A/N: I don't usually post author's notes as I feel like it takes away from the immersion of reading a story, but I just thought I would warn you that this is going to be a difficult chapter, my lovely readers, for Ariel, at least emotionally. A fair warning.


ARIEL'S dreams were becoming more and more impossible to bear, despite her life being at peace, and her heart the happiest it had been since she had washed up on shore with no memory of who she was and only Elise for company. Grimsby had, after a rather lengthy shouting match that nearly shook the walls and the foundations of the castle, had assented to Eric's request to court and marry Ariel, much to Ariel and Eric's delight, and the two were to be wedded within a fortnight.

Yet, a strange power overcome the young redhead in her dreams, and she did not understand what was happening to her.

There should have been nothing in her life these days to warrant such terrifying dreams, though the nightmares would not relinquish their hold upon her mind. Always, without fail, in her dreams, some dark parasitic force would drag her down to the fathoms below while she took an innocent swim. Only this time, no Elise was there to rescue her, and certainly not Eric, as the Prince in her nightmares always had trials enough. She was drowned, gutted, and left as food for the sharks.

She would wake in cold sweats, her body trembling, and her skin deathly pale. It had become so bad that she was starting to wake Molly and Steffan with her crying and moaning, whose room was conveniently next to hers in the servants' quarters of the castle.

In the beginning, Molly more so than Steffan, had tried to be kind and understanding, though as her dreams were becoming more frequent and worse, her new friend's understanding as the weeks passed had begun. Molly had tried to get her tonics to be slipped into a cup of hot tea before bed or even to drink a glass of warm milk prior to sleeping.

However, the Prince ordered nothing be given to her after Ariel had insisted upon not taking anything, as she would see flashes of faces that bore a strange familiarity. Specifically, Ariel had begun to see in her nightmares an old man's face, the edges of his long grey beard twitching without bidding and his expression grim. She was certain she had never met this man who had a regal, kingly air about him, and yet, there was a familiarity about this stranger, like a distant fond memory that she was having trouble recalling now. There was a third element to her dreams that she did not understand and wanted nothing more than to try to understand too.

Prince Eric would try to swim to her, to pull her out of the water, when an enormous black tentacle of some creature would jut out of the water and try to take him, yet Eric somehow managed to always defend himself with a spear, hacking away at the tentacles that sprouted from the water as whatever creature from the depths of the hell of the black waters tried to kill him.

In her dreams, the Prince's valiant efforts to save her life were not so strange and unbelievable as they would have been in real life, she was sure of that much. Ariel could only look upon the Prince she loved with awe and admiration as he cut down the creature as best as he could with a fisherman's spear, the same the fishermen of Ipswich used to hunt whales for their skin and blubber.

But it was when the creature emerged and breached the water that Eric's courage always failed him.

The monstrous entity that attacked the man in her dreams was revealed to be a devilish sea witch, beautiful, yet monstrous and deadly, with tentacles sprouting out of her body, yet she had the face and beauty of a mermaid of the Atlantic Ocean.

She was always covered in blood that was not her own, poised to kill and slick with the life's blood of her prey: Eric.

The sea witch, after taunting him, grew to leviathan proportions, her cackling laughter flooding the air with sound as the skies darkened, black and purple thunderclouds looming over Ipswich. Her sheer size, her overwhelmingly powerful strength that was almost god-like, became too much for even Eric to combat. In some dreams, Eric and Ariel were able to swim to shore and flee, in others, he drowned and was left to be ripped to shreds by two Great White Sharks that came at the sea witch's beck and call.

Ariel would scream and cry for Eric and try to swim to reach him, yet one of the sea witch's tentacles would jut out and squeeze around her small waist tightly, cutting off any hope she had of obtaining oxygen for her now-burning lungs as the tentacles squeezed hard, as a python snake would its prey.

She would be pulled close, and the sea witch would whisper into her ear, her breath hot and wet against her cheek.

"You're mine now, little poppet."

It was on nights such as these that she would be roused from her sleep, ice-cold, her mind fevered, and a vicious scream at her lips.

Tonight, was one such night and as she bolted upright in bed, slick tears streaming down her cheeks, her lungs heaving for calm, she understood she could not return to sleep. She would know no safety in the realm of slumber. Not when the tentacled leviathan she-demon lay in wake for her the moment her eyelids fluttered closed. Not when the sound of the sharks ripping Eric apart limb from limb filled her ears and hearing the man's agonized cries. Ariel threw herself down onto her bed, buried her face into the smothering fabric of her pillow, and screamed, praying the gods would release her from this endless stream of vicious and gory nightmares.

