I don't want to catch anyone off guard, so I'm putting a notice here. Next week's chapter is the last one. There will be a substantial note at the end.

Anyway, the F/F pairing finally appears.

Enjoy the chapter!

VIII

Desmera woke up with a strangled gasp, staring at the wooden ceiling of a cabin, the same one she'd woken up in earlier. Sitting up on the bed, she clutched her face with a hand, groaning. She could not remember the dreams she'd had, she only recalled a vague sense of restless disquiet.

'Wait….'

"When did I fall asleep?" she muttered to herself, rubbing her lingering sleepiness off her eyes before she noticed something. "My hands, they're…"

Clean. Free of blood.

The thought crossed her mind like lightning. Everything rushed back to her. Desmera could not stop thinking of the bodies of thr ironborn strewn around the islet, broken and devoid of life. She should feel pride and contentment that the deaths of her people had been avenged, but she felt nothing. Perhaps she should have felt horror or disgust instead, but neither of those emotions came to her.

She rose from the bed, looking down at herself. There was no blood on her dress. It looked clean and pristine; better than before she'd put it on, even. Desmera took a tentative whiff, but she only smelt the inviting odor of fresh clothes, despite having not had the chance to change her dress ever since the first attack.

'Did he do something with his magic?' He must have, her clothes weren't even torn anymore.

Sunlight streamed into the cabin through the window. Walking towards it, Desmera gazed upon a new day. "The sun was setting before… has it really been that long since then?"

The others could probably answer that. Moving her head a bit, a reflection appeared over the cabin wall, next to the window, and Desmera stared at it. It was the same thing that had blinded that ironborn, and it followed the movements of her head.

Her eyes widened as the realization sunk in. She raised a hand, and her fingers touched the hairpin her cousin Loras had gifted her months ago. It had been a marvellous gift and she'd rarely gone without it, to the point she'd sometimes forget about it.

To think a mere piece of jewellery was all that kept her from dying in that fight… it was terrifying to think about.

She took it into her palm and looked at it. 'Such a small thing. If I hadn't worn it… I was lucky.'

"No. You can't focus on the things that never happened, Desmera. No good will come from obsessing over them," she reminded herself, rubbing her eyes to get rid of the last remnants of her sleepiness.

She placed the hairpin on the lone desk in the room, but she didn't move from her spot, gazing down at it. Thinking back on their latest clash with the ironborn, Desmera couldn't help but dwell on one particular spell Harry had used. He'd summoned a storm out of nothing with just his magic, and though she was reluctant to consider the implications, she must.

'A storm… just like the ones that have been plaguing our people, our waters, for months on end. Could it be that Harry's responsible for them?'

She hoped not. It would complicate matters overmuch. Harry seemed agreeable for the most part, but her situation was precarious enough without tackling a thorny matter that would surely call for a deft hand at diplomacy.

Desmera hoped that, if it truly had been him, it had been something borne of ignorance, because if not… She clenched her hands, tightening them into fists as she felt a swell of anger sweep over her.

"So many people would've died because of his carelessness," she muttered.

No, she couldn't evade the issue. Her father was charged not just with the rule over his people, but also with their well-being and protection. While Desmera would never rule over the Arbor, she had grown upon its shores as well, sailed over its waters and lived amongst its people.

If something threatened their livelihood, she was duty-bound to inquire about it.

With a deep breath, Desmera finally left the cabin. She had slept long enough, there was no time to laze about.

Stepping into the large hall, she found Harry and Ligeia waiting there in comfortable silence. Ligeia was doing slow laps around the pool while Harry lounged on a couch, reading a book. Desmera's arrival caught their attention.

"Desmera! Good morning, good to see you up and about."

"Harry. What happened? The last thing I remember is the ship leaving the islet and then… I just woke up and it's morning now, apparently."

"You collapsed. The strain of everything must've caught up with you in the end, you've slept through the night," Harry explained, rising from the couch and walking up to her. "How are you feeling?

She frowned, upset about the confirmation of her fainting. "I'm alright, but… I've fainted twice in as many days. You must think me such a weak chit," she said, but Harry shook his head.

"Not at all. So what if you fainted? It just means you're human, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You've gone through a lot in very few days and you need a lot of rest after that."

"Thank you."

He gave her a friendly grin. "No problem. You hungry? You're right on time, I've made breakfast if you want some."

Now that he asked, Desmera realized that she was indeed hungry. Quite a bit, in fact. "Seven above, yes. I feel like I could eat a whole boar by myself!"

Chuckling, he ushered her to the table. "Great, I made a fry-up, hope you'll like it. It's typical where I'm from."

"Desmera Redwyne, I am happy to see you alive and well," Ligeia greeted from the pool, flashing a smile to the redhead. Desmera returned it.

"L-likewise, Ligeia. I'm glad to see you weren't hurt when their ship crashed."

