Daughter of the Sea

A Novella

Stanza VI

For now that their love was no longer concealed
Their happiness only increased.
And they loved with a love both precious and rare,
The man and the daughter of the sea.

She was not there when he made his regular visit to the cluster of rocks the next morning, nor did she appear during the following fortnight. His morning trips to the beach brought renewed hope each day, only for that hope to be dashed upon his realization that she was absent once again. What had started as mild disappointment for him was quickly beginning to turn into full-fledged worry. Part of him wanted desperately to commandeer one of the vessel's in his father's fleet and scour the ocean, not returning until he found some trace of to where she had disappeared. But the rational portion of his mind recognized that the idea was ludicrous upon its face. Wherever she was, he reminded himself, it was far below the surface of the waters, far deeper than any man could travel and still survive.

His attention was soon consumed by the affairs of state that he had reluctantly been forced to take an increased role in deciding. His father's health had been in steady decline since the incident with the fireworks. The physicians suspected the king had suffered a mild heart attack and had ordered him to reduce his stress level effective immediately. Consequently, his son had found himself obligated to spend his time in endless meetings in which the most mundane of affairs would be discussed while the king was at rest. Eric did not protest; on the contrary, he presented a public attitude of willing acquiescence to his father's needs, as any dutiful son in his position would. But the new demands thrust upon him coupled with his newfound status as the hero who had saved countless guests from drowning in the aftermath of the accident found leisure time severely curtailed.

And yet, he insisted upon maintaining his daily walk along the beach, each day hoping against hope that she would be there, her smile greeting him as he raced to hold her in his arms. But as days turned into weeks with no sign of her, he began to wonder if he had in some way offended her with his declaration of love, if he had somehow violated some unspoken custom of her people, or if something had been lost in translation, that she did truly not return his affection. The prince was stubborn, however, for every night he would press the blue seashell to his ear, listening to her voice as she sang her wordless song to him, dispelling any doubt that lingered in his mind.

Finally, on a cold December morning, he heard her call out to him as he passed the rock cluster. His feet racing faster than he thought possible, he flew to the edge of the beach, kneeling to kiss her as deeply as he could, not caring that his boots and trousers were now drenched in cold water. Nothing else mattered to him as she returned his kiss, her lips warm despite the frigidness of the sea around her, her fingers soft and warm upon his cheek.

The tension broken, the two held each other tightly as they sat upon the sand, the gray clouds above shrouding the proceedings in shadow.

"Where have you been?" he asked. "I've been so worried about you! I thought that . . . that something had happened to you. I didn't know what to do . . ."

She hung her head in remorse, her fin twitching uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry, Eric," she said, her voice low. "I didn't mean to make you worry. But I couldn't get away. Not after what happened after last time . . ."

He looked at her with worry. "What do you mean? What happened?"

She glanced away, her cheeks red with embarrassment. "My father. He . . . He wanted to know why I was gone all night. I . . . I didn't know what to tell him, so I made up a lie about how I was exploring and lost track of time. He didn't believe me, I could tell. So he . . . he sent one of his guards to escort me everywhere for the past few weeks." She shook her head, a look of anger upon her face. "I am not a véldengaia anymore. I'm not a child. I have seen 20 cycles."

He studied her face, realizing he had never asked her about her age before. "You're . . . You're twenty?" A laugh escaped from his throat. "If you were human, you would be considered an adult, free to do whatever you wish."

His comment only made her angrier. "As I should be with my people. But because I am the youngest of seven sisters, my father thinks I need extra protection. That I am not able to make my own decisions."

He gently draped his arm around her shoulder. "That's what fathers do, Ariel," he offered, doing his best to improve the situation. "They worry about their children. Sometimes, like mine, a little too much."

She looked into his eyes, a look of shame falling across her face. "I'm sorry, Eric. We shouldn't be talking about this. Not when it has been so long since we've seen each other."

She extended her arms, holding them out to him. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her lithe form, resting her upon his lap, her fin extending out into the water. In silence, the two watched as the tide of the sea rolled in and out, its foam gliding effortlessly onto the sand, then retreating to its home.

She inhaled deeply, looking over her shoulder at him. "Isn't it beautiful, Eric?" she whispered softly.

"Yes, it is," he said quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You love it, don't you?"

She turned, a quizzical expression on her face. "Of course I do," she said. "It's my home." Frowning, she touched his cheek. "Do you not feel the same about your homeland?"

His eyes darkened, his expression becoming morose. "Not really," he confessed. "Don't get me wrong. I love my father and everything he has done for me. But . . ." He grimaced, trying to find words to express what he was trying to say. "I've never really felt much attachment to other people. I've always sort of been a loner."

She raised an eyebrow. "A 'loan-nur'? What is a 'loan-nur'?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "A loner is someone who has a hard time connecting with others. Who would rather be by themselves than in a social setting."

It was her turn to laugh. "You? You have a hard time with other people? I find that hard to believe. You always seem so comfortable with me."

