"Father!"
Standing in the center of the town-square, clad in regal grey furs, the King turns towards his daughter. "Iris," he breathes, crossing the snow in six great strides. "We've been looking all night—"
"I'm sorry." A young man her age drapes a coat over her shoulders; she holds onto it with a hand. "I – I lost my way." Her voice sounds thin to her own ears; tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. "You were right."
The King folds her into his arms. "About what?" he asks gravely.
"About the –" she clutches him, sobbing, "the monster."
The King inhales sharply. "What did he do?" he demands. "Where is he?"
"I don't know," she sobs, holding on tightly. "Please, Father, you have to –"
"We'll find him," the King assures her. "He will not walk freely again."
Against the King's shoulder, wearing the image of his daughter, Lisa smiles a little, just to herself. "Thank you, Father."
. o .
Barry stalks towards the Selkie. "Did you do this?" he asks in a low voice.
"Did I do what?" Oliver asks flatly. His stance doesn't change; he doesn't even blink.
Fury surges across Barry's chest. "Where is she?" he demands, hating how his voice trembles. "What did you do?"
Oliver arches his eyebrows. "What did I do?" he repeats, a hint of contempt in his tone. "You're looking at the wrong mirror, Siren."
Barry throws a punch at his face; Oliver captures his hand before it makes contact and twists it hard, shoving him back. Snarling, Barry charges, aiming low and driving the Selkie to the ground. The visceral satisfaction is short-lived: they barely hit the shore before Oliver rolls him and pins him hard. "Enough," Oliver snaps.
Barry is weaker than his preternaturally strong Siren self, but he's still a powerful animal in his own right, fueled by fury: when he drives up his knee into Oliver's ribcage, it nearly breaks something.
Before Barry can press the sudden advantage and throw him off, Oliver grabs his right hand and twists sharply. Something pops, and Barry yells, pain surging up his arm. "Enough," Oliver repeats shortly. He doesn't release Barry's wrist.
Panting, Barry glares up at him, ordering through gritted teeth, "Let go."
Wordlessly, Oliver twists and shoves his wrist back into alignment, pushing off him with a shove to the chest that feels like a punch to the gut. "You're not a fighter. That'll kill you one day, Siren."
Closing his eyes for a moment, Barry breathes in deeply. "I don't need to fight." Grimacing, he sits up slowly, glaring at the Selkie. "And I – I'm not a Siren." Flexing his fingers gingerly, he hisses out a breath. "Not anymore."
"Are we done?" Cisco asks, approaching cautiously. He has both hands out as though to put space between them. Barry makes a disgusted sound. Oliver doesn't even acknowledge Cisco. It makes anger burn hotter in Barry's chest, the casual Selkie contempt.
A deep, wracking cough prevents him from giving voice to his fury. By the time the cough tapers off, the anger has faded. Only coolness remains in its wake. "You knew he was a Siren?" Cisco asks Oliver, oblivious to his inner turmoil.
Oliver nods. "It wasn't hard to discern," he lies coolly.
Barry aches suddenly, viciously to expose him: he knew I was a Siren because he's a Selkie. He's no different than me. We're both monsters to your kind. We can kill humans in a heartbeat if we choose to.
The intrusive thought doesn't drive him into a frenzy. It saps the last of his strength. This isn't who you are. This is the monster. The realization makes him feel sick. How many days or weeks or even months it would take before he finally snapped and hurt someone? He already knows he can. He remembers lashing out at Oliver, slowing down only when he saw Iris. The thought that it could happen again –
He grits his teeth and pushes himself shakily to his feet. He feels cold and sore, exhausted and heartbroken. I did this to myself. This is my fault. "I'm sorry," he tells Oliver. He makes a vague gesture with his left hand, bowing his head a little. For everything.
Oliver nods once. His entire demeanor radiates calm authority. "Me too," he says. Barry looks up at him incredulously. "It's cruel to strike a child," he recites.
Barry glares. "I'm not a child."
