Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!mermaid!reader [no use of y/n]
Word count: 9k
Summary: Fix-it fic in the aftermath of 03x01.
You do not know what’s bringing you so far from your home, across the Narrow Sea, but you stumble upon a beautiful, injured young man and decide to save him.
Warnings: description of violence against women (mermaids), physical and emotional hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her appearance as a mermaid.
a/n: How are we coping guys? I’m in such deep denial I decided Jace doesn’t die :) I really hope you’re going to enjoy this story, I hadn’t been so productive writing non-fiction since I started my master’s dissertation.
feedback is welcome and appreciated <3
(images are taken from pinterest)
You could not tell how long it had been since you had last ventured so far from your cave.
You had not needed to, after all. Why would you leave the warm shore and its idyllic light blue hues to face the dark, deep waters of the Narrow Sea and its violent tides? There was nothing of value there; the fish were too bitter, the currents too strong – you were built for shallow waters, carved to enjoy the softness of the laced patterns made by the sun rays on the clear sand, to feast on urchins and relish in the colours of corals. To live far from mariners and their boats, near the surface without reaching it, if not for the thrill of slithering your upper body out of the water to feel the hot air against your skin before plunging back into your realm.
And yet, something – someone – had called you on the other side of the Narrow Sea. A shiver that had run through your entire body from your hair to your tail fin. The feeling was not painful per se, at most uncomfortable: the urge that had taken over you made you believe you were going to die if you did not go, like you were a bubble about to burst. There was no sensible explanation for this overtaking compulsion, no legend mentioned foreseer merfolk, but you did not care for rationality. You cared for action.
In a heartbeat, you were gone from your cave with nothing but your talisman necklace, an opalescent seashell, the last connection to your people after you elected a life of loneliness – of tranquillity, you argued. As soon as you had crossed the border of your lagoon, you had been reminded of your nature as a shallow-water mermaid. You were maladapted for the cold and abyssal sea: your thin tail lacked power, and the current made every push a fight; your fins were too long and made you an easy prey to catch for the predators of the place; your pupils weren’t adjusted for such darkness and turned your travel into a haphazard route.
You were careful not to go too deep, afraid of what you might encounter there, but you could not rejoin the surface, where navigating would be easier because of the boats. You had not seen them, couldn’t identify how many there were, but they stirred the water from miles away. That was the one rule you had been taught from your birth – stay away from men and their rumble. As a child, you used to run back to your sisters the moment you sensed the smallest ripple above your head.
Men were trouble.
You had heard many tales growing up, and they had gotten more graphic as you had gotten older. Stories of mermaids hunted, harpooned and captured outside of the water. Sailors laughing at their helplessness and degrading them in every possible way. Laughing at their “fishy smell” while they reeked of alcohol. They found the girls horrible. Repulsive. Abominations that should have been exterminated long ago. That did not stop them from grabbing them by the hair and-
Apparently, mermaid fins were worth enough to turn the poorest man into a king.
You shuddered, and you could not tell if it was from the coldness of the sea or the images your mind had conjured. The roar of the boats was endless, stretching on for miles as you kept on fighting your nature. You had closed your eyes to save energy, not that they were very useful at such a depth. You did not need to see anyway. Something greater was guiding you – instinct, premonition; you were not sure of its nature. All you knew was that the fire in your stomach was growing stronger with each wag of your tail. And, as your brain was telling you to turn away and regain the safety of your cave on the spot, you kept going towards the havoc.
As you struggled towards your destination, something strange happened – the sea calmed down. The overwhelming yet regular rhythm of the oars decreased before completely stopping as you reached shallower water, relief flooding your system.
You remained careful. An absence of boats did not equate to an absence of men. They could be malicious and cowardly, creating a trap and waiting for you to rush into your demise. You skidded between the misshapen rocks as low as you could, your tail caressing the sand, your hair gently haloing around your head. Something was off with the water, and not in the same way as the sea. The sea was scary; it was unfamiliar and destructive. But this? This should have felt good, the same clear water you were used to, if not for a little colder.
It was not clear enough, though. Some sort of haze was forbidding you from seeing as acutely as you should have, and when you opened your mouth and let it flood down your throat, its taste was bitter and metallic. Without dropping your guard, you hurried up. The faster you would find whoever called you, the faster you could leave this mess.
You kept weaving along the sandbank, exiting the thin passage you had entered to reach a wider space. There was no trap awaiting you at the end of the narrow crossing, but what you faced was not any better. In front of you was laying the grimmest, most desolate landscape you had ever laid eyes upon. A morbid, macabre, distinctly man-made spectacle.
Ships were broken down into pieces, sinking under the weight of the wet wood, torn flags sadly waving with the current, bitter symbols of the failure of their houses. Engraved swords, decorated armours, every statement of wealth now revealed its true nature as tokens of hubris, that of the men now floating. Mouth agape, eyes widened with terror, their skin had turned into a gradient of grey and blue, if not for the red holes and scratches that scattered their bodies. From those injuries emerged dark clouds of blood that tainted the water around them and blurred your sight, already affected by the dust and embers floating across the sea.
Overwhelmed by your surroundings, you stayed still. You felt dirty, like the muddy water was sticking to your skin and tainting you with the horrors it carried. There was nothing to salvage in this desolate landscape, yet your guts were telling you to keep looking for something, anything. Perhaps one of the wrecks contained a rare treasure, a beautiful pearl, a sacred companion. Beauty in the midst of disaster.
You dove a little deeper, where the sand was still whisked into pale curls. There was a shiny shape a little further which you couldn’t quite make out even as you squinted your eyes. It was partially hidden by the sand and wooden planks, but you were sure it was organic. The way it reflected the light reminded you of your own tail and its thin scales, which seemed to almost change colours as you glided underwater.
Carefully, you made your way towards the mass that grew bigger with each wag of your tail. The creature was still, though you did not want to assume its death and be surprised by an attack – these foreign waters might be home to some strange scavengers that would mistake you for a part of the carrion left by the disaster that had occurred. And, based on its size, it could kill you in one powerful bite.
The creature never moved. As you got a better look at it, an insidious doubt crept along your spine. The scales had led you to assume it was a marine creature, but as you saw its tail, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of fins. There was something distinctly terrestrial about it.
That was when you saw them.
The wings.
You had never seen a dragon before, but the elders had recounted tales of those giant apex predators terrorising the land, catching cattle with their claws before charring it by spouting fire. Formidable hunters and mounts, masters of the air and of the land, even the sea could not protect you from them – the heat of their flames could burn you as you lay under the surface. That was the second rule that you had kept from your people: when those titans would come again to scorch the earth, dive as deep as you can.
That dragon, however, did not look ferocious. It looked weak, powerless, dead. What a strange sight that was, to see a terrifying creature lie helpless on the sand with glassy eyes. Even in this state, there was a certain wild majesty to it. Whichever god had created them had done it with great care, shaping them to be as ferocious and yet as elegant as possible, all soft edges and sharp lines. Its stillness was uncomfortable; such a powerful brute was fashioned for movement.
There was something uncanny about its lifeless gaze and shocked expression. You had never assumed dragons could show emotions, but you would be blind if you missed the suffering and fear in this creature’s eyes. You repressed a shudder. What could have possibly scared the one beast at the top of the food chain? Clenching your jaw, you followed its gaze, unsure of what to expect. A giant, bloodthirsty monster? A legendary being that spawned from the gods? Something that had to be bigger, eerier, something that would perhaps be the last vision before you met your inevitable end.
Definitely not a man afloat.
You knew it when you saw him. That calling that had brought you here had materialised into this frail frame drifting in the soiled water, leaving wreaths of blood in its wake. Time slowed around you as you observed the gentle motion of his hair, the spasm of his fingers, the bubbles that escaped his mouth…
Wait.
You rushed towards the man, throwing away all of your doubts and anxieties. If a miracle had protected him so far, every second counted towards his survival. You weren’t even sure why you were so eager to save him in the first place – he was a man, like all others, feasting on blood and dominance. But he looked so fragile at this moment, so… human, in all of their weaknesses. The awkwardness of their legs, the limits of their lungs. You pressed two fingers against his wrist; his skin was cold and wrinkled by the water, but you could feel it, a faint, almost nonexistent pulse. You rushed him out of the water.
The fresh air smelled like smoke, and you choked on the thick, grey mist left by the battle that had taken place. You furrowed your brows, shrugging away your own unease as you watched the man expectantly. His mouth opened on its own, his face still unconscious, and you stared at the shape of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. A glimmer of hope shone in your eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it came. The man was not breathing, at least not breathing clearly. Instead, he let out a gargling sound as blood spewed out of the side of his neck, where an arrow was stuck.
The head of the arrow was not lodged too deep, but it was in a compromising spot. Near the jugular, without piercing it totally – otherwise he’d already be dead. The pressure from the water had slowed the bleeding down, but now that he was out in the open, you had to think fast and act even faster.
Your options were limited: you needed to properly bandage his neck, which wouldn’t be too hard if you were back home, where you knew every medicinal plant and alga like the back of your hand. Here, it would be more uncertain. However, you doubted you could reach your cave in time to save him. The current should push you in the right direction, but the additional weight of the man and his thick and soaked clothes would slow you down.
You settled on a compromise, patching him up well enough for him to survive the journey to your cave and properly tending to his injuries there. Yeah. That sounded perfect, that was going to work.
Gathering your strength, you hauled him up on a rock, careful not to push any of the arrows deeper. He had been lucky; two of the arrows had been stopped by his elegant leather clothing, and you could dislodge them with little difficulty. They left behind holes in the luxurious fabric – such a shame when they had been sewn with visible care – but had not reached the skin beneath. The third arrow, the one that had pierced the skin of his throat, represented a bigger threat. You could not remove it yet; that would be a death sentence: he would bleed out in a matter of minutes. Your best shot was at shortening its shaft to ease travelling and sealing the wound as tight as you could.
