One Becomes Two
An original short story of love on the high seas - now with a sequel, Two Become One!
Relationship: Original M/M Rating: Teen Summary: After a disillusioned merman breaks through his hatred for humanity to save a handsome ship captain, he becomes enamored with the brave captain’s beauty and brash confidence.
Lucky for him, the feeling is mutual.
--
Golden light flashes above the surface of the ocean in a facsimile of a lightning storm, so bright against the night sky that they pierce through the depths to draw Arctus’ attention. He pauses in his journey from the Atlantic toward the North Sea to watch two wooden bellies plow through otherwise placid water.
When the fight is over, there will be another ship cluttering the ocean floor.
He shakes his head and prepares to swim on when he sees something fall from one of the passing ships. As it sinks into the abyss, the ship races away, bombarding its foe with another volley of canon fire and leaving the object to be claimed by the sea.
Arctus considers the object as it sinks. Bitter experience has taught him to avoid humans, but he does enjoy picking over lost ships and claiming their treasures for himself. He doesn’t have the patience to wait for the losing ship to sink—depending on the damage, it could take hours—but this object, whatever it is, could be something interesting to add to his growing collection. He flips his shark-like tail to move closer, using his sensitive eyes and the soft glow of a ship catching fire to peer through the dark ocean. A blot of white appears and resolves into a rectangle shape with two lines projecting from the sides and two more from the bottom—
Arctus flips his tail forward to stop his movement as he realizes it’s not a lost piece of treasure but a person falling through the water. Likely a dead one from the sudden taste of blood in the water.
But as he continues to watch, air bubbles bleed from the human’s mouth. A rather lovely mouth, if he’s being honest. In fact, the human’s face is pleasing in general with a strong jaw, wide cheekbones and a straight nose leading to plump lips.
Arctus blinks.
Turns.
Swims away.
And yet, despite everything, his rusty conscience pokes at him. He’s only a few meters out when he groans and whips back around, swimming toward the sinking body with all the speed and agility of the shark his lower body his shaped after. He plows into the man, wraps his arms around his waist, and rises to the surface, lifting the man’s head above water while keeping his own underneath. The water is calm despite the ships so recently making waves, and Arctus pauses to compress the unconscious man’s chest between his hands, careful not to accidentally scrape the billowing linen or the fragile skin underneath with his claws. He pauses when he hears the muffled sound of coughing from lungs made for air instead of salt water.
The retching and choking gives way to a loud groan that reverberates in the human’s chest. Arctus lets go of the man, intending to swim away as quickly as possible.
The man slips back under. He struggles to swim, but he’s obviously too dazed from the bloody wound on his head to properly hold himself above the surface.
Arctus curses and doubles back. He grasps the man around the waist again and pushes him up and toward the belly of the ship that dropped him, now completing a tight, smooth arc in the water and heading straight for them. He decides he can get away with pushing the man toward the ship like some sort of playful sea creature and then swimming away. If the man doesn’t have his wits about him enough to swim after that, he can die.
He’s only a human, after all. Even is he is a pretty one.
The ship slows, oars pulling up and in, and a rowboat splashes into the water. Arctus give one final shove, pushing the man fully out of the water before diving deep.
When he’s sure he’s deep enough that human eyes can’t perceive him through the darkness, he pauses and looks up.
The man is still there, head thrust under water, eyes open and seeking. Arctus lets himself sink deeper.
Finally, the rowboat closes in on the man. Hands grasp and pull him out of the water. Arctus watches from the depths as the boat returns to the ship and is eventually lifted from the water.
He tells himself to turn away. To leave the scene where he’d nearly given himself away.
The ship begins to move eastward, sails out and oars pulled in.
He follows.
It’s unaccountable, this urge to ensure the man is well. He doesn’t even like humans. He’s seen nothing about this one to indicate he’s any different than the rest of his ilk. So he tell himself he’s just making sure the humans don’t suspect anything. The water glides around him as he swims toward the surface intent on doing something he hasn’t since his family was murdered. By humans. For nothing more than a bit of pocket change.