"Never fear, red child; I've ridden the waves during storms since I was a little one. And it will take more than a mere landwalker ship to kill me. In fact, it's you who should be praised – Harry said you held your own very well," the siren revealed, prompting Desmera to turn towards him.

Harry just shrugged. "Just telling it as I see it."

"Don't be fooled by the nonchalance, I can tell he was impressed. But let's talk later, I'm going out for a swim," she said before disappearing beneath the water.

"I'm glad she's okay. If something happened to her…" Desmera trailed off.

Seeing Ligeia safe and well lifted an invisible weight off her shoulders that she hadn't known was there. She'd never have forgiven herself if the people who saved her and took her in had been hurt because of her insistence to attack the ironborn ship.

"Ligeia is a big girl, she can take care of herself… most of the time," Harry said as he put a plate full of food in front of her. "Eat up and don't worry about that, Desmera."

A very inviting smell reached her nose and the food on her plate looked absolutely delicious. There were fried eggs and bacon, baked beans, black sausages and mushrooms and…

"What's this?" she asked, poking with her fork a round, red thing next to the beans.

"Oh? Those are tomatoes, you don't have them here?"

"I've never seen or heard of them! Are they good?"

"Well, why don't you find out?" Harry prompted, amused by the wary look she gave them.

Not one to back down, Desmera stabbed one of these 'tomatoes' with her fork and examined it with a critical eye. She took a tentative bite out of it, only to nod happily at the flavour. "It's good! Really juicy and sweet."

"Glad you like it, eat as much as you want."

"You won't have to tell me twice!"

The breakfast was hearty and all the food was cooked with obvious skill, but after the incredible stew from yesterday, Desmera expected no less and she ate with gusto. Her mother would most likely scold her for eating so much, but she didn't care.

'I'm hungry and mother's not here. What she doesn't know can't hurt her.'

Yet the matter of the storms remained a heavy thought in her mind, and Desmera knew she couldn't endlessly put it off.

"Harry, although I am loath to sour the moment with dark talk while we break our fast, I must do so," she began, eyeing him intently.

Seeing the intensity of her gaze, he quirked an eyebrow, giving her a curious look as he pushed his plate to the side a bit. "You're full of heavy topics, it seems. What is it, Desmera?"

She frowned, unimpressed by his quippy remark. "Do not jest about this, it's a serious matter. You probably know already, having spent so much time out in the sea, but for the past months, we have had storms break out over our waters. They disappear as swiftly as they come, yet they are terrible for all their short-lived duration," she explained.

"And you think we're involved in that. Or rather, I am." It was not a question, and Desmera herself had not even poised it as a thinly-veiled accusation, yet Desmera found herself justifying herself all the same.

"I did the math in my head. While I do not know the exact dates, the storms began to appear around the same time the rumours of the Seafarer began to arrive to Ivyhall. I've seen what your magic can do – you summoned a dreadful storm out of nowhere! Is it not understandable one could think the two linked?"

"Ah. I suppose that makes sense, yes."

"You see now? I don't wish to doubt you after you helped me, but please, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you have nothing to do with those storms," Desmera begged.

She wanted to believe the best of him, that he was a good man as he'd proved so far. Yet, if he was the one responsible for the suffering and hardships her people were weathering, what could she do to stop him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

It was a bitter truth to swallow, yet she could not deny it nonetheless. With his magic, Harry was so far beyond the people of Westeros that there would be no checks to his terrible might if he were ever to be corrupted by his power.

The only weapon she had available to her, should a situation like that arise, were her words.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he admitted with a faint look of awkwardness. "Technically, we are responsible, though it's a rather complicated issue. The storms are happening because of us, yes, but not because we want to."

Desmera frowned, trying her best to quell the fear she felt in her chest. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Ha, well, welcome to the club. See, when the goblins sent us here, they did… something. I have no idea what, but understand, crossing worlds like this it was a theory at best for us. A guess straight from madmen. It had never even been attempted, as it was dismissed as nonsense by most. Yet the goblins must've found a way to do it, to make it work. Could'be been one of the countless relics they plundered, who knows."

"Is there a connection to the storms?"

Harry nodded, tapping the table with his fingers. "Good guess! Yes, there is. Thing is, worlds aren't meant to be ripped apart like cloth. I told you Ligeia and I arrived to the Sunset Sea in the middle of a great storm. Well, that was a result of our arrival, of ripping a hole into the reality of this world to spit something that shouldn't be here. I'm guessing all the other storms in the area are the same. The world is… ah, injured, for lack of a better word, and it's reacting. Violently."

Much of what Harry said went over her head, but she could understand the gist of it. Although she disliked it, Desmera could tell there was little she could do about this problem. Luckily, she had in front of her probably the one person that could set to rights this mess.

"Is there a way you could fix it? Many sailors and families are starting to feel the lack of catch from all the storms."

"It's not that simple. Your world was wounded on a fundamental level. I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Well, you better be, then, because the lives of a good few thousands of people depend on it," Desmera replied with a composure she hardly felt within.

