This week has been really busy so I haven't really had time to answer people, but I have seen your reviews. Thank you all for taking the time to drop a comment!

A shorter chapter this time, enjoy.

IV

Awareness came slowly.

A mumble. Still silence.

The murmur of the waves outside.

It was a faint, but gentle whisper going back and forth. Years of living around ships made it a second nature to interpret the sounds that reached her ears.

The sea was calm. There were no screams to break the stillness of the peace surrounding her.

Desmera opened her eyes.

She sat up with a groan and looked around. Sunlight streamed in through the open windows. She occupied the cabin's only bed; a simple one that couldn't hold a candle to the one she had on the Aurora. The whole room was much humbler than what she'd come to expect as a lady of House Redwyne. Beyond a small desk and a stool next to the bed, there wasn't much else of note.

The curtains fluttered softly under the breeze, which carried the familiar scent of saltwater with it.

"Where… am I?" she mumbled, rising to her feet.

Just then, it all came back. The memories rushed at her, shards of the past soaked in blood, fire and death.

Desmera… run.

She gasped, falling down onto the bed once more. "Oh Gods… Owen," she said with dawning horror.

He was dead.

He was dead.

Her stomach dropped, numbness creeping into her limbs. A knot formed in her throat, one she couldn't push down. Owen… he couldn't be-

She could not remember a time when he hadn't been there, the ever-present guard. He'd served her father ever since he'd been twelve, nearly fifteen years ago. Good with a blade, Ser Qarl had gruffly described him; describing a natural talent that saw him join the household guard when he turned seven-and-ten.

He'd been a reliable guard. Trusted, and invisible when needed.

Yet now, her mind could not budge from those brief moments frozen in time where his presence shone so strongly it hurt. The kind smile he reserved for her whenever she grumbled about having so many lessons piled on her. Sneaking her figs after those same lessons, knowing they were her favourite. The unspoken trust when her father appointed him Hobber's shadow; his face glowing with humble pride. Helping Hobber teach her swordplay, even though he risked his place in the guard if it ever reached her father's ears.

She'd taken his presence for granted, a fixed point of her life that she didn't spare a second thought… until now, when she was forced to admit the truth she'd never truly considered.

'He was my friend.' The realization came to Desmera with the gentleness of a falling feather, but it still hit her like a boulder.

And now he was dead.

Desmera could see him as clearly as if he were standing in front of her. His face, streaked with blood, damp hair dripping with saltwater. Huge gashes oozed pale blood on his chest and belly. She closed her eyes, but the vision didn't disappear; if anything, it became even more vivid – an afterimage burned in her mind, surrounded by the darkness.

But it wasn't just him. There had been many other sailors in Aurora. Captain Shaw, the first mate, Garrett…

A hiccup tore from her throat, eyes swelling with tears. "They're all dead. Gods, they're all dead…"

A sudden knocking at the door startled her, making her flinch. "Hello, are you awake? Can I come in?" Though the door muffled it, Desmera was sure it was the same man back on the ship.

The magician.

Biting back a sob, she wiped her eyes clean and took a deep, shaky breath. Clenching her hands into fists, Desmera willed herself to calm down, even though everything was wrong. She could not show weakness.

"C-come in!"

The door opened. Desmera looked up from her lap as the man entered. The cloak he'd worn the previous night was gone, giving her the chance to get a good look at him. He couldn't be older than five-and-twenty; the stubble over his chin and cheeks gave him a rugged appearance that made him look older though, that much was true.

'It really is him.' She'd recognize that face anywhere. The windswept black hair, the Myrish lenses and the green eyes, the strange scar of his forehead… 'He looks exactly the same as he did when I saw him in Vinetown.'

Gods, had it just been some months ago? It felt like it happened a lifetime ago now.

He took the stool next to the desk and sat in front of her, offering her a tentative, small smile. "Hi there. You've been asleep for some time. How are you feeling?"