Oliver folds his arms. He's not even ruffled by their fight. Barry's still shaking visibly. "Mm-hm." His tone says one thing: leave it. To pursue the conversation would reveal him to the others. Barry sighs, reaching up to rub the back of his neck before wincing and lowering his hand again. "So. You're human." It's not a question. "The Princess has succeeded you." He looks at the others pointedly, then back at Barry. He doesn't need to say it out loud for Barry to hear it: Bad choice.
Defensively, Barry straightens and puts a hand out to halt Cisco from approaching. "I'm not a killer," he says softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cisco tense. "This shouldn't have happened," he continues, shaking his head. "I – our deal was…" His voice trails off.
You have until dusk on the third day.
His breath hitches in surprise. "There's still time," he realizes. "We still have time," he repeats emphatically, looking at Oliver and Cisco. "I have until dusk on the third day before I have to return to the sea." When neither of them respond, he finishes, "Today is the third day."
Cisco blinks slowly. "So you're saying …"
"We have until dusk," Oliver finishes, "to find the Princess."
Barry nods, relief surging through him. "That was the deal," he says fiercely. "It hasn't been honored yet. Whatever – whatever this is," he explains, trying to suppress the anxiety that rushes back to the surface as he flexes his left hand, his human hand, "it's breaking the agreement."
"How ironclad is this agreement?" Hartley asks dryly, stepping up behind him. "Because, you know, the Princess of Annapurna's life is at stake."
Barry can't look at him. "It'll work," he says firmly. "She just … she needs to be near the shore when the time arrives, or …" He swallows.
"Or?" Cisco prompts.
Barry's voice is thin, fear returning as he looks out at the fierce wintry waters. "Or there is a very good chance she'll drown."
. o .
Iris drifts northward, gliding low.
She rolls leisurely in the water, basking in how easy it is. Even as a girl, leaping fearlessly into the surf, she never found this kind of comfort. She was an intruder, hopeful and excited but ill-suited for the frigid cold of even the summer currents. Back then, she could only stay in the water for a few moments before racing ashore again and tucking herself in furs to warm up before repeating the task, ad infinitum.
Now, she could stay down here forever.
She can't shake the feeling that she's meant to be here. Wally could surely rule in her place; he would make a fine king. Annapurna would be lucky to have him. Meanwhile, she could drift the oceans, partaking in all the treasures that no human could hope to find, encountering creatures most only mused about. Merfolk and Selkies and all manner of sea creatures! What a life to live!
Why did you come on shore? she muses, the little blue stone between her teeth silently encouraging her to press onward. Why walk away?
She surfaces again to get her bearings before diving back under, arcing along the shoreline. Perhaps, she muses, it's the ache for another Siren that drives some of them ashore. It does seem a lonely life to live without any of one's own kind. All of us are alone, she thinks, surfacing again. Not much has changed: endless ocean and the bare shore, the ruthless winter winds swelling the waves without driving her away.
Ducking down, she considers turning back and finding her home shore again. Maybe she could persuade someone to join her in the water, to look at all of this, but she isn't human anymore, and any human would surely die in these conditions. In summer, a quiet voice insists. It would be lovely. Who would want to leave any of this?
She surfaces again, and then she sees him, standing nearly chest-deep in the water, attention on the ship that the others are working on. Seeing him makes something click in Iris' chest. Run away with me, she wants to ask him. She knows he would. All she would have to do is ask. Let's live a perfect little life together. Let's run away together.
She ducks below, careful not to float too close to the waves and give herself away. No urgency presses her to resurface for breath, so she merely glides forward until she is close enough to reach out and graze her short-clawed hand across his waist, dropping the blue stone into his pocket. He startles, but before he can react, she's gone, gliding up the coast, feeling playful.
She resurfaces a good distance up the shoreline, just enough to see him back on land, gaze drifting inexorably towards her. His shoulders sink with relief. She smiles and disappears under the waves. Catch me if you can, she challenges, paddling lazily up the shoreline. In five broad strokes, she's put him nearly fifty feet behind her. Above the water, she arches an eyebrow at him.
