A Fabricated Fairytale

by Skadiyoko

Arthur is a prodigy magician who works himself too hard. With all of the stressful, sleepless nights piling up, it's no wonder it's so easy to argue with Alastair. Neither of them like their relationship, but both have too much pride to do anything about it. Maybe some outside help and a familiar tale can calm the everlasting storm between these two?

1. Where Am I?

Happy birthday Mana! I love you and sorry this is two months late omg.

Enjoy!

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

High-pitched whistling filled the air. On its burner, the kettle screeched like a harpy, alerting the brunette that the water was ready. The man reached for the handle easily, pouring the hot water into a teapot. Steam rose in swirls in the chilly room, like paint on a third-dimensional canvas. He let the tea steep to his liking, going over his day for those few idle minutes. When it was done, he poured the brew into his cup, milk already waiting, and added two spoons of sugar.

Evan was only one of five men who lived in this house. Which, to the average person, would seem uncomfortable. Standing at only one story, plus a basement, the house was small. Made for three people at the most. If asked, they would only laugh and say it was bigger on the inside. Quite spacious actually, but no one needed to know the details. Especially since they were not allowed to enter the home.

The men that lived there were, in fact, all a part of the magical community.

Not that any normal person would know that. They kept their distance from the house that emitted such a strange aura. Even on the streets they would rarely say hello to Evan or the others. Sometimes he would feel put off by this, but it was for the best. They had a nice life here, in a nice neighborhood, and being found out would be devastating. He didn't want to uproot to somewhere else.

They were a family. Unorthodox, but a family all the same. Out of all of them, though, only two were actually related. The youngest and oldest, Patrick and Brian respectfully, were gone for the time being. Called away to Norway to study an ancient book that was recently discovered. Second to oldest was Alastair, who was the least involved with magic of all of them. Lighting his cigarettes with the snap of a finger and talking to the magical creatures Evan raised was the extent of his interests, and not much else. The Welshman himself was third oldest, and the expert to go to when it came to mythical beasts. They would often be sent to him if they were sick, or found orphaned.

Then there was Arthur. He was the second youngest, and as talented as they came. Arthur and his magic were one and the same. He studies hard, practices often, and experiments as a living. A tremendous amount of his young life has been spent creating new spells of all kinds. Spells ranging from charms, to defence, to hexes, to everything in-between. Sometimes he even fiddled around with potions and magical items. Truly a prodigy, at twenty-six the English wizard has been dubbed as a magical genius.

The downside to this title was his lack of social skills. Spending days alone in the basement, skipping meals and sleep whenever he was making progress will do that to a person. None of them were great at being civil, but Arthur's natural blunt remarks combined with his exhausted moodiness made him the worst. It would always get him in trouble with Alastair, who had the shortest temper of the five. These two negative traits clashed easily, causing the majority of fights in the household. It had gotten to the point where Patrick, Brian, and himself would not bat an eye when voices rose. Louder and louder, until something broke or burned. Another typical day.

Recently, though, something has changed. After an argument, both would sulk instead of steam. Neither were angry much during these times, but sad. Many a time Evan would find Arthur passed out in the basement, a bottle of whiskey laying by some strange form of his housemate. Alastair would also take to the bottle, locking himself in his room in complete silence. It just didn't feel right.

What if...

CRASH!

Caught in his thoughts, the Welshman did not hear the yelling that had been going on in the other room. Sighing, he went to lean against the doorway of the living room. At least his tea was there to help his nerves. Blowing the still steaming drink, he pressed his chilled fingertips firmer on the warm mug. This time he would observe them closely. He would not even be noticed, those two being too caught up with each other.

"Is there something seriously wrong with your head? What the fuck is your problem?" shouted Arthur, emerald eyes glowing fiercely. He stomped his foot, shattering a vase on the other side of the room.

"You are!" bellowed Alastair, baring his teeth wildly as the sofa started to smoke.

"I wasn't even upstairs!" Throwing his hands in the air, paint chips fell from the ceiling. Evan sighed again.

"I've told you time and time again to keep the magic to a minimum when my shows are on! It's annoying when the screen won't stop freezing!"

