Author's Note: I have always been interested in how others of Ariel's world would perceive her in light of the events of the movie. "Sael" is an exploration of relationships which will heavily inform "Shako" and "Night Comes to Ariel's Isle" in its revised form.

Publication Date: Sunday, February 8th, 2015 (Emendations: Saturday, December 5th, 2015)

Sael

Chapter 1 – The Seadog

~~~ Saturday, the 16th of November, 1805 AD ~~~

~ 9:30 a.m. ~

Christiansborg Palace – Christiansted, Sankt Croix

"Captain," Lord Grimsby stated dourly "I cannot stress to you the importance that these cargoes be removed at once and placed in the care of Mistress Carlotta."

"Yes milord." Captain Larsen slowly walked the deck alongside the Prince's principal Minister. Behind him, hat in hand, followed Lyn's cargo master, Hans Sael.

Looking about at the tattered sails and decks still encrusted in places with salt, Lord Grimsby shook his head, a look of dismay clouding his face. "No, no, I am afraid that this will not do at all. We all know what a special day tomorrow will be for the Prince and especially his young fiancée."

"Milord," Captain Larsen responded respectfully, "I greatly regret the storms with which we have contended on our return voyage, but I assure you that we have returned in time to make Lyn ready again for sea by tomorrow morning." He paused, staring at a splintered spar. "Though it may look dire, the damage is actually little, and what of it there is should be easily be mended by dusk. In the meantime, the cleaning and outfitting for tomorrow's voyage should begin shortly." Looking out toward the road to Christiansted, he pointed to several wagons and riders approaching the Palace. "Those wagons will be the sailors I've sent for from town, men well suited to the task.

"Hmmm." Grimsby paused, assessing the approaching teams with a skeptical eye as he drew upon his pipe. "Very well Captain, so long as the Lightning is cleaned and made suitable for the Princess before we sail by tomorrow morning. This shall be Princess Ariel's first birthday with the Prince and he deeply wishes to surprise her with this voyage, her very first."

"Yes milord." The Captain responded, bowing to the Prince's Minister. "I assure you that everything will be made ready." He paused. "Has the date been set then milord? I've seen nothing published and heard no announcement."

Lord Grimsby nodded politely to the Captain and Sael, then continued, smiling slightly "No, no date has been set. Though I must say that two young people more deeply in love I think I have never seen. I cannot imagine that it should be very long now." He paused, then continued wistfully "Indeed, I had rather hoped they might wed tomorrow, but the Prince felt that the Princess deserved a birthday that was solely hers, and not one shared with the day of her wedding."

"Ah." Larsen nodded. "But we should all hope the announcement comes soon. An heir would give us all so much more hope than we have had these many years."

Grimsby nodded solemnly. "Captain, I hesitate to change the subject, but wished you to know that both the Prince and I are very glad, very grateful, that you and the men of the Lightning have returned safely from this errand." He smiled wryly. "In fact, the Prince has asked me repeatedly about your health and wellbeing since he first learned of the delay and the storms, most especially if there were any injured or lost. He has even asked to speak to you personally Captain."

Captain Matthias Larsen had known Prince Eric since the young man's first voyages in the royal yacht out of København. Later it had been sloops, frigates and once even a ship-of-the-line. That was before everything fell apart, when the Prince's far-flung appanage unexpectedly became his permanent residence in exile. So it came as no surprise that the Prince had asked after not only him, but his men, men the Prince had known and sailed with most of his life. The Captain smiled and bowed to Lord Grimsby with a flourish of his hat. "Yes, of course milord, I shall make arrangements to personally report the results of our voyage to the Prince at once."

Lord Grimsby nodded again politely to the Captain, before turning and climbing the stone steps to the Eastern Hall of the Palace. Finally, he disappeared into the deep morning shadow that enveloped the entrance archway.

Larsen turned then to Sael. "Well, Hans, I should think our tasks clear. Have you any questions?"

Holding his hat, Sael responded, "No sir, I'll see ta' th' delivery of th' Prince's special cargo ta Mistress Carlotta. We'll be clearing th' rest of th' cargo from th' quay and dock as quick as can be."

"Do you think we can do it?" Larsen asked, almost to himself, following a long pause.

