"Where are we?" Philip asked as Syrena was busily retying the bandage she had made from his shirt around his waist. His wound was healing nicely; in fact, it was nearly well enough for them to make the journey back to the land. What would happen once she brought him to the shore was a mystery to her, however. He had said nothing of a future together as of yet, and so she had remained silent on the matter as well.

"In a cavern, beneath the water," she replied, tying the final knot around his waist and glancing up to meet his gaze. He had that dark, hooded look in his eyes again, and his face was flushed as it had been on their trek through the jungle whenever the shirt she had been wearing had shifted to reveal her breasts or thighs. On their journey together, she had taken to buttoning the shirt high against her neck for his comfort, but there was no shirt to cover her with now, and she knew that her nakedness disturbed him.

She did her best to move her hair to cover herself, and she saw his lips twitch into a repressed smile when he noted her efforts. He reached out and lightly tugged at a strand of her hair, and she smiled as she stepped closer to him. She was proud of her progress learning how to walk; she could take several steps now with ease. Her balance had improved, and the muscles in her legs were strengthening with every passing day.

Philip was a patient teacher, there to catch her whenever she fell and whispering words of encouragement into her ear when she was so frustrated all she wanted to do was dive back into the water and bask in the luxury of having a tail. She glanced down at her feet, still finding it hard to process that those strange, bony forms were a part of her body.

"How much longer will we stay here?"Philip asked, and Syrena glanced up at him, and then quickly averted her faze, her eyes drawn to the bandage at his waist. She fingered the material for a moment, and she fought to keep her face impassive, to keep her fear and worry about what was doubtless to be their inevitable separation hidden from him.

"A few days. Maybe less," she replied softly, and then his hand was beneath her chin and he was lifting her face so that her eyes were meeting his.

"And then what?" he asked softly, and Syrena's throat went dry as she contemplated all of the possible implications of his question. She said nothing, merely stared at him as she attempted to sort through her jumbled thoughts and emotions. "What will happen with us?" he pressed, the look on his face infinitely kind and tender.

Syrena took in a deep breath and glanced away. "What do you want to happen?" she asked softly, swallowing hard.

"I want you to marry me." His words confused her, and her brow furrowed in thought as she attempted to place the word that he had used. But try as she might, she could not think of what it could mean.

"What is marry?" she asked, glancing up to meet his part shocked, part amused gaze.

"Marriage," he corrected with a smile, and he lightly stroked her cheek. "It is what happens when a man promises to love and protect a woman until the day he dies, and a woman promises to love and cherish and follow that man for the rest of her days."

Syrena swallowed and cocked her head to the side in question. "You want me to follow you… to the land?" she asked, and Philip nodded his head. "But I will die without the sea," she replied, and Philip leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She recalled the mermaids at the pools before the fountain of youth who had perished of dehydration; recalled the stories she had heard since she had been a child of what would happen to a mermaid if she lingered too long on land.

"We'll build our home near the shore, so you can swim in the sea every night," he replied. "And you can visit your sisters whenever you want to," he added, and Syrena frowned up at him. It was a feasible solution, she realized, one that would allow her to live in both worlds.

"You have given this a lot of thought," she replied, and he laughed lightly. His forehead pressed against hers, and she could feel his warm breath against her skin. She felt him nod in agreement with her assessment, and she took in a deep breath as she thought over his words.

She loved this man, Philip Swift, in a deeper, different way than she loved any of her sisters. She wanted to continue to love him for the rest of her life; she never wanted to live without him. So wouldn't this strange thing he called marriage fulfill her desires, especially if she was nearby the ocean and was free to visit her sisters as she pleased?

"I want to marry you," she said softly after a time of thought, and her heart stuttered when she saw his eyes twinkle, his dimples deepen, his mouth stretch into the widest smile she had ever seen light upon his handsome face. And then his hands were in her hair, and his mouth was on hers, and it was different- oh, so different- from the last time that they had kissed. Gone was the edge of fear and desperation, and in its place was a heady passion the likes of which she had never experienced.

His mouth was hot and insistent against hers, his hands fisting in her hair and creating a pleasurable pulling sensation. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, lost in the sensation as his tongue brushed against hers, as one of his hands roved from her hair to press insistently against her lower back and crush her against his hard, tall form.

There was warmth pooling at the pit of her stomach, warmth that made her hitch a leg over his hip on pure instinct and wriggle that suddenly hot and pulsing place between her legs against his groin. It felt good, so good, and so she did it again, and felt Philip groan into her mouth. She felt him take a step, stumble, and suddenly they were on the ground, her legs on either side of his waist, his hands resting on the swell of her hips, his mouth pressed against her neck.

