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Chapter Text

“Enjolras, when I tell you this is a bad idea, I mean it.”

Enjolras scoffs, “Just remind everyone else to put wax in their ears.”

Combeferre shoots her an exasperated expression and asks, “And you?”

“I’ll be fine, and I’m curious what exactly their songs sound like,” she replies, looking back down into the murky depths. “The Thénardiers said that a siren will bring us to the treasure we seek.”

“A siren will entice you to jump to your death,” Combeferre warns, but Enjolras pays her no heed.

“Don’t worry. Pleasures of the flesh do not entice me.”

“That's not actually how sirens work, Enjolras.”

Enjolras grins, “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Have a little more faith in me, won’t you?”

That’s the end of that conversation. The other crew members dutifully stuff their ears with beeswax as Enjolras guides the ship through the dark waters. The only sounds are the waves crashing against the hull, everything else is eerily silent.

Enjolras feels a shiver run down her spine at the first gentle touch of a siren’s voice to her ears. It is sweet, clear, and the most hauntingly beautiful thing she has ever heard. Her hands go slack on the wheel. She has to follow it. Walking to the front of the ship, she barely feels her friends grab at her arms and brushes them off. Combeferre or Courfeyrac might have called out her name once or twice, but she doesn’t listen. Bahorel reaches for her waist, but even such a strong woman cannot hold her back. Nothing is as important as the siren waiting for her.

The water closes over Enjolras’s head, and her breath gets caught in her throat. Nothing could have prepared her for such beauty. A cloud of dark hair billowing about her head contrasts with glowing white skin that merges seamlessly into a scaly tail.

Enjolras is enchanted.

The siren’s blue eyes go wide, and that is the last thing Enjolras sees before she lets the darkness wash over her.

Suddenly, the cold seeps back into Enjolras’s skin, and the spell is broken. Almost completely unconscious, she can only cling loosely to the siren, who propels them up to the surface. She’s not sure if sirens are supposed to do that instead of dragging her in the opposite direction. Combeferre’s face makes a reappearance, and she gestures to the rope attached to the anchor. The siren grabs onto it with one hand and pulls Enjolras close.

The crew can only watch in fearful awe as the siren, curled up on deck with their captain’s head held tenderly in her lap gently caresses her cheeks with pale hands. She looks at Enjolras’s closed eyes, longing for them to be vibrant again, so she carefully tips her head back and breathes life back into her lungs with the firm press of lips against hers.

After a few moments, Enjolras coughs up a bit of water and struggles to get up while Combeferre thumps at her back. She smiles gratefully at her first mate and carefully ignores the wet clothing sticking uncomfortably to her body. There is still the elephant in the room or, in this case, the siren on deck to address. Thankfully, she hasn’t attempted to jump back into the ocean and is now looking at them all with wary but curious eyes.

Enjolras asks, “What do they call you, if you’re able to understand and speak our language?”

The siren tilts her head as if gauging whether or not to trust them before replying in the same melodious voice that almost lured Enjolras to her death, “My name is Grantaire, but my friends and sister call me R.”

“Okay, R, I have to ask, what prompted you to, er, rescue me as opposed to drowning me?”

Grantaire shrugs delicate shoulders and replies, “I don’t know. Just instinct, I suppose.”

Enjolras nods, “That’s fair. And your friends? Will they worry about you?”

“They know I have a wild soul that yearns for adventure. So far, none of you have tried to hurt me even though I nearly drowned you, whom I assume to be their captain, so I think I should be fine. If worst comes to worst, I’ll just get myself out of here.”

“Very well then. Everyone, do we keep the siren aboard?”

There are some skeptical grumbles, but they eventually end up deciding unanimously that she would make an interesting addition to their little crew. Besides, she might bring them to an advantage in finding the treasure they seek.

“Welcome to Les Amis de l'ABC and aboard the Musain,” Enjolras announces and pauses for a moment. “Do you need a tub of water?”

Grantaire blinks at her before dissolving into a pile of giggles. Her tail shifts from its dark metallic green to a pair of slim legs while the scales covering her breasts melt into flawless skin. Every member of the crew except their captain immediately averts their eyes from her nude form all stretched out in the middle of a puddle of water. Grantaire’s face falls. What is the point of having the gifts of a siren if nobody wants to look at her? Enjolras, also careful not to let her eyes wander south, holds out a hand and suddenly finds herself with an armful of naked siren. Who also happens to be beautiful. She suddenly wishes she took Combeferre’s advice.

“Oh!” Grantaire exclaims. “I must be more out of practice than I thought. I don’t usually interact with humans, you see.”

Enjolras holds onto her tightly and says, “We need to set some ground… ship… rules. Firstly, don’t try to seduce any of my crew. Secondly, you’re not a hostage, so you’re welcome to roam around the ship as long as you don’t disrupt any business. If you help, we'd all appreciate it, but that's not what you're here for, is it? Lastly, we’re all equal on this ship, so I am only captain on treaties and ‘Wanted’ posters.”

Courfeyrac shouts, “And you get a cool hat!”

“I guess I do,” Enjolras muses, thinking about how she seldom wears it unless the weather is ridiculously sunny and keeps the pirate heirloom hidden away in her room. “Anyway, are these rules reasonable?”

Grantaire agrees graciously, giving her a charming smile.

“One more thing. You can’t just wander around naked,” she adds, and the siren sighs dramatically.

“Oh, alright.”

Enjolras gives pointed looks to everyone, especially those who had initially been wary of their new addition, and marches into her quarters with an arm wrapped firmly around Grantaire’s waist should she stumble. Not once does the siren try to cover herself, flaunting her body shamelessly. Enjolras tosses her a spare set of clothing before telling her to turn away while she changes out of her own soaked clothes, wrinkling her nose when her boots squelch as she removes them in favor of putting on a dry pair.

When Enjolras turns back around, she is disappointed to see that Grantaire had only put on the shirt. Really, seeing the siren in her clothes is not much better than seeing her wearing none at all. Because she is shorter than Enjolras in her human form, the hem reaches down to mid-thigh while the sleeves extend past her fingertips. The pants and boots lay untouched next to the bed.

“Do you need help with them?” she asks.

Grantaire shakes her head, “I wouldn’t be able to shift back while restricted in those… things, and any type of footwear and I typically don’t agree for the same reasons.”

She wiggles her toes as if to prove a point, and Enjolras shrugs, “If you’re sure.”

As it turns out, giving Grantaire her shirt is probably just as bad as not giving her any clothing at all. It covers all the necessary parts but leaves so much skin exposed, causing Enjolras to rethink her bold claims from earlier more than once. She has to remind herself that sirens, although different than humans, still deserve to be treated with more respect than she is mentally giving Grantaire. They were not and will never be objects or lesser beings.

Still, she admires the way her own white shirt flutters gently in the breeze with Grantaire clad in it. She seems to have decided that leaning against the railing is the best way to pass the time, closing her eyes against the ocean’s spray and tilting her face toward the setting sun. Her hair, now dry, blows away from her face in dark curls. Enjolras cannot look away. She doesn’t even try.

As afternoon turns to evening, the Musain starts bustling with activity. Nobody had dared approach Grantaire for fear of becoming a victim to her undeniable charm, and she, in return, had given everyone she crossed paths with a wide berth. All except Enjolras, whom she clings to as if she offers the best protection from strangers as well as support for clumsy legs. This is all ridiculous because Grantaire has proven to be the most dangerous of anyone on the ship, yet she seems to be the most afraid.

Enjolras sincerely hopes that none of her friends and crewmates assume that she is still under the siren’s spell with how she interacts with her so freely. The first new development occurs when she notices Grantaire picking at her meal in the corner and almost gets up from her spot between Combeferre and Courfeyrac to keep her company instead. Courfeyrac gives her a questioning glance, but she shakes her head. Instead, she watches Joly, their surgeon and likely the least intimidating of them all, plop down next to Grantaire.

Grantaire’s face immediately becomes surprised when she notices her new company, but Enjolras notices how her shoulders relax after Joly smiles at her. The grin Joly receives in return lights up eyes as blue as the ocean and does things to Enjolras’s poor heart. Combeferre clears her throat pointedly, and Enjolras snaps her head back to her plate.

“So, someone seems to have caught your attention,” Combeferre teases, nudging her friend with her elbow.

Enjolras doesn’t really want to acknowledge that, so she plays dumb and replies, “Who?”

Okay, maybe not that dumb.

Courfeyrac falls over into Enjolras’s lap like the drama democratically elected sovereign she is and sighs, “Oh, poor Enj. ‘Pleasures of the flesh do not entice me,’ she says, or so she thought. This is about to become really interesting.”

“I can appreciate beauty without wanting to fuck, y’know. And R happens to be… very much so… fuck,” Enjolras groans and buries her face in her hands. “Pinch me to make sure I’m not still actually unconscious and falling victim to a siren.”

Combeferre rolls her eyes, but pinches her anyway, commenting in a deadpan, “Well, you might not be falling victim to R in the drowning sense, but I think you definitely are in one way or another. Oh, your pretty siren is still here, by the way.”

“She’s not my anything!” Enjolras exclaims defensively, and both her friends smack their foreheads in sync. Damn.