He frowned. "But you're . . . you're you, Ariel. You don't judge me. You don't expect me to act a certain way just because I'm a prince. And you've never lied to me. Ever."

Her expression softened as she recognized the pain in his eyes. Turning around, her sinuous tail wrapping around his waist once more, she kissed his brow, her hand delicately stroking his cheek. "You have a reason to dislike other people, don't you?" she whispered.

"I guess," he confessed, his eyes closing at her touch. "The human world isn't as beautiful as you think, Ariel. I'm afraid it's nothing like the stories you may have read in the shipwrecks you've explored. There are good people, but it's getting harder and harder to be one when you see just how cruel those around you can be." He opened his eyes, cursing himself for his self-centered behavior. "I'm sorry. I'm acting like a spoiled child here. Are you sure you still . . . I mean, you still love me after all of this?"

Her smile became warm once more. "Oh, luvánathem," she murmured, her arms wrapping around his neck. "My dearest one . . . Of course I love you. Always. Always."

They held each other once again, lost in their love for each other, until she cried out in surprise and confusion. Opening her eyes, she looked about, her eyes squinting as she felt small flecks of coldness touch her skin. "What . . . What is this?" she inquired, staring at the white fragments falling from above. "This isn't rain! Is the . . . Are the clouds falling apart?"

He could not contain his laughter. "No," he said, wincing as she playfully punched him in the shoulder. "Ow!"

"Then what is it?" she demanded. "What are these cold things?"

He stretched out his hand, catching some of the floating specks upon his palm. "It's called 'snow,' Ariel. It's like cold rain. When it gets to be cold out, it snows instead of rains. Does that make sense?"

"Snow . . ." She allowed the word to roll off her tongue, transfixed by her new discovery. She giggled as several snowflakes fell upon her tail, her fin flicking involuntarily at the sensation. "I . . . I think I like it!"

His own good mood returned at the sight of her wide-eyed innocence. "I haven't shown you the best part," he said, pulling her face next to his own. "Stick out your tongue."

She glared at him. "Why? What sort of strange human custom is this?"

"Just try it!" he insisted, demonstrating by sticking his own tongue out. "Luhk thes!"

Her eyebrow raised, she reluctantly stuck out her tongue, arms folded as she waited expectantly for something to happen. "Am I dohing it rught? Nuthing es hahpening, Ahrick—"

A squeal leapt from her throat as a snowflake fell upon her tongue, the foreign sensation causing her to jump from his lap, her form landing upon the sand. "What was that?"

He smiled widely. "You caught a snowflake on your tongue."

She frowned. "Why do humans do this? Does eating snow make you healthy? Is it some kind of food?"

"No," he said, laughing. "We just do it for fun, I guess."

"Fun?" A mischievous grin appeared upon her face. "So . . . It's like a game?"

"Exactly," he confirmed. "Whoever catches the most snowflakes on their tongue wins."

"Really?" Her smile grew even wider as she thrust her tongue out again. "Leht's get stahrted then!"

Now that she was no longer burdened by her father's assigned sentry, she was able to resume her daily ritual of visiting him upon the beach. Despite his busy schedule, despite the whispers that he was shirking his royal duties, he continued to make her his first priority. The two grew even more close over the ensuing weeks, unable to fathom a time when they had not been together.

As Christmas Day drew near, he began to wonder what he should get her for Christmas. Do her people even celebrate Christmas or some holiday like it? he wondered. Should I even get her anything at all?

Of course you should! his mind retorted. You love her, don't you? Get her something that will show just how much you love her, you idiot!

But what? he countered, realizing that he was running out of time to acquire something worthy of her. What could I possibly get her, besides . . .

As if a light came on in his mind, he realized there was only one option for what he should give her. Walking toward the chest he kept beneath his bed, he opened it, digging through the many gifts she had given him, searching for the small box his mother had given him before she had passed away.

It is very precious, Eric.

His beloved mother's voice rang in his mind as he recalled what she had said to him as she had handed the box to him.

I know, Mother, he had responded. I know how much it means to you.

She had smiled sadly as he took the box from her hand, a spasm of coughing momentarily preventing her from speaking. She had taken the glass of water he had offered her, drinking it slowly until she was able to speak once more.

I . . . mean it, Eric, she had insisted. Promise me . . . Promise me you will give it only to . . .

I promise, Mother, he had whispered, stroking her hand as she fell into a much-needed sleep. I promise . . .

His mind returning to the present, he located the box in the bottom right corner of the chest. Withdrawing it, he opened it, confirming that its contents were still present, still as beautiful as ever. Satisfied, he placed the small box in his pocket, exhaling deeply as he prepared for his morning excursion.

I meant what I said, Mother, he thought to himself as he made his way toward the rear door of the palace, careful not to wake anyone still slumbering in the small hours of the morning. I will not disappoint you . . .

She noticed something was different about him as he approached her on the beach that morning. His gait was markedly more deliberate than usual, his expression troubled, as if preoccupied, as he made his way toward her.