Desmera stared at him silently; she couldn't help but think that the reality hardly lived up to the tales she'd heard about the so-called Seafarer. Listening to Herryk go over all the reports, one would think such an infamous man would be a ten-foot tall aberration, shooting lightning from his eyes and riding a sea drake into battle.

The reality couldn't be further from the truth. He looked altogether unremarkable; handsome, yes, but although he certainly didn't look like a peasant, his appearance didn't scream infamous warlock at all.

'Assuming he's harmless is probably the last mistake many have done before dying.'

With that chilling thought, Desmera scooted back, moving further away from him. "Who are you?" she bluntly asked, dearly wishing her voice didn't waver.

The magician worked his jaw, scratching at his stubble with a thoughtful look. "Straight to business, huh? I guess introductions are in order, then. My name's Harry, Harry Potter, pleased to meet you. And you are?" He thrust a hand in her direction.

Desmera looked down at it, wary and distrustful. He might have saved her life, but she didn't know him. For all she knew, he was putting on an act. The moment of silence stretched uncomfortably until he dropped his hand. He wasn't smiling anymore.

A faint wave of fear washed over her, but Desmera straightened, doing her best to overcome it. "I am Lady Desmera of House Redwyne, daughter of Paxter, Lord of the Arbor and of House Redwyne," she declared, falling back onto formal etiquette to introduce herself.

If this man was in any way smart, her status as a lady of a noble House of the Reach would ensure her safety, either due to respect for her family or the chance of a ransom for her safe return.

She furrowed her brow as a sudden thought came to her. "Potter… I do not know of any House of Potter."

"Not a surprise. Even if one existed here, I can tell you I wouldn't belong to it," he said rather cryptically. Desmera frowned, but didn't demand he clarify his words. "I take it House Redwyne is the authority around these parts?"

Hearing such an ignorant question, Desmera all but gaped at him. "You- how can you not know my family?" she sputtered. "The Arbor, the Sunset Sea? The sea you're currently on?"

He didn't look Essossi at all, and the pale shade of his skin implied he was Westerosi – perhaps hailing from the North? 'But his frame and build are slender,' she thought. 'Not like the bulky and stout constitution of Northerners.'

"To be fair, I am not from around these parts," he said, raising his hands. "Just consider me someone with little to no knowledge of your homeland. Westeros, was it?"

"Yes…" she said, glancing at him suspiciously with red-rimmed eyes. How could someone not know of Westeros at all? Was he pulling some mummer act? He sounded genuine, but she knew there were cheaters and charlatans out there who had no trouble spouting the most outrageous of claims with a straight face. "Why would you come here if you don't even know the land you're travelling to?"

"Our… arrival here was a bit of an unexpected and sudden development," the magician said, shrugging slightly.

'Harry, I suppose,' she reminded herself. 'Still, what an altogether common name for someone who can wield magic. It'd be like meeting a reborn Aegon and discovering his actual name was Jon.'

"Are you being purposefully obtuse, or do you always give vague answers to every question?"

"Yes." He gave her a disarming, roguish grin.

Desmera could tell such an obnoxious reply was meant to needle her, yet found she wasn't immune to his grin despite her irritation. She looked down, letting her crimson curls veil her face to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks. Annoyed, she felt a growl building up in her throat. She couldn't let him affect her. She had- she had to keep constant vigilance around him!

After seeing everything he was capable of, Desmera was under no illusion he could do as he pleased with few, if any, able to stand in his way. What a disturbing thought.

"Do not toy with me, you buffoon! You somehow defeated an entire ironborn crew and took me to your own ship, surely you have a scheme of your own in regard to me. I demand to know your intentions!" she questioned him, giving him a cold look.

Her attempt to appear stern fell flat on its face, for he just gave her a befuddled look, a reaction she hadn't expected. "My intent- huh, I think we're getting some miscommunication here. I saved your life last night. Nothing else."

What? No, it- it couldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was. He was lying; he had to be!

She gave him a harsh glare. "You expect me to believe that someone who can do… what you can – that he just stumbled upon an ironborn raid and just approached to help out of the goodness of his heart? That you saved me without an ulterior motive? What nonsense!"