Harry looked taken a back at her swift remark, and he grumbled something under his breath, too low for her to make out, but he still nodded.

"No pressure, huh? Don't worry, I'll take care of it," he promised, and though Desmera could tell he was putting on a mask of easy confidence for her sake, she still appreciated the effort nonetheless.

She smiled. "Thank you. I apologize for burdening so our breakfast."

"Oh, you should've seen some of the breakfasts I had when I was younger. Believe me when I say this was quite tame in comparison!" he replied, waving his hand in a dismissive manner.

Desmera nodded, eager to move one from such an uncomfortable topic. "So, what's in for today for us?" she asked him, pulling the plate of food towards her once more.

Harry shrugged. "Not much, we're just making our way to Vinetown. We should still reach it in a couple of days despite the detours. You can go to the library if you wish and get some books to read, or do whatever you like."

"That sounds fine. You should be careful when we reach my home, however. My father and his men will be suspicious of you."

Harry nodded. "I expect as much. Hopefully, we can convince them to trust me if only just a bit. It'll be strange to interact with an actual noble."

"You've never met one?" Desmera asked with some surprise. "I remember you mentioned your home didn't have nobles anymore, but I didn't think it would be to that extent."

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. Wizardkind doesn't have nobility per se. Muggle nobility is probably the closest to the nobles here, and even that was only true centuries ago. Nowadays, most nobles from my world are like any other citizen, although really, really rich," Harry explained, taking a bite out of a loaf of bread. "You'd have a hard time adjusting to my home, honestly. It's very different from what you're used to."

"Surely it can't be that different."

"Wanna bet? Muggles found a way to fly large metal planes in the air, transporting people and goods across the entire world in a matter of hours or a day at most."

"Oh come on, you should start with something more credible if you're going to lie at all!" Desmera laughed, chewing on a slice of black sausage.

"I'm not lying, though," he replied with obvious amusement. "Both our people learnt to control the sea with ships. Who says it can't be the same with the sky?"

"Allow me to be sceptical, but fine; since you brought them up, let's talk about ships. Your own is made of both metal and wood, how does that even work?"

"Well…"

"Let me guess – magic."

Harry chuckled. "Right in one!"

"Is that why we're not sinking then? It's impossible to strengthen the iron enough to avoid a faulty forging, much less producing enough quantity for something like this!"

"Ah, you misunderstood. I used magic to give the interior the appearance of an old ship. It's just an illusion."

"An… illusion?"

"A very powerful, very well-crafted one, but still an illusion, yes."

"Has anyone ever told you you're the very definition of humble?"

Harry just laughed.

"Anyway, the ship itself, that's actually not magic at all. The Muggles worked that out all on their own. There's an explanation for it, but I honestly don't know it. If you're interested in ships that much, I can also tell you that our ships can also go much, much faster. There was a period in our history where technology grew and advanced rapidly, and Muggles came up with the steam engine."

Desmera frowned, unsure what he meant with that foreign concept. "I assume that is some kind of device?"

"Yes. Using steam pressure, this engine could make ships –any machine, really– much faster, instead of relying on weather or wind. Obviously, I'm simplifying it a lot, but that's the gist of it."

"What?! There is no way steam can be that powerful. Is that true, you're not lying?"

"Absolutely not. This is history for us, something many people around the world learn in school. The Industrial Revolution, a time when Muggles created and invented a lot of new techniques and machines to improve their lives."

If that was true, the potential alone… "And this steam engine, there's no magic involved? It should be possible to learn how to build it?"

"In theory, yes. Again, maybe the library has something on it –same for how metal ships float–, but I wouldn't know. To be honest, I know next to nothing about ships. I'm the wrong guy to ask for that."

"I see." Desmera couldn't deny the slight disappointment she felt over that.

Going by Harry's word, seafaring had to be a completely different affair for them. She could only imagine what kind of marvels they used to cross the oceans. This steam engine… it would revolutionize sea travel for Westeros, Desmera was sure of it. If they could learn to make them, the superiority of the Redwyne fleet would be unquestioned for a long time to come.

'A topic to revisit later on, no doubt.' She'd need to give the library a more careful look, just in case.

"The more I hear about your world, the more bizarre and stranger it sounds," she mentioned. "Though I suppose it could only feel normal to you. You must miss it a lot."

He nodded, a concerned look on his face. "I've all my friends and what little family I've got left there. Same goes for Ligeia. The sooner we get back home, the better."

"I don't doubt you'll be able to find the way to get there. I'm sure your wife will be overjoyed to see you return."

"My… wife?" he repeated with a confused look, much to her surprise.

"The woman in that moving picture inside the drawer, the one that fits in the palm of your hand? The one with blonde hair and scars. Isn't she your wife? I must apologize for that by the way, I didn't realize you had such personal belongings stored there."