You plunged, trying not to let panic get the best of you. You took deep breaths to slow your frantic heartbeat, which had the opposite effect as you gagged on the bloody water. Tears prickled your eyes and you ignored them, reaching the soft sand and searching for seaweeds long enough to bandage the man. You had to be quick; you did not enjoy leaving him on his own, exposed and vulnerable. The leaves in the area were annoyingly short – sea life here was nowhere near as lush as it was back home, and you were quick to blame humans for this – but you managed to gather a small harvest. You also grabbed a sharp stone to cut the shaft of the arrow.
Praying you had not taken too long, you rushed back to the surface. You could see that the man’s chest was barely rising and falling, but the wheezing sound he made meant he was still breathing. With steady hands, you got to work. This was not your first time tending wounds – you had had to assist some of your people after they escaped fishermen. You had seen ugly injuries, broken bones, punctured tails; you had seen despair and pain in the eyes of your peers; yet you had never felt so helpless. You had never been on your own to carry the responsibility of saving someone, especially a human. Humans were so fragile, an intricate assembly of bones so small you did not understand how they could stand and walk without breaking into two.
The man did not fight back against your foreign touch. You saw the muscles of his face twitching as you cleaned and swathed his skin, but it was not enough to stir him into consciousness. Back when you were stitching up merfolk, you remembered wishing for them to stop fighting back and hissing at you, but you found yourself wishing the man was more expressive. You could not tell whether you were hurting him or not, whether you were aggravating his state or helping. He was still breathing. You took it as a good sign.
The world around you had gone still. The sun was setting towards the horizon, piercing through the light grey clouds that formed a lid above your head, adding to the oppressive feeling that reached you whenever your bust left the water. Seagulls were hovering, their screeches piercing the silence and raising goosebumps along your skin. You wanted to reach your cave before nighttime.
Next to you, the man groaned. A muttered “sorry” escaped your lips before you could repress it, but you received no answer. You sighed as you closed your arms around the man; his weight less bothersome once you immersed his body, trying to find a position that allowed you to keep his head out of the water while swimming comfortably.
The current was going in the right direction. That was the only positive element you could find in the journey back home. Carrying a human while speeding through the waves was tedious and exhausting; it forced you to dance with the surface of the sea, an awkward rhythm you failed to find. As the sky turned to liquid lava with beautiful and vivid shades of red and orange, the tide grew stronger. Your arms and your tail were sore, begging for a break you could not afford to take, not when you could see your bandage peeling off, not when the water was getting colder and the man’s lips bluer. If you did not hurry up, all of your effort would be reduced to nothing.
You kept pushing.
Relief flooded over you when the waters turned calm at once. Softer. Warmer. You were back in your lagoon and its shallowness had never felt more comforting. Gathering the last bits of energy in your body, you rushed and laid the man on the white stony islet that stood in the middle of your cave before plunging into the water and shaking the atrophy of your muscles away. Today had been surreal, and you needed this moment of immersion to ground yourself. You could have slept for a full day, perhaps two, but you had to tend to your unconscious patient first.
It was much easier here. You could have found everything you needed with your eyes closed – medicinal plants, spots of clean water, oysters and urchins for the moment the man would wake up and need to regain his strength; you even took the time to collect large seashells and fill them with clear water. You felt serene, acting almost instinctively. You did not need to overthink; you just let your meticulous hands cut, cleanse, bandage, and skim. His skin was cold and smooth, ashen if not for the dark, deep red of the wound.
It was not a pretty injury, but it seemed clean. There were no signs of infection, and you hoped it would mean a quick recovery. You had not really considered the after; you assumed the man would stay here until he would feel ready to go his own way, find a connection to civilisation, a hamlet he would call home. For now, he was still asleep, breathing more easily now that you had removed the arrow from his neck and some layers of heavy, soaked fabric. His hair was drying, small curls falling on his forehead.
Without noticing it, you gently pushed his hair behind his ear. The man shuddered and you plunged back into the water, observing him through the ripples, but he did not wake up. You lifted your head up in the air again, keeping your distance. Bathed in the cold, soft light of the moon, you realised that he was pretty. Very pretty. Actually, you did not know men could be pretty.
Fair to say, you had not seen many of them, but all of the ones that had crossed your path had been carved by the salt of the sea with hollowed cheeks, raw skin and scruffy beards. They reeked of sweat and alcohol for miles. This man was the opposite. Everything in his appearance felt neat, from the opulence of his clothes to his shaven jaw. His features looked like carved marble with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. There was something regal, almost holy about him. Was this why you had felt drawn towards him in the first place, to save an emissary from the heavens?
He slept during the entire following day, undisturbed by the warmth of the sun that infiltrated the cave from the small gaps between the rocks. You checked on him from time to time, making sure his neck was healing nicely – and sighing with relief when you saw that the wound was looking better – and leaving him some fresh food and water in case he woke up while you were away. He was a beautiful sight, surrounded by coral formations and reeds, seashells and moss. You took pride in how you had turned your cave into a peaceful haven, and for the first time, you considered the fact that your hard work could be appreciated by someone else.
Other than your regular visits, you tried to go through your day as usual. You removed undesirable seaweeds from your underwater garden and collected seashells to make jewellery. You were remarkably inefficient. No matter how you tried to keep your hands busy, your mind wandered back to the man in your cave, your beautiful stranger, your mysterious envoy. Blush crept up your neck; never had you been in such a state of frenzy, and for what, a human? Those who forced you to hide in caves, who treated you as exotic goods, those you had sworn never to approach.
This one was not a huge threat, though.
You were standing at the entrance of the cave when the sun set. It had always been your favourite moment of the day, the moment the sky and the sea merged into honey, golden and shiny. You wished you could freeze time and leave the world bathed in this warm light ad vitam aeternam, when everything was softer. Lying lazily against a tall rock, you did not realise you had started singing.
Singing was part of your nature. How could it not be, when you were surrounded by the slow murmur of the waves, the high shriek of the birds, the foreign tune of the whales? The universe was an orchestra and you were one of its most willing instruments, harmonising seamlessly with the wilderness, reaching highs and lows effortlessly. Your voice was not a danger, at least not in the way it was presented in myths. It was tantalising, perhaps, but it did not drive men insane – they did that part on their own. They could enjoy your art if only they set aside their lust for flesh and for glory.
Singing meant harmony. It meant grounding, painting the big picture, being aware of the world around you. You forgot yourself a little in those moments; you were one with the rock you rested your elbows against, with the gentle rhythm of the waves against your tail, with the softness of the sand under your fins.
A disturbance broke the moment. It was faint, you probably would not have heard it if you had not been so keenly attentive to your surroundings, but it was here; the rolling of gravel beneath feet at an unsteady rhythm. You plunged. He was awake.
“Hello?” His voice was hoarse, and you heard him clear his throat with a painful, high-pitched inspiration. “I- I heard you.”
You stayed hidden, in apnoea. The footsteps became louder, and you could visualise the man reaching the edge of the ground, contemplating the endless stretch of water in front of his eyes and the rocks that emerged from it to form abstract statues. And you, pressed against one of them, just out of his sight. He muttered some unintelligible words.
“Thank you for the bandage and for the food. I’d just like to know where I am. Guess that’s all I wanted to say.”
And with this, he walked back into the depths of the cave.
You breathed out with relief. Relief that he was alive, of course, but also relief that he had not spotted you. That was silly; you had never thought you’d care about a human’s opinion of you. But everything about him was so perfect, it made you painfully aware of all of your differences, everything about your appearance which you had considered normal, until you had not. The words your people had reported back to you after their escape.
How your tail was grotesque. Your scales, sticky. Your fins, monstrous. You were a rotten fish, a terrifying creature. A freak.
You did not want to see the weight of disappointment in the man’s eyes when he would lay eyes on his saviour.
You started acting differently. You stayed underwater, paying close attention to the sounds coming from the cave – the echo in the place had never proven more useful. You waited for silence to fill the space to check on his injury and bring him food and water, careful not to linger for too long. You took care of your lagoon. You settled back into a routine, a strange routine, granted, one that gave you the feeling you were tiptoeing in your own territory, but a routine nonetheless.
You kept on singing every evening. That was one concession you could not make, giving up on this moment for the sake of being discreet. You stayed hidden behind your rock, but your voice did not falter once. You knew he was listening; you could hear the crush of pebbles under his footsteps, which were getting firmer and more self-assured every day. You did not mind his presence; you were not trying to make him believe he was alone; you were just avoiding his gaze.
He’d thank you for the food after your song. That was the only form of communication you shared. A melody and an acknowledgement. You did not ask for more.
Your cat and mouse dance went on for about a week. Then, on one of those nights when the heat seemed thick and sticky as treacle, your little bubble of comfort burst.
Everything had started the same as usual: you had waited for the moon to rise to tend to your guest. It was remarkably dark, the orb of night forming but a thin crescent, like a slit of light in the navy blue sky. Had you not known your cave by heart, you would probably have stumbled upon one of the irregularities of the sandbank. You placed oysters with delicacy alongside something new, a couple of fruits you had found a little further along the coastline. It had not been easy harvesting them, but you hoped it would prove a welcome change of diet for the man.
You looked away for a second. Just a glance outside the cave, alerted by an unexpected noise. When you turned back to the man, his eyes were on you.
“I finally got you,” he whispered, barely audible above the sound of your heartbeat pulsing.
You tried to rationalise your racing thoughts. You back against the little light that had penetrated the obscure cave, he could not see you. At best, he could perhaps make out your frame, but nothing else. Hell, you could barely see the glint of his eyes, and you had heard many times that humans had particularly weak night vision.
“I was beginning to think I had made you up,” he added. His voice was soft, confessional. “My mysterious saviour.”
“You don’t want to see me,” you murmured back in a voice you did not recognise. “I’m glad to see you’re healing nicely.”
“The more you hide, the more curious I get.” A thin smile brightened his features. “Where am I?”
“A cave, somewhere in the Narrow Sea. I’m not exactly familiar with human geography.”