"Sir, make Lyn ready? Why aye sir, surely! T'will be a special day, indeed one to remember, and a terrible shame were anything ta spoil it."

"Very well then Hans. Let's get at it." Larsen said, a small amount of optimistic cheer now growing in his voice.

"Aye Captain!" Hans replied with a surety the origin of which he could not really determine.

Sael had sailed with Larsen and Prince Eric since long before the tragedy of 1801. He had seen the lad, the Prince, always quite responsible and conscientious, grow into a man of equally strong moral character and courage. He remembered the awkwardness of Prince Eric's youth and how quickly the boy had later taken to the ways and customs of the sea. Already the Prince was a decent sailor and even sea captain, and would no doubt be a great one if time and the wars would give him the chance. A fine schoolhouse for a ruler of men the sea was.

It was unusual for such business to swirl about the eastern quay. Such movement of men, wagons and boats was more commonly seen in ships at anchor than those moored at the Christiansborg Slot, yet today the quay of the palace bustled with the movement of cargos. On that morning Prince Eric's ship Lyn had returned to Sankt Croix from an errand, having been delayed by squalls on her return voyage from both Boston and Philadelphia. The Prince had not sailed with Lyn, for he had remained in the Christiansborg Palace with his betrothed.

Not a cloud in the sky, Hans thought, looking up at the Sun high above the palace. Truly, there wasn't even a hint of cloud in the sky above, though thankfully a light breeze tugged at the graying red of his beard. The day promised to be a hot one, as were most in these southerly climes, though the recent days had been unusually warm for this late in the year. So unlike home, Hans thought.

About the docks Hans' men busied themselves offloading various cargoes and sundries from Lyn. As soon as that task was complete, provisions would be brought aboard for the next day's voyage. One shipment in particular, several ornate boxes and crates, were being loaded onto a cart. These crates were the fruits of Prince's errand, and they would be sent to Mistress Carlotta as Lord Grimsby had ordered. Indeed, Hans already had set that very delivery in motion before the Minister had arrived to personally inspect the newly arrived ship and question her Captain.

As Sael slowly surveyed the cargo laid out across the quay he caught a glimpse of something bright red out of the corner of his right eye, a red that he had only seen a handful of times before, and then only at a distance. It was an unmistakable color caught somewhere between that of fired brick and low flame that belonged to a person, and only one person … the mysterious Princess. Hans' heart stopped for a moment, for as he looked up, he saw the lovely maiden walking with care among the barrels and crates. The girl's immaculate light blue dress stood out distinctly and brightly against the brown and earthen tones of the quay, the cargoes, and the sweaty longshoremen and sailors; she held its hem elegantly as she walked. Leaning forward onto an upended crate that came to barely above his waist, Sael just stood there, watching her.

It was the first time that Hans had been able to see the Princess this close, though he had heard much already of her beauty and demeanor. The Captain of the Guard had told him in passing before Lyn had sailed that she had a sweet, unassuming innocence about her, along with a curiosity and adventurous spirit very unusual for a young woman. Apparently, the soldiers of the palace guard had learned to be extremely watchful for her when she was about alone, for she had the distressing habit of finding trouble of almost every kind, most often when she seemed completely unaware that any danger was at hand.

Her name was known to be "Ariel," nothing more. Sael had heard the name before, remembering it from the Good Book itself, yet it was the name of a man, of a city, of an angel, not a name given to a young woman. It was a name that that Englishman had given to an airy sprite in a play, the title of which eluded the old man. "Ariel," he thought. So odd, yet so beautiful a name, and now that he had seen the girl so close, Hans found it somehow strangely appropriate. There seemed a lovely song in the sounds of that name that seemed somehow fitting to the innocent beauty and demeanor of maiden he saw now before him.

The Princess continued to explore the bustling quay, looking down the stone steps to the ornate wooden dock below, and then to the boats coming to and from Lyn. A pained expression crossed her face for a few moments as she looked downward, perhaps considering descending those stairs; but her attention was then drawn back to the quay. The sailors from Christiansted were disembarking from their wagons, and the girl's attention seemed seized by this new activity.