Something must have dawned on Harry, because he let out an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, you mean Lavender! Ah, no, we're not married. Maybe in the future, but we haven't talked about it yet. It's too soon."

"You aren't- but you're not… I'm sorry, I suppose I just assumed you were married." At their age, most men and women were already married off and with children in Westeros.

"We don't really do arranged marriages like we used to anymore. Some do marry young, and some marry much later. There's no real one-answer-fits-all, to be honest," Harry said with a shrug.

"I see. Would you tell me about her, if that is okay with you?"

She was admittedly curious more than a bit curious to learn about the woman that had managed to capture Harry's attention.

As it turned out, Harry was all too eager to talk about his "girlfriend", as he called her –Desmera doubted she'd ever get used to Harry's more outlandish concepts and words–, and anyone with two eyes could see the affection and love in his words when talking about Lavender.

Surprisingly, their relationship had a rather mundane start. Perhaps naively, Desmera had expected a tale full of magic, both Harry and Lavender fighting against a great evil together. Instead, they met in the same school they attended and hardly interacted until their sixth year of schooling, when they were both ten-and-six.

Apparently, schools were like huge buildings filled with maesters dedicated to teaching hundreds of children subjects like the numbers and the many ways the world worked. Perhaps more shocking was the fact these schools and its maesters –called professors– made no distinction of sex. Man or woman, all were taught equally and without fear of reprisal.

'Such queer ways, his people have. I very much doubt the maesters would appreciate such fact.'

"Even after sixth year, we had little contact and then the war happened," Harry explained further. "Afterwards, I left England to travel the world. It wasn't until I returned years later that we actually reconnected. Things took off from there, I guess. Here, look at this."

Pushing his plate aside, Harry pulled out an odd folded piece of dark leather that he opened. Then, he pulled out a folded-up piece of parchment. Waving at it with his wand, it enlarged. He passed it to Desmera, who realized it was another of those small moving pictures.

This one depicted the same woman as before, Lavender, standing in a meadow surrounded by trees and crossed by a bountiful river. She danced in front of it, amidst the flowers of the meadow, and their vibrant colours matched the bliss of her smile. It was raining in the picture and Lavender stumbled once, but it didn't seem to deter her as she kept dancing, laughing and smiling even as the soaked dress clung to her body. The scars of her face seemed to blend together and disappear, fading away under the strength of her joy and happiness.

Then the image shifted, and it reset back to the beginning.

"She looks very happy," Desmera offered with a smile, returning the picture to Harry.

"Yes. I took that picture myself, you know. Lavender was always a happy girl, but that changed with the war and her injuries. Getting her to smile and live again… I'll never forget that day." He had a fond smile on his face as he stared down at the small keepsake in his hands.

The longing in his voice was unmistakable.

"You miss her."

Harry nodded. "Yeah… I've been gone for months now. We need to return as soon as possible."

'That's clearly proving difficult, however.'

If what Herryk had said so long ago was true, the first reports of the Seafarer's existence appeared several months ago. That meant he and Ligeia had been out at sea for quite a while already. She could only imagine the anguish and concern that Lavender and Harry's other loved ones had to be feeling with no clue of his whereabouts.

Yet, she could not think of anything she could do to help. After all, she thought magic was just the stuff of rumours and hearsay until just mere days ago. How would she be of help to someone who had lived with magic all his life?

"I hope you manage to find the way back, then," Desmera said, biting into the last of her tomatoes.

Harry agreed with a firm nod. "We will. Nothing will stop me from finding a way back home."

Some time later, after finishing breakfast and parting ways, Desmera climbed the stairs leading out to the deck. The wind softly fluttered the crimson locks of her hair and she could hear the waves parting as they crossed the sea.

She stepped closer to the back of the ship, where she'd taken note of its peculiar design the other day. With part of the railing cut away to make room for a ladder at the edge, there was no ship she could recall ever seeing to possess such a thing. Desmera had to wonder if this design would truly be as useful as she'd considered.

Something that wasn't there beofe the couple of odd chairs set up on the deck – the base frame resembled that of a chair, but they extended outwards so that one could lay up on them. They looked like a bizarre cross between a chair and a bed.

Curious, Desmera sat on one and laid up on it. "Huh. This is snug!" she mused, raising a hand to shield herself from the sun. Yet, now that she thought about it, there was only a mild, pleasant sensation of warmth, despite the fact the heat should be to a near uncomfortable level at this time of day out in the sea. "More of Harry's catch-all magic, no doubt."

Rising from the odd chair, Desmera approached the deck's edge. The salt in the air was a comforting smell after the harrowing experiences she'd endured, it brought to mind the many outings she'd taken with her brothers and father out to the sea and to the Vinerush.

Smiling, she looked down. The waves parted behind them and the low sound of rumbling water filled her ears. The sea was calm and the water clear – they were almost inviting her to take a dip in the water.