“So that’s true?” His voice got a little louder. “Mermaids really do exist? And here I thought it was all a myth created by sailors going crazy.”
You scoffed. “Well, unless you’re going insane, I’m very much real.”
“Who knows. Maybe I’m dead, and I’m hallucinating you.” There was an edge to his voice, a tint of bitterness. “I really thought my time had come.”
You kept quiet. What were you supposed to answer to this? “Oh, actually, you survived because I felt drawn towards you with no explanation and I decided to save you”? He’d think you were a madwoman. Plus, you weren’t exactly comfortable chit-chatting with your guest. You were desperate for some privacy and some sleep.
“I guess it was not”, you finally said under your breath. “I should go.”
You started swimming towards the entrance of the cave in a hurry, spraying foam around you, when you heard the man again.
“Wait.” He had not been loud or demanding, yet you felt compelled to stop and look at him over your shoulder. It was fascinating to see how he could speak with both authority and gentleness. “I don’t even know who you are. My name is Jacearys.”
You nodded and told him your name. It would have been silly not to, at this point. It was just a name; it did not mean anything.
He repeated your name softly, and you could not help but shiver as you heard it roll off his tongue so easily. It had been so long since anyone had called you by your name that you had thought it would feel strange, alien. It did not. In fact, it felt like he was meant to say it.
“Thank you,” he repeated your name and waved. “For everything.”
You waved back and plunged into the water.
You were ready to rule this off as a one-time incident, a night of insomnia on his part, a lack of care on yours. Instead, it became a ritual. Almost every night, you would find him awake, his gaze lingering to decipher your shape as you carefully insisted on turning your back to the moon. He kept on making small talk, trying to understand how he had ended up here and, more importantly, who you were. Your short, enigmatic answers did not discourage him. If anything, he seemed to relish this little game. He was growing more curious with every shrug and monosyllabic sentence.
He started to grow on you, and you hated that. Hated that you began looking forward to nighttime, to the intimate moment you’d share in the dark. Hated that you were charmed not just by his regal appearance, but also by his bright personality. Hated that you actually wanted to learn more about him and began shooting back questions. And as he wore you down, you opened up like a pearl oyster. And so did he.
Jace – he had told you to call him like this – was a prince. An actual, real-life prince. Well, it was a little more complicated. He told you about the ongoing war, the usurper, and how he had been fighting for his mother on this dreadful day. In exchange, you told him about the seaweeds that you had used to bandage him, and all of the medicinal plants that grew underwater. He listened to you with attention, picking up on your explanations to learn more. It was strange, to be heard in such an intense manner, to feel like what you said mattered to someone.
“Could you show me your garden one day?” He asked
You froze. You wanted to say yes, you dreamed of it, of entangling your hands and guiding him through the clear water of the lagoon and teaching him everything you knew. You almost said yes, but the words died in your throat. “I don’t know if this would be safe for humans,” you answered instead, the words leaving a sour aftertaste in your mouth.
That was a lie. Most of your crops required a lot of light and were buried in remarkably shallow spots where Jace could probably walk. You had spoken with enough conviction, however, for him not to notice your dishonesty, and he accepted your answer without insisting. He was sitting at the edge of the islet, mindlessly dipping his fingers in the water, drawing abstract shapes, unaware of the way he was hypnotising you.
Days went by. You talked about your respective families, surprised to see that Jace could one-up your large, bizarre family lore. He told you about Aegon’s conquest of Westeros and his heirs, about his mother and how much he admired her and wanted to keep her safe, about his brothers. His gaze saddened when he mentioned Luce, and you took his hand without even realising it. It was warm under yours, slightly calloused but soft where it mattered. He did not rebuff you.
In exchange, you told him about your folk, how family meant more than bloodline. Babies were carried from arm to arm, every member of the clan acting as a sort of aunt or uncle. Days were joyous, filled with games and songs. It was a peaceful way of growing up, so different from Jace’s grim, dark castles.
“So why did you leave?” He asked after a moment of silence.
“When I grew up, I started to feel… I don’t know.” You sighed. “Maladjusted? I wanted calm and silence, and to do things at my own pace. They did not like my tendency to solitude, and I did not like how dependent they all were. Having to rely on others made me feel weak.”
“You’re never going to go back?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure. I would probably be welcomed if I did – maybe not at first, but merfolks are not resentful. Perhaps one day I’ll miss their antics. For now I enjoy my tranquillity.”
“Not too bothered that I came along to disturb it?”
“No,” you answered a little too quickly to your own liking. You had grown accustomed to Jace so easily it had altered your view on your life on a fundamental level. You used to think of yourself as a lone wolf, but a feeling of dread would creep up your spine when you considered the possibility of Jace leaving. The loneliness you had cherished for years now had an acidic aftertaste, and you weren’t certain you could go back to your routine without the sound of his feet against the gravel and your late-night conversations. You knew he would leave one day; he wasn’t your captive. You just tried not to think about it too much.
Maybe he understood the trouble that weighed your silence, because he came a little closer – though not close enough for you to flinch and retreat further in the darkness – and whispered, “good, then. I’d feel bad if I was overstaying my welcome.”
One night, you finally gathered the strength to ask him the burning question which had been quietly on your lips for the whole time since you had seen him in the water, above the gigantic, scaly creature.
“Did you have a dragon?”
You already suspected the answer, and the sadness that struck his features made you regret you had not bitten your words.
“Yes,” he eventually whispered, falling promptly into silence.
You were about to apologise for your prying when he opened his mouth again. “His name was Vermax. I’ve known him since I was a child; it’s like he’s always been part of my life. He was incredibly beautiful and so smart as well. You should have seen him gliding in the air and searing the sky.”
He kept on talking, and you did not interrupt him. He told you about the adrenaline rush he’d feel when he went for a stroll with his dragon. How he had taught him to obey his very order. Describing in great detail the intricate lacing of his scales, the fire in his eyes. Admiration showed through his voice, but the trembling notes at the end of his words revealed something deeper.
“Maybe… I can’t help thinking that maybe if Vermax had not listened to me so well during the battle, if he hadn’t changed course the moment I told him not to attack the other dragon, he’d still be alive.” He explained how Vermax had been trapped underwater, leaving no choice but to abandon him to the depths of the Gullet. You did not comment on the tears that prickled his eyes, but your hand found his.
That was the only form of physical contact between the two of you. Your hand dampening his, your coldness calming down his heat, fire and water finding a middle ground instead of destroying each other.
“Those few seconds between the moment I let go of Vermax and the moment I got shot were the most horrible of my life,” he confessed. “A Targaryen is nothing without a dragon. People love saying we are closer to gods than to men, but that’s because we have them. Without dragons, we are just power-hungry maniacs.” He let out a humourless laugh. “At that moment, I thought I was a disgrace, that maybe death was my best shot. That if I made it out alive, my mother would kill me upon my return.”
“That’s not true,” you said under your breath.
“I know. I knew when I felt that arrow piercing my skin. She would be angry at me, of course, but I realised how ludicrous I had been thinking death would be some kind of deliverance. She would have to mourn yet another son, and it was all my fault. Fate works in a funny way, don’t you think? I spent what felt like an eternity waiting for death to hit me, and it’s only when it did that I realised how much I wanted to live.”
“And you did.”
Jace nodded and lightly pressed your hand. “And I did. Thanks to you.”
Silence settled between you two. It seemed that it always found its way to slither inside the cave. It did not feel awkward, though. Silence was a blanket wrapping around you, comfortable and familiar. In these moments, you just took in Jace’s presence – the speed at which his chest went up and down, much faster than yours; the warmth that emanated from his skin. You could feel his gaze on your shadowy frame, trying to make sense out of your features without ever deciphering them.
“Why do you always come by night?” He finally broke the stillness in the cave.
Your stomach dropped, and you removed your hand instantly, like the contact had started burning you. Turned out, your desire to know the other better could lead you both to make a faux pas.
You considered lying. It was easy, tempting, a low-hanging fruit. Only, you could not think of a single excuse that he would not see right through. It had been easier to lie by omission when you were two strangers, but now that you had grown accustomed to one another, you were convinced he could read your voice like an open book. It felt wrong, too, lying to him after he had shown so much vulnerability and talked to you about the deepest, darkest feelings that had haunted his heart. He deserved to know.
“I don’t want you to see me.”
He arched his brows, a thin wrinkle appearing on his forehead. A chuckle escaped his lips. “And why is that?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m a monster,” you answered after a pause.
“What?”
You weren’t sure if his question came from disbelief or from the fact that you had slurred those words at a remarkably low tone. You cleared your throat and repeated your answer so that he could hear it. His frown deepened.
“You’re a mermaid, aren’t you? I was always told mermaids were beautiful.”
You sighed, trying to keep your composure. “Men love saying this until they see one and decide she’s so ugly they should kill her.” The more you spoke, the less control you had over your voice, which trembled with anger. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, they find us attractive enough to violate us, but that doesn’t stop them from degrading everything about our appearance. We’re nothing but goods to men, goods to use and to sell for glory. A good mermaid is a dead mermaid.”
Jace kept quiet as you continued your rant. “I’d rather keep you from the horrible vision I would offer, so you can keep on picturing me however you want. Make me perfect, make me your fantasy, ignore the disappointing truth. I think it’s better for both of us.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took in your words. The cave was colder now; the light of the moon that used to embrace you with tenderness had turned unforgiving, too harsh, too white, too impersonal. You wanted to leave and hide underwater until your skin had forgotten the caress of its rays.
“I had no idea you were treated like this.”
You huffed, arms crossed over your chest. “Jace,” you sounded more cutting than you wanted to, but his question had opened the valves to the rage that had built up within you since you had first heard of one of your sisters’ fates. “Really? Aren’t you a Velaryon?”
If you hurt Jace on this evening, he did not hold it against you. You did not hold his words against him either. You stood a little further from the ground, he sat a little further from the water. There was no contact, no hand-holding, but no thick, palpable awkwardness either. You both knew which subjects to keep off the table.