"Well excuse me for having more important things to focus on than sitting on my arse all day and watching TV!" Arthur was obviously fighting sleep. He had heavy bags under his red eyes, his hair was a complete bird's nest, and his posture looked as if he would fall over if he weren't so tense. It worried Evan, but Alastair did not seem to notice at all.

"I don't watch it all day you little shit, and you know it," growled the Scot, sparks flickering in the air around him.

Flippant, the younger sneered. "Tsk. Whatever. It's still less important than my research."

"Yeah? Then I guess you wouldn't care if I melted all of your Harry Potter and Doctor Who?"

"No!" Arthur immediately yelled, but both froze and turned to the brunette in the doorway. He had jumped forward a little, having yelled in sync with the blonde. Alastair and Arthur cooled down then, both sets of identical eyes dimming to their normal hue.

"Whatever. Watch your stupid show," sighed Arthur, sounding worn out and defeated. "I don't care." As he half-stormed, half-stumbled away, Evan was surprised to see him heading for his room instead of the liquor cabinet. The door shut weakly, echoing louder than any slam would have. As his gaze ran across the trashed room, Evan sighed through his nose. He would be the one to clean all of this up. Stepping over to the window, he pushed it open to let the smoke out.

"I wasn't really going to burn them, Ev."

Shaking his head, the Welshman turned around. As expected, Alastair was sulking, a soft pout to his rough lip. Sinking into the sofa, he crossed his arms, not even paying attention to the television anymore. Evan walked to the back of the sofa, ran a hand through crimson locks, and left the man to his thoughts.

For multiple reasons, but mostly because he was having thoughts of his own, A plan was brewing in his head more hastily than the tea. A plan neither of the two wanted, but what he was sure would relieve the majority of their tension if it worked. The library was where he needed to be, for he needed the perfect book for this one.

.:.:.:.:.

Everything felt fuzzy to Alastair. His head was like marshland, and his body like stone. Definitely not his usual hangover symptoms. But... Now that he thought about it, he never drank before he fell asleep. Which was odd in itself, but he did not want to. He was tired. Tired of himself and Arthur constantly at each other's throats. Of hurting each other. Of wallowing in misery and self-pity. It was like a heavy snake wrapped around his shoulders, weighing him down and constricting around his throat more and more with each spat.

He didn't like the fighting. It left a bad taste in his mouth, and felt as if he would have a stroke at any moment. Teasing? Yes he liked to tease, but it has been a long time since that kind of lighthearted fun. Now it was stinging words, and even physical blows if the fight escalated too much. Alastair hated it. Hated Arthur. No, not Arthur. He hated himself for being unable to control his temper around the younger man. Not that Arthur's bad attitude helped, but something told him if he were more patient things would not be so dissentious. But he just could not help it! Whenever he was around Arthur, his emotions were so jumbled and confused! It was frustrating, and dammit he had no idea what this was doing to him!

Taking a deep breath, he finally opened his heavy eyes. Brows creasing, the Scotsman blinked rapidly. This... was not the living room. Nor was it his bedroom, or any of the other's rooms. None of them had a canopy bed, much less such a high quality silk this one was adorned with. Burgundy and gold decorated the dressings, the sunlight dimmed a rich red as it tried to penetrate the drawn curtains. Alastair felt like he was surrounded by a paper lantern. Upon further inspection, he noticed that he was in silk nightclothes. The fabric was smooth across his skin, and slid against the bed sheets like water. Irritating.

Alastair didn't like any of this.

Flinging the duvet from his body, the redhead pulled back the curtains to be greeted by a stunning sight. He definitely wasn't in their home anymore. He was also wearing one of those long nightshirt things from way back in the 1800s or something. No wonder he felt uncomfortable.

This room was gargantuan. Bigger than all five of their bedrooms put together. The walls were a smooth marble; rich tapestries and huge, elegant paintings hung on them tastefully. A well-made desk was in one corner, while numerous dressers and wardrobes sat against another wall. Various trinkets and shiny things decorated their surfaces like trophies, but there was nothing that looked electronical in the slightest. The windows were large, and there was even a set of glass doors that lead to an outdoor balcony. Deciding that he might get a better idea of his whereabouts if he could see the surrounding area, Alastair went outside. The sight took his breath away.