The warlock met her glare with a look of mild annoyance. "It's not nonsense, that is pretty much what happened. Do you question the motives of every act of kindness you receive? Unless you're implying I should've let them kill you. Your ship was sinking by the way. I couldn't really save you if I didn't bring you aboard my own."

"It could be a trick. Get me to lower my guard."

"Why would I do that?"

Desmera tried to come up with an answer for that, but her mind was blank. "I- I don't know. What could a warlock want from a high-born lady that is not nefarious in nature?" she tartly fired back.

The magician, Harry, flashed a brief look of disgust. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you've got the wrong idea. I'm not that kind of bloke, if that's what you're thinking."

"So you say."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I get it. What happened last night… I wish you hadn't gone through that, but lashing out won't make things better. I swear, I'm not going to do anything to you." To emphasize his point, he took the stool and sat farther away from her. "Better?"

Desmera was unimpressed. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

"Well… yes?"

"I've seen what you can do, a few paces of distance will hardly make a difference," she said with a scoff.

"That's… true," the magician acknowledged. "Still, I honestly don't know what else you expect me to do then. You either trust me, or you don't."

"Then give me your magic stick and I'll do so, no sooner," Desmera challenged. The boldness of her words belied the fact she was as far as physically possible from him.

The choice, put in front of him all of a sudden, brought him short. He stared at her. He didn't seem angry. Rather, her demand seemed to amuse him more than anything.

Potter chuckled, as if such were a laughing matter. "First, it's not a stick, it's a wand. Second, asking something like that is risky. A wand is a wizard's most valued possession, just so you know. Most would get angry hearing such a demand."

Of course, it went without saying that he, particularly, seemed to find her demand quite funny, yet Desmera couldn't see what was so amusing about it. However, the exchange had served to reveal a nugget of knowledge. Its actual worth remained to be determined.

"Is that what you are, then? A wizard."

He frowned, probably realizing he'd given her valuable information with his slip-up, but he shook his head with wry ruefulness.

"Touché. You're sharp. Yes, I am a wizard. As you've already seen, I can do magic, but if you recall, I saved you last night, and I have no intention of undoing that. You're safe here."

"How can I trust you? Words are wind."

"Well, you really can't, but they do say actions speak louder than words, and I believe mine speak quite loudly," he replied with a shrug. He gave her a crooked smile that held little mirth. "If it's any consolation, it was also carved into me that I must tell no lies."

There was something ominous in those words, Desmera could tell; some hidden meaning that escaped her due to lack of knowledge. Surely he wouldn't be so literal about it! He was deflecting, most likely – yet he had made a point to back away from her, and he'd been respectful.

'Well, mostly, but then again, I just accused him of deceit to his face.'

"Seriously now, I'm just trying to help. You've been through a lot; how are you feeling, Desmera? Or, I guess, Lady Desmera? Is that how I should call you?"

The question brought it all back to the forefront of her mind and she shook her head, trying to keep her eyes from growing wet once more. For a moment, she'd forgotten all about it. She shut her eyes tightly to clear the wetness before it formed into tears. She would not cry in front of him. She would not.

"The others, are they…"

Potter hesitated for a moment. "I'm no healer, but I checked for life signs. There were a few still alive, but… well, their injuries were far too critical for me to do anything. I'm sorry."

Desmera opened her eyes, but averted her gaze from him. She'd hoped… No, she'd known deep down that the Aurora's crew was dead. Trying to believe otherwise had been a fool's errand. 'So many lives lost, gone so quickly…'

"I'd known many of those men for years and years," she said with a tremulous voice, staring down at her hands. "Some were my friends. Now, they're all…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. "None remain – just like that," she said, voice wavering and thickening from the knot in her throat.

The tears wouldn't come. Wrapped up in the grief she felt, she recalled the man she killed last night. She felt disgust and guilt where she should feel pride. The ironborn were dead, yet that thought only made her feel numb. When she looked at her hands, she'd swear they were still covered in blood.