Meanwhile, Grantaire is now laughing at something Joly had said, probably some joke or other, head tossed back in mirth. Bossuet had also joined them in making merry a while ago, bringing over an extra tankard of alcohol. Grantaire sniffs at it cautiously before taking a tiny sip, and Enjolras smiles down into her food. Combeferre gives her a look that she pointedly ignores.

“Nope.”

Dinner was one dilemma overcome, but another awaits. The rest of the crew had gone to bed already, tired from singing and dancing to Jehan’s lovely music. All except Bahorel, who is now dutifully keeping watch from the crow’s nest. The ship now seems so calm compared to minutes before when the crew had passed around liquor and partied. Grantaire had tentatively joined in, obviously trying hard to keep the spell out of her voice, and allowed herself to be swept up by an eager crowd. As it turns out, all it took was for everyone to be slightly tipsy to welcome her into their revelry. She had looked like Dionysus in her youthful spirit, hair whipping about her face lit up with a smile as Joly and Bossuet took turns dancing with her and making sure she didn't fall over. Her laughter had rung out above everyone else’s and remained in Enjolras’s ears throughout the entire thing.

Now, Enjolras, back in her quarters, stares at the problem. Honestly, she should have thought this out clearly before so eagerly welcoming another into their crew, and now she is faced with a situation she never thought she would have.

“Just take the bed.”

Grantaire protests, “I can’t just take your bed! You need to sleep in it!”

“Bold of you to assume I sleep, so just take it,” Enjolras sighs, not really wanting to argue.

“But- but- I can sleep out on deck or…”

“No. Just take the damned bed,” Enjolras says with an air of finality. Grantaire pouts and looks up at her with wide eyes, but she doesn’t cave. When the siren grumbles and begrudgingly lies down, Enjolras exhales in relief. She watches, amused, as Grantaire shoves her face into the pillow and wraps herself in blankets until only her head is exposed.

“What? Sirens are cold-blooded, and your bed is warm,” she huffs, burrowing down even further and blushing. “Are you going to watch me sleep?”

Enjolras shakes her head and goes back to poring over the maps spread out on her desk. Soon enough, light snores that somehow also sound musical begin drifting from the other side of the room, and she looks over in curiosity. Grantaire is breathing softly, stirring the lock of hair that had fallen into her face. She looks at peace here, lashes dark and casting shadows across her cheeks by the candlelight. Watching her sleep, Enjolras suddenly feels the exhaustion from the day catch up with her. Desperately craving the sweet release of sleep, she ponders her options. She can sleep on the floor, but Grantaire is snuggled in every single one of her blankets, so that would be extremely uncomfortable, or she can join her in bed and likely end up pressed against the siren from head to toe.

Well, one option is definitely more appealing than the other, so Enjolras takes off her boots and reaches under Grantaire to find the edge of the blanket, pulling it out from under her. The siren lets out a tiny noise of protest and immediately reaches for her, leaving Enjolras no choice but to get in bed, trapped in Grantaire’s deceptively strong grip. She sighs for what seems like the hundredth time that evening and pulls the covers over them, making sure to come in close, so she doesn’t end up falling off of her own bed.

Enjolras brings her arms around Grantaire, eliciting a happy sound from the sleeping siren. She nearly flinches away when ice-cold feet press against her legs, but Grantaire’s red lips curl up in a content smile, so she bears with it and stays. Soft breathing eventually lulls Enjolras off to a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Enjolras wakes up to a mouthful of dark hair and the lovely sight of a still sleeping Grantaire curled up against her and feels heat spread across her cheeks. The borrowed shirt had been unbuttoned halfway, and now it is open to the point that it exposes everything from the siren’s neck to her navel. Pink buds stand at attention, just begging to be licked and bitten, and Enjolras can’t look away from the expanse of porcelain skin that she itches to mark up with her teeth. Fuck. Throughout her blatant staring, Grantaire remains blissfully asleep.

Tearing her eyes away, Enjolras slowly untangles herself from the siren and jumps out of bed, ignoring the pitiful whine that her bed companion lets out at the sudden exposure. She dresses in a fresh shirt and pants and tugs her shoes back on. The cold air nips through her clothes, so she slides into the long red coat that had become somewhat of a symbol to her rebellion against the French monarchy. Enjolras gently shuts the door of her room behind her as she steps out and breathes in the ocean air. Briefly, she wonders what her crew would assume before realizing that they probably have their own assumptions from when she had dragged a willing Grantaire into her quarters and slammed the door shut.

Enjolras pinches the bridge of her nose.

Predictably, Courfeyrac grins at her smugly when she exits the room she shares with Combeferre, girlfriend in tow. Combeferre gives Enjolras a knowing look, which she responds to with a glare of her own. The rest of the ship gradually awakens, Joly all bright and bubbly despite the bags under her eyes while Bossuet stumbles after her and nearly trips over a stray bucket. She waves at Enjolras before disappearing into the galley to prepare breakfast. Feuilly groans as she appears, probably nursing the worst hangover of them all from a drinking contest with Bahorel, who swings down and lands next to her. Jehan braids their own hair with deft fingers as they emerge from their room before wordlessly taking Enjolras’s messy golden hair in their hands and braiding it too.

Soon enough, the Musain is fully active yet again, but an unspoken question lingers over their heads. Everyone looks at Enjolras with a curious expression, but she betrays nothing. She doesn’t need to because as if right on cue, the door to her quarters cracks open, and Grantaire peeks her head out just to find multiple pairs of eyes looking back at her. Enjolras has the pleasure of watching her slowly emerge with red cheeks, thankfully with her shirt fully buttoned and clutching the door like it’s a lifeline. Enjolras walks over to lend her a hand, which she takes. Grantaire smiles at her gratefully.

Enjolras bends to murmur in her ear, “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” Grantaire repeats cheerfully. Nobody else answers in their hungover and tired state, so she blushes and ducks her head, moving like she is about to hide behind their captain’s back again.

Thankfully, Joly greets her like the blessing she is and grabs her by the hand to pull her toward the kitchens while everyone else stares after them. Like magic, and probably because it is, Grantaire’s hair immediately fixes itself from its very adorable bedhead into thick and luscious curls that flow down her back like the most elegant waterfall in front of Enjolras’s very eyes.

Enjolras has to fight the part of her heart that begs her to go watch whatever fun Grantaire is having in the galley with Joly and Bossuet. Combeferre pats her shoulder while Courfeyrac grins at her again.

“Shut up.”

Courfeyrac looks offended and says, “I didn’t even say anything!”

Enjolras frowns, “Your face said enough.”

“Not any more than what is already so blatantly obvious to us,” Combeferre interjects.

Their captain throws her hands up in exasperation, “Whatever! Besides, what are we dawdling around for? Bossuet still needs time to make breakfast, so we can get busy in the meantime.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow before smiling and saying in a faux whisper, “I know many things, Enj, and denial is just a river in Egypt.”

“Oh, fuck you too,” Enjolras replies.

Chapter Text

As time passes, Grantaire slowly integrates herself within the crew under Enjolras’s careful observation. The sea seems to react to her mood too. When she laughs at Joly’s bad puns, the waves and the wind push the ship faster, but when Enjolras doesn’t give her the attention she craves, she mopes, and the ship stands still.

The thing is, Enjolras still wants to keep a bit of her sanity, so she tries not to give into Grantaire’s every flirtatious whim. The siren sleeps in her bed, wears her clothes, and for some reason, tries to push all of  Enjolras’s buttons by sidling up to her like she has never heard of personal space or try to argue about something or other. Enjolras would push her away, but she really doesn’t mind having someone to debate with once in a while. She is fairly certain that the constant touching is just something Grantaire’s nature forces her to do, and that is confirmed when she overhears a conversation that she doesn’t mean to.

“R!” Joly exclaims, catching her by the elbow as she is about to go find Enjolras. Grantaire stops in her tracks, not even bothering to pretend to be all clumsy, and tilts her head at Joly questioningly. “I just wanted to know more about you. Hopefully you trust me enough?”

“Oh, of course! What would you like to know about my boring self?” she replies, sitting down and making sure her legs are tucked under her like she would with her tail, just in case Enjolras happens to pass by on her rounds.

“Well, I suppose I’m more than a little curious about your kind in general…” Joly starts before trailing off. “I just have to ask, what is your purpose for drowning sailors?”

Grantaire shrugs, “Before, we used to eat humans until someone decided that what you all eat is much more pleasurable. Uh, don’t be scared because I’ve never eaten a person. Honestly, that sounds cruel and quite frankly, disgusting. Sirens were predators who used their voices as a trap or a lure to unwitting sailors. Now, I just sing for fun mostly. Luring people in is just a bonus, especially if they’re hot blonde pirate captains.”

“Hmm,” Joly considers before changing the topic. “Is this what you normally look like, barring human anatomy? Oh, and have you ever been in love?”