Part of you wished you’d stayed angry at the man. It would have been easier to deal with him if the blood pumping in your veins whenever you saw him came from resentment rather than infatuation. Because, yes, that was what it was. Infatuation, a stupid, almost teenage crush which you could not get rid of.
You wondered if he had noticed your feelings – if he did, he did not let it slip. He was effortlessly charming, listening to your stories with interest and blowing you away with his tales. And he made you laugh – though you did not know if he was really funny or if you were desperately head over heels, pathetically giggling at his words.
He was doing better every day. His wounds were turning into thin, red scars that shone under the moonlight but did not threaten to bleed or reopen, and he was recovering his strength. You could sense he was craving more movement, limited by the little islet of the cave. He was pacing back and forth for hours, sometimes risking an arm into the water, but he never plunged into the lagoon.
Until he did.
It happened on a drizzling afternoon. The clouds were hanging low and heavy, painting your entire world with shades of grey. You loved the rain. You loved floating right under the surface of the lagoon and watching the droplets of water fall into small, harmonious ripples and soft music. But, on this day, you could not afford the leisure. Invasive seaweeds were threatening your garden, and you could lose years of hard work if you did not intervene on the spot.
You heard him before you saw him. Your hands were buried in the dampened sand, brows furrowed with focus, when the distinctive sounds of a body splitting through the water got your attention. You did a full body turn, apprehension taking over you, when you ended up face to face with Jace. He had left his armour in the cave and was standing there, waist deep in the lagoon and messy, soaked hair trickling down his toned, bare chest.
He opened his mouth and then closed it, like a fish out of the water. Your first instinct was to hide, but the water was too shallow, too clear, too revealing. It was too late.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jace’s words hung in the air. He kept looking at you, taking in every little detail – the way your scales changed colours with each gentle wag of your tail, the see-through lacing of your fins and the way they emerged from your body like mountain ranges. The way your skin merged in chaotic patterns with your animal features, like the two parts were fighting a chaotic battle for dominance. You crossed your arms over your chest as if they would protect you, hide any part of you to the man. You had never felt more naked or vulnerable than at this moment.
This simple movement brought his eyes up to your torso, and he stopped there for a second before reprising his ascension, cheeks reddening. When his eyes reached your face, the expression he read there made him wince, and you gritted your teeth.
“I asked you for one thing, Jace, one thing,” your voice was sharp, unforgiving.
“I did not know you were there,” he protested, his gaze still fixated on your face, unreadable.
You scoffed. “You could have closed your eyes. Looked away. Swam in another direction.”
Guilt softened his features, and he let go of the view you offered to stare at the water around his waist, the little ripples he made with each movement, the blur of his legs underneath the surface. This should have been simple, yet it seemed like tearing his eyes away from you was the most taxing action he’d ever performed. He did not move further, and neither did you. Gently, the rain stopped, as if the clouds did not want to stand witness to the scene.
“You’re nothing like a monster,” he finally said, his words starting a fire across your body. You did not answer – you did not know what to say. His eyes still on the water, he kept going. “I think sailors are scared, but not because you are ugly. You are too majestic.”
“So…” You spoke carefully, making sure you heard him right, “are you scared of me?”
He did not move his face, but his eyes flickered back to you, brightened by a glint which took your breath away. A smug smile stretched his lips when he answered.
“I’m a prince, not a sailor.”
You swam towards him without even realising it, until he was within reach. He raised a hand near a patch of scales on your arm, silently asking you for permission. You gave a quick nod, and his fingers brushed the zone. His hands were warm, softened by the sea, but they raised goosebumps along the rest of your skin.
“Do you know what you remind me of?” He whispered, his eyes studying your arm. He took your silence as an answer. “Of a dragon. The way your scales reflect sunlight is identical to theirs. The colour is impossible to pin down.”
“Maybe I’m the closest thing the lagoon has come to a dragon. I’m prey in the deep ocean, but I’m the apex predator here.”
Jace’s smile grew and he met your eyes. “Should I fear for my life, then?”
You marked a teasing pause. All of your anger had receded under the ardour of his gentle scrutiny, leaving only a lingering warmth in your stomach. His fingers were gentle on your arm, applying barely any pressure, and you whined when he let you go.
“Don’t,” you said, both as an answer to his question and an order to his hand, which found yours instead, his eyes darker than you had ever seen them, pupils so dilated they almost entirely masked the rest of his irises.
That’s when the realisation washed over you like a cold shower, which put out the fire under your skin.
The adoration you could see in his eyes was perhaps even worse than if you had scared him off. Because now, you had to come to terms with the fact that the man who got your heart racing, who could reduce you to a babbling mess in one look, felt the same.
He was a man. A prince. An heir to the Iron Throne, even. He should be leading armies and political councils, instead of playing in the water with you. He was destined for greatness; you were yearning for anonymity.
You could not keep him here. It was egoistical. Your folks had always reproached you for it, your tendency to do things on your own, to follow only your own flow when everyone was always acting as a shoal. That was why you had left, at the end of the day. Your desire for calm was only the consequence of your own selfishness, in their eyes.
That was your one opportunity to prove them wrong and make things right.
“You can swim,” you stated, words heavy on your tongue. He chuckled, surprised.
“Nice observation.”
You shook your head, panic gnawing at your insides. “No, I mean. You can swim, you can reach the coast, you can find a boat to Westeros.”
Jace frowned, eyes travelling over your face to read your expression. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” You answered just a second too fast. “I mean… I’m not saying I want you to, but you have a war to win, duties, your mother, a betrothed…”
The confusion and hurt on his face shut you up.
“They all think I’m dead.” He said. “They’re grieving me, I don’t know if I can just… come back like this.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s so much more complicated than that. Plus, I need to be careful, supporters of the usurper are everywhere and would be more than pleased to bring him my severed head.”
“Oh…”
He let his arm go limp by his side, apprehensive. “Are you sure you are alright? Have I done something wrong? I’m really sorry, like I said, I did not mean to-”
“Jace,” you stopped him. “You did not do anything. I mean, you did, but obviously my fears were not founded.” You let out a shy chuckle.
“What is it then?” He inquired.
You blinked slowly, as if in a dazed state. As the evening settled, the world slowly turned golden around you, the lagoon shimmering around your bodies. You fiddled with your hair, trying to put some order in your thoughts to no avail. Jace was still waiting patiently, eyes inquiring but not prying.
“I…” The last dam in your mind broke down, and words started flowing out of your control. “I didn’t stumble upon you like I said I had. I can’t explain why, but I swam all the way to the Gullet not knowing what for until I saw you. There’s… There’s a connection, like a thread that was linking me to you. And I like you, Jace. I know it’s wrong because you’re a human, and you’re a Prince, and you deserve better than what I can offer, but I still like you. I should have told you earlier; you deserved to know, but I was so scared of ruining everything.”
Your voice died in your throat. For a moment, you could not bring yourself to look at him, but when you did, you did not see the disappointment or the disgust you expected to find. Instead, Jace seemed to be in awe, mouth agape, eyes just a little too wide open, like a form of mania had taken over him.
“I called for you.” He said. “When the arrow struck, when I realised I didn’t want to die, I called on the Gods, all of them, any of them, begging to be saved. And you came. I… I don’t know which of the Seven decided to access my request, but I know they sent you; I knew it from the first time I heard you sing. It was written by the Gods.”
You looked up at him and softened at the glint of mischief in his eyes. He pushed back a strand of hair that was falling in front of your eyes, and you melted in his gentle touch.
“All this time,” he kept going, his voice barely over a whisper, “I was hoping that you were feeling this link.”
A giggle escaped your lips, drawing Jace’s eyes towards them. “So you had not noticed I was blushing like an idiot all the time,” you answered.
“To be fair, you made it really hard for me to see your face.”
You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult, but I was so scared from the moment I caught feelings towards you. I couldn’t undo all this stuff I had learned as a kid…”
“Shh,” Jace interrupted you. “It’s okay. I get it.”
Silence settled between you, familiar and serene. You were mere inches away from each other, not touching, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Maybe one day, when the war is over,” he whispered, face serious, voice barely audible above the sounds of the sea, “if you feel like going on an adventure, I could show you where I’m from.”
“I’ve travelled far from my lagoon to reach you; I could do it again.” He crossed the invisible border that stretched between you two as his hand cupped your cheek, and you covered it with your own to keep it there. The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips before he answered.
“But, in the meantime, I could stay here for a while. If you don’t mind.” His thumb stroked your skin. You tried to ignore the intense sound of your heartbeat, so loud it seemed determined to burst out of your chest.
“I think I don’t mind. I think I don’t mind at all,” you smiled back, reaching a little closer, until your noses almost touched. You looked at him through your half-lidded eyes, shivering under the intensity of his brown gaze that set your blood on fire. “In fact,” you whispered against his lips, “I think I’d like you to stay.”
He kissed you as an answer. His lips were salty and soft, pressing gently against yours. You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, only letting go when you both needed to take a breath.
You looked at each other, cheeks flushed and stupid grins splattered on your faces. He kissed you again with more urgency this time, like he was trying to learn every curve of your lips and of your body.
“Are you sure you don’t mind staying here?” You murmured as he let go of your lips to assail your jaw with kisses. You took him in, the last rays of sunshine painted his face with pure gold, and gathered the last bits of self-control in your body to say, “You’re a Targaryen, Jace. You are made out of fire and blood.”
He stopped his manoeuvre to look at you with intense, hungry eyes. “I’m a Velaryon first. I was shaped by salt and sea.”
I am growing increasingly tired of the gratuitous depiction of sexual assault in HOTD. These scenes do not add anything to the plot nor to the characters' arcs; they feel like violence for the sake of violence, shock value of very poor taste, and tell a lot about the priorities of the show.
Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!mermaid!reader [no use of y/n]
Word count: 9k
Summary: Fix-it fic in the aftermath of 03x01.
You do not know what’s bringing you so far from your home, across the Narrow Sea, but you stumble upon a beautiful, injured young man and decide to save him.