Spread in front of him was the sea. Sparkling and shimmering in the morning light. Stained rose and yellow, rocking back and forth calmly. Craning his neck behind himself, the redhead saw that he was not just anywhere. He was in a castle. It was awe-inspiring. Golden yellow sandstone made its body, as it also seemed to be built into the cliffside. The tide lapped at the castle's base, and Alastair spotted a long marble staircase at another part of the palace that extended all the way down to kiss the shore. Everything was so... magical. More magical than anything he had experienced back home, and that was saying something.

Speaking of which, the Scotsman was not quite feeling like himself. Something was missing. A part of himself was gone. The usual warmth in his veins was not there anymore, and when he snapped, there was not even a spark. Scared, he focused as hard as he could, but no magic would come to him. Not in the whole half hour he stood on that balcony. Distress set in on him. The emptiness inside of him felt like a cancer. A sickness he would never recover from.

"Fuck!" he shouted to the ocean, kicking the railing. It hurt his bare foot, causing him to curse even more.

"Your... Your Royal Highness?"

Startled, Alastair jumped and swiftly pivoted around. Standing before him was a pretty young woman. She was dressed in a long black dress, sleeves extending down her arms while a high collar covered her neck. An apron was tied neatly around her waist, and her dark blonde hair was tied in a bun. Having been witness to the redhead's temper, her face was understandably fearful, brown eyes wide and looking in different directions.

That was of no importance compared to what she had just addressed him as. Royalty. "Yes...?" he lowered his chin, and felt a headache coming on. This was all too much.

"I came to awaken you, and assist you into your attire, but you were already out of bed." Biting her lip, she thought for a moment before deciding to speak up. "Is there something... troubling my prince this morning?" she asked smally, hands fiddling with her apron.

Quelling his rage, Alastair took a deep breath. This was a dream. Yes, that made sense. He fell asleep on the couch after the argument, and he was only having a lucid dream. It was as simple as that. Craning his neck to look over the ocean once more, he smiled. Never before has he had one with such detail.

Dream or no, it still was not acceptable to make a lady feel uncomfortable. Turning back to her, he quirked a reassuring smile. "Yes, everything is fine. I was just woken up by a dream."

"Oh," she mouthed, and put on her own shining smile. "I am relieved that it was but a dream! It would not be favorable if His Majesty was distraught on his birthday!"

"Birthday?" he parroted, shocked.

Covering her pink lips with a delicate hand, the maid giggled. "My, that must have been quite the dream if it made you forget such a holiday!" She stepped to his bed, short heels clacking on the floor. There were clothes laid out on it. They were all clean, and he could see the boots shining from where he stood. "And such a momentous one at that! Ah, sixteen. You're a man now, Prince Alastair."

Gawking, his head shot down to look at his body, Nothing but his feet was visible because of the large nightgown, but when he felt his face there was no hair, and his large sideburns were almost non-existent. He really was only sixteen in this dream. And a man? Boy he really was back in time, huh? Shaking out of his stupor, he approached the girl. She immediately began to unbutton his shirt, and he stepped back quickly, face heating up. "Sir?" she questioned, hazelnut eyes round and head tilted in confusion. "Are you sure you're feeling well?"

Alastair scratched the back of his neck stiffly. Would it be rude to tell her he could dress himself? This kind of treatment was unheard of to him. It was both embarrassing and awkward, making him feel like some kind of invalid. This maid, though, was completely at ease. Does she do this every morning? Well... why not? It was just a dream. "Ah, yes sorry. Your hands were cold is all," he said weakly. Being pampered like this shouldn't be too bad. Hell, he should revel in it! Especially when a cute girl was willing to undress him. Maybe he could even have a little fun with it?

For the next fifteen minutes Alastair teased the maid. Puffing out his chest when her hands were working near it. Smirking down at her whenever their eyes met, and spreading his legs just a little more than was necessary when she was slipping on his trousers. Whenever he could he would bend in close, making sure to breathe on her ear. By the time he was fully clothed, the smaller blonde was red with fluster. Cute.

"Thank you," he said, doing his best to stop a shit-eating grin from splitting his face.

Taking a deep breath, she took a few steps back and cleared her throat softly. "Of c-course, Your Highness. Um, breakfast should be ready shortly."