Desmera wanted to laugh.

"It was your first time." It was not a question, but the wizard, Harry, didn't need to clarify his statement either. The grim sympathy in his voice made it plain what he was referring to.

"How can anyone go on after this, like nothing happened? So much death… for what?" she found herself questioning out loud with a thick voice, though she didn't really know whether she was asking the gods or Harry. Only one of them replied.

"Life is often harsh and cruel. People will kill each other for the stupidest of reasons, but some things are worth fighting for. Nothing I say will bring your friends back, but for what's worth, you also saved my life back there… so, thank you."

She sprang from the bed, feeling a burst of anger and loathing, but directed at whom, she couldn't say. "One life compared to a few dozens! How many lives did I take for my stupidity, huh? I told Owen not to worry about the ironborn, but I knew they plagued our waters and did nothing! The Lord of the Arbor is my father, I could have ordered the crew to sail back, pick another route!"

"It's not your fault."

Desmera did not care for the sympathy in his voice. "I'm sure Owen, Captain Shaw and his crew appreciate that – except I don't think they do, because, you know, I'm the reason they're dead!" she hissed, glaring at him.

Harry ran a hand through his messy black hair. "Merlin, was I like this years ago? So this is what it feels like to be on the other side…" he mumbled under his breath before giving her a firm look. "Desmera, did you ask for the ironborn to attack?"

"What- of course not! You think me a fool?!"

"Then stop beating yourself over it. It was the ironborn who decided to attack your ship, you couldn't have known they were there."

"I should have! I grew up around ships, the sea is in my blood! I should've known somehow."

"You think you could've done something to stop that before it happened?"

"I- I don't know! I don't know, okay! I could've fought, done something! Anything…" She trailed off, misty eyes looking away in shame.

He sighed, rising from the stool to look through the windows. "It's very easy to blame ourselves after the fact, if only because it's much easier than having to live with the guilt, the knowledge that there's nothing you could have done to prevent it. What's the point of wondering about the what-could've-beens or the what-ifs if they're already in the past?"

Desmera remained silent. She knew he was just trying to help, but the truth of his words stung and only made her feel guiltier. 'I should've known better.' But she hadn't, and now Owen was dead because of it. They all were. 'Because of me.'

"When I was eleven, I killed one of my teachers," Potter confessed to her all of a sudden. Desmera stared at him with wide eyes, unsure if he was making some sort of tasteless joke, but he continued before she could get a word in edgewise. "Of course, things were more complicated than that – he'd been willingly possessed by an evil wizard. The same wizard that killed my parents and tried to do the same to me when I was just a baby. He failed, obviously. This evil wizard, Voldemort, commanded the professor to kill me, but my touch burned him to ashes, and Voldemort fled."

"Why are you telling me that? You- you don't even know me at all!"

He just shrugged. "I'm trying to prove a point here. Besides, I really don't mind. It's been many years, and I've come to terms with all that happened."

"What point could there be to something like that?!"

"I'm getting to that," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. "A few years later, I participated in a dangerous tournament against other kids, other schools. A… friend and I were the last participants, and we got to the end of the tournament together. But it was a trap; Voldemort had rigged it to get to me. He didn't need my friend, so he had him killed. Just like that. If I hadn't convinced Cedric –that was his name– to end the tournament in a tie, he'd probably be still alive now. You see now? One could argue those deaths are on me."

"But that's ridiculous! If it truly is as you say, then you had nothing to do with those deaths. It was the work of this vile man you speak of!" she exclaimed, but she quickly realized the flaw in her logic when he gave her a pointed look. She shot up from the bed, pacing around the small cabin like a caged animal. "No, this is completely different!"

"How so? Way I see it, you had nothing to do with it. You didn't order the ironborn to do anything. It was their decision to attack your ship and kill the people in it, not yours. How is any of that your fault?"