"Good morning!" she called out, waving to him as a light snow fell about, hoping her voice would be enough to break whatever sense of gloom had descended upon him.

As he helped her from the water, she could sense that he was still troubled by something. "Look, Eric," she said, trying her best to make him happy. "It's snowing again. Isn't that nice?" Realizing he was still distracted, she frowned. "What's the matter? Are you feeling all right?"

"I . . . I'm fine," he insisted, shaking his head. "I just . . . I mean . . . Oh, damn . . ."

She cupped his chin in her hand, planting a light kiss on his lips. "Please tell me. You don't have to hide anything from me."

Nodding, he took her free hand, sighing deeply as he fought to form the words he had practiced all night. "Ariel, today is . . . Today is an important human holiday. Today is Christmas."

She looked at him curiously. "'Chriss-mass'? What happens on 'Chriss-mass'?"

He cleared his throat, hoping he could keep his nerve. "Well, it's a time when family gathers together and we celebrate the ones we love by giving them gifts."

"Gifts?" She frowned. "Oh, Eric, why didn't you tell me sooner? I didn't bring you anything special! I'm sorry—"

"Don't be."

He reached his hand into his pocket, withdrawing the small box. "I didn't want you to get me anything, Ariel. I just wanted to have you here with me. That's the only gift I need. But, I . . ." He swallowed. "I did get something for you."

Offering her the box, his felt his face burn as she looked at it.

"Oh, Eric!" she exclaimed as she studied the box. "I love it! It's so beautiful—"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It's not . . . I mean, the box isn't the present! It's what's inside the box that . . . I mean . . ."

Now thoroughly confounded, so nervous he could barely speak, he lifted the lid off the box, setting it gently on the sand next to them. "Here, Ariel. This is . . . This is for you."

He heard her breath catch in her throat as she looked inside the box, her hand shaking as she withdrew its contents. "Eric," she whispered as she held the diamond ring in her hand, the gem sparkling in the morning light. "Eric, it's beautiful!"

"Do . . . Do you like it?" he asked hesitantly.

"I do!" she cried out. "But . . . But what do I do with it?"

He laughed, his nervousness fading away as he took hold of her hand. "Here," he said. "You wear it on your finger. Like this."

Her eyes grew wide as he slid the ring onto her finger, the ring somehow fitting her hand perfectly. Raising her hand before her eyes, she smiled wider than he had ever seen before. "Oh, Eric, I love it! It's so . . . ethéleven!"

"I . . . I wanted to give it to you," he said. "It was my mother's. Before she died, I promised her I would give it to someone . . ." He paused, forcing himself to finish his well-rehearsed lines. "To someone very special to me."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with worry. "This . . . This was your mother's?" She moved to remove the ring. "Eric, I can't take this! I couldn't possibly—"

"No," he said, taking hold of her hand, preventing her from taking the ring from her hand. "No, Ariel. I want you to have it. You mean . . . You mean that much to me. I want to show you just how much I love you."

Looking him in the eyes, she frowned momentarily, as if thinking to herself, before nodding affirmatively. "All right," she whispered, looking once more at the beautiful ring. "If . . . If you want to give it to me, I . . . I accept. But . . ."

It was his turn to frown as she looked away toward the sea. "Ariel? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she responded, not looking at him. "It's just . . . Are we sénathema now?"

The word was one he had never heard her use before. "Are . . . Are we what?" he asked, confused.

She turned back to him, her eyes wide with anticipation. "For my people, when a male gives a véldenmaína a ring, that means he has chosen her to be his sénathema. I mean, his . . . his . . . oh, what is the word . . .?"

Understanding fell upon him at once. "His . . . mate?" he offered as he realized the implications of his action.

She nodded uncertainly. "That's right. So, does that mean we are now . . .?"

This is crazy! the rational part of his mind screamed at him. You can't be with her forever! This was just supposed to be a short-term thing! You are two different species for crying out loud! It could never work! Ever!

In that moment, he chose to ignore the rational voice, choosing to go with what his heart was telling him. "Yes," he said, pulling her close. "Yes, Ariel. I . . . I want you to . . . I mean, what I should say is, will you—"

"Yes."

She answered without hesitation, her eyes filled with happiness. "I . . . I had hoped you would choose me," she confessed, her tailfin stroking his leg. "I know it shouldn't work. I know my father will not be happy, but . . ."

Sitting tall, she kissed him deeply, her arms wrapped around his back as she held him in her embrace.

"None of that matters," he whispered in her ear, happier than he had ever been in his life. "We can think about all of that later. For now, let's just be together."

"Like . . ." She stroked his hair lovingly. "Like we will always be?"

"Yes," he responded, smiling, gently turning her to look toward the sun that had broken through the cloudy sky.

"Happy 'Chriss-mass,' Eric," she whispered as she leaned back into his shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips lost amidst her swath of red hair. "Happy Christmas, Ariel."

AN: Something special for the Christmas season. I hope you enjoyed it! More to come!