Warnings: description of violence against women (mermaids), physical and emotional hurt/comfort, reader is insecure about her appearance as a mermaid.
a/n: How are we coping guys? I’m in such deep denial I decided Jace doesn’t die :) I really hope you’re going to enjoy this story, I hadn’t been so productive writing non-fiction since I started my master’s dissertation.
feedback is welcome and appreciated <3
(images are taken from pinterest)
You could not tell how long it had been since you had last ventured so far from your cave.
You had not needed to, after all. Why would you leave the warm shore and its idyllic light blue hues to face the dark, deep waters of the Narrow Sea and its violent tides? There was nothing of value there; the fish were too bitter, the currents too strong – you were built for shallow waters, carved to enjoy the softness of the laced patterns made by the sun rays on the clear sand, to feast on urchins and relish in the colours of corals. To live far from mariners and their boats, near the surface without reaching it, if not for the thrill of slithering your upper body out of the water to feel the hot air against your skin before plunging back into your realm.
And yet, something – someone – had called you on the other side of the Narrow Sea. A shiver that had run through your entire body from your hair to your tail fin. The feeling was not painful per se, at most uncomfortable: the urge that had taken over you made you believe you were going to die if you did not go, like you were a bubble about to burst. There was no sensible explanation for this overtaking compulsion, no legend mentioned foreseer merfolk, but you did not care for rationality. You cared for action.
In a heartbeat, you were gone from your cave with nothing but your talisman necklace, an opalescent seashell, the last connection to your people after you elected a life of loneliness – of tranquillity, you argued. As soon as you had crossed the border of your lagoon, you had been reminded of your nature as a shallow-water mermaid. You were maladapted for the cold and abyssal sea: your thin tail lacked power, and the current made every push a fight; your fins were too long and made you an easy prey to catch for the predators of the place; your pupils weren’t adjusted for such darkness and turned your travel into a haphazard route.
You were careful not to go too deep, afraid of what you might encounter there, but you could not rejoin the surface, where navigating would be easier because of the boats. You had not seen them, couldn’t identify how many there were, but they stirred the water from miles away. That was the one rule you had been taught from your birth – stay away from men and their rumble. As a child, you used to run back to your sisters the moment you sensed the smallest ripple above your head.
Men were trouble.
You had heard many tales growing up, and they had gotten more graphic as you had gotten older. Stories of mermaids hunted, harpooned and captured outside of the water. Sailors laughing at their helplessness and degrading them in every possible way. Laughing at their “fishy smell” while they reeked of alcohol. They found the girls horrible. Repulsive. Abominations that should have been exterminated long ago. That did not stop them from grabbing them by the hair and-
Apparently, mermaid fins were worth enough to turn the poorest man into a king.
You shuddered, and you could not tell if it was from the coldness of the sea or the images your mind had conjured. The roar of the boats was endless, stretching on for miles as you kept on fighting your nature. You had closed your eyes to save energy, not that they were very useful at such a depth. You did not need to see anyway. Something greater was guiding you – instinct, premonition; you were not sure of its nature. All you knew was that the fire in your stomach was growing stronger with each wag of your tail. And, as your brain was telling you to turn away and regain the safety of your cave on the spot, you kept going towards the havoc.
As you struggled towards your destination, something strange happened – the sea calmed down. The overwhelming yet regular rhythm of the oars decreased before completely stopping as you reached shallower water, relief flooding your system.
You remained careful. An absence of boats did not equate to an absence of men. They could be malicious and cowardly, creating a trap and waiting for you to rush into your demise. You skidded between the misshapen rocks as low as you could, your tail caressing the sand, your hair gently haloing around your head. Something was off with the water, and not in the same way as the sea. The sea was scary; it was unfamiliar and destructive. But this? This should have felt good, the same clear water you were used to, if not for a little colder.
It was not clear enough, though. Some sort of haze was forbidding you from seeing as acutely as you should have, and when you opened your mouth and let it flood down your throat, its taste was bitter and metallic. Without dropping your guard, you hurried up. The faster you would find whoever called you, the faster you could leave this mess.
You kept weaving along the sandbank, exiting the thin passage you had entered to reach a wider space. There was no trap awaiting you at the end of the narrow crossing, but what you faced was not any better. In front of you was laying the grimmest, most desolate landscape you had ever laid eyes upon. A morbid, macabre, distinctly man-made spectacle.
Ships were broken down into pieces, sinking under the weight of the wet wood, torn flags sadly waving with the current, bitter symbols of the failure of their houses. Engraved swords, decorated armours, every statement of wealth now revealed its true nature as tokens of hubris, that of the men now floating. Mouth agape, eyes widened with terror, their skin had turned into a gradient of grey and blue, if not for the red holes and scratches that scattered their bodies. From those injuries emerged dark clouds of blood that tainted the water around them and blurred your sight, already affected by the dust and embers floating across the sea.
Overwhelmed by your surroundings, you stayed still. You felt dirty, like the muddy water was sticking to your skin and tainting you with the horrors it carried. There was nothing to salvage in this desolate landscape, yet your guts were telling you to keep looking for something, anything. Perhaps one of the wrecks contained a rare treasure, a beautiful pearl, a sacred companion. Beauty in the midst of disaster.
You dove a little deeper, where the sand was still whisked into pale curls. There was a shiny shape a little further which you couldn’t quite make out even as you squinted your eyes. It was partially hidden by the sand and wooden planks, but you were sure it was organic. The way it reflected the light reminded you of your own tail and its thin scales, which seemed to almost change colours as you glided underwater.
Carefully, you made your way towards the mass that grew bigger with each wag of your tail. The creature was still, though you did not want to assume its death and be surprised by an attack – these foreign waters might be home to some strange scavengers that would mistake you for a part of the carrion left by the disaster that had occurred. And, based on its size, it could kill you in one powerful bite.
The creature never moved. As you got a better look at it, an insidious doubt crept along your spine. The scales had led you to assume it was a marine creature, but as you saw its tail, you couldn’t help but notice the lack of fins. There was something distinctly terrestrial about it.
That was when you saw them.
The wings.
You had never seen a dragon before, but the elders had recounted tales of those giant apex predators terrorising the land, catching cattle with their claws before charring it by spouting fire. Formidable hunters and mounts, masters of the air and of the land, even the sea could not protect you from them – the heat of their flames could burn you as you lay under the surface. That was the second rule that you had kept from your people: when those titans would come again to scorch the earth, dive as deep as you can.
That dragon, however, did not look ferocious. It looked weak, powerless, dead. What a strange sight that was, to see a terrifying creature lie helpless on the sand with glassy eyes. Even in this state, there was a certain wild majesty to it. Whichever god had created them had done it with great care, shaping them to be as ferocious and yet as elegant as possible, all soft edges and sharp lines. Its stillness was uncomfortable; such a powerful brute was fashioned for movement.
There was something uncanny about its lifeless gaze and shocked expression. You had never assumed dragons could show emotions, but you would be blind if you missed the suffering and fear in this creature’s eyes. You repressed a shudder. What could have possibly scared the one beast at the top of the food chain? Clenching your jaw, you followed its gaze, unsure of what to expect. A giant, bloodthirsty monster? A legendary being that spawned from the gods? Something that had to be bigger, eerier, something that would perhaps be the last vision before you met your inevitable end.
Definitely not a man afloat.
You knew it when you saw him. That calling that had brought you here had materialised into this frail frame drifting in the soiled water, leaving wreaths of blood in its wake. Time slowed around you as you observed the gentle motion of his hair, the spasm of his fingers, the bubbles that escaped his mouth…
Wait.
You rushed towards the man, throwing away all of your doubts and anxieties. If a miracle had protected him so far, every second counted towards his survival. You weren’t even sure why you were so eager to save him in the first place – he was a man, like all others, feasting on blood and dominance. But he looked so fragile at this moment, so… human, in all of their weaknesses. The awkwardness of their legs, the limits of their lungs. You pressed two fingers against his wrist; his skin was cold and wrinkled by the water, but you could feel it, a faint, almost nonexistent pulse. You rushed him out of the water.
The fresh air smelled like smoke, and you choked on the thick, grey mist left by the battle that had taken place. You furrowed your brows, shrugging away your own unease as you watched the man expectantly. His mouth opened on its own, his face still unconscious, and you stared at the shape of his throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. A glimmer of hope shone in your eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it came. The man was not breathing, at least not breathing clearly. Instead, he let out a gargling sound as blood spewed out of the side of his neck, where an arrow was stuck.
The head of the arrow was not lodged too deep, but it was in a compromising spot. Near the jugular, without piercing it totally – otherwise he’d already be dead. The pressure from the water had slowed the bleeding down, but now that he was out in the open, you had to think fast and act even faster.
Your options were limited: you needed to properly bandage his neck, which wouldn’t be too hard if you were back home, where you knew every medicinal plant and alga like the back of your hand. Here, it would be more uncertain. However, you doubted you could reach your cave in time to save him. The current should push you in the right direction, but the additional weight of the man and his thick and soaked clothes would slow you down.
You settled on a compromise, patching him up well enough for him to survive the journey to your cave and properly tending to his injuries there. Yeah. That sounded perfect, that was going to work.
Gathering your strength, you hauled him up on a rock, careful not to push any of the arrows deeper. He had been lucky; two of the arrows had been stopped by his elegant leather clothing, and you could dislodge them with little difficulty. They left behind holes in the luxurious fabric – such a shame when they had been sewn with visible care – but had not reached the skin beneath. The third arrow, the one that had pierced the skin of his throat, represented a bigger threat. You could not remove it yet; that would be a death sentence: he would bleed out in a matter of minutes. Your best shot was at shortening its shaft to ease travelling and sealing the wound as tight as you could.