Yet he can’t seem to stop.
The water undulates in the foaming wake of the ship, and he allows it to cradle his body as he maintains speed just under the surface of the water. His world narrows to the sounds of the water sloshing against the side of the boat, the muffled shouts of the humans on board, the incremental tightening sensation in his chest.
He grits his sharp teeth, arguing with himself one last time against breaking a ten-year streak of never going to the surface.
With another growl, he flicks his tail and pops his head out of the water. His gills seal up on their own, and he has to smother a few coughs as he processes free air through lungs unused to the effort. His head fins shrink into his hair, and ears grow in their place, bringing the sounds of the surface to life. Everything is loud and sharp: waves, shouts, the faint roar of a burning ship in the distance. He almost dives back under, but a deep, rolling tone washes over him, gruff but comforting as a warm southern current.
Somehow he knows: It’s the sound of his voice.
“—sounds mad. But whatever it was… it saved me.”
“It was probably just a dolphin having some fun, Liam.”
“That tail didn’t look like any dolphin I’d ever seen. And the way it moved—fast and graceful? It was… breathtaking. Possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Liam. His name is Liam.
Arctus grabs a stray rope from the rowboat nestled belly-out against the side of the ship and pulls himself up to sit on top of the sideways boat. As he arranges his tail in a way that it won’t slap against the side of the boat, the other voice responds in a sarcastic tone.
“You and your flights of fancy. What then? Do you think you were miraculously saved by a mythical creature of the deep? Perhaps a mermaid?”
“I… I don’t know. All I know is I’ve spent my life on the sea, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Arctus carefully wraps his hands around the edge of the deck between the spindles in the railing and lifts himself higher. He wants to see the man speaking and better hear his graveled voice, no doubt roughened by the water so recently filling his lungs.
“Careful, Captain. You’ll have your crew thinking you’ve gone barmy.”
Arctus peeks over the edge of the deck. The two men, one drenched and one bone dry, stand between two staircases leading up to the raised back deck. Both are dressed in nothing more than linen shirts, breeches and boots, clearly drawn from their beds by the attack. The drenched man—the captain, Liam—gesticulates wildly as he responds to the other man’s accusations.
“I’m not barmy!” he hisses. “I know what I saw. And felt. Those were hands holding me up, Grey.”
Arctus’ blood curdles. He’s made a terrible mistake. And all for a pretty face. Before he can convince himself to leave, though, Grey steps closer to the captain and softens his voice, recapturing Arctus’ attention. He has to concentrate to hear the murmured words.
“When that final canon blast knocked you from the ship, the crew raged with grief. We were sure we were coming back to retrieve a dead body. Half the crew were already in mourning, the win against the pirates more revenge than anything worth celebrating. Then, against all odds, you were alive and kicking.” Grey takes a step closer, and lowers his voice almost beyond Arctus’ ability to hear. “Whatever happened, you need rest. With that knock to your head and your wet lungs, you’ll be lucky if you don’t take ill. Don’t make them worry more for you than they have to, aye?”
Liam opens his mouth as if he’s going to argue, but when Grey’s hand lands on his shoulder, he pauses. His shoulders slump.
“Aye. You’re right. Just… give me a moment to clear my head.”
Liam starts moving toward where Arctus is pressed against the side of the ship. Arctus lowers himself back to sitting on the side of the rowboat as quickly and quietly as possible, but a sigh freezes him in place. Slowly, he turns his head to look up.
The sky above is awash in an arc of brilliant starlight, and the familiar beauty sends painful memories dancing across Arctus’ mind: throwing his niece into the air on dark nights and watching her form black out the swath of celestial clouds before splashing back into the sea; lying back against soft grass and staring at the stars with his brother, the weight of gravity no longer a strange sensation after living on land so long; taking one final look at the sky and cursing its beauty as the sea foam washes away the blood on his hands.
Diving deep and never looking back.
Until now.