He huffs, and then he breaks into a run, full-tilt, down the coast, ignoring the indistinct shouts of their companions behind him. She grins and ducks below, gliding across the shoreline with a little more speed. She stays under the surface longer than nearly any human could hope to, returning at last for a glimpse of him.
He's flushed with exertion, but when he canters to a halt a few feet behind her on shore, he's beaming with joy. He waves a hand at her in acknowledgment, and she finally takes pity on him, doubling back underwater and gliding up until she's at his location. When she surfaces, she sees that he's moved a little farther up the coast, but he looks around and finally sees her, hastily course-correcting before she disappears again.
"Iris," he calls out breathlessly, splashing into the water carelessly. "Iris—" He pauses to cough into his shoulder. She closes the gap, tangling her arms around his waist. He's shaking hard. It occurs to her that he'll freeze to death if she keeps him in the water. Concern shoulders aside relief, and she disentangles her grip, drifting out of reach.
He doesn't retreat to the shore. No: he follows her as though drawn on a string. She glides closer and puts both hands on his chest, halting him. He takes her hands in his own frozen ones and entreats, "D-d-don't g-go."
She squeezes his fingers before gently pushing their hands against his chest again. Go.
He shakes his head adamantly. "At d-d-dusk," he stutters, white clouds following every breath, "the sp-spell will wear o-o-off. Y-you'll be human a-again."
She pushes him back towards the shore. He holds his ground – tries to. He stumbles back a step, and she pauses, letting him right himself. Waiting until he meets her gaze, she shakes her head. He frowns. "Th-that was the d-deal," he tells her. She shakes her head again. Heartbreak pools in his eyes. "I-Iris?"
She lets go of one of his hands, reaching up to brush the freezing tear from his cheek. It's all right. She smiles reassuringly, but it only draws another tear. She brushes it away, too, her chest tight. Slipping back under the waves, she glides up the shallows, stopping when there is scarcely enough water to buoy her. She surfaces and slides a few feet back, nearly out of the water. He turns and wades back towards her, collapsing onto the rocks next to her and exhaling hard. "I f-f-forgot how c-c-c-cold Anna-p-purna was," he says aloud, teeth chattering as he draws his knees up to his chest.
There's a deep warbling sound nearby, a rolling, otherworldly croon that drags out into the deep water, and then a massive grey seal head emerges just above the waterline, not three feet from them. Barry tenses, straightening his legs, prepared to fight, but Iris watches the beast with idle curiosity and amazement bordering on awe. Those black eyes, so soulless on the ship, are bright, intense, alive. Stars live in those eyes, she muses, reaching out a hand. Its gaze hasn't left Barry, but it doesn't twitch when she rests her hand on its head. The fur there is surprisingly soft, and tough.
She's heard stories of sailors clubbing young harp seals for sport. She suspects even a strong axe wielded by a well-built sailor would be insufficient to dent the magnificent skull under her hand. The leopard seal exhales deeply, displacing water, and she removes her hand. Its head turns, gaze fixing on her for a moment, and then it flickers back to Barry.
Aloud, Barry greets in a husked-out voice, "Selkie."
The warble grows to a nearly painful pitch, vibrating the water on top of its back. Siren, it replies. Iris startles, looking at Barry for confirmation that he heard that, he must have, but he frowns at her uncomprehendingly. When the Selkie commands, Human, she looks at it. We need to talk, it says simply, vanishing under the waves.
She turns to Barry and holds up a hand. Stay. He frowns and shakes his head, but she pushes her hand forward a little and drifts back out into the water. Stay.
Before he can even stand, she ducks under the waves, following the warble farther out to sea. Follow me, the Selkie commands. Make no sound.
Easy enough. The Selkie is swifter, but she feels no urgency, drifting after it. They halt some distance from shore, still under the waves, and the Selkie turns to regard her. My kind has no love for Sirens, the Selkie preludes. Nor does any creature of the sea.
Iris frowns. The Selkie goes on, drifting in a slow circle around her, just out of reach. Many have tried to extinguish your kind, the Selkie continues. None have succeeded. The most fortunate among them never came close to success. The seal glides away, a shadow in the deep but still plainly visible for what it is.