You plunged, trying not to let panic get the best of you. You took deep breaths to slow your frantic heartbeat, which had the opposite effect as you gagged on the bloody water. Tears prickled your eyes and you ignored them, reaching the soft sand and searching for seaweeds long enough to bandage the man. You had to be quick; you did not enjoy leaving him on his own, exposed and vulnerable. The leaves in the area were annoyingly short – sea life here was nowhere near as lush as it was back home, and you were quick to blame humans for this – but you managed to gather a small harvest. You also grabbed a sharp stone to cut the shaft of the arrow.
Praying you had not taken too long, you rushed back to the surface. You could see that the man’s chest was barely rising and falling, but the wheezing sound he made meant he was still breathing. With steady hands, you got to work. This was not your first time tending wounds – you had had to assist some of your people after they escaped fishermen. You had seen ugly injuries, broken bones, punctured tails; you had seen despair and pain in the eyes of your peers; yet you had never felt so helpless. You had never been on your own to carry the responsibility of saving someone, especially a human. Humans were so fragile, an intricate assembly of bones so small you did not understand how they could stand and walk without breaking into two.
The man did not fight back against your foreign touch. You saw the muscles of his face twitching as you cleaned and swathed his skin, but it was not enough to stir him into consciousness. Back when you were stitching up merfolk, you remembered wishing for them to stop fighting back and hissing at you, but you found yourself wishing the man was more expressive. You could not tell whether you were hurting him or not, whether you were aggravating his state or helping. He was still breathing. You took it as a good sign.
The world around you had gone still. The sun was setting towards the horizon, piercing through the light grey clouds that formed a lid above your head, adding to the oppressive feeling that reached you whenever your bust left the water. Seagulls were hovering, their screeches piercing the silence and raising goosebumps along your skin. You wanted to reach your cave before nighttime.
Next to you, the man groaned. A muttered “sorry” escaped your lips before you could repress it, but you received no answer. You sighed as you closed your arms around the man; his weight less bothersome once you immersed his body, trying to find a position that allowed you to keep his head out of the water while swimming comfortably.
The current was going in the right direction. That was the only positive element you could find in the journey back home. Carrying a human while speeding through the waves was tedious and exhausting; it forced you to dance with the surface of the sea, an awkward rhythm you failed to find. As the sky turned to liquid lava with beautiful and vivid shades of red and orange, the tide grew stronger. Your arms and your tail were sore, begging for a break you could not afford to take, not when you could see your bandage peeling off, not when the water was getting colder and the man’s lips bluer. If you did not hurry up, all of your effort would be reduced to nothing.
You kept pushing.
Relief flooded over you when the waters turned calm at once. Softer. Warmer. You were back in your lagoon and its shallowness had never felt more comforting. Gathering the last bits of energy in your body, you rushed and laid the man on the white stony islet that stood in the middle of your cave before plunging into the water and shaking the atrophy of your muscles away. Today had been surreal, and you needed this moment of immersion to ground yourself. You could have slept for a full day, perhaps two, but you had to tend to your unconscious patient first.
It was much easier here. You could have found everything you needed with your eyes closed – medicinal plants, spots of clean water, oysters and urchins for the moment the man would wake up and need to regain his strength; you even took the time to collect large seashells and fill them with clear water. You felt serene, acting almost instinctively. You did not need to overthink; you just let your meticulous hands cut, cleanse, bandage, and skim. His skin was cold and smooth, ashen if not for the dark, deep red of the wound.
It was not a pretty injury, but it seemed clean. There were no signs of infection, and you hoped it would mean a quick recovery. You had not really considered the after; you assumed the man would stay here until he would feel ready to go his own way, find a connection to civilisation, a hamlet he would call home. For now, he was still asleep, breathing more easily now that you had removed the arrow from his neck and some layers of heavy, soaked fabric. His hair was drying, small curls falling on his forehead.
Without noticing it, you gently pushed his hair behind his ear. The man shuddered and you plunged back into the water, observing him through the ripples, but he did not wake up. You lifted your head up in the air again, keeping your distance. Bathed in the cold, soft light of the moon, you realised that he was pretty. Very pretty. Actually, you did not know men could be pretty.
Fair to say, you had not seen many of them, but all of the ones that had crossed your path had been carved by the salt of the sea with hollowed cheeks, raw skin and scruffy beards. They reeked of sweat and alcohol for miles. This man was the opposite. Everything in his appearance felt neat, from the opulence of his clothes to his shaven jaw. His features looked like carved marble with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. There was something regal, almost holy about him. Was this why you had felt drawn towards him in the first place, to save an emissary from the heavens?
He slept during the entire following day, undisturbed by the warmth of the sun that infiltrated the cave from the small gaps between the rocks. You checked on him from time to time, making sure his neck was healing nicely – and sighing with relief when you saw that the wound was looking better – and leaving him some fresh food and water in case he woke up while you were away. He was a beautiful sight, surrounded by coral formations and reeds, seashells and moss. You took pride in how you had turned your cave into a peaceful haven, and for the first time, you considered the fact that your hard work could be appreciated by someone else.
Other than your regular visits, you tried to go through your day as usual. You removed undesirable seaweeds from your underwater garden and collected seashells to make jewellery. You were remarkably inefficient. No matter how you tried to keep your hands busy, your mind wandered back to the man in your cave, your beautiful stranger, your mysterious envoy. Blush crept up your neck; never had you been in such a state of frenzy, and for what, a human? Those who forced you to hide in caves, who treated you as exotic goods, those you had sworn never to approach.
This one was not a huge threat, though.
You were standing at the entrance of the cave when the sun set. It had always been your favourite moment of the day, the moment the sky and the sea merged into honey, golden and shiny. You wished you could freeze time and leave the world bathed in this warm light ad vitam aeternam, when everything was softer. Lying lazily against a tall rock, you did not realise you had started singing.
Singing was part of your nature. How could it not be, when you were surrounded by the slow murmur of the waves, the high shriek of the birds, the foreign tune of the whales? The universe was an orchestra and you were one of its most willing instruments, harmonising seamlessly with the wilderness, reaching highs and lows effortlessly. Your voice was not a danger, at least not in the way it was presented in myths. It was tantalising, perhaps, but it did not drive men insane – they did that part on their own. They could enjoy your art if only they set aside their lust for flesh and for glory.
Singing meant harmony. It meant grounding, painting the big picture, being aware of the world around you. You forgot yourself a little in those moments; you were one with the rock you rested your elbows against, with the gentle rhythm of the waves against your tail, with the softness of the sand under your fins.
A disturbance broke the moment. It was faint, you probably would not have heard it if you had not been so keenly attentive to your surroundings, but it was here; the rolling of gravel beneath feet at an unsteady rhythm. You plunged. He was awake.
“Hello?” His voice was hoarse, and you heard him clear his throat with a painful, high-pitched inspiration. “I- I heard you.”
You stayed hidden, in apnoea. The footsteps became louder, and you could visualise the man reaching the edge of the ground, contemplating the endless stretch of water in front of his eyes and the rocks that emerged from it to form abstract statues. And you, pressed against one of them, just out of his sight. He muttered some unintelligible words.
“Thank you for the bandage and for the food. I’d just like to know where I am. Guess that’s all I wanted to say.”
And with this, he walked back into the depths of the cave.
You breathed out with relief. Relief that he was alive, of course, but also relief that he had not spotted you. That was silly; you had never thought you’d care about a human’s opinion of you. But everything about him was so perfect, it made you painfully aware of all of your differences, everything about your appearance which you had considered normal, until you had not. The words your people had reported back to you after their escape.
How your tail was grotesque. Your scales, sticky. Your fins, monstrous. You were a rotten fish, a terrifying creature. A freak.
You did not want to see the weight of disappointment in the man’s eyes when he would lay eyes on his saviour.
You started acting differently. You stayed underwater, paying close attention to the sounds coming from the cave – the echo in the place had never proven more useful. You waited for silence to fill the space to check on his injury and bring him food and water, careful not to linger for too long. You took care of your lagoon. You settled back into a routine, a strange routine, granted, one that gave you the feeling you were tiptoeing in your own territory, but a routine nonetheless.
You kept on singing every evening. That was one concession you could not make, giving up on this moment for the sake of being discreet. You stayed hidden behind your rock, but your voice did not falter once. You knew he was listening; you could hear the crush of pebbles under his footsteps, which were getting firmer and more self-assured every day. You did not mind his presence; you were not trying to make him believe he was alone; you were just avoiding his gaze.
He’d thank you for the food after your song. That was the only form of communication you shared. A melody and an acknowledgement. You did not ask for more.
Your cat and mouse dance went on for about a week. Then, on one of those nights when the heat seemed thick and sticky as treacle, your little bubble of comfort burst.
Everything had started the same as usual: you had waited for the moon to rise to tend to your guest. It was remarkably dark, the orb of night forming but a thin crescent, like a slit of light in the navy blue sky. Had you not known your cave by heart, you would probably have stumbled upon one of the irregularities of the sandbank. You placed oysters with delicacy alongside something new, a couple of fruits you had found a little further along the coastline. It had not been easy harvesting them, but you hoped it would prove a welcome change of diet for the man.
You looked away for a second. Just a glance outside the cave, alerted by an unexpected noise. When you turned back to the man, his eyes were on you.
“I finally got you,” he whispered, barely audible above the sound of your heartbeat pulsing.
You tried to rationalise your racing thoughts. You back against the little light that had penetrated the obscure cave, he could not see you. At best, he could perhaps make out your frame, but nothing else. Hell, you could barely see the glint of his eyes, and you had heard many times that humans had particularly weak night vision.
“I was beginning to think I had made you up,” he added. His voice was soft, confessional. “My mysterious saviour.”
“You don’t want to see me,” you murmured back in a voice you did not recognise. “I’m glad to see you’re healing nicely.”
“The more you hide, the more curious I get.” A thin smile brightened his features. “Where am I?”
“A cave, somewhere in the Narrow Sea. I’m not exactly familiar with human geography.”
“So that’s true?” His voice got a little louder. “Mermaids really do exist? And here I thought it was all a myth created by sailors going crazy.”
You scoffed. “Well, unless you’re going insane, I’m very much real.”