Her eyes sparkle at the last one, and Grantaire blushes while shaking her head. She replies, “I’ve never been in love. At least, I don’t think so. There’s something in me that nudges me to seduce people, but getting attached is generally frowned upon,” she explains. “Also, technically, I’m a shapeshifter, so I can take on the form of what my target desires most, often a human, but I’ve been a treasure chest before for some greedy asshole that died a gruesome death. That was not fun. Definitely do not recommend it. I can be as pretty or as ugly as one wants because beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“And now?” Joly prompts, nudging her. “Who wants you to look like this?”

Grantaire frowns at herself, not really sure of where to begin in order to answer that, “Um, I’m not entirely sure. This just happens to be what I usually look like in human form, so whoever I’m unconsciously trying to get to fall for me wants me exactly like this.”

In that moment, Enjolras knows, yet again, that she is undeniably, a hundred percent, fucked.

Throughout the day, Enjolras ponders this newfound knowledge at the wheel while Grantaire flits around the ship, tentatively asking how to help or learning new skills from their crewmates. Feuilly, who undoubtedly was the hardest to win over, teaches Grantaire how to tie a proper knot and work the rigging with a kind smile on her face. Jehan lends their extravagant harp to the siren, who plays it skillfully like she had been a musician her entire life. Enjolras stares at her nimble fingers as they pluck at the strings and at the graceful movements of her arms.

“I think I’m just a fast learner,” Grantaire says with a shrug when Jehan asks.

Jehan beams at her and replies, “Well, in that case, you can play the harp while I dig out the cello from the stores, and then we can play duets!”

“I can sing too,” Grantaire suggests. When she gets a skeptical look, she quickly adds, “Obviously without any harmful intention.”

Jehan ends up finding not only a cello, but a variety of other instruments that they had looted from some stuffy aristocrat, which Enjolras had completely forgotten about. Grantaire learns how to play the fiddle in the span of two minutes after glaring at the horrible squeaking it had produced prior. The flute is mastered with a similar ease, and she picks up the accordion in even less time.

“I have literally never heard an accordion played in such a… sophisticated manner,” Jehan comments.

Grantaire sets it down and startles at the sad crunchy noise it lets out. She ponders this and remarks, “I think all instruments deserve a chance to be played in a so-called ‘sophisticated manner’. In fact, it’s not the instrument so much as the one who wields it that makes beautiful music.”

Enjolras thinks that there might be a hidden reference there and can’t help but agree.

Joly lends out some thread and a needle per Grantaire’s request after demonstrating how she puts people and clothes back together. Grantaire thanks her profusely before shutting herself in Enjolras’s room, to the captain’s endless curiosity. She stays there for a good hour, and Enjolras listens to the frustrated sounds that emerge. They stop after a while, and when Grantaire comes back out, the shirt she wears every single day without fail has been turned into a short dress. The soft fabric has been washed until it is white again, and the hem flutters around her thighs.

“What-” Enjolras begins.

“I assumed you wouldn’t mind, given that you’re always trying to get me to wear more clothes,” Grantaire explains quickly, fiddling with the sleeves. “I hope you’re not offended or anything.”

Enjolras could not be offended even if she wanted to be. Not when Grantaire looks like this in a beautiful dress that flares out when she does a little twirl to demonstrate. The sleeves have been separated from the bodice, leaving her shoulders bare, but function as decoration. The neckline dips down far enough to just barely reveal a hint of cleavage, and a piece of fabric cinches her waist. Enjolras feels her mouth go dry.

“It’s… beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Enjolras breathes before muttering, “But I guess you already knew that.”

Grantaire’s eyes go wide, and she blushes, looking down at her bare feet. For all the vying for Enjolras’s attention she does, she certainly can play the part of a bashful woman. Except she is not pretending at all.

“Oh, um, no not really. Most people don’t exactly see me like this, in my normal form. Most men who sail by my little cove always want something else.”

Enjolras gapes, surprised. Grantaire, who laughs and sings like an angel, or more accurately, like the siren she is, who is smarter and more talented than everyone in the world combined, whose eyes are as blue as the ocean and sparkle in the sunlight, and whose lips are as red as wine has never been told of her beauty as she is? Enjolras doesn’t believe it. Then she is reminded of what Grantaire had told Joly, so she reaches out and tips the siren’s chin back up.

“Well, you are,” she says, leaving no room for argument, and impulsively folds Grantaire into a hug.

When Enjolras pulls away, Joly approaches and takes both of her hands in her own, exclaiming, “I think you’re the prettiest when you laugh at my horrible puns.”

“They’re actually funny!” Grantaire protests.

In the next few moments, every single member of the Musain’s crew eagerly tells her how beautiful she is, whether by complimenting on how well she plays the harp or how shiny her hair is, before kissing her cheeks. Grantaire turns redder and redder with every single one and glares at Enjolras, who can’t help but grin smugly.

You’re the loveliest when you talk about anything meaningful to you.

That evening, Grantaire steals Enjolras’s hat from her room during dinnertime and does a mocking, albeit surprisingly good, impression of her, to everyone else’s endless amusement. Combeferre looks sideways at Enjolras only to find her lips twitching into a smile.

“I, Enjolras, am the fearless captain of Les Amis de l’ABC, and if I could, I would marry the Musain! But she is The People’s Ship, so I will have to settle, ugh, for a person or none at all,” Grantaire crows, miming flicking an imaginary coat behind her like Enjolras is wont to do. “Men cower before me, women want to be me or be with me, but I break hearts left and right without even knowing it because I’m actually kind of oblivious when it comes to the finer things in life… like sex.”

Grantaire gasps dramatically, pretending to faint with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, and the sad thing is, she is definitely not wrong. Enjolras sighs, and Courfeyrac pats her shoulder consolingly.

When everyone finally stops wheezing, Bahorel challenges Grantaire to a drinking game, which she excitedly agrees to, still wearing the captain’s hat. The siren seems to have taken a particular liking to the alcohol on the ship, which Enjolras thinks may be the sole reason she is staying. She clinks her tankard together with Bahorel’s and begins downing rum at an alarming rate. Feuilly joins in after finishing her work, and Bossuet emerges from the galley to do so as well. Courfeyrac and Joly sit down on either side of Grantaire and suddenly find themselves with drinks in their hands. Jehan puts down their cello in favor of grabbing a bottle.

Even Combeferre shrugs and says, “Why not?”

Enjolras stares at her first mate in surprise and watches, deciding to stay sober in case someone needs to throw up. As it turns out, Courfeyrac falls over first, being the lightweight that she is. Everyone else passes out one by one until Bahorel and Feuilly are the only ones trying to keep up with Grantaire. They both lose.

The siren looks unfazed as she continues to drink with only Enjolras as her audience. She tips her head back, exposing her pale throat, which Enjolras desperately wants to suck and lick at. For God’s sakes, she thinks, I haven’t even been drinking.

Once Grantaire notices the rest of the crew asleep around her, she blinks.

“Oh.”

“They’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Enjolras says. “Are you okay?”

“I feel a little weird… I think I need to piss,” Grantaire replies. “Is this normal?”

“I suppose. Do sirens not get drunk?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire shakes her head, “Technically, this is the first time I’ve had this much liquor, but I assume we’re just unaffected by fluids in general.”

“Still. Get some sleep. I think we’re going to dock tomorrow morning.”

The siren nods and mumbles in agreement before stumbling off into the direction of the captain’s quarters, holding onto the railing all the way. Meanwhile, Enjolras stays at the helm, guiding the Musain forward in the darkness.

The gangplank hits the dock, and Courfeyrac disembarks first, bouncing excitedly like she has never been on land before. Enjolras follows with an arm around Grantaire’s waist again, making sure she doesn’t crumple right when they step on steady ground. It doesn’t help in the long run because Grantaire’s eyes go wide as she lurches forward, bringing Enjolras with her until they collapse in a groaning heap.

“I have no words,” Enjolras says, rubbing her head.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Thankfully, the town is swarming with people, so the crew of the Musain has no trouble blending in. Enjolras’s red coat gets double-takes from a few unfortunate pirates that they have had run-ins with in the past, but they cower under her piercing stare and pretend not to notice them. Grantaire holds onto her arm as she takes in all the details, all the bright colors and sounds of the square. She gets more than a few appreciative glances directed at her bare legs and shoulders, only emphasized by her flowy shirt-dress. Enjolras wraps her arm around Grantaire’s waist again before Bahorel stands at her right side, a hand on her sword.

Fortunately, Grantaire had put on boots today, albeit with many grumbles, and Enjolras is especially thankful for that when she nearly steps into a pile of horse shit on the side of the street. Maybe lifting her into her arms and carrying her around would be the best approach here. Enjolras waves away that thought and digs her fingers into Grantaire’s waist a little tighter and receives a funny look from the siren for that.

They wander into a fabric shop, where Grantaire runs nimble fingers over yards of green velvet and satin and looks at the many spools of thread on display. She sighs at the soft textures, and Enjolras buys everything she touches and gazes wistfully at without a second thought. Grantaire looks at her in surprise, but Enjolras turns away to hide her pink cheeks. She hugs her gifts tightly to her chest, and the smile Enjolras receives is worth spending money on such expensive fabrics. Honestly, she simply cannot wait to see Grantaire in whatever she decides to use them for.