It was then that Hans noticed the furtive glances and increasingly more pronounced stares from some of the men about the quay, all of which the young woman seemed utterly oblivious to, so absorbed was she in her explorations. Sael too found himself mesmerized, almost unable to move as he watched the young princess peer with what could only be described as a look of wonderment into a common barrel, and then puzzle at, kneel, and reach out almost fearfully to touch a cargo net that lay limp nearby on the quay, as though it might leap up and bite her. More and more as he watched, the girl reminded him somewhat of his own daughter, mainly for her youth and seeming gentleness, for though Elna's eyes had been blue, her hair had been blonde, like that of her mother, and nothing like the fiery mane that this young beauty wore.

As Hans gathered his wits about him, he felt embarrassed that he had been so obviously staring at the young woman. He looked away, having to force himself to act. "So tha' is Prince Eric's wife ta be," he thought "and such rumors swirlin' abou' 'er." He could see why. The Princess, for she was said to be a princess in her own right from some mysterious kingdom across the sea, was perhaps the most beautiful young woman Sael had ever laid eyes upon. Across the sea … yes. That was what the folk were saying in polite talk.

He and most of the men of Lyn had not been aboard the royal barge during the strange failed wedding weeks ago, but he like the others had heard the tales that came of it … tales of witchcraft and monsters of the abyss. The rumors were many, and had spread even before the Prince's return from the deep that terrible night, when a wild storm had sprung up from the Atlantic and tore at Christiansted like only the worst hurricanes of memory.

Over the side the Prince had gone, folk said. Some said he was pulled over by a monster, while others maintained he went of his own will. Some said it was for a girl he went, a beautiful one with striking red hair and brilliant blue eyes. Some said that it was after no maiden at all, but a mermaid.

A mermaid … a daughter of the Sea, always Sael had known that they were real, for his father had held him many a time on his knee following a long voyage reeling off the many tales of Davy Jones' locker and the folk of the great deep. And there she was, just yards away from him, watching attentively now as two hands manhandled large barrels onto a wagon. As she moved to gain a better view, her steps took her to the bottom of the two long rails that the men were using to roll the barrels up to the back of the wagon.

"Not a good place fer 'er ta be if tha' barrel get loose." Sael thought. Quickly he loosened his legs and strode the several yards to her, passing around several crates and barrels along the way.

The young woman smiled sweetly as she watched the men's' efforts innocently yet keenly from behind.

Sael recognized both men immediately, even from behind, for both were seasoned seamen well regarded by Hans and their mates. Neither seemed to be aware of the Princess' presence, so absorbed they were in their task and conversation. Hans was about to chide them to have a care for their unannounced guest when he finally caught wind of their conversation, and again he froze as his heart sank, realizing about what they were speaking … arguing actually.

"And what is it that makes you so sure of yourself Henrik? Rumors at the pub? Scuttlebutt in the hold one night over too much rum?" The older, stouter man chided the other mirthfully as he anchored the barrel and began tying it down, never looking up. If you ask me, the Prince has just found himself a fine young maid to make a good life with, and that's good for all of us. Don't go believing bad rumors unless you've a good reason."

"I do ha' a good reason. Why did he go over the side tha' night like he was mad? How is it tha' all these years not a one woman caught his fancy, but now he's ta' tie the knot all a sudden? Witch's work it was … is … a siren's song."

Hans' eyes darted to the young woman in front of him. Whereas her every movement before had suggested a sweet and happy curiosity, she stood now utterly motionless before him. As the moment drew on, he could see her shoulders begin to sag and her right hand which had been raised to her shoulder now wavered uncertainly in the air. Being behind her, though, he couldn't see the girl's face.

"The young lady went over the side first they say, into the sea wroth with the tempest. If he loved her it was his duty to save her, was it not? Would you not have done so for that pretty thing in Fredricksted you've been seeing?" he asked, then smiled wryly, "Besides, Bange hjarte vandt aldrig fager mö."He paused again, remembering Henrik's lapsed Danish with no small amount of satisfaction, "A faint heart never won a fair lady, lad!" he laughed in his heavily inflected English.