Desmera blinked. A shadow appeared in the depths below her, swimming upwards to the surface. For a split second she felt fear, wondering if it was the Drowned God coming to snatch her and pull her to the depths of the sea, but she quickly banished such a ridiculous idea.

In no time, the figure sharpened into focus, revealing Ligeia as she swam closer to the surface. Thankfully, she broke through the water gently this time, barely making a ripple around her as her head rose above the surface.

"Desmera Redwyne, I see you finally came out," she greeted warmly.

Desmera nodded. "I'd rather not stay cooped up for too long after everything's that happened."

"I know that too well," Ligeia agreed. "Why waste this perfect day inside the bowels of this metal fish when you can enjoy the freedom of the sea?"

Desmera nodded, yet she could see the pondering look Ligeia was giving her.

"What is it?"

"I wanted to ask this yesterday, but you fell before I returned. You heard my song, yes? What did you think of it, red child? Was it pleasant?" the siren asked. Though she swam to keep pace with the ship, she did it so effortlessly that it was as though she hardly moved at all.

Inching closer, Desmera peered into seafoam eyes. She could not find it within her to deny Ligeia an answer. "It was… the most beautiful song I've ever heard, worthy of the Maiden alone. Not even the greatest bards Westeros has seen could match it!"

Ligeia offered her a brilliant smile; to Desmera, it only made her look even more beautiful than she already was. "I am glad. My sisters and I pride ourselves in our voices. We can drive men to the edge of ecstasy or despair with just a few notes. Harry told me he protected you with his magic, but one day you should let me sing for you. You will enjoy it, I am sure of it."

Desmera didn't know what to say to that. She'd seen the effects her song could have on men, and she had no desire to turn into a bumbling woman, making a fool of herself. Yet Ligeia's singing was lovely, and the mere memory of it –little more than an inferior facsimile of the real thing– was enough for her to avoid refusing outright.

"Perhaps."

It was no true promise, but that didn't seem to matter to Ligeia. She beamed at Desmera again, sending her stomach fluttering. She tried to say something, but found her wit failed her in a critical moment. No words came to her.

"Back away a bit, please? I want to come aboard."

"Ah- of course!"

With quick movements, Ligeia slipped out of the water, grabbing at the ladder and climbing onto the ship. Dripping water from her entire body, she sprawled herself across the deck, having no shame in showing her nudity.

Flushing brightly, Desmera tried to avert her eyes from it. Just like before, Ligeia felt no need to cover herself, as she'd said yesterday. Though it would have scandalized her mother, Desmera's curiosity proved to be too much to contain, and she couldn't help but glance surreptitiously at her chest. Perhaps it was the mere fact Ligeia didn't seem to be in a rush to cover herself that seemed to have an invisible pull on Desmera's attention.

"Enjoying your inspection?" The question startled Desmera out of her thoughts and she froze, mortified to the core that Ligeia had caught her staring at her chest like some wanton harlot.

"Ligeia, I'm-" Her panic and shame must've been plain on her face, because the mirth on Ligeia's face disappeared, replaced by a sympathetic look.

The blonde shushed Desmera, moving closer to her once more until she could cup her face with her hands. Her fingers felt different on her flesh, perhaps a result of the tiny scales that formed her skin. "You apologize too much, red child. There's nothing wrong with admiring the body of another. You think I would allow you to look if I cared?"

"I- no, but- we're not so… free with our bodies," Desmera stammered at last, unable to look away from the siren's pale eyes.

"Harry has told me as much. Your people seem even more different from mine than his. Does it bother you? I could ask him to give me something."

The question was genuine and Desmera could not find any kind of falsehood or double entendre in her words, yet her mouth selfishly betrayed her before she could process the question.

"No, that- won't be necessary." They were so close. The smell of the sea was so much stronger now, with Ligeia hovering but mere inches from her. 'What would her lips taste like?' she found herself wondering out of the blue, eyeing them. "Your people… they don't mind going without clothes?" she asked thickly, trying to think of anything that didn't involve kissing the woman in front of her.

'What are you doing, fool? Step away from this folly.'

Ligeia laughed. She did that a lot, Desmera noted to herself. Ligeia laughed freely and often, but it wasn't bothersome at all – quite the contrary. Desmera doubted she'd ever tire of hearing it.

"Of course not. We live at sea, there's no need for clothes such as what you wear. Our people don't mind the way our bodies look like you do… but we too can appreciate the beauty in others," she added, staring right through Desmera with a burning look.

'Her eyes,' she vaguely thought. 'They're dark now.' The seafoam had given way to the darkness of the depths, as though Desmera had descended from shallow waters into the abyss that was the deepest part of Ligeia.

But that mattered little when Ligeia edged closer yet and took the plunge. With nary a word, she closed the distance and brought their lips together.