After purchasing the necessary supplies to last another month at sea with money they might have stolen from assholes and before leaving them back on the ship, they enter a tavern for drinks. At first, it seems like a fine decision before Enjolras asks if one of them would ask the men scattered around for rumors. She immediately regrets it when Grantaire volunteers with too good of a point to deny.

“None of them recognize me, so I’m your best bet,” she explains and hurries off without even waiting for a reply.

Enjolras can only watch in dismay as Grantaire charms men and women alike with every flip of her hair. She doesn’t shift from her current form to prevent from exposing herself and her friends, but she doesn’t need to either. She smiles winningly at men, who pat their laps in invitation, and she accepts. She flutters her eyelashes at them, and they buy her drinks while feeding her information. Enjolras’s fingers clench around her cup of water, and Combeferre looks at her with a concerned expression.

“Uh, you okay there, Enj?”

“Huh, what? Oh, of course,” Enjolras replies, but the way her jaw clenches definitely betrays her words.

Combeferre takes a sip of her drink and sighs, “Please. You have to stop lying to me like this, especially since you’re more transparent than you think.”

“Fine. I just don’t like seeing R being treated like a common whore… not that being a whore is anything bad, I assure you. Brothels are legitimate and respectable businesses, but R is…” she trails off.

“You’re jealous.”

“Definitely not!” Enjolras exclaims, jumping off her stool. “Look at how uncomfortable she is!”

Grantaire is not, in fact, looking any more uncomfortable than she did when they first entered. She giggles at a comment from one man and touches another's shoulder, and Enjolras seethes. She is angry that others have their hands all over Grantaire, angry that the siren is laughing at what others are saying instead of what Enjolras says, angry that she is not the one over there with her to partake in her joy.

“-Enjolras!”

Enjolras snaps out of it when Combeferre shouts her name right into her ear. Right away, she feels her fury dissipate, leaving her more confused than ever.

“What the fuck was that?” her first mate asks. “You nearly broke your cup.”

“I need to get out of here.”

Before Enjolras can reach the door, Grantaire notices and cries out her name. Loudly.

“Enjolras?”

“Did she say-”

Combeferre mutters, “Shit,” and grabs the siren by the hand. “Stay here. Whatever you do, don’t give yourself away.”

Enjolras marches back in, coat billowing, and draws her sword just in time to intercept the first slash of an enemy’s sword at her. She reaches out to pull Grantaire close, who holds onto her tightly and closes her eyes to block out the sight of swords clashing. Enjolras keeps one arm protectively around her while the other is busy fighting off those who rush at her. In an attempt to keep Grantaire covered, a rogue sword slices into her cheek, but she continues, unfazed by the sting and the trickle of blood that will definitely leave a stain on her shirt. Meanwhile, Combeferre dual wields her own sabers, clearing them a path to the entrance.

“Patron-Minette,” she mutters when Enjolras is in earshot. “Slippery bastards. They work for the crown.”

Bahorel, Feuilly, and Courfeyrac had all jumped into the fray and now emerge relatively unscathed. They form a defensive semi-circle around Enjolras and Grantaire all the way back to the ship. Halfway there, Enjolras decides, fuck it, and picks Grantaire up with one hand under her back and the other under her knees, not stopping to marvel at how easy that was, and sprints the rest of the way. The siren clings tightly to her neck, and the closer they get to the dock, the more the wind seems to assist in propelling her legs forward.

When everyone is safely back onboard, Feuilly bolts to the rigging to lower the sails while Bahorel helps haul the anchor back up.

“R! Can you help?” Enjolras shouts from her place at the helm, and Grantaire quickly gives a sign of affirmation. She doesn’t falter, even with the adrenaline rush from earlier, and her eyes glow. The ship pushes out of the harbor and into the open sea in record time.

Almost immediately after they are sure nobody is following them, Joly flies to Enjolras’s side with a bucket of water and begins dabbing at her cheek.

“What are you-” Enjolras begins while flinching away and then suddenly remembers the cut. She had totally forgotten in all the excitement that ensued.

“Cleaning it so that it doesn’t get infected, obviously,” Joly replies, but for such a good surgeon, her hands start to just barely tremble. “Fuck!”

“Let me,” a quiet voice pipes up from behind them, and Enjolras turns to see Grantaire standing there, head bowed. “It’s the least I could do after getting us into this mess.”

Joly’s eyes soften, and she places a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Grantaire lifts her head to give her a tiny smile and turns to their captain, saying, “I can heal minor injuries quickly, if you like.”

“It’s fine. Just another scar to add to my collection,” Enjolras replies, hoping to ease the tension in Grantaire’s shoulders. It doesn’t work as well as she wanted. “If you can just stitch me up, that would be great.”

Grantaire nods and takes the needle from Joly before sitting down. She cradles Enjolras’s face in her hands, leaning in close after sterilizing the needle with a lit candle. The first poke is unpleasant, as expected, but Enjolras distracts herself by staring into Grantaire’s eyes, which are shining with determination, and uses this moment to admire her beauty from up close. Finally, the thread is tied off, and the needle is returned to Joly.

“Thank you.”

“No, don’t thank me. If anything, I’m sorry for earlier,” Grantaire mumbles. “It’s just like me to get so caught up in what I’m doing that I forget how to function.”

Enjolras stands, offers a hand, and pulls her up into as comforting a hug as she can manage. She tries to make her voice as soothing as possible to calm her down. Joly or Combeferre would both be so much better for this.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it. Besides, we’re all fine, aren’t we?”

Grantaire buries her face into Enjolras’s shirt and wails, “I literally just had to stitch your cheek up! You got injured because of me, and I bet ‘Ferre doesn’t even trust me anymore because of my dumb ass.”

There is dampness seeping into her collar, making it obvious that the siren is crying. That, and the fact that clouds have passed overhead, and a light drizzle has started. As Grantaire continues sobbing into Enjolras’s shirt, the drizzle turns into pouring rain. All the while, Enjolras still holds her, rubbing her back even as they both get soaked to the bone.

“It’s okay, we’re safe. Nobody has been badly harmed,” she murmurs gently, caressing Grantaire’s hair with one hand while continuing to stroke her back with the other.

At last, the storm lets up, and she wipes the last of her tears away with the back of her hand. When they break apart, Grantaire immediately shivers. Courfeyrac hands Enjolras her coat, which she doesn’t put on in favor of wrapping it around Grantaire’s trembling shoulders. Her dress is plastered to her body and creates a puddle around her feet. Before Grantaire can wrap the coat around herself, Enjolras catches an accidental glimpse of rosy nipples poking against the now transparent fabric.

Now is not the time. In fact, it never is.

Even snuggled deep in the coat, Grantaire huddles close to Enjolras, who keeps her mind distracted by gruesome thoughts of disrespectful naval officers, snobbish aristocrats, and the patriarchy.

Grantaire refuses to change into dry clothes, but she peels off her dress and hangs it up to dry. However, she does keep Enjolras’s coat and burrows down into its warmth. Enjolras tries so hard not to think about the fact that other than that, there is not a stitch on her body.

“R, can you help me in the galley?” Bossuet asks when they reemerge from Enjolras’s quarters. Grantaire looks as if she is about to head her way, but hesitates for a moment. She turns back around and rises up onto her toes to quickly press her lips to Enjolras’s cheek, right over the row of tiny stitches. Enjolras tries not to sigh dreamily like an idiot.

Combeferre joins her at the helm with a cautious look on her face. Predictably, she asks, “Are we sure we can trust her?”

Enjolras is about to open her mouth to reply when an excited squeal rises up from below. Grantaire bolts up the stairs and holds out two balls of black and white fluff.

“What the hell?” she asks, and Grantaire shrugs, grinning widely like she hadn’t been a sniffling, but still beautiful, mess less than an hour ago.

“I found them in a barrel of fish, which they probably have been gorging on this entire time. Joly says they might have these tiny bugs called… fleas? You know what, what are these fuzzballs that I am holding right now called?”

Enjolras feels extremely stupid when she asks, “You don’t know what cats are?”

Grantaire sticks her chin out defiantly, “No, I do not. In case you’ve forgotten, I come from out there.”

She waves her hand in the general direction of the ocean surrounding them and disappears as quickly as she had appeared. Wait.

“Did you magically learn how to walk?” Enjolras asks, but Grantaire has already ducked out of sight, probably looking for Joly to give her new kittens a bath.

Combeferre clears her throat to get her attention again, “So, what do you think?”

“Of Grantaire?”

“No, of the other siren who tried to drown you and then ended up rescuing you,” she replies, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“If you’re talking about what happened at the tavern, it was merely an accident,” Enjolras says.

Combeferre shakes her head, “No, I’m talking about what happened on this ship. I have read every known text about sirens by any sailor who survived, and none of them indicated the ability to control the seas or the skies. Enjolras, R is more powerful than any average siren who lures sailors to a watery death. Not to mention how out of character you acted back in the tavern just because she went to talk to a few men. She could be dangerous.”

Enjolras looks down at the main deck, where Grantaire sits, bathing and playing with the kittens. She dangles the feather from Enjolras’s hat in front of them as they scamper around her, darting in to lick at her nose and cheeks occasionally as she laughs. After a few more seconds of teasing them, Grantaire scoops them both up to hug them to her chest, ignoring the growing wet spot on her dress from the cats’ soaked fur. Adorable.