Nodding, Alastair subtly shifted in his clothes. The shirt was light and linen, contrasting with his heavy black trousers. Those polished, knee-high boots covered his feet, his toes still barely throbbing from earlier. It was not uncomfortable, and he was thankful for that. Compared to the maid at least, whose dress looked constricting. "Would you mind escorting me to the dining hall?" he asked pleasantly. Though the woman's brows creased in puzzlement, she nodded. As they made their way through the unbelievable castle, the Scotsman made sure to keep her cheeks painted apple with smooth compliments and "aloof" innuendo.

Never could he have been prepared for the day he had ahead of him.

.:.:.:.:.

Consciousness slowly ebbed into Arthur. His body felt both like lead and cotton at the same time. There was something else as well, and it did not take long for him to realize that something was terribly wrong. Everything felt different. Like his body was foreign, inside and out. Snapping his eyes open, he quickly shifted them back and forth. What he saw was both beautiful and terrifying.

For one, he was underwater. In a sort of weightless matter, he was laying on a bed of seaweed. The room he was in was spacious, but bare. Coral made the walls, its pink color tinged with blues. Windows in the coral were barred with amber grates spread wide enough for someone to squeeze through. Flora decorated the walls, growing by themselves in rainbows around the room. The sight was like something out of a fairytale, but Arthur was still frightened. He was not home.

Sitting up, he then examined himself. After his previous analysis he was expecting what he saw, but it still shocked him more than he expected. The immediate change he saw was his legs, or, a lack thereof. Glittering green scales shined back at him, multicolored undertones gleaming as the water shifted. He tried lifting the large tail, and it did what he commanded, hovering in the water like a gliding bird. Tentatively he reached out to rub it, leading to the discovery of his webbed fingers. The digits were long, slim, and absent of nails. His skin was also unusual. It was almost clear he noticed, and looking at his arms there were some sort if fins jutting from his elbows to his wrists.

As he ran his palms over the smooth scales of his tail, he sighed. Even breathing felt weird. It was like he was not getting enough oxygen, but he wasn't suffocating either. Arthur could feel the water rush into his mouth, but then flow from the gills slitting across his ribs. Feeling around his face and head, he was thankful that everything seemed normal there. It was a small piece of comfort he could cling to.

"Okay," he mumbled aloud, not expecting his voice to be as clear as it was. Honestly, it was downright musical. Maybe something in his ears was different too, so he could hear in water. "Okay," he repeated louder. Surer. "So I'm a merman. But why?" Closing his eyes, Arthur thought back to his last memory. He and Alastair got into another brawl, and he went and locked himself in his room to cool down.

A pang shot through his chest. He hated those fights. They got completely out of control, and did nothing but hurt everyone who was near enough to get caught in the cross fire. Why couldn't they settle their differences peacefully? At the very least without getting physical. Arthur has had his share of burns, some which have scarred, and have given his share as well. Sometimes he would be on the verge of breaking down in front of Alastair. Letting his frustrated tears fall right there, and question why they did what they did. But his pride would always swell to the point of pain before he ever got the chance.

None of that explained why he was a merman sitting in some house at the bottom of the ocean (or wherever he was). Deciding to try and move, the Englishman found that swimming came naturally to him. It was like his body had memorized it, but his mind was not used to it. Therefore the simplest thing to do was throw his movement to his instincts. Doing a few laps around the room, he had to admit that the absence of gravity was fun.

Once Arthur was comfortable with swimming, he sat in the seaweed once more. Already knowing what would happen, he attempted to cast a few spells anyway. Just like he had expected, none of them worked. His magic was gone. Or, at least the great magic he knew. There was something else there. An alien magic that could not be acquired by humans, but it was unfamiliar and small, and he had no idea how to use it. A horrible emptiness settled in him, and he felt ill. Like a great torch had been extinguished inside of him, and in its place was a birthday candle. This was not just some dream, and nauseating anxiousness swirled inside of him. Was he all alone here? Maybe Alastair or Evan were here as well? Those thoughts gave him a little ease, but then his attention was taken by someone entering his room.

