After three weeks of meetings, throughout which they had seen each other perhaps a dozen times, it was now an established fact that Eric had to be home by sunset. This was an arrangement that Ariel thought sweet, for it was obvious that his mother cared and worried a great deal about him; whereas Eric, knowing the truth of the matter, found it somewhat embarrassing that at eighteen years old he was forced to leave his friend under the pretence of his mother wanting him home before dark. It was childish, if entirely untrue. Certainly Ariel, two years his junior, was never required to be home by a certain hour—although he steadfastly refused to believe that her father cared as little about her whereabouts as she seemed to think he did.

Owing to a desire to spend as much time with his friend as possible, Eric had taken to limiting the time between his departure from her company and his arrival at the caves, by bypassing his trip home beforehand. Previously he would have returned home first, checking in with his mother prior to journeying to the surface. If he had been there in plenty of time she would have bid him goodnight there and then, if it had been at all doubtful whether he would make it to the caves before sunset, or the weather was particularly rough, she would make the trip with him, else come and check on him later that evening.

Now, as consequence of her boy's changed habits, Nastasya journeyed to the caves every night and, given his recent close call, Eric couldn't dissuade her from doing so. Often, given his reluctance to speak with her on particular subjects, he would feign sleep to avoid difficult conversation, though it always filled him with guilt to do so; but, painful as it was to listen to her whispered goodnight's in silence, he simply didn't know what to say to her anymore, and feared the repercussions of a conversation he had played over in his mind a hundred times. It was easier, he felt, to say nothing.

One night, however, after a day chiefly spent avoiding the palace guards with Ariel when he should have been collecting kelp, he arrived at the caves only a few minutes before sunset to find his mother waiting in one of the shallow pools at its entrance. The water was thankfully calm, spring being just around the corner, and Eric was able to pull himself onto the sand with ease.

Nastasya emitted a silent sigh of relief at seeing Eric safe and her previous restlessness ceased.

'I wish you wouldn't leave it so late, my love,' she confessed.

As if on cue the sun slipped behind the horizon, Eric's muscles contracting and his poorly suppressed cry of anguish echoing around the hideaway as he writhed on the smooth sand. Nastasya could only watch. Shimmering scales were replaced by two strong legs and Eric leaned back on locked arms, sucking air through his teeth and gingerly flexing those aching muscles.

He was incredibly brave, Nastasya thought, her pride for him peaking in this moment as it did every time she witnessed this short yet draining process.

Soon enough he stood and retrieved his handmade-shirt—stored further back to avoid the tide—before seating himself beside an already burning fire.

'What are you doing here?' he asked, pulling the fabric over his head.

'I wanted to talk to you, to ask if there was anything wrong?'

Eric fixed his gaze on the gentle waves as they folded upon the sand. He was tired, he didn't want to do this now.

'I'm fine,' he insisted.

'Then why are you avoiding me? My love, if I've done something to upset you—'

'You haven't.'

Nastasya paused, unused to Eric being so short-tempered, though it was clear that he regretted his choice of tone almost instantly.

She sighed. 'Everything I do is to protect you, Eric, and if you've... heard something that makes me a villain in your eyes I want you to remember that. I can't explain myself, I can't help, if you won't tell me what's wrong.'

'And where am I supposed to have heard something?' asked Eric, before dropping his voice to a mumble, 'we never see anyone!'

This, then, was the cause of his hostility; he was bored, fed up of living in such seclusion. Nastasya's fears, she perceived, were thus proven to be correct; she was no longer enough for him.

Hurt, she lifted herself over the rocks and back into the ocean. 'I love you, Eric, don't ever forget that,' her last words before disappearing beneath the surface.

Their recipient closed his eyes and sighed, plagued suddenly by guilt that he had upset her with his coldness. He knew that she loved him, she proved it every day, and it was a love that he returned in full, only now it was tainted by mistrust, and he didn't know what to do with it.

The succeeding day Ariel failed to appear, so too the day after, and Eric was filled with a dread that he had seen the last of her, that her father no longer allowed her absence. It wasn't the first time and it probably wouldn't be the last, but Eric sat inside the grotto for hours each day, reasoning that it wouldn't hurt to wait a little longer, forgoing his duties far longer than was necessary. Never in these instances did he touch anything. He could have easily matched up the human objects that surrounded him, but never would he take that joy away from Ariel. He wanted to see her face as she figured it out herself; brows knitted delicately above eyes full of wonder, smile that enveloped her features in glowing excitement.

Eric would return to the caves forlorn having spent the day in isolation, serving only to heighten his mother's anxiety; but he would brush aside her enquiries as to the cause of his dejectedness. Things had changed between them now. This new tension sat between them like a brick wall. Eric had not forgotten his trip to the village and the discoveries he had made there. The words of this Nikolaj continued to weigh heavily upon his mind, but the words to approach this subject simply refused to come. There had been nights during which he contemplated making the short trip into town to broach the subject with him, to ask what he had meant and what he knew of merpeople.

His Nastasya.

Whether the result of drunken fantasy or past connection Eric couldn't be certain, but these two simple words were fixed in his memory as though engraved in stone.

Almost a week passed without so much as a fleeting glance of Ariel and Eric was growing restless. For the last two days he had been stuck at home, helping is mother to renovate the south facing wall of their home, the waterlogged wooden panels having all but disintegrated. Together they had ferried wooden slats from the shipwrecks and erected the eight foot board in less than twelve hours, stripping the sailcloth roof back whilst they worked. It wasn't perfect, quality material being unavailable to them, but it would do. There had even been fleeting moments during which Eric could pretend nothing had changed, that he and his mother were simply performing a task they had undertaken many times before; but this new mistrust would always weave its way back into his consciousness.