“Right, dangerous…” Enjolras remarks, staring at her first mate incredulously. “Whether you believe that or not, we still need her to guide us to the treasure that the Thénardiers told us about.”

Combeferre nods skeptically and says, “Very well then. Let’s hope nothing life-threatening happens in the meantime.”

Chapter Text

“Y’know what would be a great idea?” Bahorel asks out of the blue one morning. “R, you need to learn how to use a sword.”

After moping around the ship and apologizing profusely to everyone for the next few days, Grantaire finally cheers up. Of course, everyone gave her hugs and told her that it was genuinely not her fault, but a metaphorical and sometimes literal cloud hung over her head glumly until Enjolras took her by the shoulders and shook her a few times.

“Oh, are you going to teach me?” she asks, and Bahorel ponders this for a moment.

Eventually, she nods, “Sure.”

Until then, Grantaire locks herself in the captain’s quarters with her kittens and sews, only coming out to get a breath of fresh air once in a while. The dress she makes out of the green fabric from their land excursion is gorgeous too, and she thrills at Enjolras’s awed expression. The gown is long, and the sleeves cinch at her wrists. However, it is not any more modest than the one made from Enjolras’s shirt. The neckline is even lower, and when Grantaire spins around, a slit that runs all the way up the side of her thigh is revealed. Enjolras notices that one of her own belts has been stolen to tie it together at the waist. She takes one look at the siren and desperately wants to smush her face into her pillow.

The dress doesn’t restrict any of Grantaire’s graceful motions when she practices with a borrowed sword. She picks this up quickly too, a slender hand fitting around the hilt of a saber as if it has always belonged there. Soon enough, she disarms Bahorel for the first time, and her face lights up with joy. She gives the sword a little twirl around her fingers and lifts her head up toward where the captain is standing, like she is looking for approval. Enjolras just about dies.

Watching Grantaire duel is like watching a ballerina dance. Every movement is effortless, and she is light on her feet, avoiding being slashed by twisting and spinning around. Her hair whips about her face, somehow not getting in her face at all. She doesn’t even begin to look exhausted as she duels Feuilly and, after she gets disarmed, both Combeferre and Courfeyrac at once. The others form a circle and cheer her on, growing louder with every thrust of her sword.

Enjolras smiles secretly and then turns her gaze back into the distance to focus on getting them to their destination. In her intense concentration, she does not notice how Grantaire has disappeared from the main deck until every member of the crew is staring up at her like they are waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, the hairs at the back of her neck stand up. I see.

Without even turning around, Enjolras parries the sword aimed at her right shoulder with her own, drawn in the span of less than a second. When she turns around, Grantaire’s blue eyes are wide in surprise. Well, Enjolras had to earn her reputation somehow. She grins.

They move elegantly, thrusting and blocking as they travel back and forth across the length of the helm, their friends cheering them both on. Enjolras doesn’t have the advantage of being an otherworldly creature, but she holds her own against Grantaire. The siren is a formidable opponent, and Enjolras would not have won had she not resorted to less-than-respectable tactics. She’s a pirate, after all.

Keeping Grantaire’s sword occupied with her own, Enjolras reaches out with her free hand and grabs her waist, effectively trapping her. Grantaire’s back is flush against her chest as she pants, and their swords are crossed in front of the siren’s fair neck. Enjolras resolutely does not take pleasure in the feeling of their bodies being pressed together like this, even as the light floral scent of Grantaire’s hair tickles her nose. Their crewmates are silent, trying to gauge the outcome.

Grantaire wriggles in her grasp, but Enjolras holds on, letting her sword go to bring her other arm up around her chest. In doing so, her hand brushes up against Grantaire’s clothed breasts, causing her to gasp sweetly and arch up against her palm. Enjolras ignores that and squeezes her middle until she yields, reluctantly letting her go when she does and immediately missing the feeling of the siren in her arms.

“That was not fair,” Grantaire says and glares at her.

“Neither was sneaking up on me, yet here we are,” Enjolras replies, sheathing her sword. There is a lovely flush spread across the siren’s cheeks, and she can feel a similar one appear on her own face.

Grantaire pouts, “It was Courf’s idea! She said, and I quote, ‘I challenge you to sneak up behind her back. You won’t regret it,’ so I just went for it.”

“And do you regret it?” Enjolras asks with a raised eyebrow.

“No,” she replies simply. “That was fun.”

“Good. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

Enjolras receives a wide smile in return before Grantaire kisses her cheek again. She skips back to the main deck, taking her kittens back from Bossuet and nuzzling into their fur.

In the end, it takes an entire week for Enjolras to finally lose, and she will maintain that it was entirely Grantaire’s fault. She simply cannot and will not be blamed for feeling a little woozy that day. Not at all.

The night prior, Grantaire draws herself a bath, dipping a toe in to check the temperature before sinking in all the way. Okay, the temperature doesn’t really matter after swimming in the ice-cold ocean for her entire life, but since she has the luxury of a warm bath, she is going to fucking take it. In fact, she will be eternally grateful for the Musain’s care for hygiene. Stinky pirates are no fun, not even when she seduces them. Instead, Enjolras always smells nice, looks nicer, and feels the nicest when she has her arms wound around Grantaire’s body.

Grantaire sighs contentedly as she sinks into the warm water, allowing scales to ripple over her legs and across her chest. Unfortunately, the tub is much too small for her fin, so she transforms back and works on scrubbing herself down, lying back into the water to wash her hair. All the while, she doesn’t notice how she starts humming a little tune before singing in earnest.

Above deck, the crew begins to murmur, causing Enjolras to look up from where she, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac are having a discussion over the map. She hears it immediately. Thankfully, the walls on the ship muffle Grantaire’s voice, but even Combeferre starts wandering towards Enjolras’s quarters.

Enjolras decides to take matters into her own hands. Striding below decks, she follows the melody to her bathroom and slams the door open. The sound of the door is not loud enough to break Grantaire out of her reverie. Enjolras can only watch in awe and dismay as the siren, still singing with her eyes closed, lifts her right leg out of the tub, toes pointed elegantly, and runs a washcloth up her calf and thigh. Her head is tipped back, wet hair as dark as an ink spill floating about her torso.

Snapping out of her song-induced trance, Enjolras quickly pushes off the door frame and covers Grantaire’s mouth with her hand, causing her to nearly jump out of the tub.

“Huh-”

“You were singing,” Enjolras replies as an explanation. “Everyone else was going a little crazy upstairs.”

Grantaire’s face transforms into an expression of surprise and then remorse as she mumbles, “Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

She stands up, and Enjolras’s eyes go wide. Water sluices off of Grantaire’s nude form in rivulets as Enjolras swallows, all the moisture seemingly evaporating from her mouth. This is not even the first time she has seen the siren in nothing save for her skin, but as time passes, she somehow manages to find herself yearning for the feeling of a soft body against her own without the barrier of their clothing.

As Enjolras stares, Grantaire’s face turns devious.

“Were you hoping to join me?” she asks coyly, stepping out of the tub and bringing herself close. “I can always get back in.”

“No! No. I didn’t even know you were in the middle of a bath,” Enjolras frantically says, grabbing a fluffy towel and wrapping it around Grantaire’s body. The siren only looks at her, dumbstruck, as Enjolras shoves the shirt-dress over her head. Nobody has ever given up the opportunity to peel her out of her clothes in favor of stuffing her into more. But then again, none of her kind has ever saved a victim that they were about to drown.

Later, she pushes herself up onto Enjolras’s desk while she marks up the map with a quill, occasionally checking her compass. To say that Grantaire is bored would be a massive understatement. She swings her legs and twirls a lock of hair around her finger, but Enjolras remains focused on her work. An idea comes to mind.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispers, and she finally looks up at her.

“Yes?”

“Well, I’m just curious and wondering if you would indulge me,” she continues, scooting closer. “Touch my body.”

“What the f-” Enjolras starts, but Grantaire shushes her by holding a finger against her lips.

“I don’t know all the mechanics of a human body, so maybe you could help?”

Enjolras sighs because the siren is obviously up to something, especially after the bath fiasco, so she might as well do what she asks. When she agrees and stands up, Grantaire beams and immediately picks up Enjolras’s hands to press them against her chest. Enjolras blushes.

“W-What are you doing?” she stammers. “I feel like I’m molesting you.”

Grantaire groans, “Oh, just quit it would you? I am literally holding your hands to my breasts, and you’re still complaining.”

Just to prove her wrong, Enjolras squeezes lightly, running her thumb over where a pink nipple peeks against the white linen. Grantaire’s eyelids slide shut as she lets out a choked moan, arching into Enjolras’s touch, just as responsive as when she was trapped in Enjolras’s arms after their first duel.

“O-Oh God. Do that again,” she gasps, so Enjolras grazes a finger over the other one, trying to dissipate the fluttering feeling deep in her gut. It doesn’t work, so she grits her teeth and pulls away, causing Grantaire to release a disappointed noise.

