serve and deliver food to, but that was too long ago to remember now—
“Who is that?” a voice called down from the stairs above. It sounded rough, like it wasn’t used often. “You are not who I was expecting.”
The voice started down the stairs but then stopped short at the sight of the person who had entered his home. The man imagined his own reaction was not dissimilar.
It was a trap. A trick. He was seeing a ghost. Of course the lighthouse wasn’t renewed and filled with light and warmth, he was just seeing things. He had wandered into the path of an ancient sea witch, or the lighthouse really was haunted, and whoever this evil presence was had set up a vision to haunt him.
A prince stood on the stairs, gawking down at the man just as much as the man imagined he was gawking back. But that was not possible. Everyone in the kingdom knew what had happened to that boy, what he had done. The whole kingdom had mourned, and sent well wishes to the family, and spoke of what a shame it had been. The man was one of the few that lay awake at night and wondered about all of the things that could have been done differently.
The man had never married, never settled down long enough for a family to begin. This boy had been the closest thing he had ever known of having a son, and he had let the boy down. This vision, this cruel recreation of his past was a punishment.
The prince recovered first, and continued down the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” he said, as though he wasn’t the walking ghost.
Still rude. Still as abrupt and impertinent as ever.
“You aren’t real,” was all the man would respond. The prince grinned and it was a cruel trick because the man’s heart ached to see that bold smile alive again when he knew it couldn’t be real.
“Alright. But what are you doing here?”
He did look older. The last time he’d seen the boy he’d barely been level with his shoulders, but now he had almost caught up with the man’s height, staring cockily across as though daring the man to say he wasn’t real again. His face was thinner and his hair longer, more unruly if possible, than when he’d last seen him. It looked like he cut it himself. The boy’s eyes looked harder, but not unkind.
The man supposed he wasn’t a boy anymore. “I needed a place to wait out the storm.”
“You’d better sit down. I suppose if you have decided that this is a haunting I may as well make you a cup of tea.”
The man found he was annoyed that the boy—the ghost—had read his thoughts so well. Irritation came back to him like a habit.
With naught else to do and rain still pouring outside, the man followed the ghost through to a small living space and sat down on a seat that almost wasn’t strong enough to carry his weight. He sat and watched in silence as the boy, the ghost, lifted a kettle from the fire and did indeed make a cup of tea. The man took a sip from the cup that was placed before him, first sniffing suspiciously in case it was drugged or a potion or anything that a malevolent spirit might want to force down their victim.
It was tea. Weak— as you’d expect from a boy who had lived half a life before he’d had to make himself a cup of tea— but it was tea.
“Well?” the prince demanded, never one to stand silence for too long. “Don’t you want to know what happened? Where I’ve been all this time? Why I’m back to haunt you and make you suffer for all of your many sins?”
The man practically grimaced. Respect for the dead be damned, if he was facing down the ghost of his former employer the spectre had done a good job of imitating his impudent manner. The boy couldn’t wait to reveal something he knew that you didn’t. The man almost didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to give the ghost the satisfaction of knowing he wanted to know the truth.
“You jumped.”
“I did.”
“We found your crown in the morning. We were—she was distraught.”
That seemed to shut him up, for a second at least. The man saw a flash of grief in his eyes, but it was hidden again soon enough. It was silent in the lighthouse for as long as the man could bear not to ask the question.
“Fine. How did you survive?”
“I had a friend. And a magical necklace.”
“The… creature.” The man was still too superstitious to say the word, if it could be avoided. The boy nodded in agreement. “He found you in the water?”
“I followed the music.”
The man blanched. “You followed a siren’s call?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “He is a boy, like me. Not a siren, or an omen of death and bad luck. Just my friend. He asked me to come with him, and I did.”
There was a pause then, and the man felt the history they had hanging over the conversation. “I would— if I had known that you— I would not have told them. If I had known.”
“There was not a different way I would have acted.”
“I only wanted you safe.“
“You made a mistake.” The man conceded to that, his head hanging heavy with the shame he had carried for years. The boy let the silence linger for a moment more before he cut through, changing the subject. “You haven’t asked me where I’ve been.”
The man, gritting his teeth, asked.