“Who knows. Maybe I’m dead, and I’m hallucinating you.” There was an edge to his voice, a tint of bitterness. “I really thought my time had come.”
You kept quiet. What were you supposed to answer to this? “Oh, actually, you survived because I felt drawn towards you with no explanation and I decided to save you”? He’d think you were a madwoman. Plus, you weren’t exactly comfortable chit-chatting with your guest. You were desperate for some privacy and some sleep.
“I guess it was not”, you finally said under your breath. “I should go.”
You started swimming towards the entrance of the cave in a hurry, spraying foam around you, when you heard the man again.
“Wait.” He had not been loud or demanding, yet you felt compelled to stop and look at him over your shoulder. It was fascinating to see how he could speak with both authority and gentleness. “I don’t even know who you are. My name is Jacearys.”
You nodded and told him your name. It would have been silly not to, at this point. It was just a name; it did not mean anything.
He repeated your name softly, and you could not help but shiver as you heard it roll off his tongue so easily. It had been so long since anyone had called you by your name that you had thought it would feel strange, alien. It did not. In fact, it felt like he was meant to say it.
“Thank you,” he repeated your name and waved. “For everything.”
You waved back and plunged into the water.
You were ready to rule this off as a one-time incident, a night of insomnia on his part, a lack of care on yours. Instead, it became a ritual. Almost every night, you would find him awake, his gaze lingering to decipher your shape as you carefully insisted on turning your back to the moon. He kept on making small talk, trying to understand how he had ended up here and, more importantly, who you were. Your short, enigmatic answers did not discourage him. If anything, he seemed to relish this little game. He was growing more curious with every shrug and monosyllabic sentence.
He started to grow on you, and you hated that. Hated that you began looking forward to nighttime, to the intimate moment you’d share in the dark. Hated that you were charmed not just by his regal appearance, but also by his bright personality. Hated that you actually wanted to learn more about him and began shooting back questions. And as he wore you down, you opened up like a pearl oyster. And so did he.
Jace – he had told you to call him like this – was a prince. An actual, real-life prince. Well, it was a little more complicated. He told you about the ongoing war, the usurper, and how he had been fighting for his mother on this dreadful day. In exchange, you told him about the seaweeds that you had used to bandage him, and all of the medicinal plants that grew underwater. He listened to you with attention, picking up on your explanations to learn more. It was strange, to be heard in such an intense manner, to feel like what you said mattered to someone.
“Could you show me your garden one day?” He asked
You froze. You wanted to say yes, you dreamed of it, of entangling your hands and guiding him through the clear water of the lagoon and teaching him everything you knew. You almost said yes, but the words died in your throat. “I don’t know if this would be safe for humans,” you answered instead, the words leaving a sour aftertaste in your mouth.
That was a lie. Most of your crops required a lot of light and were buried in remarkably shallow spots where Jace could probably walk. You had spoken with enough conviction, however, for him not to notice your dishonesty, and he accepted your answer without insisting. He was sitting at the edge of the islet, mindlessly dipping his fingers in the water, drawing abstract shapes, unaware of the way he was hypnotising you.
Days went by. You talked about your respective families, surprised to see that Jace could one-up your large, bizarre family lore. He told you about Aegon’s conquest of Westeros and his heirs, about his mother and how much he admired her and wanted to keep her safe, about his brothers. His gaze saddened when he mentioned Luce, and you took his hand without even realising it. It was warm under yours, slightly calloused but soft where it mattered. He did not rebuff you.
In exchange, you told him about your folk, how family meant more than bloodline. Babies were carried from arm to arm, every member of the clan acting as a sort of aunt or uncle. Days were joyous, filled with games and songs. It was a peaceful way of growing up, so different from Jace’s grim, dark castles.
“So why did you leave?” He asked after a moment of silence.
“When I grew up, I started to feel… I don’t know.” You sighed. “Maladjusted? I wanted calm and silence, and to do things at my own pace. They did not like my tendency to solitude, and I did not like how dependent they all were. Having to rely on others made me feel weak.”
“You’re never going to go back?”
You shrugged. “I’m not sure. I would probably be welcomed if I did – maybe not at first, but merfolks are not resentful. Perhaps one day I’ll miss their antics. For now I enjoy my tranquillity.”
“Not too bothered that I came along to disturb it?”
“No,” you answered a little too quickly to your own liking. You had grown accustomed to Jace so easily it had altered your view on your life on a fundamental level. You used to think of yourself as a lone wolf, but a feeling of dread would creep up your spine when you considered the possibility of Jace leaving. The loneliness you had cherished for years now had an acidic aftertaste, and you weren’t certain you could go back to your routine without the sound of his feet against the gravel and your late-night conversations. You knew he would leave one day; he wasn’t your captive. You just tried not to think about it too much.
Maybe he understood the trouble that weighed your silence, because he came a little closer – though not close enough for you to flinch and retreat further in the darkness – and whispered, “good, then. I’d feel bad if I was overstaying my welcome.”
One night, you finally gathered the strength to ask him the burning question which had been quietly on your lips for the whole time since you had seen him in the water, above the gigantic, scaly creature.
“Did you have a dragon?”
You already suspected the answer, and the sadness that struck his features made you regret you had not bitten your words.
“Yes,” he eventually whispered, falling promptly into silence.
You were about to apologise for your prying when he opened his mouth again. “His name was Vermax. I’ve known him since I was a child; it’s like he’s always been part of my life. He was incredibly beautiful and so smart as well. You should have seen him gliding in the air and searing the sky.”
He kept on talking, and you did not interrupt him. He told you about the adrenaline rush he’d feel when he went for a stroll with his dragon. How he had taught him to obey his very order. Describing in great detail the intricate lacing of his scales, the fire in his eyes. Admiration showed through his voice, but the trembling notes at the end of his words revealed something deeper.
“Maybe… I can’t help thinking that maybe if Vermax had not listened to me so well during the battle, if he hadn’t changed course the moment I told him not to attack the other dragon, he’d still be alive.” He explained how Vermax had been trapped underwater, leaving no choice but to abandon him to the depths of the Gullet. You did not comment on the tears that prickled his eyes, but your hand found his.
That was the only form of physical contact between the two of you. Your hand dampening his, your coldness calming down his heat, fire and water finding a middle ground instead of destroying each other.
“Those few seconds between the moment I let go of Vermax and the moment I got shot were the most horrible of my life,” he confessed. “A Targaryen is nothing without a dragon. People love saying we are closer to gods than to men, but that’s because we have them. Without dragons, we are just power-hungry maniacs.” He let out a humourless laugh. “At that moment, I thought I was a disgrace, that maybe death was my best shot. That if I made it out alive, my mother would kill me upon my return.”
“That’s not true,” you said under your breath.
“I know. I knew when I felt that arrow piercing my skin. She would be angry at me, of course, but I realised how ludicrous I had been thinking death would be some kind of deliverance. She would have to mourn yet another son, and it was all my fault. Fate works in a funny way, don’t you think? I spent what felt like an eternity waiting for death to hit me, and it’s only when it did that I realised how much I wanted to live.”
“And you did.”
Jace nodded and lightly pressed your hand. “And I did. Thanks to you.”
Silence settled between you two. It seemed that it always found its way to slither inside the cave. It did not feel awkward, though. Silence was a blanket wrapping around you, comfortable and familiar. In these moments, you just took in Jace’s presence – the speed at which his chest went up and down, much faster than yours; the warmth that emanated from his skin. You could feel his gaze on your shadowy frame, trying to make sense out of your features without ever deciphering them.
“Why do you always come by night?” He finally broke the stillness in the cave.
Your stomach dropped, and you removed your hand instantly, like the contact had started burning you. Turned out, your desire to know the other better could lead you both to make a faux pas.
You considered lying. It was easy, tempting, a low-hanging fruit. Only, you could not think of a single excuse that he would not see right through. It had been easier to lie by omission when you were two strangers, but now that you had grown accustomed to one another, you were convinced he could read your voice like an open book. It felt wrong, too, lying to him after he had shown so much vulnerability and talked to you about the deepest, darkest feelings that had haunted his heart. He deserved to know.
“I don’t want you to see me.”
He arched his brows, a thin wrinkle appearing on his forehead. A chuckle escaped his lips. “And why is that?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m a monster,” you answered after a pause.
“What?”
You weren’t sure if his question came from disbelief or from the fact that you had slurred those words at a remarkably low tone. You cleared your throat and repeated your answer so that he could hear it. His frown deepened.
“You’re a mermaid, aren’t you? I was always told mermaids were beautiful.”
You sighed, trying to keep your composure. “Men love saying this until they see one and decide she’s so ugly they should kill her.” The more you spoke, the less control you had over your voice, which trembled with anger. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, they find us attractive enough to violate us, but that doesn’t stop them from degrading everything about our appearance. We’re nothing but goods to men, goods to use and to sell for glory. A good mermaid is a dead mermaid.”
Jace kept quiet as you continued your rant. “I’d rather keep you from the horrible vision I would offer, so you can keep on picturing me however you want. Make me perfect, make me your fantasy, ignore the disappointing truth. I think it’s better for both of us.”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he took in your words. The cave was colder now; the light of the moon that used to embrace you with tenderness had turned unforgiving, too harsh, too white, too impersonal. You wanted to leave and hide underwater until your skin had forgotten the caress of its rays.
“I had no idea you were treated like this.”
You huffed, arms crossed over your chest. “Jace,” you sounded more cutting than you wanted to, but his question had opened the valves to the rage that had built up within you since you had first heard of one of your sisters’ fates. “Really? Aren’t you a Velaryon?”
If you hurt Jace on this evening, he did not hold it against you. You did not hold his words against him either. You stood a little further from the ground, he sat a little further from the water. There was no contact, no hand-holding, but no thick, palpable awkwardness either. You both knew which subjects to keep off the table.
Part of you wished you’d stayed angry at the man. It would have been easier to deal with him if the blood pumping in your veins whenever you saw him came from resentment rather than infatuation. Because, yes, that was what it was. Infatuation, a stupid, almost teenage crush which you could not get rid of.