She shook, rattled, as the vivid images flowed through her mind's eye. She drew in a hitched breath though it was a relatively poor attempt to calm her nerves. She bolted from the bed and let the tears flow down her cheeks as she openly cried without restraint, far too overcome by the tempest raging war in her stomach. She thought she was sure to be sick to her stomach. Already, she could feel the bile rising painfully in her throat. She needed a breath of fresh air and quickly or else the contents of her stomach would find themselves hurled all over the floor of her chambers, and she did not wish for the maids to have to clean up such a wretched mess.

She dressed hastily, feeling as though the walls of her room were closing in around her, suffocating, smothering. She walked slowly towards the door and rested her hand on top of the oak-paneled woodwork, as though trying to sense for any souls wandering about the corridors outside. Feeling nothing but foolish, she chastised herself and wrenched open the door.

No one would be wandering the castle at this late hour. Discarding any semblance of caring in her mind, Ariel hurled open the door and stepped out into the cold hallway of the servant's wing of the Prince's castle. The chilly bitter air hit Ariel's face and nearly stole the breath from her lungs, but she could not manage to pretend to care. Her thoughts of her dreams and not understanding what they meant and thoughts of the life that she would share in with Prince Eric once they married were already leaving her breathless enough. The sensation invigorated her body and she suddenly wished for nothing more calming than a hot bath.

She turned towards the left, her mind made up, her decision made, as she began to walk the hallways that would lead her to the baths. As she walked, she felt a strange tug of affection for the bearded kingly man in her dreams that went further simply than wanting to help this fictional man she had never met. It frightened her and her hands tensed and she wrung them painfully and toyed with a lock of her loose red hair. She did not care what others in the castle said about her, there was something to these dreams. Her mind was trying to tell her that something was wrong, but what on earth was it? What in the gods' name could it be?

As Ariel quickened her pace, her stomach tightened into knots and she thought she was going to be sick. Her blue eyes grew glossy and distant as she finally reached the washroom, her breathing heavy and chest tight, and she barely made it to the wash basin as she looked down slowly into it and then threw up everything in her stomach. Even afterward she heaved, bile rising up in her throat painfully. She shakily straightened her gait once her stomach loosened the last of its violent spasms on her body and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She rinsed out her mouth with a chalice of water nearby and then began to clean the basin.

She drew herself a hot bath, letting the water sit in front of the fire in the washroom until it was as hot as it could possibly go without boiling and slipped into the tub with a gasp, the heat immediately turning her pale skin rosy pink as it flushed. She scrubbed her skin raw with the bar of soap and did not even cry out when the pain from the heat became too much. She thought she could endure this pain better than the agony of watching Eric die repeatedly, over and over again, in her nightmares. She did not stop washing. Anything but to return to sleep. She saw spots in her vision and her body swayed, and her head grew light and dizzy.

Ariel sat up a little bit straighter and canted her head back against the tub. When her site returned and the spinning stopped, she brought her hands to her hair and was suddenly spurred in revulsion by the comments the villagers of Ipswich would make about her red hair, deeming it unnatural, the hair of that of a witch. She and Elise had done all she could to dissuade such cruel comments, though she had long since stopped trying to change people's perceptions about her.

There would always be some who viewed her as some sort …of a witch. A siren, some were calling her. A siren of the sea. A mermaid of the Atlantic Ocean, a man-eater. A half-choked sob managed to find its way to her lips as Ariel ran her slender fingers through her red hair, sticky every which way as the locks entangled themselves in her shaking hands, yet her tongue refused its release, sending it away with a rough and painful swallow. She was not one of those creatures, a man-eater, a siren who lured sailors and pirates alike to their deaths with their haunting songs, dragging them down to the depths below and eating them.

More bile rose in her throat but she forced herself to swallow it back down again, not wanting to be sick a second time. Ariel crumpled, twisting and curling further in on herself in the tub, wanting the strange images of her dreams to leave her, but she knew they would not. She did not want to be associated with any such creature. She wanted her new life here in the castle with Eric to be a fresh start. If she could not remember her former life, then let her look on fondly at her new life with the Prince, but she could not do that if she remained tied down to haunted memories of being called such vicious and unkind names and associated with demons from the watery depths of the ocean. Ariel's frantic eyes darted to the left and right, red-rimmed and cracked at the edges. She was looking for what, she did not know, but she knew she found it when her eyes alighted on a pair of cutting shears that Carlotta normally used on the Prince's dog, Max, faithfully at least once a week to keep the animal's fur and shedding at bay. It would do.