Syrena closed her eyes as a wave of pleasure rolled over her when he lightly nipped at the delicate flesh there, and she rolled her hips against his again, nearly crying out at the sensation. Gasping, she went to do it again, but his hands on her hips were suddenly restraining her rather than encouraging her, and his mouth had lifted from her skin.

His skin was flushed; his eyes dark and hooded, and suddenly Syrena understood the way he had felt all of those times that he had given her such a look before. He had wanted this, had wanted her, had wanted the delicious friction of their hips rolling against one another's and the hot, insistent touches of hands upon flesh. So then why had he stopped her? Her blood was pumping, that strange, new ache between her legs was throbbing, and the only way for it to stop was for her to move against him and feel that wave of pleasurable heat. She tried to roll her hips again, but his hands were firm against her hips, stopping her from moving.

"Philip," she panted, and she saw his resolve to hold her back begin to crumble. Taking the opportunity, she leaned forward to press another kiss against his lips, and felt his mouth soften and mold to hers, felt his hands on her body tighten. When she went to deepen the kiss, however, he broke away from her and lifted her off of his body, gently setting her down on the floor of the cavern.

Syrena sucked in a deep breath, feeling a stinging behind her eyes as an unfamiliar emotion washed over her. Rejection. Humiliation. She swallowed hard and blinked away the unshed tears, forcing her face to appear impassive.

"I can't, Syrena," Philip groaned, apparently seeing her hurt despite her best efforts to keep it hidden. "It is a sin," he said, and then hastened to explain the unfamiliar word without her even needing to ask. "Something bad."

"But… it feels good. How is that bad?" she asked, and saw Philip touch that strange silver symbol he wore against his chest, saw his eyes close. He had explained to her once that he was praying to God in moments like these, but Syrena could not understand the concept. There was life and there was death, and there were the things of the earth and sea. She could not understand how he conducted silent conversations with a being that she could not see or hear.

"It feels good because God created that act to be enjoyed by a man and woman once they are married. But until a man and woman marry, coupling is a sin," he attempted to explain, his face ardent, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

Syrena frowned as she thought about it, remembering what he had said about marriage. And then, her face brightened. "I promise to love you, and cherish you, and follow you for the rest of my days. Now we are married," she said, and then she reached for him again.

But Philip set her away from him again, and when he chuckled, the sound came out strange, as though his laugh was being strained and strangled. "No, Syrena, there is more to it than that. We need to be married in a church- a place where people worship God, by a pastor- a man who represents God's blessing on the marriage, with several witnesses."

Syrena mulled it over in her brain, and suddenly longed for her uncomplicated life beneath the waves. There were so many things in Philip's world that she could not understand, even when he did his best to explain them in ways that she should be able to grasp. "I do not understand," she murmured softly, and saw Philip close his eyes in frustration.

"I love you. You love me. We want to spend our lives together. That should be enough to make us married. I do not understand who God is, or how promising those things to each other in a church can make us married while promising them here cannot. The things we say to each other are true, no matter where we are."

Philip's hand was cupping her cheek again, and his sigh was heavy. "Looking at it through your eyes, you are right. But there are certain rules that we have to live by on land that don't seem to make very much sense, and this is one of them."

Syrena bit her lip, and met Philip's ardent gaze. "But we are not on the land right now," she murmured softly, and reached out to trail her hand down over Philip's neck, over the taught muscles of his belly. His hand caught hers just before she reached the waist of his pants, and Syrena suddenly wondered if a man looked any different from a woman when he was naked. Philip had never allowed her to see him, and had hidden her face when the crasser of the pirates had placed their hands inside of their trousers while staring at her, so she was unsure.

"Please, Syrena. Please," he pleaded, and Syrena glanced away from him and sighed deeply. It was important to Philip for her to follow his traditions, and so she would. If he could ensure that he lived by the sea for her happiness, she could follow his rules about marriage for his.

She nodded, and Philip smiled at her before lightly kissing her forehead. "Thank you," he murmured, and Syrena managed a slight smile for his benefit. But she couldn't help but think that life on land would likely be a great deal more difficult than what she had previously thought.

But he was a man who had given his life for hers, who cared about her more than he cared about himself. He loved her more deeply than any of her sisters had ever loved her before, and she cared for him more than she could put into words. She could not imagine her life without him. Besides, she was a mermaid; a sailor's worst nightmare, a legend upon the land. If Blackbeard could not wring a tear from her eye, if she could survive the long trek inland, she could brave any amount of ridiculous traditions that life upon the shores called for. She would learn, and learn well, and she would thrive.