You wondered if he had noticed your feelings – if he did, he did not let it slip. He was effortlessly charming, listening to your stories with interest and blowing you away with his tales. And he made you laugh – though you did not know if he was really funny or if you were desperately head over heels, pathetically giggling at his words.
He was doing better every day. His wounds were turning into thin, red scars that shone under the moonlight but did not threaten to bleed or reopen, and he was recovering his strength. You could sense he was craving more movement, limited by the little islet of the cave. He was pacing back and forth for hours, sometimes risking an arm into the water, but he never plunged into the lagoon.
Until he did.
It happened on a drizzling afternoon. The clouds were hanging low and heavy, painting your entire world with shades of grey. You loved the rain. You loved floating right under the surface of the lagoon and watching the droplets of water fall into small, harmonious ripples and soft music. But, on this day, you could not afford the leisure. Invasive seaweeds were threatening your garden, and you could lose years of hard work if you did not intervene on the spot.
You heard him before you saw him. Your hands were buried in the dampened sand, brows furrowed with focus, when the distinctive sounds of a body splitting through the water got your attention. You did a full body turn, apprehension taking over you, when you ended up face to face with Jace. He had left his armour in the cave and was standing there, waist deep in the lagoon and messy, soaked hair trickling down his toned, bare chest.
He opened his mouth and then closed it, like a fish out of the water. Your first instinct was to hide, but the water was too shallow, too clear, too revealing. It was too late.
“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jace’s words hung in the air. He kept looking at you, taking in every little detail – the way your scales changed colours with each gentle wag of your tail, the see-through lacing of your fins and the way they emerged from your body like mountain ranges. The way your skin merged in chaotic patterns with your animal features, like the two parts were fighting a chaotic battle for dominance. You crossed your arms over your chest as if they would protect you, hide any part of you to the man. You had never felt more naked or vulnerable than at this moment.
This simple movement brought his eyes up to your torso, and he stopped there for a second before reprising his ascension, cheeks reddening. When his eyes reached your face, the expression he read there made him wince, and you gritted your teeth.
“I asked you for one thing, Jace, one thing,” your voice was sharp, unforgiving.
“I did not know you were there,” he protested, his gaze still fixated on your face, unreadable.
You scoffed. “You could have closed your eyes. Looked away. Swam in another direction.”
Guilt softened his features, and he let go of the view you offered to stare at the water around his waist, the little ripples he made with each movement, the blur of his legs underneath the surface. This should have been simple, yet it seemed like tearing his eyes away from you was the most taxing action he’d ever performed. He did not move further, and neither did you. Gently, the rain stopped, as if the clouds did not want to stand witness to the scene.
“You’re nothing like a monster,” he finally said, his words starting a fire across your body. You did not answer – you did not know what to say. His eyes still on the water, he kept going. “I think sailors are scared, but not because you are ugly. You are too majestic.”
“So…” You spoke carefully, making sure you heard him right, “are you scared of me?”
He did not move his face, but his eyes flickered back to you, brightened by a glint which took your breath away. A smug smile stretched his lips when he answered.
“I’m a prince, not a sailor.”
You swam towards him without even realising it, until he was within reach. He raised a hand near a patch of scales on your arm, silently asking you for permission. You gave a quick nod, and his fingers brushed the zone. His hands were warm, softened by the sea, but they raised goosebumps along the rest of your skin.
“Do you know what you remind me of?” He whispered, his eyes studying your arm. He took your silence as an answer. “Of a dragon. The way your scales reflect sunlight is identical to theirs. The colour is impossible to pin down.”
“Maybe I’m the closest thing the lagoon has come to a dragon. I’m prey in the deep ocean, but I’m the apex predator here.”
Jace’s smile grew and he met your eyes. “Should I fear for my life, then?”
You marked a teasing pause. All of your anger had receded under the ardour of his gentle scrutiny, leaving only a lingering warmth in your stomach. His fingers were gentle on your arm, applying barely any pressure, and you whined when he let you go.
“Don’t,” you said, both as an answer to his question and an order to his hand, which found yours instead, his eyes darker than you had ever seen them, pupils so dilated they almost entirely masked the rest of his irises.
That’s when the realisation washed over you like a cold shower, which put out the fire under your skin.
The adoration you could see in his eyes was perhaps even worse than if you had scared him off. Because now, you had to come to terms with the fact that the man who got your heart racing, who could reduce you to a babbling mess in one look, felt the same.
He was a man. A prince. An heir to the Iron Throne, even. He should be leading armies and political councils, instead of playing in the water with you. He was destined for greatness; you were yearning for anonymity.
You could not keep him here. It was egoistical. Your folks had always reproached you for it, your tendency to do things on your own, to follow only your own flow when everyone was always acting as a shoal. That was why you had left, at the end of the day. Your desire for calm was only the consequence of your own selfishness, in their eyes.
That was your one opportunity to prove them wrong and make things right.
“You can swim,” you stated, words heavy on your tongue. He chuckled, surprised.
“Nice observation.”
You shook your head, panic gnawing at your insides. “No, I mean. You can swim, you can reach the coast, you can find a boat to Westeros.”
Jace frowned, eyes travelling over your face to read your expression. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” You answered just a second too fast. “I mean… I’m not saying I want you to, but you have a war to win, duties, your mother, a betrothed…”
The confusion and hurt on his face shut you up.
“They all think I’m dead.” He said. “They’re grieving me, I don’t know if I can just… come back like this.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s so much more complicated than that. Plus, I need to be careful, supporters of the usurper are everywhere and would be more than pleased to bring him my severed head.”
“Oh…”
He let his arm go limp by his side, apprehensive. “Are you sure you are alright? Have I done something wrong? I’m really sorry, like I said, I did not mean to-”
“Jace,” you stopped him. “You did not do anything. I mean, you did, but obviously my fears were not founded.” You let out a shy chuckle.
“What is it then?” He inquired.
You blinked slowly, as if in a dazed state. As the evening settled, the world slowly turned golden around you, the lagoon shimmering around your bodies. You fiddled with your hair, trying to put some order in your thoughts to no avail. Jace was still waiting patiently, eyes inquiring but not prying.
“I…” The last dam in your mind broke down, and words started flowing out of your control. “I didn’t stumble upon you like I said I had. I can’t explain why, but I swam all the way to the Gullet not knowing what for until I saw you. There’s… There’s a connection, like a thread that was linking me to you. And I like you, Jace. I know it’s wrong because you’re a human, and you’re a Prince, and you deserve better than what I can offer, but I still like you. I should have told you earlier; you deserved to know, but I was so scared of ruining everything.”
Your voice died in your throat. For a moment, you could not bring yourself to look at him, but when you did, you did not see the disappointment or the disgust you expected to find. Instead, Jace seemed to be in awe, mouth agape, eyes just a little too wide open, like a form of mania had taken over him.
“I called for you.” He said. “When the arrow struck, when I realised I didn’t want to die, I called on the Gods, all of them, any of them, begging to be saved. And you came. I… I don’t know which of the Seven decided to access my request, but I know they sent you; I knew it from the first time I heard you sing. It was written by the Gods.”
You looked up at him and softened at the glint of mischief in his eyes. He pushed back a strand of hair that was falling in front of your eyes, and you melted in his gentle touch.
“All this time,” he kept going, his voice barely over a whisper, “I was hoping that you were feeling this link.”
A giggle escaped your lips, drawing Jace’s eyes towards them. “So you had not noticed I was blushing like an idiot all the time,” you answered.
“To be fair, you made it really hard for me to see your face.”
You bit your lip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult, but I was so scared from the moment I caught feelings towards you. I couldn’t undo all this stuff I had learned as a kid…”
“Shh,” Jace interrupted you. “It’s okay. I get it.”
Silence settled between you, familiar and serene. You were mere inches away from each other, not touching, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.
“Maybe one day, when the war is over,” he whispered, face serious, voice barely audible above the sounds of the sea, “if you feel like going on an adventure, I could show you where I’m from.”
“I’ve travelled far from my lagoon to reach you; I could do it again.” He crossed the invisible border that stretched between you two as his hand cupped your cheek, and you covered it with your own to keep it there. The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips before he answered.
“But, in the meantime, I could stay here for a while. If you don’t mind.” His thumb stroked your skin. You tried to ignore the intense sound of your heartbeat, so loud it seemed determined to burst out of your chest.
“I think I don’t mind. I think I don’t mind at all,” you smiled back, reaching a little closer, until your noses almost touched. You looked at him through your half-lidded eyes, shivering under the intensity of his brown gaze that set your blood on fire. “In fact,” you whispered against his lips, “I think I’d like you to stay.”
He kissed you as an answer. His lips were salty and soft, pressing gently against yours. You closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, only letting go when you both needed to take a breath.
You looked at each other, cheeks flushed and stupid grins splattered on your faces. He kissed you again with more urgency this time, like he was trying to learn every curve of your lips and of your body.
“Are you sure you don’t mind staying here?” You murmured as he let go of your lips to assail your jaw with kisses. You took him in, the last rays of sunshine painted his face with pure gold, and gathered the last bits of self-control in your body to say, “You’re a Targaryen, Jace. You are made out of fire and blood.”
He stopped his manoeuvre to look at you with intense, hungry eyes. “I’m a Velaryon first. I was shaped by salt and sea.”
I just realised that, at the beginning of the game, "Mia" prepares a Ciorba de legume, a Romanian dish, and Ethan even comments on her already adopting local traditions. But given the fact that, at that moment, "Mia" is in fact Miranda, it makes way more sense for her to cook it since she was born in Eastern Europe. It's suuuuch a cool foreshadowing, I can't believe it took me so long to notice it.
after chipping away at this one for a few months i'm weirdly anxious to post it, but here’s the longest i've spent on a piece of fanart! put in a lot of detail so there’s some close-ups with a speed paint under the cut. i'll be trying to figure out prints for it as well :)