Today, you are still human, the Selkie adds, vaulting back, drifting closer towards her. Moving slowly towards her, there is something very predatorial about it. Your heart is human. Your love of life and land is human. But within a year, a decade, a century, any trace of that will have been scoured from memory. You will be a Siren, as devastating to my kind as any before you, and any after. It pauses directly in front of her, and in the water, it just seems huge. It is not a fate I wish to see befall you.
Iris thinks about the Siren Who Came Before Her – Barry; his name is Barry – and tries to reconcile his boyish enjoyment of life with the Selkie's warning. She shakes her head. You're wrong, she wants to say.
Look what he has done to you, the Selkie continues, drifting away, ignoring her unspoken thought. Even attempting to be kind, he has thrust this fate upon you. It is better to die at a Siren's hands than become one.
She follows the Selkie, aching to give voice to her thoughts, but she heeds its warning – make no sound – for she knows what she can do. Even knowing that she wields absolute power over the Selkie, she finds herself more than a little cautious in its company. No life-loving human would threaten one. No death-fearing Siren, either, she muses.
Fortunately, this is not permanent, the Selkie tells her, turning its head to regard her. At dusk, the spell will wear off. The Siren masquerading as a man will return to the sea, and you will return to your happy human life. The Selkie presses onward, humming, a low warble that is so soft it's musical. I can only urge you to part ways. A Siren's love is a lie in nearly every occasion, and a tragedy in every exception.
The Selkie sweeps away from her, but Iris doesn't follow.
"I love you," she tells Barry, and means it.
He breaks free of her hold, clutching his hair in both hands. "I don't want it," he spits, and she sees blood accompany the words, and wonders when he bit his tongue. "I don't want it, I don't want it, I – " Tearing at his tunic with sudden fury, he roars, "I don't want it."
She surfaces, unable to bear the suffocating pressure in her chest. With her back to the now-distant shore, she doesn't dare look at him. I don't have to follow you, she thinks, sinking back under the surf. But I don't know how to walk away.
Gliding back towards the shore, she surfaces.
Knees drawn up to his chest, preserving the little warmth left to him, he certainly looks human. His eyes soften when he sees her, a tiny, anxious smile crossing his lips. He doesn't move as she approaches, doesn't flinch when she curls a clawed hand around his wrist, still resting on his knee. She holds it for a long moment, hovering in the space between acceptance and denial, moving forward and moving on.
Slowly, he turns his hand, and the little blue stone shines in his palm. "I love you, Iris," he breathes.
. o .
There is no conceivable way to make Iris any more beautiful than she already is.
But shining, radiant, and full of life, she is perhaps at her peak magnetism as she hovers in the water before him. Even the little black claws only accentuate her regality. She seems perfectly at home in her own Siren form, like any of the countless Merfolk he has seen from afar, or even the sleek-lined Selkies in their aesthetically-pleasing continuity.
Knowing how nearly he has lost her, how lucky he is to have found her again, he finds the words. "I loved you b-before I knew what the word love m-meant," he confesses softly, taking her hand in his own and intertwining their fingers, the stone captured between them. "There were s-s-so many times w-when I wanted t-to tell you. But I c-couldn't." He exhales deeply; it crackles in his dry throat, his aching lungs. "I c-couldn't hurt you.
"A-and then, w-when you were – ensnared," he gasps, straining to get the words out before his breath freezes over entirely, "I-I didn't want to l-l-love you in any w-way that w-wasn't s-s-sincere. I d-d-didn't want your l-love if it wasn't s-s-sincere. It wasn't r-r-right." He closes his eyes, unable to take the affection in her eyes as she looks up at him. "I am so, s-so sorry for p-putting y-you in this position."
She squeezes his hand lightly. He brings it to his face, his frozen cheek, and says firmly, "Th-there is n-no part of m-me, Siren or human, that d-doesn't love you." Letting her hand go slowly, he presses the blue stone against her palm. "You should be so loved, I-Iris, and I – I c-can't give that to y-you. N-not all of it," he clarifies with a huff, catching her when she surges up to hug him. "I w-want you t-to have a full life," he finishes.