"Oh, Arthur, you're awake!" She swam forward, long, thick blonde hair dancing in the water, and hugged him to her bare bosom. Well, that made sense he guessed. Not many materials to make clothing with at the bottom of the ocean. Though he was a bit flustered, it was not full out mortification. The hug was sweet, and a body was only a body. "Our sisters and grandmother are waiting for us! Are you excited?" she asked with a wide smirk. Her teeth were sharp, causing him to prod his tongue across his own jagged mouth. Ouch. But her face was gorgeous and glowed with excitement, taking away any viciousness from the smile.

"Ah, excited?" he questioned as she took his arm in hers and headed out of the room.

Pretty blue eyes blinked down at him in bafflement. "Yes, excited! Don't tell me you've forgotten what day it is! You have not stopped talking about it for months! Which is most noticeable since you're so quiet," she giggled, but frowned when she got no response. Halting, she put a creamy hand on his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. "It's your fifteenth year, remember? Today you're going up to the surface!"

It was in that moment everything clicked for Arthur. This was a familiar story. The Little Mermaid to be precise, a story he had always enjoyed. He even owned a custom book; a gift from a friend in Norway. Being so busy, it had been a while since he has read it, but he could remember everything clearly. With that in mind, being in the role he was in did not make him happy. This was no Disney movie.

On the other hand, knowing what was supposed to happen helped, and he could avoid the ending of this story. He would go through with his first trip to the surface, rescue the prince, and dedicate the rest of his time to finding a way home. With that new plan thrown together, he smiled at his "sister". "Oh! Right! I'm sorry, I was still waking up. But yes, I am so terribly excited!" he assured. Immediately, she brightened up, and they continued their way out of the castle.

"Your brain is always in the shallows. I guess I should not have been so surprised that you had forgotten," tittered the mermaid, squeezing his arms warmly.

The castle's courtyard was fantastical. Large trees blooming bright flowers lined it while seaweed, coral, and other underwater life forms scattered around it in pretty patches. But it was the sand that blew him away. In all his life, the Englishman had never seen such a color. It was a glowing blue, tinted with purple and pink and red, and it was everywhere. His breath caught. Awaiting him, though, was the rest of the sisters, so he could not gawk for long. There was also an old, bony woman with them. Her brow was noble, and her skin was stretched tight around her skeleton. She must have been beautiful when she was younger, Arthur mused. Now, though, she was only a proud soul in a withered, wrinkled body. It was even more prominent as she was surrounded by her young, healthy granddaughters.

"Arthur," she greeted as they approached. An odd, dry smile cracked at her lips, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. "Well, now you're all grown up." Nodding, the blonde ignored his 21st century brain snarkily telling him that fifteen was far from all grown up. Not to mention that he was in all actually a twenty-six-year-old wizard. It was all too confusing to think about, so he simply went with the flow. "I shall now adorn you like your siblings."

Here she rose a wreath of white lilies, a half of a pearl tying each flower, upon his head. It felt heavy, and Arthur would much rather have it off. Next she called eight big oysters to attach themselves to his tail. Unable to hiss underwater, he sucked the liquid through his teeth at fhe pain. It was awful, and his tail twitched in disagreement.

Scrutinizingly, his grandmother watched, her head cocked and eyes unreadable. The pain never went away, but it did subside after some time had passed. Empathy shone in his sister's eyes, them having to go through the same ritual for their fifteenth year. One even touched one of her oysters gingerly, a slight pout to her coral lips. Gritting his teeth, Arthur forced himself to right his posture. The old woman seemed pleased with this. "Go," she then ordered.

Looking at his rejuvenated sisters, all knowing smiles and shimmering eyes, he nodded. Beating his numbing tail, Arthur rose through the sea. As he tilted his head skyward, he noticed that the sun was barely visible, and looked like a great purple flower. Another kind of beauty he never knew existed. It was odd being able to go in any direction. Not having to care about gravity pulling him downwards was thrilling. As the castle got further and further away, shrouding itself in the murky depths, he let himself loosen up a little. Maybe more than a little, as he was off twirling through currents, flipping through schools of fish, and even dancing with some of the more rambunctious sea life. It was invigorating, and for the first time in what felt like years, Arthur genuinely laughed. Giggling to himself, he righted his form and pet the fish still around him. The surface was closer than before, and he headed there once more. Red-orange sunset was magnified through the clear water, making it feel like Arthur was ascending into a thick, autumn forest top.