Desmera's eyes widened. She felt the water clinging to Ligeia's body soak her clothes, nothing more than a fleeting thought. Everything else felt meaningless when compared to the woman kissing her in that instant. The kiss electrified every single part of her body and Desmera felt energized all of a sudden. Strong arms wrapped around her, bringing the two of them so very close.

The heat she felt within her was like the core of a forge, burning white-hot with molten desire. There were no words exchanged. Desmera felt dizzy and light-headed. She didn't know what to do and could only try to match the movements of Ligeia's lips, caressing her back with clumsy hands.

When they broke apart, neither of them spoke until Desmera dared break the silence. "You- you kissed me." There was no anger in her voice, but rather shock that such a thing happened at all.

"Yes. Did you not enjoy it?"

"It was my first time kissing a woman," Desmera admitted, but it was hard to focus when Ligeia kept her close to her, with one arm around her waist.

A part of her wanted to break away from the siren's hold, to take a deep breath and clear her head, but another wanted to lose herself into Ligeia's intoxicating presence. To kiss her again and again until the whole world became a matter of only two people, until there were only their lips and their eyes as they met.

"Was it better than kissing a male?" Ligeia asked.

The words left her mouth –traitorous thing it was— before she could stop them.

"A man? It was– different." It was the first time she'd admitted to anyone she'd once kissed someone before, a boy. Her father thought her pure as the northern snow Herryk had once told her about.

"If you enjoyed it, then it's okay," the siren declared, as if that resolved the entire situation. If only things could be so simple… "Then make them simple," the siren replied, and Desmera realized she'd spoken out loud.

"It's not that easy," she protested, pulling away from Ligeia.

"Is it not? There's much I don't know about you landwalkers, and I've not known Harry for long either. But one thing I know about you is you lie to yourselves all the time. It can be easy – it just matters if you wish to make it so or not," Ligeia told her, holding her hands with a gentle clasp. "The heart shouldn't be caged, red child."

Desmera ignored her words. "Why did you kiss me?"

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She had to know, needed to know – did it mean something, anything at all? It all had been so sudden. What did Ligeia expect to come out of it?

The siren hummed, and Desmera gasped when Ligeia took her into her deceptively strong arms. "Trust me and take a deep breath," she said.

"What-"

Desmera's gasp turned into a startled shriek when Ligeia jumped out of the ship, taking the both of them under the water. The sea engulfed them with a roar and the sudden shock of it sent Desmera reeling. She instinctively closed her eyes, holding her breath as the waves rushed around her.

For a split second, she panicked. The dress she wore drank in the water around them and clung to her body, growing heavy and unwieldy. It pulled her down, trying to bring her to the depths of the abyss.

Yet she sank not.

Ligeia held her steady with strong arms, and Desmera felt soft skin and slippery scales pressing around her. Soft lips caressed her own once more, and Desmera opened her eyes. The saltwater stung, but living in the Arbor, she'd grown accustomed to such a sensation long ago.

Ligeia's eyes were closed and her hair, which had come undone from its ponytail at some point, appeared like a golden veil framing her face. It mixed with Desmera's own floating hair; red and gold joined together into a tapestry of colour, surrounded by the blue of the Sunset Sea.

Ligeia lazily opened her eyes and offered her a small smile before she kissed her again, holding her by the waist.

'She's kissing me,' was the only thing Desmera could think about. Yet, she did not drown underwater. Somehow, she felt air entering her lungs, and it took her a moment to realize Ligeia was breathing life into her through the kiss.

Desmera was not afraid. The sun pierced the surface with bolts of light, illuminating the water around them. This was Ligeia's domain and Desmera felt only safety and exhilaration in her arms as they kissed. Acting on instinct, Desmera pressed herself against Ligeia, appreciating the contours of her body.

Then, the kiss ended. Ligeia pulled back, just a bit to give her some space and they remained like that for a moment, floating underneath the waves as Ligeia held them up. Gazing at her, it truly clicked for Desmera at long last why mermaids had been oft praised for their unearthly beauty.

If Ligeia had been beautiful before, under the surface she truly took on the countenance of a being of legend.

Her fishtail shimmered a thousand colours and one under the sunlight streaming through the surface. Desmera saw her whole, with her tail extended, and the sinuous curves of her body, half-fish, half-woman, gave her a graceful yet otherworldly look.

In her arms, Desmera could not look away from Ligeia and despite the fact the waves tried to pull them away, there was no stronger motion than the powerful beating of her heart.

Ligeia laughed, swimming around her and hugging her, but before Desmera could react she brought them to the surface, letting her take a much-needed deep breath.

"You- you- why did you do that?!" Desmea sputtered, trying to wipe away the water falling down her face.

"I told you to take a deep breath, didn't I?"

"I meant the kiss!"

"I just wanted to kiss you," Ligeia replied as if that explained everything. "Harry told me kissing is much more important or intimate for you, but for us, it's a sign of closeness and friendship. Love is also important, of course," Ligeia said. "I wanted to show my- hm, I do not know the English word for it. You are interesting to me, Desmera Redwyne. I want you to know that."