The dim light of a nearby lantern lights the Liam’s face, his strong jaw sharply defined against a backdrop of stars. His skin is tanned from days working in the sun, and his damp black hair hangs thick around his neck and over his ears. Strong hands curl over the railing, gripping the wood tightly as pale, bright eyes—blue or green, or maybe gray—scan the dark horizon.
But he’s beautiful in more than just aesthetics. A lesser man would not be upright and walking after a blow to the head and nearly drowning. Arctus finds himself intrigued in spite of his hesitation.
He stares.
Memorizes.
Yearns.
For what, he’s unsure. His brother took a human wife, and together they had a half human daughter. But Arctus has never seen the appeal in women, mer or human. He stays as far away from land as he does the depths where the merfolk build their colonies—the place he and his brother were forced to flee from to escape the cruelty of their mother.
Yet this man compels him with soft words and unchecked admiration. He’s never heard anyone speak of him in such a complementary way. It’s enough to plant a seed of discontent for his transient life, always moving.
Always alone.
He’s certainly never felt this soft fluttering in his chest.
A fluttering that turns to frozen panic when Liam sighs deeply and looks down.
Their eyes meet. The captain blinks several times in rapid succession, eyes widening and mouth dropping open in a soft “o” of surprise.
Arctus drops into the ocean and swims like the great leviathans of the deep themselves are chasing him.
.
It takes two more chance encounters with Liam’s ship—the Queen of the Sea—for him to realize they are traveling in the same direction. He remembers the shape of the ship’s belly, so the first time, he avoids the ship entirely, no matter the way his curiosity and that powerful yearning pricks at him. The second time, he only pops his head out of the water long enough to hear a familiar brogue skimming over the waters as Liam orders his crew to adjust the sails. Something eases in Arctus’ chest at the sound of the captain alive and well, and he ducks back under water with a grumble, swimming ahead as fast as he can.
As he rises from the depths after finding a safe place to sleep, he comes upon the ship a third time. The early night hours of the summer season are calm when he breaks the surface, the waves small and lazy in the slight breeze. The sky is bright by comparison due to the gibbous moon hanging high in the sky, and his eyes adjust accordingly.
He dares to swims closer.
It’s folly. Madness. He cannot understand why a man he doesn’t know compels him to act so out of character.
He needs to understand.
This time, he hauls himself up the back of the ship to a row of windows standing open to the cool ocean breeze. The room beyond is dark, and as he pulls his heavy body upward to peek over the sill, he finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.
A quick scan of the room confirms no one is inside, but he can tell it’s the captain’s quarters by the both the location and the sheer extravagance of space. In addition to a wide bed beneath the windows, the room is full of things he hasn’t seen in almost a decade—books, maps, wood carvings, rugs, linens, and a host of other things that usually die a quick death in the harsh ocean waters. The most alluring of them are the art works displayed on any space that isn’t a window, door, or cupboard. Landscapes, portraits, still lifes and sketches adorn the room, begging him to come inside for a closer look.
But the windows are too narrow to admit his mer form. A small voice in the back of his mind whispers that the window would be more than wide enough for his human form.
Arctus balks so hard he physically drops down, only holding on to the top of the sill with his clawed fingertips.
No. There’s no way he could do something so foolish. Even a quick look to sate his burning curiosity is risking too much.
Drop. Drop now. Drop into the ocean and swim away.
His claws remain firmly entrenched in the sill. On the deck above, a shipman calls out to another in greeting and remarks on the beautiful, breezy night. As if on cue, a stronger gust of wind catches Arctus’ tail, twisting him around and straining his arms.
It’s too dangerous. He’ll be caught naked and without his sharp teeth and claws. Not that those claws would be worth much on land.
His spiral is interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a familiar voice humming a soft tune. The glow of a dim light bounces off the ceiling, jerking in rhythm with the captain’s steps. A pause in the steps brings a brighter, stable glow, and the humming comes closer.
Drop. Drop now, before it’s too la—
The humming and the steps come to an abrupt halt.
Arctus’ heart begins to race.
“Oh.”