"No… this is different," she weakly protested. Her chin trembled and she felt a tightness in her chest. "This is… I don't…" The words wouldn't come to her and she hated it. She hated this feeling of helplessness, this pit of unfathomable guilt that grew deeper and deeper the more she sunk into it. "Fuck!" Desmera snarled out loud and she felt better, if only for a moment until the grief came back to her like an oppressive cloak.

She glimpsed the surprise that crossed over his face, but Desmera didn't care. She hid her face behind her hands, a barrier against the harsh cruelty of the real world. The knot in her throat felt tight, constricting, but she ignored it.

'I cannot cry. I will not cry.' She had to conduct herself as befit a Lady of House Redwyne. Death was an all-too common truth in Westeros. She should celebrate the lives of those lost, not mourn their senseless deaths like some ill-struck sap.

Yet it was so much easier said than done.

Desmera vaguely heard him approach, sitting on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry, Desmera," he told her in a soft voice, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Startled by the touch, she shoved his hand away. "Don't touch me!" she yelled hoarsely, jumping from the bed and stepping away. Her eyes were misty with unshed tears, and Desmera was quick to wipe them away furiously.

Harry remained sitting on the bed, a look of regret flashing across his face. "I know what it's like to lose friends. If there's anything I can do to help…"

"I just want to go home," she said with a hoarse voice. She winced, feeling a stab of pain in her head. Holding it, she closed her eyes. She could sense the pulsing headache that had been building up flare in intensity for a moment. Desmera winced again. It had sneaked up on her entirely by surprise, so caught up she was in the downward spiral of her own bleak thoughts.

He nodded. "Of course. I'll set a course there as soon as we can." He then tapped his forehead. "Do you want me to help with that?"

"The headache?" Desmera eyed him with wary apathy, shoulders drooped. "Can you even do anything about it?"

"I could use my magic – if that's okay with you, of course," he politely offered, pulling out the stick she'd seen before.

Being so much closer this time, Desmera could take a good look at it at last. It was a thin piece of carved wood, well-cared for, but clearly weathered and worn; a testament to its age, perhaps. It was largely unadorned – the only exception being the knobs trailing along its length, resembling elderberries.

She looked at it with unmistakable wariness. It was hard to believe such an unassuming object could wreak so much devastation. "I've seen what you did to the ironborn with it. If I say yes… what will you do to me?"

"Just a simple charm to clear the headache, something I've used many times before; magic is more than just destruction. But if you're not comfortable with that, just say so," Harry reassured her.

Desmera considered it. It was a gamble; nothing assured her he'd actually use the charm he was talking about, instead of some other whose purpose she wouldn't know about.

'Does it even matter? He could kill me any moment he wanted. I'd have no real way of stopping him.' She was under no illusion about that.

"Do it," she said with faraway eyes.

Harry rose from the bed and walked up to her. Seeing him raise his wand to point it at her, Desmera fought the sudden urge to slap his hand away. He mumbled something under his breath, too low for her to pick up, and the wand lit up.

Desmera stayed rooted to her spot, even when he brought his weapon closer and gently tapped her forehead with it. Unsure of what to expect, she was shocked to realize her headache was fading with each passing second, clearing up so quickly until it felt as though she'd just imagined it.

She blinked, touching her forehead in wonder, and looked down at the magic stick in his hand. "It's gone…"

"Yup. Really useful for many things, magic."

"To think I'd meet someone who could use magic, I always thought it was little more than myth and hearsay. But to see it cure a simple headache – it makes it feel so… mundane."

"Well, I can't speak for the magic you know about, but mine is very much real and not just about breaking things or killing people. It's a bit more versatile than that, all thanks to my wand," he said, waving it for emphasis.

"Ah."

An awkward silence fell between them. Had it been any other time, she was sure she'd have felt more interested in it, but at that moment, she couldn't muster the will to even be curious. Desmera looked away. She still felt the crushing weight pulling her down, but she tried her best to not let the ground swallow her up.

"Are you hungry? " Harry asked her all of a sudden.