"You cannot just kiss somebody because they're interesting to you!" Desmera exclaimed.

"Did I do wrong? I do not want you to be angry with me, Desmera," Ligeia said, offering her an apologetic look.

The words gave Desmera the strangest urge to laugh out loud. Their roles had all but reversed and this time, it was Ligeia's turn to apologize.

"You can't just kiss people like that. What a kiss means for us… it takes time to develop that. You've known me for a handful of days." Desmera retorted with a shake of her head, though it was far more candid and level-headed than it would have been without Ligeia's admission.

Her words left Ligeia thinking, and Desmera was content to watch her, held in her arms.

"Then… well, this is unusual for me, but… if you accept… would you let me know you better? I'd like to sing with you one day," Ligeia professed, staring right into Desmera's eyes.

The implied promise held within those words was enough for Desmera's anger to all but melt. Seeing Ligeia being so earnest and apologetic, she couldn't stay mad at her even if she wanted.

"I would like that, yes. I also wish to know you better," Desmera replied, earning a smile of happiness from the siren.

"Then, if you have questions…" Ligeia prompted, pulling a wet crimson lock away from Desmera's face. The gesture was so intimate that Desmera felt a flush even though they were in the water.

She glanced back, seeing that they were somehow keeping up with Harry's boat thanks to Ligeia.

"Your voice, the song you can make – do all sirens have it?" she asked, stealing a huffed laugh from the siren. Desmera was caught off guard when Ligeia buried her face in the crook of her neck. She shuddered, but despite her earlier words, she couldn't find it within her to pull her away. It felt… nice, and there was no one to see what they were doing.

"Yes, all of us can weave such magic in our voices. There are myths back home of sirens luring unwary sailors to their doom with our voice and our looks."

"And were they true? Did they deserve it?"

"These are more true than most myths, yes," Ligeia admitted, pulling back. She didn't sound particularly remorseful. "In ages past, sailors often tried to hunt us for our bodies, our tails, and our voices. Our song was once a gift of the gods, but it became a weapon. Many relished the change."

"Oh." For a moment, there was silence between them, so Ligeia took the chance to bring them back to the ship.

Desmera let herself be carried on her arms as the siren expertly pulled them out of the water and laid her back on the ship's deck. Ligeia gave Desmera an intense stare.

"I really want to kiss you again," she said. Though Desmera wasn't used to such bluntness, she had to appreciate the fact Ligeia was mindful of what she'd said before, because she made no move to act on her words.

'Yet I can't judge her. My own actions would make a hypocrite out of me if I tried, given all that's happened already,' Desmera thought, chagrined. Soaked to the bone and still in her wet clothes, she ran a hand through her wet hair. "This will be a nightmare to dry out," she muttered.

"Harry can fix that, but we can wait a bit."

"Why?"

"I like the way you look like right now," Ligeia stated with no hint of shame or embarrassment.

Flushing, Desmera looked down at herself, realizing the wet dress clung to the curves of her body, leaving little to the imagination. Instinctively, she whipped her head to look behind her, yet she could not see Harry outside. It seemed he'd stayed inside.

Relieved, she turned back to fire a regard Ligeia with a frown that had no real bite. "You are incorrigible. My parents would fly into a rage if they could hear you speak this way to me."

"But they are not here. Are your parents masters of your own thoughts and desires, red child?"

"No, they are not," Desmera admitted, perhaps more to herself than to Ligeia. She couldn't deny that she liked the way Ligeia looked at her. She liked it very much.

"You've enjoyed looking at my body plenty. What is it, that human expression? Turnabout is fair play."

Though she'd never heard of such a saying, Desmera understood its core meaning. "Oh? And what else do you like about me?" she dared ask.

"I enjoy kissing you," Ligeia said with a grin. The redhead couldn't find it within her to argue that point. Ligeia did give excellent kisses.

Clearing her throat, Desmera decided to ask something else. "Your voice… there have been reports of some sailors saying they heard the mermaid's song out in the sea these last months. Was that you?"

"Yes. I often used it to hunt down the pirates, just like yesterday. Harry worries about it too much; I feel no guilt about it. They are vile men; better for them to be feeding the fishes."

Harsh, but Desmera didn't disagree with her. It was a grim topic, however, so she hurried to bring the conversation to a different matter. "Do you not have problems of people finding where you live?"

"Not at all. We can protect ourselves, but my home is hidden from the Muggles and surrounded by fish and other creatures we raise. Like the Hippocampuses – half horse, half fish breeds," Ligeia explained.

"Horse fish hybrids? How are they not dying under the water?!" Desmera exclaimed, trying to wring the water from her hair.

"Magic."

"Oh, of course! I should've expected that…" Desmera deadpanned.

Ligeia chuckled. "No need to be sarcastic, they are a magical race. But beyond that, we also race in the currents, swimming and playing with dolphins and whales."