Breaching the surface, it was more than relieving to take in a large breath of air. There was no need to syphon water, so most of it went straight to his lungs, filling them to the max as air bubbles popped around his gills. It calmed him heavily, and the blonde took a moment to appreciate this wondrous oxygen. He would never take it for granted again. Laying back, Arthur took a moment to float on the sea foam and gaze at the darkening sky. With no buildings or pollution to delude the vividness of the sky, he felt like he could get lost in its foreverness. On one side of him was land; beachy shores, lush forests, and mountains stood tall in the close distance. On the other was nothing but glittering sea, mirrored surface reflecting the rose colored sky for as far as his eyes could take him. Sighing, the man faintly thought that he would not have minded living centuries ago. He had always thought he was born too far into the future.

Before he could completely lose himself in his thoughts and serenity, Arthur's ears picked up some distant sounds. Correcting his stance, he turned to see a great ship behind him. It was lovely, slick wood coasting on the water like a great bird. Only one sail was erect, and music swept along the evening breeze. Instantly the Englishman knew that was the royal ship, and began to swim to it. Might as well see such a magnificent ship close up before it was completely destroyed.

Swimming above the water was a little awkward. Arthur's tail kept splashing too hard, and his arms were difficult to coordinate with everything else. With resignation, he dove underwater once more. Really, he preferred breathing above the surf, but he was so much faster submerged. Annoyed, he chided himself and sucked it up. He would just have to get used to it.

As he neared the grand boat, the intricate craftsmanship became clear. Algae and barnacles may have coated the underside, but the rest was kept in tip-top shape. The wood was thick and sturdy, hull keeping it buoyant with ease. Gazing up at the towering trio of masts, he noticed the two lowered sails limply fluttering in a melancholy sway. Loud, happy music played in the air, echoing through the twilight as sounds of merriment mingled with the water.

Curious, Arthur swam forward even more. With the help of the waves he could reach an open cabin window to latch onto. With the weight of his heavy tail, and the crashing of the rocking waves, it was difficult to keep a firm grip. Adjusting, he peered through the window. The people were all dressed so lavishly, it was almost too much for the merman to take in. Long, floor-length gowns adorned the women. Elegant embroidery was sewed into the heavy fabric in tasteful swirls and patterns. The waist was high, and the collars low and teasing. Gloves ran up some of their arms, short, poofed sleeves covering their shoulders where their hair fell in loose buns. The men wore high boots over their leather breeches. Expensive waistcoats and overcoats decorated their torsos, fine material neat and eye-catching. All of these period clothes were fascinating, and Arthur gobbled up the images as if he were starved. But then a flash of red caught his attention.

There, enlightened by the dozens and dozens of paper lanterns, was Alastair. Dressed a little less formally than everyone else, Arthur distantly thought how that was so like him. In retrospect, the Briton was surprised he had not noticed him earlier. He stood out like a sore thumb; tall, broad, pale, and messy. His steps were anything but fluid, and his grin too wide and wild amongst the classy guests. In Arthur's defense, the Scotsman was also a lot younger looking. Snapping out of his astonishment, Arthur tried to get the man's attention without attracting the any of the other partygoers. Unfortunately without magic it was impossible. Alastair was too much of a blockhead to be drawn by subtle movements alone.

Growling lowly, emerald eyes watched as another man came and clasped the redhead on the shoulder. After a few words, they both went on deck. As he stepped out, the loud boom of a cannon vibrated the area. Startled, Arthur lost his already strained grip and fell into the ocean with an undignified splash. A couple of curious humans looked overboard at the sound, but the merman stayed shrouded in the dark sea. Figuring it was only a fish, they lost interest soon enough and went back to enjoying the show.

Fireworks beneath the water were lovely. The sky exploded in intense rainbows. Like shooting stars shattering above their heads. He popped his head out sometime during the show, and let himself forget about everything for a while. The sea was calm, bobbing like a mother bounces her babe on her lap. It was soothing, and dare he say it, magical.