Desmera didn't want to eat. She just wanted to curl up in her bed and cry all her grief out until there was nothing left inside her. Who would mourn Owen and the others, if not her? She wanted her father, her mother, her brothers… But they were not here, and she could not afford the luxury of feeling sorry for herself.

She had to keep a clear head. 'Duty must always come first.'

Instead of presenting a united front, her stomach grumbled its dissent, betraying her with perfect timing. "Something to eat would be good," she lowly admitted after a moment of silence. It would not do to starve to death.

"I'll whip up something for you then. Do you feel up to leave the room? You can rest some more if you wish."

Despite a brief hesitation, Desmera nodded. 'If he wanted to kill or hurt me, he's had plenty of time.'

"I would rather not be alone with my thoughts right now."

"Of course." He led her to the door, but he turned to her before they left the cabin. "I should also mention there's someone else on the ship, a woman. You'll probably meet her now."

"Is she your lover? Another magic user?" she asked. If the first was true, it could go a long way in giving her certain reassurances. He was a man and she, a woman of noble birth, and they were both alone, without a chaperone. She was trying really hard not to think how her parents would take this if they ever got wind of it.

To her surprise, he looked startled for a moment before he laughed out loud. "My lover? God, no! She's just a friend, and no, she's not a magic user. Not quite, at least. It's- ah, it's complicated. You'll see, just don't freak out. What she is… well, I could explain, but it's better if you see it for yourself."

Desmera pinned him with an unimpressed look; that was rather unhelpful in answering her questions. She shook her head. "If you say so." With a nod, he opened the door and ushered her outside, but Desmera didn't get too far before she stopped in shock. "This is- how?!"

She'd expected a narrow space, a tight corridor connecting some of the cabins and leading to the various decks. In short, something appropriate and predictable for a proper ship. What Desmera hadn't expected was to find herself in what looked to be a square-sized hall, sporting a couple of doors on its walls and a pool right in the centre of the floor.

Eyes wide, she turned to Harry. "Just how big is your ship? With this kind of space… it must be massive!"

He shook his head. "It's actually not that big. It must be about… one hundred fifty feet long? More or less, I think."

"Ridiculous, even ships of that size don't have so much space! All of it wasted! Structural integrity, cargo space, crew quarters… it's all missing!"

It'd be impossible for the ship to have this kind of open area inside without compromising a lot on other important aspects of a ship like those. Desmera felt a sudden flare of righteous indignation; whoever built this ship needed to have his shipyard seized as a matter of principle to avoid spawning further abominations such as this one.

There was even space for furniture! A few cabinets and drawers had been set up along the walls, and some tables and chairs had been placed around the room. There was even a soft blue plush couch to the right of the central pool, with pillows and blankets that invited to sit down and relax.

A painting hung from one of the walls, depicting a middle-aged man dressed in fine, if strange clothes, and sporting a pointed beard. He was seated on a high-backed chair, resting his chin upon a propped fist with his eyes closed. From the looks of it, the painter had depicted this man as if he were sleeping.

Desmera felt as if she'd stepped into someone's house, rather than an actual ship.

She was standing in a literal impossibility.

Desmera wished she could slap senseless whoever came up with such an idea for a ship.

"Magic, remember? There's this nifty spell called the Extension charm. As the name implies, it enlarges the inside of an object. So if you use it on a small room or hallway…"

"You can make them bigger," Desmera finished for him, looking over the room in amazement.

Almost every word that came out of his mouth regarding his magic challenged much of what she'd thought to be set in stone. If what he said was true, the implications alone…

'It would change not just the building of seafaring ships, but many other fields! And that's just with that spell alone, imagine everything else he could do!'

It was staggering to think about.

This changed things… quite a lot. Perhaps she'd been hasty in her condemnation.

Curious despite her better judgement, she walked towards the room's most eye-catching feature. 'A pool inside a ship, what a waste. It's the kind of thing that I'd expect from an extravagant Essosi, like a Tyroshi or someone from the Slaver Cities.'

However, when she peered inside, there was no tiled bottom to be seen.