“I’ve never felt that in my siren form. Maybe it’s the scales,” she mutters weakly, and Enjolras feels a bit light-headed.

“Right. Scales.”

Before Enjolras can escape, Grantaire whines and quickly winds her bare legs around her waist to pull her close again. She reaches out to steady herself, only to find that instead of grabbing the table, she grabbed two handfuls of Grantaire’s butt. How does that even make sense? Magic, probably.

“Okay, I am going to take you to bed, where we will sleep, and no more frisky business,” Enjolras announces firmly, once she has control of her brain in its mushy state again. “The first rule still holds.”

Grantaire pouts at her, sticking her bottom lip out, and humphs, “In my defense, you did say not to seduce ‘your crew’. You didn’t even think about yourself. Oh, silly Enjolras, always thinking about the good of others and never considering your own well-being... Not that I’m trying to harm you or anything. It’s all in good fun.”

Somehow, that hurts more than the backhanded insult. Of course, Enjolras has known that none of this is anything serious to Grantaire, but hearing her say it out loud sends a pang of disappointment into her heart. Hope is a fickle thing.

Enjolras ends up carrying the siren back to bed and tries not to feel any fondness as she covers them both and as Grantaire cuddles closer and nuzzles against her neck. Unsurprisingly, it is harder to do than she thought. One of the kittens curls up on the pillow above their heads while the other plops down at the foot of the bed.

She watches the flickering candle and asks the question that has been niggling at the back of her mind for a while, regardless of whether her friend is asleep or not, “So, you can walk now?”

Grantaire’s breathing quickens as she stammers, “I-I… no?”

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Enjolras sighs. “If you don’t need assistance anymore, I don’t have to plaster myself to you every time you move.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I rather like being in your arms, and pretending to be all shaky was a good excuse,” she replies, turning to face away from Enjolras’s accusing stare. “Or so I thought.”

“But why?” Enjolras asks, not quite understanding. Grantaire needs to stop toying with her heart like this.

“Because you’re warm! Like I said, attachment is frowned upon, so even my closest friends beneath the surface don’t just fold me into a hug like you do. Did,” she says, huddling into a ball. “Fuck, I’m such an idiot.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to say for the first time in her life, it seems, so she scoots closer to close the minute distance between their bodies to fit herself to the curve of Grantaire’s back.

“Wha?” Grantaire squeaks, looking back at her in shock.

“Shh. If you wanted hugs, you just had to ask. Any one of us would be more than willing,” Enjolras murmurs into her hair. “We’re family here.”

To her horror, Grantaire begins trembling like a leaf in a rainstorm and sniffling.

“You’re too kind. You’re all too kind to me,” she whimpers, but she tugs Enjolras’s arm around her midsection, keeping them locked firmly together. “Never let me go.”

Enjolras just drops a kiss into her hair and blows out the candle.

“Land!” Feuilly shouts from her spot in the lookout. “Are we sure this is the right one?”

Enjolras nods, “I’m fairly certain this time.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” Grantaire asks, appearing at Enjolras’s side. “A shiny rock or a seashell or what?”

Combeferre interrupts, “We’re looking for a trident. I think we can trust you enough to tell you. The Thénardiers told us it has magical properties or something like that and are going to pay a large sum in exchange for our troubles.”

Grantaire’s eyes grow wide, “Did you say… Thénardiers?”

“Yes, why? Do you know of them?” Enjolras asks.

“If we’re talking about the same people, which, given what I know, we are, then yes. They’re the smarmiest sirens to ever exist as well as the parents of my friend, Éponine. After they were banished from the underwater realm for trying to steal from the king, everyone assumed they became hermits somewhere on land, which I suppose is what happened. The king sealed his symbol of power, the trident, away to keep the oceans safe.”

Enjolras shares a glance with Combeferre.

“What do you suggest we do then?”

Grantaire fiddles with the hem of her dress and replies, “Well, the best option would just be to give this up completely because power held in the wrong hands can be incredibly dangerous, as I’m sure you all know, but it’s also safe to assume that they will send others with the same goal, so you need to be extra wary, especially if they’re part of the Imperial Navy.”

The crew falls silent at this new information and only exchange wary glances as they wordlessly drop anchor and disembark. When Grantaire tries to leave the Musain, Enjolras tells her to stay onboard with Bossuet and Bahorel in case they need to defend the ship.

“Are you sure? I actually know about the trident’s power and experienced what it can do with my own eyes,” she protests, clutching Enjolras’s hand. “I can help.”

Enjolras shakes her head firmly and says, “I’d rather you stay behind and fend off enemies who try to attack the ship.”

“Is it because of what happened last time? I promise I won’t be a burden,” Grantaire tries to argue.

“You’re never a burden, R,” Enjolras reassures her. “If anything, I want you to be safe.”

Grantaire opens and closes her mouth a few times, her eyes glimmering with an emotion Enjolras is unable to decipher. Finally, she nods, rises up onto her toes, and brushes a reverent kiss to Enjolras’s cheek before reluctantly pulling away.

“Come back to me in one piece. Promise me, Enj.”

“I’ll try.”

Enjolras walks back to where the rest of their little group has gathered on the island, and they all give her identical teasing grins. She shakes her head, but the pink dusting her cheeks gives her away. They hike to the center of the island, slashing away at the thicket with their swords and following the glow of the trident.

As expected, a problem arises almost right away.

“So, how do we get it out?” Courfeyrac asks, looking at the crystal the trident is embedded in. “Is it safe to even touch it?”

Enjolras rolls her sleeves up, inhales deeply, and replies, “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

She reaches out to grab the handle, and fortunately, it doesn’t burn her hand or anything. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she pulls, it does not budge a millimeter.

“There’s our answer. I say we leave it here as it’s unlikely anyone else would be able to remove it. Vote?” she asks, and when they all nod, continues, “All in favor of leaving it here, regardless of our troubles, say ‘aye’.”

They all agree, but before they can move, Enjolras hears footsteps behind her. She is all too familiar with the heavy sound of uniform boots. Imperial officers. Shit.

Immediately, she draws her sword in sync with her friends, and the sound of weapons clashing against each other rings out into the air. France should really begin training its navy if they are going to fight like this.

“Enjolras!” Combeferre shouts. “We’ve got it from here. Go back to the ship!”

“Are you sure?” she shouts back. “Guard the trident.”

“Shoo!”

Sometimes, it’s like they forget who the captain is, but Enjolras heeds her first mate’s words. She sprints all the way back to the ship, not even wincing when branches catch in her hair, pulling it, or when roots try to trip her up. She doesn’t stop until she is bolting up the gangplank, only to see naval officers and a bunch of smirking pirates aboard her ship. Patron-Minette, her brain supplies.

Bossuet and Bahorel are being led to the plank, glaring at the swords pointed at their necks. Enjolras turns her steely gaze at the enemy men as her friends are marched off, vibrating in fury. How dare they. She looks around frantically until her eyes find Grantaire, struggling against the two men holding her back, one with a hand over her mouth and a sword against her throat. She nods to the best of her ability when Enjolras gives her a questioning glance. At least their crewmates will be relatively safe.

“My name is Javert, but no need to introduce yourself. Everyone with ears and even some without has heard of you, Enjolras, and I have orders to get rid of you,” one of the officers says, more smug than he should be in that garish blue uniform. “By decree of His Majesty, of course, but he didn’t specify how I should carry out his orders as long as they get carried out.”

Drawing her sword again, Enjolras stands her ground, ready to run it through anyone in her way. 

Javert tuts, “Mmm, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You see, your pretty siren here has also committed some serious crimes by luring one of the king’s men overboard with her lovely voice. It’d be a pity to get rid of such a powerful creature that His Majesty could use as a weapon, but the law is the law, and it makes excuses for nobody.”

Enjolras clenches her jaw and grits out, “She is not a creature or a tool, you bastard. She’s a person , and surely self-defense is excusable.”

“Oh, how noble of you, trying to get your friend out of punishment while ignoring the long list of crimes you and the rest of your crew have committed,” Javert drawls mockingly. He snaps his fingers, and a subordinate unrolls a comically lengthy scroll. “Where do I even begin?”

“How about I shut you up first?” Enjolras asks as she suddenly lunges forward, but she ends up stabbing one of the two officers holding Grantaire through the stomach. He crumples to the floor in a pool of blood. Javert only shakes his head disapprovingly and steps nonchalantly over the corpse, but before Enjolras can move again, another takes his place, bringing his sword up to Grantaire’s neck, pressing it so a line of blood starts trickling down her throat. Enjolras sees red.

“Ah ah ah, drop your sword, or there will be one less fish in the sea,” Javert says. Enjolras only grips it tighter, torn, and she locks eyes with Grantaire’s. There is determination in those cerulean depths as she shakes off the man with his hand over her mouth in a burst of adrenaline. With a few choice notes, she manipulates him to leap overboard.

“Don’t listen to him!” she yells, and in return, the sword against her neck cuts in deeper. Enjolras comes to a decision because she cannot bear to watch Grantaire get any more hurt because of her. As it turns out, she would do anything to ensure the siren's safety.

She lets her weapon fall to the deck.