Arthur knew when the last explosive was fired. Claps and cheers were heard instead of the boom of the gunpowder. Green eyes found Alastair once more, and softened at the sight. He looked so happy standing on a ship full of strangers, celebrating a fake birthday in a way more extravagant than any of his real ones had ever been. In a world without television, without the internet, cars, or anything else Arthur thought he depended on, Alastair was more alive than ever. More carefree in these simple times. His usually hunched shoulders were relaxed, and scruffy brows smooth. Arthur's heart ached.

Suddenly a large wave washed over him, submerging the blonde and even throwing him for a loop. Oh no. Darting back up he saw dark, dangerous clouds that he had not noticed until now. Before they could have been mistaken as smoke from the fireworks. But no, the smoke had mostly cleared. These were storm clouds, and Arthur knew just what kind of storm they were about to deliver. Even his very bones were pulsing with a warning, spiking his adrenaline.

Lightening struck in the distance, the always accompanying roar of thunder not far behind. No wonder the crew had been taken off guard, since it was like a fireworks show Mother Nature herself organized. The sailors scrambled all around, faces stoney as they rose all of the sails in an attempt to get to shore quicker. Arthur's chest hurt, because he knew they would not be able to make it, and there was nothing he could do to stop their impending crisis. Jarring waves rose to what seemed to be three stories high, crashing into the powerful craft. It would sink under the angry sea, but fought its hardest to rise back above the foam. Such a scene was terrifying to watch, especially when one particular wave cracked the main mast right in two. Splintered wood flew and rocketed into the water, and even Arthur had to be careful to not get hit.

Now instead of jolly music and singing, the air was filled with shouts and screams. Boots pounded back and forth on the deck as civilians clung onto anything sturdy for dear life. Flailing about like a fish out of water. Flinching at the unhelpful simile, the merman did his best to keep up with the whiplashing vessel. Another wave hit, turning the royal boat on its side. More waves descended, giving no opportunity to let her right herself.

This was it.

Blackness covered everything. The only chances Arthur could see was when lightning flashed. Everyone was shouting, holding on to large pieces of wood and helping those struggling in the ocean. Alastair was not visible though, and the blonde cursed and dove to search for him. Of course the most cliché thing had to happen to him, he grumbled inaudibly.

Panic soon overtook him. Where was Alastair? Frantically searching, Arthur swam around until he finally glimpsed that striking red hair. Dashing to the Scot, he immediately hooked his arms under his armpits and shot upwards. Swimming with such a large, bulky man in his arms was hard, but Arthur was determined. No matter how much they butted heads, he needed to save Alastair. The last thing he would wish would be for his death! He cared about the idiot, no matter what he said. This may be a fairytale, but knowing as little as he does about how they got here, death could be more permanent than he would like to think.

Above the water, Alastair was unresponsive. Though he was breathing shallowly, and the merman hurried to shore. Dammit, why did it have to be so far away?! Steeling himself, Arthur pumped his tail as hard as he could. The faint thumping against his fingertips hit him harder than any of the pelting rain or hail. Pushing himself, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how hard his body screamed at him, he swam to shore. With the help of the waves, he eventually made it.

Soreness overrode his senses, but tired as he was physically, mentally his mind was racing. Stay away from the church. Hide somewhere where he could wait for Alastair to wake. Discovering a river leading into a thick forest, Arthur headed there. The trees were the perfect protectors, and he laid the redhead on the bank. Parts of the Englishman began to shut down, and he let them. He was about to pass out, but had to check Alastair's pulse once more. It was getting stronger, thankfully, and that relief let him fall back into the river. Sinking to the bottom, he used the last of his strength to nestle himself between two large, smooth rocks so he would not drift with the current. Closing his eyes, he let himself rest.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Apparently I really like Arthurs with scales? :(a

If you haven't read the original Little Mermaid, then you really should because it's fantastic.

If there are any Americanisms in the dialogue, please tell me! I didn't even think twice about not attempting to write a Scottish accent. But, like, I've heard Scottish people before and either they were weird Scottish people, or people just reeeeeeally over exaggerate that accent? Haha.

Btw if you needed it
Ireland: Brian
North Ireland: Patrick
Wales: Evan
Scotland: Alastair

Anyway, point out any other mistakes you see as well please! This should be, like, 3 parts. That's what I'm planning at least. See you soon! vuv/