“Many places.” He seemed far away then. “There was always somewhere new to see, some swarm of creatures I had never seen before, or an artefact lost underwater to find. I met other mermaids from all over the world. I lived in a palace made of paper-thin shell and watched thousands of rainbow-coloured creatures fly past my window every morning.” He cut off, giving the man a hard look. “But you don’t believe me.”
“Of course I don’t believe you.”
“Of course you don’t,” the boy agreed, earnestly, and carried on with his story. “It was an unbelievable life. I was happier than I ever had been, I saw the most incredible sights every day and had more people around me who cared for my well being than I had dared to think could. But of course it could not last.” He paused then, his face turning a little darker, and the man became more aware of this empty lighthouse, alone on the edge of the sea.
“Even though I could breathe with the necklace, my body couldn’t cope being underwater for such a long time and I became unwell. We tried many things— we even visited a sea witch, but there was not much that they could do for me. They could have helped me breathe underwater without my necklace, but nothing more.”
The man held in his horror at learning that the prince would have been willing to make a deal with magic in order to live his life underwater. He waited to hear the rest, invested despite his skepticism.
“We argued then, for a few days actually. Well,” he corrected himself, moving his hands to reference the strange gestures he would make to the mermaid when they first met. “As best we could.”
“He insisted that we shouldn’t stay together if I was sick, and I argued that I had chosen this and I was willing to deal with a little sickness to stay. Looking back I realise that it wouldn’t have worked, but I did not want to leave, and I am very stubborn when I want to be.”
“Just a little,” the man muttered. The prince either didn’t hear or chose not to react.
“Of course arguing and being sick was perfectly miserable, so eventually we agreed on a middle ground. He took me to the shore and asked me to stay at least until I had recovered. He promised to return, and spend the time searching for another option, but for the time being I agreed to wait on land. Of course I did not wish to return to the castle, nor did I think I would be welcome.” The man opened his mouth to counter this thought, but decided against it. “He had brought me to this beach and the lighthouse looked abandoned. It seemed the most logical choice.”
“And you’ve stayed here all this ti-?”
There was a flash of a grin as the prince cut across him. ”I’m not finished— in fact, I’m only about halfway through.
“I waited out a few weeks here, only leaving a handful of times to travel into town for food. I spent most of the time recovering, but once I was well enough I began to wait out of doors for him to return. I had nothing else to do here, aside from the odd book I brought back, and what repair work I was strong enough to begin.”
The man eyed the odd, rickety pieces of furniture about the room doubtfully, the windows still rattling in the wind behind him. He decided it would be kinder not to make any critical comment on the work the boy had taken on.
“Of course I was worried about being spotted, but no one seemed to realise who I was. I think from all the time I was shut away in the castle, no one in the kingdom had ever actually seen me.”
It was a sad thought, but it did not surprise the man. He kept silent, waiting for the boy to continue his story.
“I would wait on the beach whenever the sun was out, and only returned indoors at night. I tried to call for him using the shell, but he did not respond at that time. It was probably only a few weeks that I had to spend here waiting, but at that time it felt like months.
“And then, finally, he did return. But not how I had expected— it was at night, for starters.” The prince paused then, and the man, knowing it was for dramatic effect, refused to ask what happened next. The prince carried on, unaware. “And he had legs.”
To this, the man did react. “He—”
“He went to the sea witch, yes. He’d sold a memory for a spell that would change his body. I was angry, of course, when I found out. But at the time I was so glad to see him, and he was cold, so I carried him into the house.”
“Couldn’t he walk?” the man asked, bluntly.
The prince shook his head. “He was too weak.”
“I set him here, where we sit now, for a moment while I went to make some food for both of us. I remember when I came back he had wrapped himself up into the blanket, almost as though he could pretend he still had a tail under it.
“He told me then that this wouldn’t be forever. He would have to return to the sea in three days, at midnight just like he had come.”
“Why only three?”
“I am not sure, I assume that was the price he could pay. You have to be careful with sea magic. If you ask for too much, you can end up giving more than you had expected.” The man nodded at this. There were rumours he had heard from his days on the sea of magic and the price it could cost. “I have asked him many times, but he refuses to tell me what he gave to her.”