She exhales like she wants to say something, splaying her hands against his back. He shuffles back into the waves, kneeling so he can hold her properly in his arms. Even through numb hands and thick furskins, he is overwhelmed by the proximity. It feels like there is nothing between them, not even breath. After nearly twenty years without even a hug for solace, it feels like the whole world to hold her in his arms.
"Tonight, at d-d-dusk," he repeats softly, quietly, pained, "all will be r-right a-a-again."
She shakes her head against his shoulder. Fervently, he insists, "It w-will. The curse will be r-reversed, and—"
She leans back, taking his head in her hands. Both her palms are cool but warmer than anything around them. Looking right into his eyes, she shakes her head clearly. He frowns, holding her elbows gently. "Tell me," he insists, because he will never guess and can never know what secret she holds through gaze alone. "P-please. I don't," with a breathless laugh, he admits, "I don't think you c-c-can ensnare me a-any more th-thoroughly than I already a-am."
She looks at him for a long moment, thumb sweeping across his cheekbone thoughtfully. He can barely feel it. It doesn't matter. He would rather freeze to death in her arms than return to the shore without her. He tightens his grip just a little, trying to convey his sincerity in a way she trusts.
"Barry," she says at last, and he laughs with relief, warmth spreading through him.
"I love you," he tells her, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes. "I love you so, so, so much—"
She reaches up and squeezes his neck gently. "I love you," she says simply.
It is pure music to his ears. The cold melts away. The aches vanish as though they never were.
"A life for a life," Iris muses, and Barry frowns, pulling back to look at her. "To save yours," she elaborates, releasing him. He inches closer in the water, still on his knees, refusing to let her drift into nothingness without him. "She wanted a trade."
She arches her tail out of the water in an imitation of a shrug. He stares at it, astounded – there's a hint of silver to it, a gorgeous glint that stands out against the dark green waves before it vanishes below them. "Barry," she begins, like she's rallying herself to break a hard truth. Then she softens her voice, saying simply, "Bar." His heart skips a beat, a smile melts across his face. "You died."
He nods, sobering a little. He dreamed it, but – no. That was real. It doesn't feel real. "Yes," he agrees anyway.
"When you died," she says slowly, carefully, "the goddess appeared."
Barry frowns. "Goddess?" he repeats incredulously. Then, when it clicks, he stares at her in disbelief. "You mean to say … the woman, she …"
Iris nods, smoothing the furskin down on his side. "She said she would bring you back if I gave her something in return."
Barry's breath catches. He feels sick. "Iris," he rasps. "Please, please tell me you gave her … anything, but …"
"A life for a life," she repeats simply.
He closes his eyes. "I don't understand."
"I didn't, either," Iris admits. "At first. She said she wanted my crown." Barry looks at her, frowning. "I thought she meant my lifestyle," she muses. "My claim to the throne. But," smiling ruefully, she says, "I see now she wanted something more literal."
Barry shakes his head. "So you … you gave … your life—" He swallows hard. He can't finish the thought. For me.
Iris nods once. "The trade wouldn't happen until she received the sealskin. She wanted both." She shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know why."
Barry thinks about the – goddess' smile when he gave her the Selkie's sealskin. "I think…" He trails off, shaking his head a little. "Selkies, they … they can … transform, when they put on or take off their sealskins," he explains haltingly.
He waves a hand at the water. Oliver is nowhere to be seen, but he's not surprised. Keep your distance from the Sirens.
It's strange to even think: Sirens. Plural.
"I've never heard of a non-Selkie using one," Barry continues, "but … a goddess …" He frowns. "I suppose it's possible," he permits. "If that was her intention, then –" He shrugs, exhaling shakily and drifting a little closer. Iris squeezes his waist, and he can't help but smile a little. "She's on land," he surmises.
Iris nods. "Most likely."