She saw the seabed to her left, formed by sand and rocky outcrops, but it dropped off in the centre and to her right of her vision – an underwater cliff, she realized as they left it behind. The water grew darker and darker until little could be seen beyond a certain point. A school of mackerel swam by as she looked down, and she'd swear she saw a swordfish zip by from the corner of her eyes.

Her mind finally caught up with what her eyes were seeing, and she whirled to give Harry a dumbfounded look.

"This is no pool! How are we not taking water and sinking?!" She marvelled at the fact her voice didn't waver more than just a bit.

He only gave her an amused smile, twirling his wand around his fingers. "Magic."

She harrumphed. "Of course." Turning back to look at the sea, she took a step back when she realized there was something emerging from the dark depths of the sea below them, a shadow that grew larger and larger. "Something's coming!"

"Oh, that must be my friend. I'll introduce you."

'What kind of friend do you have?' she wanted to scream, but there was no time for it when whatever was swimming towards them arrived. Desmera only saw a flash of yellow before Harry's friend –whatever it was– broke through the surface, splashing water everywhere. That, of course, also included Desmera, who hadn't thought to move out of the way in time.

She cursed out loud, trying to get the saltwater from her eyes, until she heard a sound that made her heart skip a beat. It was a laugh, but one unlike anything she'd heard before. It was melodious and beautiful, with a pitch that sounded like bells tinkling softly; it reminded her of warmth and comfort, like the hugs her mother used to give her when she was younger and scared of the dark.

Harry chuckled, breaking her out of her brief daze. "Here, let me." A wave of hot air rushed through her, drying her up.

"Your magic sure is useful," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the water's sting.

"Trust me, you've seen nothing yet," a new voice spoke up. "Hello. You are the landwalker Harry rescued, yes?"

Opening her eyes, Desmera found herself at a loss for words, face to face with what could only be Harry's friend. There, in the middle of the water, was a woman. Her hair, wet and clumped, was the colour of sunshine and of spun gold. It draped over her shoulders and barely covered her nudity; Desmera blushed despite herself, trying to focus on anything that wasn't the fact the woman was apparently of rather loose morals.

Her blonde tresses hid it from view, but Desmera could still make out the generosity of the woman's bust, hinting to an unapologetic sensuality that simply was. Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones and full lips. Desmera found she couldn't quite look away from her. The woman was gorgeous, more than anyone Desmera had seen before. If her cousin Margaery was beautiful, then this woman well surpassed her with her looks.

"I do not mind the staring, lovely thing, but we could continue the introductions?" she said, giving Desmera a teasing smirk.

"Don't lie, you love the staring. How many times have I said-"

"Harry, a woman can enjoy being the centre of attention if they wish to," the woman cut in, chiding him softly with a smile.

Desmera had flushed, realizing she'd been caught staring shamelessly. "I- my apologies! I don't know what came over me!" she exclaimed with deep mortification.

Luckily, the woman just waved her off. "If I were angry, you would know."

"Desmera, this is-"

"I can introduce myself!"

Harry raised his hands, motioning for his friend to go on. Desmera stared oddly at her. She couldn't even begin to guess as to why she remained in the water, instead of climbing onto the ship.

"I am Ligeia, child of the sea. What is your name, landwalker?"

"It's… I am Desmera. Desmera of House Redwyne, daughter of-"

"I do not care for your house or your made-up titles, Desmera Redwyne. Just you." Though Desmera was taken aback, there was no rudeness in the blonde's voice. She was just stating a fact. "Do you know what I am yet?"

"What… you are? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You didn't tell her?" Ligeia asked Harry, who shrugged.

"She went through some serious crap yesterday. I didn't want to overwhelm her more than necessary right out the gate."

Desmera's heart ached at the mention of those people that had died, but she forced it down, trying to focus on the conversation to keep her mind off the jagged hurt in her chest.

Meanwhile, the blonde woman made a disgusted face. "Why would anyone wish to swim through feces?"

"That's not- never mind. Don't worry about it."