“How did he take to becoming human?” the man asked, imagining that if he awoke to double the amount of appendages than he was used to he would find reason to be upset.
“He is stronger now, but I do not think he likes to walk. It feels as strange to him as breathing underwater did to me, I think. And he is always cold— I think his blood must work differently underwater than it does when he is human. At the time, I had to help him everywhere, and he spent most of the first night in the bathtub trying to warm up.”
The image of the creature came forward in the man’s mind, an image of the boy hidden away under the water, in a bathtub that had been pulled into the prince’s room. It was an image that he hadn’t allowed himself to think of for many years.
“That must have been odd for the both of you.”
“He asked me if he looked strange and commented that it was funny to find himself in a bathtub again.”
“What did you say?”
“…. I told him he was beautiful.”
“I meant about the bathtub.”
The prince kept his expression cool, but the rising colour on his cheeks gave his embarrassment away.
“Anyway, that is how I came to be here. I wait alone by the sea with my books and help the ships, and for three days a month I can see my friend.”
They sat for a moment in the quiet, listening to the sound of the wind howling and blowing itself out just beyond the windows. The rain seemed to have slowed, and the prince watched it thoughtfully from his seat while the man considered everything he had just been told. It was a ridiculous story, and he did not believe one word of it. However, it was far too long and specific for a ghost, he felt, so he was inclined to think that the boy was simply lying.
Neither spoke for several minutes, and when the prince broke the silence to ask a question, it was with a far more subdued tone than he had used when explaining his own history.
“What happened at the castle?”
“It is still much the same as ever,” the man paused, wondering how to phrase his next line delicately. “Did you see…?”
“The funeral procession? Yes. I was in the crowd.”
The man nodded. He thought it better to not ask the boy what attending his father’s funeral— a father he had never been close to— at a distance had been like.
“Who is ruling now? I don’t suppose even my mother is influential enough to continue to hold onto the kingdom without a familial connection.”
“The girl. The one you were engaged to.”
The boy frowned. “Oh. How is she—”
The man pursed his lips. The matter had caused quite a stir within the castle staff, and had been one of the reasons why he himself had moved on. “Your signature was forged, sir. Your parents put out the news that you had died the night of the wedding, rather than the night before.”
“Oh,” the boy said softly, more to himself than the man. “I suppose that is a good thing.”
The man found himself colouring, bristling with sudden fury he hadn’t realised he still harboured. “It was disrespectful, sir. Not an hour after the news of your— of your death came out, and they were already—”
“I would not have been a good king,” the boy interrupted his anger, though he looked touched at its cause. “Nor did I ever wish to be king. I wanted to explore, and live quietly. If they had had the sense to tell me I could have moved away if I married her I would have agreed to it— and I trust she has been a good queen.”
“They did what they thought was best for you sir,” the man spoke more to comfort the boy than to express his beliefs.
It was the boy’s turn to pause now. “And… how is my mother?”
The man found himself shaking his head. “She is… lost I might say. Like she has lost her purpose.”
The boy nodded, but did not speak.
“You could try to see her, if you—?” The boy had shaken his head before all of the words were out.
It hung over them again— their history. Everything the man had done.
“I don’t suppose there is any use in asking a ghost for forgiveness,” the man spoke softly.
“No, I don’t suppose there is.” The man nodded, dropping his head again. “So it is fortunate that you have been calling me sir for the past conversation, meaning you believe me, and I cannot possibly be a ghost.”
The man pursed his lips. “It must be your obnoxious attitude. It brings me right back to the castle, sir.” The boy grinned at that.
“Well. I think you will have to believe me, as I am expecting a guest, and you will have to be leaving soon. You may visit me again, the next time you are in this kingdom, providing you don’t find an abandoned lighthouse when you return.”
The man shook his head in disbelief— at the prince, at the story he had told, at the evening in general— but stood to make his way towards the door. A thought occurred to him as he took a final look around the cluttered room, and he reached into his pack to pull out an item he had been carrying with him for years now. It was worn, despite the fact that he hardly ever looked at it, but he had kept it safe as best he could.
He held it out to the prince, gently as he could. “I have this, still.”