“Good girl,” Javert praises, and Enjolras can only glare at him as two officers come forward and seize her by the arms. She doesn’t try to fight them off, knowing that it would only result in horrible consequences.

“Whatever you do, don’t hurt her,” she pleads, making sure to keep her voice steady. “She never did anything wrong.”

“We’ll decide that for ourselves,” Javert says, and he turns his back to Enjolras, waving his hand at the men holding her. She has a bad feeling about this. At least her friends will be safe, and if everything goes accordingly, she will be the only one to lose her life.

“R,” Enjolras pants, looking into Grantaire’s frightened eyes. “You’re sweet, kind, funny, talented. I could go on forever… just sing.”

Before she can continue, a sudden pain blooms in her chest, and Enjolras looks down to see the hilt of her own sword sticking out between her breasts. She will be infinitely grateful that none of her crew has to witness this, but she desperately wishes Grantaire did not have to either. Feeling dizzy, she fights to voice her last thoughts, hating the way the siren cries and screams for her, her face etched with hurt as she struggles against her captors. Enjolras wants her to smile.

“I love… you…” she manages to mouth before she hits the deck. Her vision fades to darkness.

“ENJOLRAS! NO!”

Chapter Text

At a young age, every siren is advised against letting the heart rule the mind. The elders tell stories about an unfortunate siren who died of a broken heart after falling in love with a handsome prince to scare the children. In this moment, Grantaire feels her own heart splitting in two as she sobs her love’s name repeatedly, letting herself fall to her knees, still held captive. Her chest aches, and she can only think about Enjolras and how stupid she was for playing martyr. Did she not have any idea? Was she not aware that Grantaire was probably in love with her since day one, since she saved her from drowning and played it off as lust?

Grantaire screams for Enjolras to come back to her because she promised to, and in her anger and grief, a wave rocks the ship back and forth, causing the men holding her to let go and tumble off the side. Everyone else follows, enemy pirates and naval officers alike. Only Javert manages to hold his ground until Grantaire directs her murderous glare at him. Her eyes glow white, and the man whips his head around to stare into the distance at the middle of the island, where the faint glow turns into a supernova of light. Grantaire stretches out a hand, and the trident materializes in it. She rises a few inches into the air, wind blowing her hair majestically.

When she opens her mouth, the song that comes forth is filled with pain and mourning and longing. Tears run down her cheeks in rivers, and Grantaire wants to torture Javert, to let him feel what she feels. She wants to make the Patron-Minette suffer for pursuing her friends, now and in the past, and the Thénardiers for sending them on this ill-fated chase.

“Ruin yourself like you’ve ruined me,” Grantaire demands, sobbing. She watches in sick satisfaction as Javert willingly gets up onto the railing, swings his legs over, and jumps down, landing in the shallows with a chilling crack.

Everything goes still all at once, and the siren slumps down next to Enjolras, letting the trident fall from her fingers and disappear. She cradles her blonde head in her lap and cries quietly, ready to accept her fate.

“I love you too,” Grantaire whimpers, cupping Enjolras’s cheek in her hand. “Take my life in exchange for hers, whoever is listening to me. The world is a brighter place with her in it.”

She leans down to kiss her gently, her eyes drifting shut and her hair falling in a dark curtain around them and shielding them from prying eyes. Grantaire reminisces every moment they shared, from the first time she revived her with a kiss, every smile Enjolras directed at her, and the warm fluttery feeling of simply being in the proximity of such a brilliant woman. Enjolras’s lips are cold under hers. If Grantaire dies from a broken heart, she will leave the world kissing the love of her life, even if it is much too late.

Suddenly, a breeze picks up, lifting her hair up gently at first before causing it to whip around her head. Grantaire keeps her eyes firmly shut, even as she feels water seep through the hem of her dress. The dual sounds of the wind roaring and the waves rushing invade her ears and overwhelm her senses before she feels Enjolras’s fingers twitch where they are clasped within her own. Her lips grow warmer under her own.

Grantaire’s eyes fly wide as the pain in her chest retreats like a low tide, and she clutches at Enjolras, shaking her shoulders frantically. Her love’s forehead creases as she groans in the siren’s arms before her eyes open at last, revealing the brilliant blue that Grantaire loves so much.

To say that Enjolras feels like she died and came back to life would be entirely too fucking accurate. She blinks a few times, trying to process what exactly is going on. The first thing that floods her field of vision is the most gorgeous person to ever exist staring back at her with a worried expression.

“R,” Enjolras breathes, lifting a hand to caress her cheek tenderly. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Grantaire bursts into tears, smiling through them, and covers her hand with her own. She shakes her head, and her face transforms with what Enjolras hopes to be fake anger. She gets a pinch.

“Definitely not dreaming, but what the hell was that? Sacrificing yourself? For me? I love you but goddamnit, Enj-”

Enjolras, not really caring to hear any more about how foolish her actions were, pulls Grantaire into her lap and kisses her urgently. She stiffens in surprise before melting into her arms and returning it. Her mouth is as pillowy and plush as Enjolras had imagined and slightly salty and sweet at the same time, a combination she is quickly becoming addicted to. Grantaire sighs softly and parts her lips, and Enjolras tilts her head to deepen the kiss.

Grantaire’s hands curl around the collar of Enjolras’s shirt, and even when they part, she holds on tightly, not about to chance letting go of her again, for the time being at least. Enjolras wraps her arms around her waist, brushing her lips against the side of her head and breathing her in deeply. Grantaire snuggles closer, making sure every inch of their torsos are pressed bodily together.

“I still can’t believe you developed a martyr complex,” she says, voice muffled from where her face is buried in Enjolras’s shirt.

“Sorry? I guess I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Enjolras replies. “And I can’t believe you brought me back to life.”

“Hmph. My kisses are magical.”

Enjolras smiles against Grantaire’s hair, “I’m not about to argue with you there. I also can’t believe I wasn’t even conscious for our first two kisses.”

The siren pulls away just enough to cross her arms and pout, still astride Enjolras’s lap, saying, “Believe what you want. I don’t even want to count those two as kisses because I was too busy fretting over you and reviving you, what the fuck, and before you say anything, yes, I can tell when you’re about to, I don’t want to feel your cold and clammy lips under mine ever again, so don’t you dare scare me like that again.”

“I promise,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire kisses her sweetly.

Of course, their bubble of a moment eventually has to be interrupted by the rest of their crewmates boarding the Musain. Thankfully, Bahorel and Bossuet appear unharmed, merely soaking wet from their little dip in the ocean. Joly frets over them all, checking arms and legs for any wounds. Grantaire tackles Joly and Bossuet in a hug, and the three of them fall over into a pile of affection until she turns her head, finally noticing the two strangers clad in plated armor that had accompanied them onto the ship. She gasps.

“‘Ponine, ‘Chetta!” Grantaire squeals before embracing them too before retreating like she has been burned. “Ah, sorry. I’ve gotten used to casual affection.”

It doesn’t matter because they both fold her into their arms and squeeze tightly while Enjolras watches fondly.

Approaching them, she says, “Thank you two for ensuring our crew’s safety.”

Immediately, Grantaire latches onto her arm again to introduce her, “Love, Éponine and Musichetta. ‘Ponine, ‘Chetta, this is my Enjolras.”

They both dip their heads respectfully. Éponine nods, “I suppose I have to thank you for ensuring our crown princess’s safety too. She’s more than a little… wild at heart.”

“‘Ponine!” Grantaire exclaims, frowning at her while Enjolras reels in surprise.

“Princess?” she asks, staring down at the woman trying to hide her face in her shoulder. “Since when?”

“Well, yeah… I didn’t want you to think badly of me right away since your country has such an annoying man on the throne,” the siren continues sheepishly. “I promise I’m not a power-hungry asshole and neither was my late father.”

“As long as France has a man on the throne, I belong to no country, and if the time spent with us has established anything, none of us think you’re an asshole. I’ve never seen anyone, siren princess or otherwise, take in two kittens and raise them like you have,” Enjolras quips, and hugs Grantaire tightly before dropping a chaste kiss to her lips when she tilts her face up. Courfeyrac squeals in the background.

“Our captain, who says that pleasures of the flesh do not entice her, has fallen in love with a siren. How bizarre is that?” Courfeyrac remarks with a laugh. “No disrespect, of course, but who knew you had such a taste for danger?”

Combeferre elbows her, but she is also grinning smugly. Enjolras rolls her eyes over Grantaire’s head.

“R actually saved my life, y’know… uh, for the second time.”

They go quiet all of a sudden.

Musichetta asks, “Is that what we were hearing? With the wind howling and stuff? R?”

Grantaire tears her head away from Enjolras’s chest and replies, “Yeah, er, she was being an idiot, so I accidentally summoned Father’s trident.”

Enjolras gapes as the weapon appears in Grantaire’s hand. Her eyes glow blue, and the trident pulses brightly.

Jehan is the first to break out of their stupor to say, “So that’s where it went. It was radiating energy so violently that we all had to look away, and the next moment, it was gone.”

“You know what this means, don’t you, R?” Éponine asks. “The throne has remained empty for too long now, and my parents have evidently tried to usurp it.”