She exhaled a shaking breath and her eyelids fluttered closed as she raised the shears to her hair.

I am Ariel, a girl of Ipswich, affianced to Prince Eric, protector of this realm. I am not a siren, not a mermaid, not a man-eater, or a witch. And…and hair grows back.

Steeling her nerves, she began to cut her hair, slick tears pouring down her cheeks as she hacked away at her lovely long tresses until the longest lock barely grazed above her collarbone, the rest of it framing her face in stray wisps and strands, ending at just below her chin. She knew Molly's husband Steffan had come to stand in the doorway of the washroom, she would know the tall man's silhouette anyway, but she continued cutting away at her hair. Fresh tears came to her eyes as she watched her lovely long red hairs fall into the water, but she did not even care that Steffan was standing there, watching her bathe and watching her breakdown.

She needed to do this. This was the only way to let the siren die, if indeed she did happen to be a siren of the sea, if the people of Ipswich knew something about herself that Ariel did not know. Ariel lowered herself into the water, what was left of her hair which was now no longer than chin length, and a choppy mess at best floated around her head like a halo.

She stared numbly up at the ceiling. She ignored the pain in her body and waited, listening for the sound of Eric's friend Steffan's footsteps as he undoubtedly would enter and ask her what the bloody hell she thought she was doing, but he did not come for her.

When she heard the man move away without saying a single word or offering any sort of condolence or reassurance, hearing his heavy boots walking down the hall, Ariel let out a little breath she did not realize she had been holding. She could not be sure, but she would guess that she had just had her first full blown panic attack. Ariel fully submerged herself underwater and closed her eyes.

She had no idea how she was going to suffer through more of these dreams with her sanity still intact.


ERIC'S heart was in his throat as he stood outside the closed oaken door of the washroom and softly called Ariel's name. The hour was late, at least two in the morning, he was supposed to have been in bed asleep, as tomorrow, Carlotta would insist on the tailor paying him a visit after breakfast to beginning the fittings for the uniform that he was to be married in, though there came a soft vexed rapping at his door and he'd opened it to find Steffan standing on the other side of the threshold, his face groggy and pale, his expression disgruntled at being roused from sleep so prematurely. His best friend nearly shook with anger to say that Ariel's dreams had woken her again, she had screamed, and she had locked herself in bath and was refusing to leave. It was an hour since then.

"Ariel, love?" Eric called again, his voice slightly louder than before and this time, he raised his knuckles to knock. He clicked his tongue in agitation before he pushed against the door twice until it budged and allowed a small opening just enough for him to pass through. He stared in awe. It was either locked from the inside all this time, or Ariel was only wanting Eric to see her right now.

He pushed the door open wider and steam emanated from the inside, engulfing him in heat and temporarily blinding him, causing the Prince to have to raise a hand to his face to shield his vision. The smell of vapor and lighted candles flooded his nose.

The tile beneath his bare feet was wet, and a single five-pronged candle holder was lit at the corner of the room. Only when the steam cleared could he make out the image of Ariel's head leaning back sullenly against the tub, her back to him.

A wave of horror immediately flooded through his veins to see that it was not his Ariel, but a new maid, someone new, for her hair was much, much shorter, the ends of the strands grazing at just to her chin.

Though the longer he stared at her, it was Ariel, it was really her, he realized with a sickening jolt, as he recognized the way her earlobes seemed to flow into her jawline, yet he did not understand why she looked so different. But inch by inch, he caught glimpses of the wet mats of her lovely red hair that lay strew around the tub. His eyes grew wide with horror as he rushed to Ariel.

"A-Ariel, love, wh-what have you done to yourself, a-are you hurt? You...you cut your hair," he moaned, perching himself on the edge of the tub, careful not to fall in as Ariel turned her head to face him.

He stared at the knots of deep fiery dark red, winter fire. Eric bent down slightly to pick up a lock of her red hair. It glowed against his pale fingers, and he met her eyes as he rose to his feet, shocked.

It broke his heart to see her face twisting and contorting in grief as she stifled her sobs and tears. Her eyes were red-rimmed and cracked at the edges, gods only knew how long she had holed herself up in here crying for, her face was pink and almost swollen.

Her dreams were affecting her so badly that he felt as though someone had taken a knife and pierced his heart with it. She had withdrawn her knees up close to her chest, one hand still feebly clutching onto Carlotta's shears.