The word is nothing more than a soft exhale, almost drowned out by the sloshing of the ship cutting through the waves. Arctus begs his fingers to unclench and let him fall away, but they remain stubbornly frozen.
As if sensing his intentions, Liam’s breathless voice cuts through the gathering tension. “Don’t go. Please.”
Arctus presses his lips together. He has no intention of speaking to this man—of betraying more mer secrets to someone he doesn’t know—but a soft shuffle sends a jolt of panic through his limbs.
“Don’t come any closer,” he growls.
After all, he holds all the power in this interaction. All he needs to do is let go.
The shuffling stops immediately. “I won’t,” Liam says through a shaking breath. “I’ll stay right here. Just… don’t go.”
Arctus’ heart thunders in his chest, but he keeps his mouth shut. The chorus in his head screaming at him to drop reaches a fever pitch before Liam finally speaks again.
“I didn’t tell anyone about you,” he says in a hurried tone. “After I saw you that night, I didn’t say a word, even to my first mate.”
Arctus’ intentions scatter to the wind. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone else to know. It felt like you were a secret just for me. And because… Because I hoped you might come back.”
Is it possible that this human captain feels it, too? This deep yearning for something inexplicable? Arctus licks his drying lips, suddenly desperate for something to say.
“I like the paintings,” he blurts out.
Shaky, disbelieving laughter floats over the sill. “The paintings?”
Arctus frowns. “Yes. The art. On the walls?”
“Oh. Oh, thank you. I tried to be an artist once upon a time. Didn’t work out but I’ve kept up the habit.”
Arctus blinks as he realizes Liam doesn’t just own the art; he made it.
Another gust of wind sends him twisting, his tail slapping against the side of the ship with a too-loud crack. His arms tremble with the strain. His body is too heavy even for his muscled arms; he isn’t going to be able to hold on much longer.
And yet.
He wants more.
Before he can speak, however, Liam continues, “I tried to draw you, you know? It’s mostly just your eyes right now because it didn’t see much else.” He clears his throat, and there’s a soft scuff of a boot on the floor. “Maybe… maybe you could let me—“
The door opens again, and all Arctus knows is it’s someone other than Liam. His fingers find they can let go after all, and he flips in the air as his falls, diving soundlessly into the ship’s wake.
.
“You’re back.”
Arctus nearly drops off the sill at the sound of Liam’s voice so close. “Don’t—”
“I won’t. I won’t look. Though you have to know it’s killing me. You’re…” A hard swallow reaches Arctus ears. “You’re very beautiful.”
“You said you barely saw me.”
“It was enough,” Liam says in a strangely wistful tone.
Arctus blinks. The waxing gibbous moon is close to full, and he knows if Liam leaned over the edge of the sill, he would have a close up view of his wide eyes and strong jaw. He would be able to see Liam as much as Liam would be able to see him.
And yet he can’t quite convince himself to take the risk.
He’s been following the ship all day, listening for Liam’s brogue over the waves and fighting with himself over delaying his own trip in favor of this strange feeling in his chest. It’s not as if he’s truly needed anywhere. The trip across the North Sea to Norway is more a tradition than a need.
Something he used to do with his brother.
Another excuse to keep moving.
“What color are your eyes?” Arctus asks.
“My eyes? They’re blue. You?”
“I thought they were black, but my brother always told me they were dark brown.”
“Brother? You have family, then?”
“Had.”
A long pause follows, broken only by Liam’s soft curse. When he speaks again, it’s with a melancholy tone.
“Aye. Me too.”
Arctus’ sense of connection with Liam grows stronger. “It was a senseless thing. Highway robbers.”
“Highway?”
He realizes his mistake a moment too late. But how many has he already made? Does one more make a difference?
“This is not the only form my kind can take.”
“Oh.”
Liam’s breathless tone sends shivers down Arctus’ spine… and lower. The sensation is so unfamiliar and surprising, his fingers unclench.