"Æt able som är rödt, er ofta råddent indvendigt," Henrik spat back angrily. Then as Edvin had, he followed with the English, "A fair face and a foul heart." Henrik stared at the older man who looked up at him now from the wagon bed. The younger man's fists clenched and muscles tightened as his anger grew, "I ain't been to no pub since we made port this morning, and I ain't had no rum, all on account tha' I've been here sweating my arse off with the likes of you and everyone else off of Lyn to get things ready for the 'morrow. And, asides, I'm just saying wha' the others done tol' me. Master Poulsen himsel' told me everything he saw tha' night. He was there Edvin, on the weddin' barge! Didn't you hear none of it at all?"

Henrik stood abruptly to his full height and faced the older man, his back glistening with sweat in the hot morning sun." They ain't no rumors Ed. They's all true. A monster out of the deep is wha' tha' princess is. Caught the Prince's heart up in a spell she did, and mad it has him, bound to bring all o' us down too wi' 'im, straigh' ta Hell."

Hans saw the young woman flinch and stagger as though she had been struck. Ariel's girlish sob startled all three men as the maiden began to back away from the wagon, but just then the heel of her right shoe caught the very net which she had been so closely examining just a minute before. Her legs twisted … then buckled. A great mass of soft red hair flung through the air as the girl's body spun and plummeted to the hard stone quay as her deepening sobs turned into a startled cry.

Spryer than he could have hoped for Sael's sixty-four year old legs proved in that moment, for he literally threw himself across the eight feet between himself and the girl, his back smashing into the hot, hard stone and nets as the young woman landed on his chest, caught up in arms both long hardened and withered by the sea. Something akin to fire erupted between his left shoulder and spine, but the man's mind was fully upon the girl now in his arms.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Ariel lay there as she waited for the ground to hit her. She had fallen before, and the harder the ground, the more it had hurt. Sometimes, most of the time actually, Eric had thankfully been there to catch her.

"Eric?" she asked softly as she slowly opened her eyes.

Indeed, someone had caught her, but it wasn't Eric. It was a man. And this man was … old, old like her father and Grimsby, maybe even older, and his eyes were closed as though expecting some great blow. Instantly her heart went out to him, for the face she saw was very wrinkled, rough, and discolored. She wondered if … if it hurt, to look like that.

Perhaps for her own good it was a blessing that she didn't know, couldn't know the pain and the burden that Hans Rubert Sael's many years had weighed upon him.

Sael opened his eyes as soon as he realized that they were clenched tight. Two rather stunning yet also very innocent blue eyes peered back at him, albeit now somewhat wet and red. They were staring at him with a strange intensity and curiosity, as though studying him like something never before seen. The girl lay mostly across him, her slender arms resting across his chest where she had fallen. Sael managed a slight but uncertain smile and let loose his arms around her as she looked downward toward them.

As he did so, Ariel realized that this man had not only broken her fall but had actually caught her in mid-air. Looking back toward him, she realized then that of him, only his eyes didn't seem old. They were a pale blue and full of life, very much like Eric's, but his hair and beard were a somehow odd faded red, like her father's had been when she had been very young, before it had gone white. He wasn't a handsome man like her father, nor even a particularly big man, but there was a kindness about him that made her feel sad in looking upon him, and strangely, rather safe in his arms. Almost without thinking, she reached out gently to touch the old man's wizened face, fascinated by its many crevices and faults. He looked back at her quietly as she explored the aged lines of his face beneath her fingers. All was silent about them.

"Are ya' hurt, dear?" Sael asked roughly after a perhaps half a minute, laboring to regain his wind while also trying to maintain a fatherly calm in his voice. The girl, the Princess he reminded himself, looked down at him, returning his kindness with her own uncertain smile."

"I don't think so." Ariel replied quietly, wondering who her benefactor was and looking toward the hard stone upon which he lay, which she would have met most unpleasantly had it not been for him. "Thank you," she said quietly, but then remembered the cause of her fall and her earlier distress. Her head drooped. Ariel felt the urge to cry and fought it, now wishing more than ever that Eric was there with her. She felt herself gently set aside, then gingerly lifted by her forearms until she was standing again.

"Edvin Møller an' Henrik Knudsen, you two wi' loose minds an' wagging mouths, do ya' see wha' ya' ha' done?!" Sael yelled, turning to the two men.

Ariel flinched at the old man's harsh booming voice.

"Saying such awful things as no man ought ta abou' a fine lady, an' a Princess no less! Aye, I heard all o' it. At least you Edvin had th' sense ta' not listen ta' every glib tongue, but you young Knudsen, take a step closer."