The mermaid that he had fallen in love with, the pretty girl a few years younger than him, with deep red hair and lovely sky-blue eyes, was now reduced to a trembling child, petrified, alone, and her poor hair was butchered. Carlotta would need to fix it for her come the morning. Her long lovely hair that had cascaded down her shoulders and past her small breasts, was now short, shorter than even any of the maids in the castle, ending in wisps at her chin. Eric drew in a breath and held it before stretching out a trembling hand to take the knife she held in her hand. She relinquished it without a fight, for which Eric was immensely grateful.

"Are you done, darling?" he asked his future bride tenderly, before darting his gaze away from her and spotting a towel crumpled into a heap beside the candles. He rose from the edge of the tub as though the ground around him were on fire and dove to fetch the towel for her. As Ariel rose to her feet, his cheeks flushed a deep cherry red and he forced himself to look away, recognizing that he did not have the right to view his bride in such an inappropriate way before they were lawfully wedded in the eyes of the gods.

Eric purposefully averted his gaze as Ariel moved forward and allowed the Prince to gratefully drape the towel over her shivering and too-bony shoulders. He murmured with her in a low voice for her to come away, he would take her back to her room to rest, but Ariel flat-out refused. Finally, he forced himself to look at her, through her messed up bangs that were covering portions of her haunted wintry blue eyes, but his love's response was so perplexing, that it sent Eric's heart reeling. She let the towel fall and came to stand in front of him, her gaze unabashed and unswerving as she jutted her chin out slightly defiantly and all but glared at him.

"Why won't you look at me?" she asked after an interminable silence that stretched past the point of comfort. Ariel sounded devastated and it made Eric feel even worse.

His lips parted as if to speak, however, it took him a moment, as his tongue felt like heavy clay in his mouth.

"I…I am being decent here, Ariel, I-I, we're…we're not even married yet. I cannot look. I have no right to see you...like...this..."

Oh, gods, but could this situation get any worse and awkward for him than it already was?

He cringed. Eric was determined not to look and preserve her modest, yet the moment he heard her start to cry, he felt his resolve nearly start to falter, and he almost looked, tempted to see her as she was, naturally. Though Ariel felt this, and closed in on him like a vulture circling its prey and crushed her lips to his after throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down slightly.

Eric staggered backward, astonishment flooding his veins and causing his fingertips to go numb.

What in the bloody hell is happening with my future wife? He fought to pry her arms from around his shoulders and managed to successfully hold her in place despite her protests that she wanted this. Wanted him.

"Ariel, stop!" he cried out hoarsely through gritted teeth. "We...we can't, we are not yet married! Please, do not tempt me with this unless you want what is to follow. I-I want this, and you, of course I do, but...the right way, please. Let me marry you first."

Their lips were less than a sigh apart now, their faces a thumb's stroking distance from one another. He could still see her pink cheeks and felt Ariel's deep breaths. His blue eyes met hers, his face agonized with worry and alarm at Ariel's behavior.

"What is wrong with you, my love? You are refusing any tonics that Molly and Carlotta offer you, our wedding is practically on our doorstep, and you should be resting. This—should be a happy time for you, so why the tears? Why…your hair? Why, Ariel, tell me," he asked, his voice cracking, and he almost sounded angry with Ariel as he held his bride's arms tightly and slightly shook her.

Ariel looked without any trace of emotions in her eyes at the war of emotions that were slowly flitting across the Prince's face like shadows. Another single wretched tear slipped from the edges of her eyes.

"Do you think that I'm…crazy, Eric? That I'm…insane? Do you? That I can't remember anything of my old life, that I'm... a mermaid?"

Eric sighed in frustration and sharply turned his head away, a muscle in his jaw twitching, and so that she would not see the tears in his eyes. He let himself have a moment to compose himself and willed his temper to cool before turning back to look at her.

He brought his hands to her cheeks and wiped away the tear trailing its way down her cheek with the pad of his calloused thumb. Gods, without her hair, even short as it was now, to her chin, it seemed so light as her hair did not weigh her down.

He did not like her new hair.

She sensed where he was looking and hesitated, taking in a deep breath.

"I…it will grow back, I…the—the villagers, Eric, they call me a mermaid, a siren behind my back and even to my face if they are bold enough," she added, a frown pinching and turning the edges of her mouth downward. "It will grow back, b-but I don't…I don't want that, I don't want to be one of those things if I am one, I—I just…I don't know." Her face crumpled as she stifled a sob.

Eric stared at her with a frown on his face. He was still clearly not pleased with Ariel. His brow crinkled as his eyes made a quick scan of her new hair. He did not like that she had cut it so short in a moment of weakness.