"Tell me what? What's going on?!"

Ligeia sighed, skimming a hand over the water around her. "Stupid, but I understand. That can wait." She turned to glance at her. "Look at me, Desmera Redwyne. Come to me."

Her words took on a tilting quality and her voice became the likes of a trilling song all of a sudden. Her voice had been harmonious before, but now, Desmera felt the colour of the sun bathing her skin; the smell of yellow, blue, and pink; the caress of joyful laughter across her back.

Something primal in her stirred. Her feet moved on their own, but there was nothing wrong with that. She didn't fight the impulse. She wanted to go, to come closer and listen to the melodious voice that wrapped her in warmth and love. Desmera found herself unable to look away from Ligeia.

Walking to the edge of the opening, she crouched down, leaning closer to the blonde. Ligeia swam closer to the edge, closing the distance. She enveloped Desmera in a gentle hug, and though surprised, she didn't pull away.

"Hush now, child, and rest. I can feel the grief pouring from you even from deep down," Ligeia told her. "We all know loss here. But you'll never be alone. One day, you will see those you lost once more in the Deep. Let go."

Desmera could feel no falsehoods in her voice. There was only empathy and understanding in it, a genuine offer of comfort from someone who barely knew her. The raw sincerity struck a chord within her, and it was the catalyst of her unravelling. Desmera gritted her teeth to hold strong, but there was no running away from it.

She choked up, feeling a sob escape her lips, and then there was no going back. Everything she'd tried to bottle up from the moment she'd woken up spilled out from her like a summer flood, swift and unpredictable as it swept her away, and tears spilled from her eyes at long last.

She bawled, pouring out all the hurt and sadness she felt in her, twisting and coiling within her. Her shoulders shook with her sobbing, and the tears clouded her eyes, blurring her vision as they fell down her cheeks. Desmera didn't care.

There was a respectful silence from the others; Ligeia only spoke to soothe Desmera, rocking her slightly while the redhead clung to her for dear life, but eventually the tears ran dry and the sobbing lessened.

"Thank you," Desmera hiccuped some time later, after settling down once more. She pulled back a bit from Ligeia. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"No words are needed, Desmera Redwyne. Grief is often a black tide; it rises and falls, but it always takes time to still. Even small comforts can be balms for the soul; cry as much as you need."

Nodding slightly, Desmera took in the woman before her, close as they were now. There had been something to her absolute beauty before, something she hadn't been quite sure of what it was. Now, as she took in every inch of her, Desmera finally saw the truth that had been staring at her in the face, one she'd been too blind to register.

Desmera took note of the vague shimmering of her skin. Smooth and flawless as it was, there was a faint scale-like pattern to it around her shoulders and arms, one that extended to other parts of her body. Ligeia's eyes were the colour of seafoam; elongated and slitted, akin to cat eyes. When she looked past them, Desmera saw her ears tapered into a pointed end.

Eyes widening, she glanced down to Ligeia's hands, holding onto the edge of the opening cut into the ship. They looked delicate yet strong, but they weren't normal hands; there was a pale, bluish pink membrane connecting her fingers.

Stunned, Desmera looked up from them, seeing as Ligeia gave her a grin that showed off pointed, sharpened teeth. "You- you are-" she stammered, unable to finish the sentence.

All the pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.

I'm Ligeia, child of the sea.

What's your name, landwalker?

Grief is like a black tide…

'Of course. How could I not see it before?'

"Worked it out, have you? But yes, look." Something rose from the water next to the blonde, a long fishtail with iridescent green scales that gleamed under the light. It dripped trails of water as it waved back and forth, almost as though it were greeting Desmera.

'She's no woman, not truly. She's of the sea, dangerous and alluring all at once,' she thought. Her grief stepped aside; not forgotten, but taking on a secondary concern, overtaken by the momentary shock of her realization. But she did not scramble back in fear or terror. Instead, she remained on her spot, staring right into pale seafoam eyes.

Staring at something that should not exist.

"You're a mermaid."