For all Liam’s talk about gracefulness, Arctus flops into the water, and he’s too flustered to climb up again. Through the frothing waves of the ship’s wake, he looks up to find Liam practically hanging out the window, sharp gaze scanning the water. Another shudder runs through Arctus at the realization that he’s bare chested, the muscle and sinew of his thick arms on full display.
He sinks into the water and swims away.
.
The visits continue in much the same way for the next few days. Arctus learns about Liam’s past living in Britain and working his way up from a cabin boy to a captain in the navy. When the war ended, he tried to live on land for a time, but the water called to him. Rich off the spoils of war, Liam bought his merchant vessel and went back to his true love, the sea.
In return Arctus tells Liam in halting words of his past. Of the way he and his brother were treated by their mother and their escape from her clutches. Of the family his brother built and then lost in one fell swoop.
He doesn’t tell Liam of the blood on his hands as he lured the murderers to the water and ripped them apart with his hands and teeth. But from the quiet now permeating the air, he thinks that Liam must at least guess the fate of those highway men.
“We’re almost to London,” Liam says suddenly. “We’ll start the trip up the Thames tomorrow morning.”
It’s Arctus’ turn to utter a quiet, “oh.” He readjusts his fingers on the sill. The quiet lingers until Arctus can bear it no longer.
“How… how long will you be on land?”
Liam exhales long and slow. “A few weeks. Maybe months if we’re unlucky.”
“And then where will you go?”
“Oh, back to North Africa toward Egypt most likely. We have regular buyers for goods throughout the Mediterranean.” Liam continues in a more hesitant tone, “Before you go… will you at least tell me your name?”
“So you can call for me like a dog?” Arctus deadpans.
Liam knows him well enough to laugh. It’s a raw, beautiful sound. Arctus wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life.
Instead, he murmurs, “Arctus. My name is Arctus,” and drops into the sea.
.
The docks in London are a maze of people and scents both familiar and utterly repugnant. Rows upon rows of ships line the river docks, a jumble of masts and ropes and rolled up sails nearly blocking out the sun. Workers move back and forth among the ships and the stacks of cargo waiting to be loaded while others load cargo from the ships into wagons destined for the shops and homes in and around London.
Despite his size, Arctus slips through the crowd easily, his mind used to parsing patterns of movement and anticipating gaps. It helps that he’s a head taller than everyone else, too. He stops to ask for directions several times, but it’s not until he reaches the end of the docks that he begins to despair that he missed Liam’s departure.
His trip up the English coast was uneventful, but after raiding his treasure trove for a king’s ransom in jewels and gold—barely leaving a dent in the pile—he was faced with the task of getting himself properly attired and then across England to London. When presented with enough money, most people worked quickly and quietly without further questions, but even the best tailors can only sew so fast.
Everything has taken longer than he hoped, including convincing himself he hasn’t taken complete leave of his senses. He should simply drop everything and dive back in the water. He’s never been a fan of fresh water, but the Thames leads to the ocean quickly enough. Now that he’s here, though, the idea of giving up seems ludicrous. The loss of money doesn’t mean anything, but he’s put so much time and effort into—
“Sir? Begging your pardon, but I’d heard you might be looking for the Queen of the Sea?”
Arctus turns to find none other than the ship’s first mate, Grey smiling at him. Arctus blinks at him before remembering his manners. He gives him a nod and holds out his hand.
“Arctus Reynolds. And you are?”
“Silas Grey, first mate on the Queen. The ship is loaded up with cargo, so we anchored her out in the river to dissuade anyone from getting ideas. I’m sure you understand. Captain Wallace and I were about to head over, but old man Garner said you were looking for us.”
Arctus glances around but he doesn’t see Liam. “I was hoping to talk to your captain about a possible business opportunity.”
Grey’s smile is genial in the way of men who sniff money in the air. “In that case, Mr. Reynolds, let me make your introduction.”
Grey motions him to the side of the docks and down a stone stairway. A row of shorter docks comes into view as they round a corner, lined with fishing and row boats pushed up against a stone breakwater. The smell of humanity is even worse this close to the river. Arctus’ eyes water, and he tries to unobtrusively breathe through his mouth.