He stared at Ariel, his mouth shifting slightly to the side. She flinched.

"I-I know, Eric, b-but my hair will grow back out again, I…I want to start over, to have a new life with you, and if this…" she sighed, holding chunks of her ruined hair in her hands, "is the only connection I have to my old life, then I would see it gone."

She let the locks fall at her bare feet and she stepped over them, putting her hand on his. It was cool and small. He rolled his hand over so she could see his palm. She pressed their palms together and managed to thread her fingers through his. Ariel gave a squeeze and then released them, tears still coming to her eyes. He just looked her over. She suddenly grew sadder.

Eric felt his hands move through her new hair and threaded his fingers through it. She was still very beautiful, he just preferred her the way he was before. He wished he knew how to tell her that. He thought for a moment, nibbling on the wall of his mouth.

"You are still beautiful to me, my love. I don't care how long it is. Still pretty," he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough sounding.

Despite not liking her new hair, and how short it was, he still wanted her. His body still hummed at the presence of her, at the smell of her, tasting her kiss. In fact, he was quite happy just staring at her. He lifted a hand and pinched her short hair.

He twirled it in his fingers and examined it closely.

He jolted when he heard Ariel speak.

"I know," she sighed, frustrated. "I'm sorry."

Eric frowned at her and shook his head. He did not want her to be sad.

Hoping it would show her what his words could not, he pressed his lips to hers in a gentle and chaste kiss, his body burning.

"You've been through much, Ariel, too much, more than a woman your age should have to, I—I understand," he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "B-but you're exhausted and hurt. What you need is to let me help you. Let me take you someplace. There's a Seer in the village, I know her. Maggie. Let her interpret your dreams, perhaps there's some spell of good intent she might know or something she could do to restore your memory if this is bothering you that much. Please. Let me help you," he begged.

Ariel stayed silent, but she nodded after a moment's hesitation. She smiled shyly at seeing his shoulder slump in relief, and took one of his hands and rested it above her heart, dangerously close to her right breast.

Eric almost hissed at the contact. He had never felt a woman's skin so soft and as instantly pleasing to the touch as hers, though Ariel was, thank the gods, the first woman he had taken a romantic interest in. His reluctance and willingness began to wage war in his mind, and his confusion grew to ten times its size. Her body was cold and hard as he let his fingers graze, and when his body began to react to her nearness, he moved away, heat creeping to his cheeks and a wave of shame overcoming him.

But Ariel remained unfazed by Eric's shyness. She held him firmly and did not let him pull away as her hands wound around his waist and she trailed a series of gentle kiss along his sharp jawline, which was getting prickly from his days without shaving.

Eric nearly let himself be overcome with the desire he felt for the woman he was not yet wedded to, though he forced himself to do the noble thing and ended their kiss. How would it look if Steffan or gods help them, Grimsby was to enter into the baths and find him with Ariel, unclothed and bold before him? It would put both of them in danger. He could not let that happen. Eric moved a hand and gingerly touched a part of Ariel's body that he knew would make her stop, and he was successful in his attempt.

Ariel froze, her breath catching in her throat as she looked down below them, at his hand which rested over the top of her left ring finger. She nodded numbly, though the disappointment in her eyes was visible as she stepped away and bit down on her bottom lip.

"Tomorrow, this Seer, this Maggie, will you take me to her?" she whispered. Eric nodded eagerly, relieved she was letting him help.

"On the morrow, she will help you, my love, I give you my word. I will not have you dream anymore unless they are good dreams. Dream of me. Dream of us, sweetheart," he promised her, raising his hands to her cheeks and caressing away the last of her tears. Without waiting for an invitation, he pressed his lips to hers, and she was more than willing to welcome them.

As he held her, Eric let himself reflect upon his feelings of love and adoration for the young mermaid who had saved his life.

He prayed that Maggie would help her both restore her memories of her old life and do away with her endless stream of nightmares that were plaguing her mind. He enjoyed feeling the young redhead pressed against his chest as she was now, against his heart, as if she were meant to be there, always, and he knew that Ariel was.

With any luck and a little bit of Maggie's magic, his love would be troubled by her past and her dreams no more.

Not when she would always have the memory of his arms wrapped around her waist and his gentle voice to call upon, to feel his lips move against hers in a kiss. Eric, who was not particularly a religious and devoted man, found himself praying to the gods for the first time in his life for their intervention and for their help, that this wise woman, this Seer, that Maggie would be able to help her.

He could only hope for it.