"And we're …" He laughs. It's all so absurd he can't help but be humored. "We're a little out of sorts because I …" He rubs the back of his neck. "I'm supposed to be dead. Twice, I think." He takes her hands, the little claws pressing against the backs of harmlessly. "Once as a human on the beach, at Zolomon's hand," he clarifies, "and – and again, as a Siren, when I gave her the sealskin. Because I didn't transform. You did. Which means …" He cocks his head. "Which means I shouldn't be alive at all."
It makes something chill in his stomach. He looks around, asking softly, "This is – this is real, right?" It seems terribly cold to be death, but he's never – well, he has died, and yet it didn't seem like—
She cups his face. "This is real," she assures softly.
Looking at her, his heart rate slows down. Some of the trepidation melts out of his shoulders. Unconsciously, he hums a little, a mimicry of that song that has scarcely faded from his heart, and she mirrors it, that deep, familiar, ethereal sound bringing calm to mind. Two Sirens, he muses. An oxymoron.
There is only ever one.
But Barry remembers being seven-years-old and following the Siren Who Came Before Him through the sea, even as his predecessor nursed that terrible, mortal wound. Barry doesn't remember surfacing for air, tail paddling after him where legs should have been. Already, even then, before the Siren Who – before Eobard drew his last breath, Barry was a Siren. And for that happy time, there were two Sirens in the world.
It makes his heart ache. Two Sirens. What a beautiful notion.
He wades out into deeper water, into the ocean he knows. The cold is sharp, his human lungs demanding breath as the air tries to freeze the breath out of him, but this is still home to him. It's still home. And he is still alive, as a human, as a Siren. She drifts around him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, hovering in the water.
"How often do you think a goddess becomes entangled in her own promises?" Barry muses. "Because surely, I cannot be both dead and alive, Siren and human, while you are …" stroking her arm, he finishes, "you are extraordinary as ever."
She tugs him and he turns to face her, stepping back a few paces until he is chest-deep in water. She follows, drifting ahead, and he follows until his feet no longer touch the ground. She settles under his arms again, hugging him and supporting him, simultaneously. "I am to become a Siren again tonight," he goes on, thinking out loud, "that was our original promise. Three days ashore for a Selkie's sealskin."
"You've fulfilled your part of the trade," Iris points out.
"But she hasn't fulfilled hers," Barry finishes. "Giving her the sealskin didn't kill the Siren in me. It only gave me another day with you."
Iris curls up close to him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I'm only human until dusk," he says. "Then I return to the sea, or I die. If I die, then …" He swallows. "Then the last person I ensnared becomes the next Siren." He squeezes her gently. "I'm sorry."
"Mm." She kisses the underside of his jaw once, lightly. "Don't be. I would do it again."
He cannot respond immediately, overcome. "I won't die," he promises, holding her, feet kicking slowly, treading water. "And in a few hours, I'll be …" He frowns. "I should be a Siren again," he says, but doubt is creeping back in.
"Barry?" she prompts when he holds his silence a little too long.
"I should be a Siren now," he says, suddenly emphatic, "but the song – it's out of my reach. And my voice, it doesn't – it has no effect on the others. It's as if … it's as if I'm not a Siren anymore. As though I've – I've died, and you've succeeded me. But that's not what our bargain was," he adds fiercely. "This can be fixed. I'm sure of it."
Cradling her in his arms, he insists, "All we have to do is beat a goddess at her own game." With a confidence he doesn't feel, he says lightly, "Easy."
Iris hums a little. "And if it doesn't work?"
Barry frowns. "What do you mean?"
"What if you're human forever?" she says, looking right at him. "Or … what if you become a Siren again, and I stay the same?" With bright eyes, she muses, "We could be together like this. Forever. You said Sirens live hundreds of years."
"Thousands," Barry says faintly, "if they're careful. Iris, we can't – it's not a life, it's a sentence," he explains. "It's a terrible curse. No creature alive wishes to be a Siren. It is why we are so deeply … disliked." Despised, a vicious little voice reminds. "No creature wants to become a monster."
"You aren't a monster."
Barry's heart hurts. "I'm … I made you into this," he reminds her. "What else would that make me, but a monster?"
"Human," she says simply.
If the irony strikes her, she gives no sign of it.