Now, with the work complete, Eric gratefully found himself at his leisure. Nastasya had insisted that he needn't undertake either of his usual tasks, given that over the past two days he had lent his strength to the majority of the work, and that he may spend the day as he pleased. She had said this in the hope that he would take this opportunity to relax and, as she left to collect kelp, he ensured her that he would, allowing for the possibility of his going for a short swim at some point—this being a ruse so that she might not worry when she returned home and found him out, for he fully intended to spend his day with Ariel. Thus, he found himself journeying once again to the grotto.

The first thing he noticed was the open entrance. The rock, usually so carefully placed to conceal the fact that there existed anything behind the bank, lay to one side. Eric wasn't certain whether he should be hopeful of this being a sign that Ariel was here, or concerned by her change of habit—she'd always been so careful to keep this place a secret.

With a new uncertainty he proceeded, passing slowly through the short tunnel and into the centre of the chamber.

He froze, jaw going slack. The objects that had once been so carefully placed, that had awed him when first he had come here, littered the sand and shelves in broken fragments. He ascended in a daze, struggling to take in the extent of destruction. Not one item remained in tact; some snapped in two, others shattered completely. Fine grains of sand and rock have settled upon every surface, muting the colours. What once shone was now faded.

A scrap of fabric no bigger than his hand, hanging from one of the shelves, caught Eric's attention and he picked it up with due care. On it, an orange flame, the rest of the picture destroyed. His heart contracted. What happened here?

The silence, deafening until this point, was punctuated by a soft sob, drawing Eric's attention downwards. There, curled against the wall to the left of the tunnel, sat Ariel, half hidden in shadow.

Mind reeling with possibilities, Eric hastened to her side.

'Ariel, are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?'

Barely perceptibly Ariel shook her head, her attention remaining upon the object in her hands. It was—or rather it had been—a china figurine of a dancing couple, now only chipped sections remained. Eric remembered it well. They had spent days searching for the key that would wind them up and begin their dance without any luck—not that they had held particularly high hopes to begin with, and Eric doubted that it would work even if by some miracle they were to find it. Ariel had longed to see them in motion; now she never would.

'He followed me.'

It was with a heart-wenching sorrow that these words were spoken, Ariel's voice coming to nothing more than a murmur.

'Who did?' asked Eric, confused.

'Daddy. I wasn't... I wasn't careful enough,' Ariel explained tearfully. She let the fractured remains fall from her hands as she looked up to meet Eric's gaze. 'He destroyed everything.'

Never had Eric seen his friend so stricken with grief. Her spirit, he perceived, had been well and truly crushed. Uncertain as to what he ought to do, and knowing that nothing could rectify this, he lowered himself to sit beside her and looped an arm across her shoulders, brushing his thumb across her upper arm in what he hoped was a soothing motion.

Grateful for her friends company and at last having someone who might understand her pain, Ariel turned towards Eric, pressing herself against him as she wept.

She was usually so careful when she made the journey here, sticking to the shadows and disguising her direction by the aid of the kelp forest. Not that day, it would seem. Her desire to see Eric again had made her careless.

Over the three preceding days, visiting dignitaries from the north had stolen from her any chance of leaving, for she had been occupied with official matters that had previously completely escaped her mind. She grew restless with each sunset, knowing that another opportunity to see Eric had passed her by. The very morning their visitors moved on, she made her escape. She could think of nothing that would have made her regret her decision but that which had become her reality.

She had rolled the boulder aside as usual and slipped inside, not noticing that it failed to fall back into place behind her until, turning, she regarded the broad figure of her father in its place. His thunderous voice demanded an explanation, the trident glowing with his deepening anger. She had fumbled through—what else was there to do but offer him the truth and hope?—but he could never understand, not after what had happened to Athena. Ariel had begged him to stop, her crying and pleading falling upon deaf ears as he obliterated her precious treasures. The almighty trident had made quick work of a collection that had taken years.

This had happened yesterday. She hadn't been home since.

Eric listened to her explanation with a deepening ache in his chest, holding her close as she struggled through her recollection of the event. To think that he had been here only the day before this had happened. He wished now that he had spent that time appreciating his surroundings instead of despairing at his friends absence. What he wouldn't give to turn back time so that he might gather up her most favoured items and keep them safe. Already he had his own reasons to think ill of the King, but in this moment he outright despised him.

'Is there anything I can do?' he offered meekly.

Ariel's cries had reduced now to ragged breathing, but she remained pressed against Eric, her head upon his chest. She felt safe with him, she realised, cared for.

'You're already doing it,' she answered, acutely aware now of the gentle pressure of his hand upon her arm, 'thank you for being here.'

Oh! how difficult it was to tear himself away that evening. No apology would ever have covered the regret he experienced at being the one to break their contact as sunset approached.

Ariel had spent the day mourning the loss of her collection, speaking little, and often so overcome with sadness that she couldn't help but cry. Eric could only attempt to comfort her and readily offered up his time to help her rebuild, if that was what she wanted, an offer that she thanked him for profusely.

'Will you go home tonight?' he asked now, as the two of them exited the forlorn grotto hand in hand, a gesture which had come surprisingly naturally to them both.

Ariel's eyes were downcast. Her unwillingness was understandable and yet Eric couldn't bear the thought of her staying alone in such a desolate place, as this had become. 'Only to be somewhere warm. Somewhere safe,' he added.

'I suppose I'll have to eventually,' replied Ariel; though, bitterly, she thought that it would serve her father right if she never returned at all. She looked hopefully up at Eric. 'Will you be here tomorrow?'

Eric affirmed that he would with a promise, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before they parted ways. His mother may have secrets, he thought as he swam, but he was fairly certain that she would never hurt him as Ariel's father had hurt her.