The prince looked at the book like it was a relic of ancient history and the man supposed that, in a way, it was. He reached for it slowly and pulled his old journal— his first— from the man’s hands and began to flick delicately through the pages.
“I don’t—” The words slipped out in a hush, the boy’s eyes shining as they greedily took in the pages. He squeezed them shut and closed the pages once more, composed again a second later. “Well. I’d forgotten how bad I used to be at drawing people for one thing.” He spoke crassly as was his nature, but the man watched him carefully place the book high up on a shelf, somewhere it would be safe.
“One more thing,” he said, and the man waited expectantly. “Before you go, help me push my boat into the water.”
The man rolled his eyes at this. “However do you manage while I am not around?”
“Slowly. I was going out to begin pushing when you decided to trespass into my living room.”
The rain had slowed to a light drizzle while they had spoken, and the man could see the moon now that the clouds had begun to clear, full and hanging halfway across the sky.
They did not speak as the boat was pushed out. It was not hard work, the boat was light and the sand was slick from the rain, but the dark sky and calming ocean left the man not wanting to make any noise that would raise above the ocean’s swell. When they had finished the prince stood, looking out to the sea and contemplating the moon. He too was quiet when he spoke, as though he didn’t want to interrupt the rushing of the waves.
“I do have one more question.”
The man resisted asking when the boy ever didn’t.
“Why did you help me that day? You must have known it would end like this.”
The man had often wondered it over the years, not least the days when the creature had been inside the castle. Why he had helped, and then turned against them, and then helped again. He struggled to put the thoughts into words.
“He just seemed so helpless. Despite all my years, and all I’d seen, I just couldn’t believe that that—boy, could do harm. Helpless, he seemed,” the man trailed off. “And lonely.”
The prince had no words for that—at least none he would say out loud. And so did you, the man wanted to add. You had more than any other boy could ever want, but you were always so alone. It wasn’t right. That day on the beach, and again on the night of the wedding, the man had helped him because he knew the boy needed a friend.
And then it was time to leave. The boy began to push the boat out into the water, and the man turned away without a goodbye.
The man didn’t look back—at least not at first. He waited until he was on higher ground, and then looked down upon the lighthouse again. Its lights were still on and even from a distance it looked warm and inviting. Squinting out to sea, he searched until he spotted the boy, sat in his little boat and waiting patiently in the light of the moon. He seemed to have a book with him that the man hadn’t even noticed him carry out from the lighthouse. The man waited with the boy in the gloom, curious about what would happen next. He expected some sign of magic, a gathering of storm clouds or a crack of strangely coloured thunder, or at least a whirlpool. Instead, the night stayed quiet. The only sign that someone had arrived was a ripple in the moon’s reflection that the man wouldn’t have noticed if the boy hadn’t moved towards it.
He helped the stranger up onto his boat and offered a blanket or towel for him to wrap into. The stranger from the water seemed to shiver in the blanket, and leaned towards the boy. They held each other gently, and the moment felt so personal and caring that the man looked away, despite being far away enough that the pair could not know they were being watched.
Despite the distance the man had noticed two things about the boy from the water— he had legs, like any other human, and he had a startlingly bright crop of unusually coloured hair. His curls were a familiar shade of mint teal.
The man left. Dawn was approaching and he was still without a place to sleep. Perhaps he would walk to the houses of the kingdom, or maybe the next kingdom along. Perhaps he would find a comfortable inn that would let him stay for work rather than money. Perhaps there would be an innkeeper’s daughter or a sweet-looking delivery girl and perhaps she would take to him and they would fall in love. Perhaps they would live in a small cottage by the sea and the man would finally have his own son and perhaps a daughter, and he would take them to explore the beach and teach them all he knew about the sea and on stormy nights they’d all sit by the fire and he’d tell them stories of the prince and the mermaid who lived in the lighthouse on the edge of the bay, and a past life when he had worked in a castle and known them.
The man shook his head from the rosy vision. The events of the evening had left him feeling raw and emotional, but for the time being the wind was still chilly and he was still a little damp from the earlier rain. He’d start by finding a bed and somewhere he might get a drink. And then after that, perhaps he’d start on his next life.
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Sketches