Hesitantly, the man stepped toward them from the back of the wagon until he was just over an arm's length from Sael and Ariel, who Hans steadied gently as she tried to avoid looking at her accuser.

"Now, there. Ha' a look a' her ya' knothead. Does she look like a witch ta you now?! Shall I tell ya wha' she looks like?" Sael paused for a moment, fire erupting in his previously placid eyes, "My daughter, tha's what!"

Ariel looked up at the old man. "His daughter?" she thought.

Knudsen stood his ground, the look on his face telling both Sael and Ariel that the young man wasn't convinced.

"Please … stop ..." Ariel half cried, catching herself and forcing her tears down.

Sael stilled himself, looking to her and waiting for her to speak. "Princess, can I …?"

"No … please …" she whispered.

Sael nodded, slowly releasing her now that he was sure she wouldn't fall again, though she still looked quite shaken. She was a princess after all, and not the sort a common man such as he ought to be laying his hands upon.

Looking toward Knudsen and the other man with whom he had been speaking, she spoke softly, yet more forcefully. "It's not true, what you said. I'm not a witch. I'm a good person, a good girl. Just … just … a girl. What have I done that is so wrong for you to say those terrible things about me?" The girl paused, obviously struggling to control her tears. "Please don't hate me. This is all that I've ever wanted, just … just …" she sobbed, "… to be here."

She struggled to contain her anguish, feeling her heart pounding within her chest and deeply wishing Eric were there with her. What if the humans rejected her? What would happen to Eric if the other humans took her away from him? Could they?

"Princess …" Sael started.

"Ariel … my name is Ariel." she whispered, choking back a sob.

Even fighting her tears, the girl's voice was beautiful. Indeed, it was even lovelier than Hans could even have imagined, so very human, yet somehow also … angelic. "A mermaid," he thought. "A princess of mermaids …" he realized.

"Umm. Aye. Princess … then if ya' insist, err … Ariel." Sael stumbled, then with a quick and wicked eye turned his attention and ire to the two seamen who had been the cause of this all. Both stood there now, staring at both him and the young beauty beside him.

"So then, it's proverbs tha' are yer play, eh ya' two? Well the old Seadog ha' jus' a couple fer th' both o' ya' tha' his old papa taught 'im when he was jus' a tyke, and these are mainly fer you young Knudsen, insulter o' princesses. 'Det mål, I måler med, med skal I self få tilmålt'. Remember tha' one knothead? 'Whatever measure ya deal out ta others'll be dealt back ta ya'?"

"And fer one last good measure, ya' had best remember this one, 'Du skal nog få kärligheden at föle'." Wha' does tha' one mean, lunkhead?

Surprisingly, Knudsen looked back for a moment then spat back out. "If you do good, good will be done to you."

"And ya' ain't done no good a' all today." Hans continued.

"Look at th' young Lady an' I'll ask ya' again, does she loo'k like some sort o' witch to you, some sort o' monster like ya said?! Ya' heard her yerself jus' now. Did she seem like somethin' foul? O' course she don't, on account tha' she's a young woman, and tha' young woman is going ta be yer princess and someday, God willing, yer queen. So have a care with yer idiot's tongue if ya' wan' ta keep it."

It was quiet then for what seemed a long time. Hands from the quay had gathered around and as Ariel looked up she realized that every eye was upon her. Never before had she found herself the object of such cold scrutiny by humans. Not that she remembered at least. Yet, she thought, she was human too now, wasn't she?

Her thoughts were interrupted as a commotion erupted on the palace side of the gathered men. In the distance one voice sounded clearly to her above and through the din, a voice that called her by her name.

"Ariel!"

It was Eric's voice. Instinctively the maiden turned her head, trying desperately to find him but finding herself unable to see through the confusion of the crowd.

"Eric!" she replied, but half-sobbed and in a wavering voice, one that was all but drowned out by the tumult that had erupted about her.

The disturbance grew quickly in intensity until finally several young soldiers of the guard broke through the throng. They surrounded her while others grabbed the old man and pulled him away from her side.

