A/N: This is now a complete story, so I shortened it here and left only the first scene I wrote. For more, see "Under the Sea".

Day 6 – Merpeople

Maybe he should have stayed below decks when the storm hit.

Yeah, definitely. That's what he should have done. But it had been so… exhilarating: gusts of wind hitting his face; the briny taste of seawater on his lips; the roar of the waves around him. Carver hadn't felt so alive since they'd left Ferelden. Certainly not down in the ship's hold, cooped up with his family among the other refugees, trying to ignore Mother's sobs and his brother's muffled curses.

They had warned him, of course, told him to stay down with the others, where he would be safe. As if he wanted to be safe. Not after what had happened to Bethany. When the wave had hit the ship, he hadn't stood a chance. He'd gone straight overboard, only just managing to cling to a plank that kept him floating for a while. But now his arms were getting tired and it was so tempting to just let go, to let the sea take him, let the green water drag him down, into a cold, wet grave…

He blinked when he first saw her, sure he was hallucinating. Creatures like this were the stuff of fairy tales, children's imaginings. She looked just like the pictures in Mother's old book of tales, with wild hair, green eyes, and a scaly tail. She was naked from the waist up. Even in his current predicament this made him blush, so he focussed on her face and her eyes. Such amazing eyes, large and luminous, and green like the sea.

"Let go. I've got you." She was right behind him, her firm body surprisingly warm against his icy skin.

He shook his head, remembering what the tales said about mermaids luring poor unsuspecting sailors into the depths with them. He had to be strong, had to resist the temptation. But he was so very tired. Bright spots were appearing in front of his eyes, dancing lights, so pretty, so cheerful…

"Trust me." The mermaid's voice was sweet and seductive. "I don't mean you any harm." Her hands wandered from his shoulders down to where he was clinging to the plank, gently loosening his fingers. "Let go."

And he did.

They went down in a smooth glide, propelled by her tailfins. He was convinced he would die but, suddenly, her hand was in front of his mouth, pushing something cold and slimy between his lips. He struggled for a moment, until he realized he could breathe. Eyes wide with wonder, he stared at her, but she just smiled and pulled him further along, never letting go of his wrist.

Carver couldn't have said where she took him, nor how long their strange underwater journey lasted. But, in the end, he felt something scrape the soles of his feet. They were in shallow water. Only moments later, his head rose above the surface again. He coughed and spluttered until he remembered the thing in his mouth and spit it into his hand, drawing several deep, relaxed breaths.

She had let go of his hand and was moving toward the shore, a small sandy beach within a cave of some kind. Sunlight was falling through a cleft in the rock, making her hair shine like copper. He followed her, watching her shyly.

When she stepped out of the water, he realized that what he had taken for a tail were, in fact, long legs clad in skin tight leggings. They were made from a shiny, greenish material resembling fish scales with some kind of fringe down the sides that gave the illusion of fins. The skin of her back was pale, but looked human, soft and silky, and when she turned, once again his eyes were drawn to her bare breasts, firm and high and perfect.

He swallowed. "Who are you? And what is this place?"

She smiled. "I'm Maeghan. And this is the Keep. The home of my people."

"Your people?" Carver was shivering, partly because he was soaked through and cold and tired, partly from fear.

She shrugged. "You landfolk call us merpeople. You have some funny ideas about us, from what I've heard. Come. I'll take you to my home." She flashed him a brief smile. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Carver." He shook himself, like a wet dog. "I'm Carver Hawke."

"Come then, Carver Hawke." She took his hand. "Let's find you a dry blanket."

As he followed her further into the cave, he instinctively reached out for the walls, trying to touch the rock, surprised when it felt firm and real under his fingertips. Surely all this had to be a crazy dream, brought about by too much rum or bad food. Yet, no dream of his had ever featured a girl as beautiful as Maeghan.

A long, winding tunnel took them to another cave, this one dry and warm and with a driftwood fire burning in the middle. There was no one to be seen, but he could hear muffled noises from a small shelter at the back.

Maeghan walked over to the fire, adding another log, then called out, "Nethanel. Look what I've found."

The man that emerged from the shelter looked wild, almost feral, at least a foot taller than the girl, with long, straggly dark hair, a wide chest and strong, well-muscled arms. Like her, he wore no shirt and the same tight pants, which left nothing much to the imagination. Carver swallowed again.

"Maeghan. Why did you bring a land dweller here?" His face was dark and his voice was rough with anger and … was that jealousy? Carver wasn't sure.

She lifted a graceful shoulder. "He was drowning. He's too young to die."

Nethanel murmured something that sounded like an obscenity and turned away, stalking over to the opposite end of the cave where he disappeared into a tunnel. Maeghan watched him leave, her face inscrutable, then turned back to Carver. "Don't worry. He'll understand."

Carver realized his hands were sweaty. "Are you… his?"

"Am I what?" She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. "If anything, he's mine." She shook her head. "He's sworn to protect me, and he's a good man, loyal and fierce. As he should be."

"But will he-" Carver hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. "It seems he resents my being here."

"That's not for him to decide." Maeghan seemed unfazed. "And anyway, it's not as if I've asked you to mate with me. Yet," she added with a cheeky grin that made him blush up to the roots of his hair.

At the same time, he couldn't suppress a yawn, and her expression changed immediately, turning softer and more concerned. "Come on. Get some rest."

Some part of him was still screaming warnings at him, telling him to run, not to fall prey to her wiles. But he was simply too exhausted. Gratefully, he accepted the pallet she offered him. He was asleep before his head hit the mattress.