It’s all worth it, though, when Liam comes into view.
He’s more formally dressed than the last time Arctus saw him, wearing a fashionable suit with a beautifully tailored blue coat. He’s also loading small crates into a row boat, his cravat in disarray and his hat askew, so he doesn’t see them approach until they’re standing next to the boat. Liam shades his eyes and looks up at Grey.
“Ah, there you are. I was wondering if I was going to have to rescue you from Garner. And who’s your friend?”
Still squinting, Liam turns his gaze to Arctus. Grey says something—probably an introduction—but Arctus is too busy watching Liam’s furiously blue eyes widen like a couple of blowfish to register the words.
Liam takes a step forward in the boat, his gaze still fixed on Arctus.
He stumbles.
“Liam!” Grey calls, darting forward.
But the captain quickly catches himself, laughs, and then pulls himself up onto the dock. His smile fades as he seems to realize he’s the shorter of the two of them, and his throat bobs as he swallows. Almost like an afterthought, he shoves his hand toward Arctus.
“Mr. Reynolds is it?”
Liam’s words come out breathless, his wide eyes tracking over Arctus’ face and growing more awed by the second. In all the time Arctus spent swimming and then traveling in the carriage to London, he couldn’t decide if he hoped Liam would recognize him or not. Now, as they stare into each others’ eyes, he can firmly say that this is the best outcome.
He takes Liam’s hand and squeezes gently. His skin tingles where they touch.
“Am I crazy?” Liam whispers, as if to himself.
Instead of responding to that, Arctus says, “I have a proposition for you, Captain.”
“Hmm? Oh! Yes, of course.” Liam clears his throat and shoots his first mate a bright smile. “Load up that last crate, Grey, while I see what our new friend wants.”
Liam doesn’t wait for an answer. He lets go of Arctus’ hand only to press his palm against Arctus’ lower back as he leads them toward the inner wall. They duck between crates stacked against the stone wall, and Liam turns to face Arctus, though he keeps his head down as he removes his hat and runs a hand through his dark hair. Like his clothing, it’s much more fashionably styled, cropped short around his neck and ears, though the top is still a bit longer than fashion would dictate.
When Liam finally looks up, his gaze is full of hope and disbelief. Arctus swallows and manages a weak smile.
“I wish to book passage on your ship, Captain Wallace.”
And whatever Liam had been expecting, this clearly wasn’t it. His expression bends into confusion.
“But… you don’t need… uh…” Liam blinks up at Arctus, clears his throat, and starts again. “We’re not really in the business of taking on passengers, Mr. Reynolds. Do you even know where we’re going?”
“Last time we spoke, I believe you mentioned North Africa and Egypt.”
Liam’s eyes blow wide again, and he sucks in a deep, shaky breathe. “It was real, then? You’re really here? I didn’t hallucinate the whole thing?”
“I can prove it later if you wish, though I’d prefer to get as far away from the dirty water of the Thames as possible before reverting to a trick pony.”
Liam barks a laugh before quickly covering his mouth and spinning away. He paces away two steps, takes a few deep breaths, and then turns back with a helpless look on his face.
“But… why?”
“Because you said you wished to paint me.”
Liam’s laugh is quieter this time. Hesitant.
Hopeful.
He looks up at Arctus, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths, his gaze rapt.
“Aye. More than anything.”
Arctus’ heart leaps into his throat. A smile—a genuine smile the likes of which hasn’t been seen for a decade—curves his lips. He looks around to ensure they cannot be seen before reaching for Liam’s hand. The calluses on his fingers are rough and perfect as they glide over Arctus’ palm.
“Then let us go. The two of us. Together.”
Liam smiles back and squeezes his hand. The sounds and scents of the dock fade away as Arctus stares into Liam’s eyes and finds something he never thought to find again.
In that gaze as blue as an ocean and just as deep, he finds home.
---
Written for the @ficwip5k event.
Read the sequel on AO3!