"N ... no … please!" she cried, not wanting him to be hurt, especially after he had kept her from harm and then fought so hard with the other men to defend her from their accusations.

An instant passed before Ariel recognized the young man at the soldiers' lead. It was the Captain of the Palace Guard, Derek Carlson, giving orders in that other language Eric sometimes spoke that she didn't understand. In his right hand he bore a naked sword, one very bright, and no doubt very deadly. She blanched at the sight of it.

Then a strong sense that this was not the first time she had seen him nor that blade so closely washed over her, washed over her like the in-rushing tide, bringing with it the sudden memory of him speaking to her, worry in his eyes. She couldn't place it. Had he? If so, when? For a moment Ariel felt her gaze drawn to that blade, fixating upon it, captivated by its strange brightness, burning in the morning sun.

"Princess, are you hurt?" he asked, turning toward her and jarring her from her absorption, his voice stern and his eyes alight with both ire, and concern.

"N … no …!" she cried, regaining her senses, "… he didn't hurt me. I fell and he caught me! Please don't hurt him!"

A look of incredulity hovered in the officer's eyes as he continued to press his concerns. "Princess, have any of these men harmed you?"

"No, no … I'm alright. No one has hurt me!" Ariel replied desperately, "Please let them go?" she begged.

Behind the Captain, the mass of remaining sailors and workmen drew away, falling back to either side as silence fell once again upon the quay. Through their far side just beyond the palace archway came Eric, forcing his way through the remaining sailors and landsmen. He also brandished an unsheathed sword; one that Ariel recognized, one that she knew from personal and painful experience to be very, very sharp.

In an instant he was at her side, wrapping his arms about her and looking to Carlson, to whom he handed off his blade. Like the Captain and the soldiers now surrounding her, he was breathing heavily, as though he had run a distance at great speed.

"Sweetheart, are you alright? What happened? Why were you out here, I've been looking for you all morning!?"

Ominously, Ariel said nothing, but instead hesitated for a moment before quickly nestling herself against him.

Again she struggled to contain her emotions … and her tears. She wouldn't let them see her cry, she just wouldn't. She had already shed enough tears and endured enough fear and pain to simply become one of them in the first place. But maybe for that very reason, their ignorance of what she had suffered, their rejection hurt so much more than it might otherwise have. These were her humans, and they all feared her … they all hated her.

Shortly thereafter, the guards quickly began dispersing the crowd, setting the men back to their labor. The Captain spoke briefly to Sael and Knudsen, but all of their words remained in that other language, whereupon their eyes turned to the Princess and Prince.

"Maybe not a witch" muttered a voice, Knudsen's voice. "…but a sirene." he continued. Staring at her, "a mer-maid," he added very slowly for emphasis.

Now it was Ariel who stood there transfixed in Eric's embrace, staring back at her accuser. Did they all already know the truth about her, the truth that Eric and Aubrey had wished to conceal until some better time? In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to flee, to flee that place, even to flee the palace, her heart breaking at having to deny what she was … what she had for so long been, simply so that this man, so that Eric's people, wouldn't hate her … would accept her.

"Hans, what is happening here?" the Prince asked forcefully.

Gathering his hat into his hands, Sael looked respectfully toward the Prince. "Yer Highness, there was a bit o' a misunderstandin' on th' part o' some o' th' boys abou' th' happenins on th' night o' th' las' storm." Sael paused, "On th' weddin' barge I mean."

Eric paused to take in Sael's words. Then, darkly and with a strange menace in his voice the likes of which Ariel had never before heard, he continued "What sort of … misunderstanding?"

Author's Note: Sometimes, a single word may hide an entire story behind it.

Acknowledgments and Credits:

Cover Art: The cover art is "An Old Man" by mystic-portal deviantart com.

The link to the original is mystic-portal deviantart com/art/An-old-man-67302497

Creative Contributions: Other than Shakespeare, none that seem immediately apparent in this chapter.

In many places my stories may allude to or reference others' works, and sometimes perhaps even echo them and the themes they offer. This is my way of recognizing those works for touching my heart, for in some way seeming so right to me that they must be within the world that I am portraying, for being so beautiful that they must be experienced. That they are something Ariel and Eric deserve, no matter whose imagination conjures them and their adventures together.