"Well… that does sound lovely."

"It is! There's nothing quite like it. It's very different from how landwalkers like Harry live."

"How so?"

"Well, we don't have stairs for one, for obvious reasons. And writing is another big example! Doing that underwater is very hard, and we don't like to ask wizards for help, so my kind has what we call loreweavers. Using our voices, we craft the history and legends of our people into songs, so that the knowledge will never disappear. Every full moon, we gather under the moonlight to listen to them sing to the heavens and to the sea, telling the world we remain still," Ligeia said, pride shining in her voice before it faded into a melancholic sigh. "I miss it."

There was no hiding the wistfulness in Ligeia's voice. Perhaps spurred by the genuine sadness only she was privy to, Desmera felt compelled to empathize with her. "I miss my home too. I hope you'll be able to be back soon. Everyone should always be able to go back home – even if they're far, far away like you two."

"With some luck, Harry and I will find the point of arrival soon. But not too soon. I wouldn't wish to depart your company this soon," Ligeia whispered into her ear, and her voice turned into the fading notes of divine music, wrapping lovingly around Desmera. She all but melted, leaning into Ligeia. When the siren wordlessly took her into her arms, she wished she could spend the rest of eternity in them.

"How do you do this to me?" she muttered under her breath, but Ligeia said nothing. "You- I- we shouldn't. I'm the daughter of Lord Redwyne. There is to be a betrothal…" The protest sounded laughably weak even to her ears, because she made no effort to pull away. She knew she should put a stop to this –whatever this was– but she was comfortable in Ligeia's arms, safe and happy.

"What is a be- betrothal? Betrothal. Betrothal. Such a strange word."

"It's- it's a pact between families. A son of one noble house is promised to the daughter of another house, to marry after a time and unite both houses. Not for love, but for alliances; it's politics. Women– we rarely have a say."

"Not even you?"

"No," Desmera said, shaking her head. A sudden surge of anger broke through the cocoon of happiness and warmth Ligeia had created around them. "My parents said they'd try to let me choose, but they lied. The prospects my father was considering… I hate them! They're all dull, insipid boys or cravens without an ounce of backbone to them. Or old! I don't want to be three-and-twenty trying to birth a child for a man of sixty years with one foot in the grave!"

The more she thought about it, the angrier she grew. She could understand why her father was so insistent on a betrothal with a powerful house, but all the options he'd been contemplating were infuriating. She'd be nothing more than a broodmare to give sons to her dullard of a husband.

Unfortunately, her mother proved to be of no help in that regard. She had told her in no uncertain terms to grow up and stop entertaining fanciful ideas of love. Her parents hadn't loved each other when they married, either. Just like they had, she could build something lasting and genuine with her future husband, mother had told her.

But she didn't want that husband to be picked for her. It was someone who would spend many years by her side; why shouldn't she have a say in whom it'd be? She didn't hate the idea of marriage, of advancing her family's status. She knew very well that was an unavoidable part of a noblewoman's lot in this life of theirs. Desmera just hated that she was the last person whose thoughts were considered in a matter that involved her directly.

"You hate it," Ligeia noted, before she raised a hand to curl through Desmera's crimson locks. The motion calmed her somewhat, and she let herself be embraced by the woman of the sea. "Most people don't like being told what to do. Merfolk and humans aren't much different in that aspect."

"It's how it's always been."

"Maybe. But is it how you would like it to be?"

It was a simple question, yet the world was anything but simple. Desmera realized what Ligeia was trying to make her understand. If she stripped everything else away and only considered what she wanted… then no. Desmera didn't want it to be like this.

"I can't do anything about it, though," she said after a moment of consideration.

"You won't know until you try it, don't you? If you truly don't want to have this… betrothal, let your voice be heard," Ligeia told her.

Desmera huffed. "You make it all sound so simple. Easy for you to say, who's never known our way of life. My voice is not magical like yours."

"Simple, yes. Easy? Not so much. But only you can decide to stand against this or let it sweep you along."

There was truth to her words, Desmera realized. 'Perhaps it's just as she says. Simple, huh? I suppose I can do that.'

"You've given me a lot to think about, Ligeia. Thank you."

"I do not like to see a woman full of life wilt with unhappiness. Now, enough of such dark thoughts! Will you enjoy the day with me?" Ligeia asked.

"I would like that very much."

Ligeia trilled with happiness and Desmera found herself laughing along, grinning widely.

Desmera saw at the edge of her vision how one of Ligeia's webbed hands rested on the floor of the ship's deck. Feeling bold, she reached out and caressed her arm, tracing the scale-like pattern down to her hand, which she took into her own and linked them together, joining human and siren as one as Ligeia began to hum pleasantly.

Neither of them spoke further as they laid down to enjoy the morning sun together, serenaded by Ligeia's humming.

Perhaps she was making a huge mistake, but if so, she'd make it happily.