Grantaire’s face falls, and Enjolras immediately tightens her grip in a hopefully comforting manner. She will support whatever Grantaire chooses to do.

“A week,” the siren begs. “Just give me one more week on the Musain, and I’ll… leave.”

Éponine nods, satisfied with the compromise. Enjolras wants to yell, finding it so unfair that her love has to be torn away from her so soon, but duty is important even if she wants to hold the siren to her chest and never let go.

“Until then, Enj, I require infinite cuddles and kisses, and you need to fuck me so hard I can’t even remember my own name,” Grantaire demands. Thankfully, she whispers all of this in Enjolras’s ear instead of saying it out loud in front of their audience.

Enjolras blushes and replies, “Sounds like a plan.”

Grantaire smiles winningly at everyone else, bids them a temporary farewell, and drags their captain into her quarters, so Enjolras can make good on her promise.

The next morning, Enjolras tries waking Grantaire up with a kiss, still feeling so lucky that she has such an amazing woman to shower with love. Grantaire scrunches her nose adorably and turns away, slapping her lover in the face with her hair. Worth it.

A brilliant idea comes to mind as she continues to watch Grantaire cuddle her kittens and burrow deeper into the blankets. Enjolras reaches for her hat, plucking the feather. She grazes it lightly over Grantaire’s creamy neck, and when she flinches away, the blankets ride down to expose more skin for Enjolras to tickle.

Grantaire’s eyes shoot open before she starts giggling in earnest. Her mirth gives way to breathy moans when Enjolras runs the feather down her belly and up her inner thighs. Grantaire sighs against Enjolras’s mouth when they kiss, and it all escalates from there. They don’t get out of bed for another half hour.

“Enj,” Courfeyrac greets, when they emerge from the room. There are bags under her eyes.

“Courf?”

“The walls are rather thin, aren’t they?” she continues, and her smile turns a little darker. “And you’re sleeping with a siren who just happens to be very loud.”

Enjolras puts two and two together before both she and Grantaire turn to each other with identical blushes. The fact that the siren’s dress does not do anything to hide the bruises on her neck and chest only adds to their embarrassment.

“I-erm, didn’t know that the sounds I make during sex could make an entire ship horny,” Grantaire mutters, covers her face with her hands.

Musichetta pipes up from the back, “If it makes you feel better, Your Highness, Joly, Bossuet, and I had a marvelous time.”

“Thanks, ‘Chetta,” she squeaks, and Enjolras tries to hide her own fond grin by biting her lip. Grantaire should not be allowed to be so cute this early in the morning. Not that Enjolras has any care for the law, but her love somehow being both adorable and sexy should be illegal.

“I didn’t get my beauty sleep last night,” Courfeyrac still complains. “I didn’t get any sleep.”

Enjolras retorts, “Well neither did I. For the most part, anyway, and then R came so hard she passed out.”

“Okay, that’s oversharing, Enj,” Combeferre interrupts, rubbing her eyes. “I feel like I’m being punished for teasing you about your unsubtle infatuation-turned-love.”

That concludes their little morning gathering, and Enjolras turns to head up to the helm. Grantaire scurries after her, not once letting go of her hand.

Enjolras looks back questioningly and asks, “Do you need something?”

She shakes her head, “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight again, you’ve got another thing coming.”

That… is fair.

“I can take care of myself,” Enjolras tries to reason, but Grantaire is having none of it.

Combeferre yells, “That’s a lie! R, keep an eye on her for me, will you?”

“Will do!” Grantaire shouts back and twines her fingers together with Enjolras’s, smiling up at her.

Enjolras, feeling her brain turn to romantic mush, lifts their clasped hands to her lips to brush a kiss against Grantaire’s fingers, just for the delight of seeing her blue eyes widen and her red lips form a circle. Enjolras spins her into her arms, and her green dress flares out around her.

For the next few days, they stay anchored near the island, and Grantaire follows her everywhere, including to the bathroom, to Enjolras’s very slight annoyance.

“Do you need to be here while I take a bath?” she asks.

“Yes. Just in case you drown,” Grantaire replies. “The tub is big enough for both of us if we squish.”

Enjolras just sighs in resignation, and the siren immediately strips off her dress to join her happily. As it turns out, the bathtub is not big enough for too much excitement, but it does allow them to cuddle a little. Enjolras takes the opportunity to run her fingers through Grantaire’s curls, marveling at how the silken strands pool in her hands as Grantaire hums contentedly. Enjolras sits her down in front of the vanity and brushes her hair, knowing full well that the siren can dry and untangle it with just a thought. She still sighs at the feeling, relishing in the smooth and methodic strokes of the hairbrush and being lulled to sleep. Enjolras carries her snoozing form to bed and blows out the candle.

Grantaire makes sure to plop down into her lap during every meal and conversation with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, falling asleep against Enjolras almost immediately. Enjolras just cradles her in her arms, making sure to lower her voice as they continue. Sometimes, Grantaire will just jump into Enjolras’s arms when she is feeling particularly clingy, and Enjolras has no choice but to carry her around while she has her legs wrapped around her waist. When they have mock duels, their crewmates would call it flirting rather than fighting. Grantaire wins a few times, and Enjolras lifts her to twirl her around as she giggles.

As happy as they are to just live in this reverie, all dreams must come to an end.

“You’ll come back and visit at least once in a while, right?” Enjolras asks, embracing Grantaire and kissing her deeply.

The siren smiles against her lips before pulling away, replying, “Don’t miss me too much. Take care of the kitties, won’t you?”

Holding the fact that she did not confirm that she wouldn’t visit her close to her heart, Enjolras reluctantly lets her go. Grantaire is wearing the shirt-dress today, which she presses into her lover’s hands before climbing over the railing and gracefully diving into the ocean, Éponine and Musichetta following closely. When she surfaces again, her tail has returned, and Enjolras’s breath catches in her throat. In the setting afternoon sun, her scales glimmer.

“Don’t forget about me!” Grantaire shouts up at her, and Enjolras leans as far over the Musain’s railing as possible.

“How could I?” Enjolras asks in reply, and when she and her guards disappear under the waves, she slumps back against the edge and laughs miserably, whispering again, “How could I?”

The ship suddenly seems exponentially quieter without Grantaire to liven things up. Jehan mutters something about the only other decent musician leaving while Joly and Bossuet peer over the railing, probably hoping for another glimpse of any siren. Enjolras stands up and scrubs her hand over her face.

“Well, let’s get back to work.”

Combeferre’s eyes follow her worriedly, but Enjolras shakes her off in favor of helping Feuilly hoist the anchor back up. They haven’t even left the shore, and she already misses Grantaire and her laughter. From that point on, Enjolras throws herself into helping out around the ship, although she is utterly useless in the galley. In doing this, she distracts herself from her emotions and how much her heart aches. After a week straight of having Grantaire in her arms and with her, whether they were eating or making love, she feels a gaping hole where the siren previously resided.

“Bahorel, the Patron-Minette’s ship is still docked over there. Do you want to do the honors?” Enjolras asks, and the other woman grins.

“Hell yeah.”

The cannons have not been in use recently because Grantaire had sped their ship away before anyone else could blow holes into her. Now, Enjolras assists Bahorel in lighting them and blasting away at the rival ship. They hear yelps in the distance of enemy pirates who must have been waiting until Grantaire left to make a move.

Once they reach the open sea, Enjolras sits at her desk and files through her maps, trying to figure out where to go from here. This is a tedious task, but adventure always looms on the horizon. As it turns out, she cannot concentrate on this either because memories of Grantaire invade her mind, and an adventure without her could not even be considered an adventure anymore. The siren is one of them, a member of Les Amis de l’ABC, and without her, Enjolras has no idea where to even begin.

“Enjolras!” Courfeyrac screams, causing the captain to dart outside in alarm. Wind hits her face, and when her blonde hair stops blowing across her eyes, she looks over at where Courfeyrac is staring.

A smile slowly spreads across Enjolras’s face.

Chapter Text

Grantaire swims to the palace, flanked on both sides by Éponine and Musichetta while the trident continues to glow in her hand. Along the way, fish swim around her, and all sorts of other creatures come in close, nuzzling her hand and cheeks until she giggles merrily. She stops once to twirl with a baby dolphin that clicks and whistles joyously before returning him to his mother and propelling herself forward with a powerful flick of her tail. Everything above is so dry and plain compared to the rainbow of colors in the underwater realm, and Grantaire has to admit that she missed being here.

She also misses the warmth Enjolras provided, but that is beside the point.

“You seem happy, R,” Éponine observes.

“I guess I am. It feels nice to stretch out my tail and swim.”

“And if you had a choice between here and the humans? What decision would you make?” Musichetta asks. “Just out of curiosity.”

Grantaire slows to a halt, looking at the trident and back at her friends’ faces. If she went back to the Musain to stay, she wouldn’t know when she could see her old friends again, but on the other hand, her new friends and, most importantly, her love are aboard that ship. Staying with her forever sounds magical. She sighs and continues to swim, already knowing that it could never happen, even if she begged and pleaded, because she has to fulfill her duty.

“I just want to be free.”

Once Grantaire arrives at the gate, she takes a deep breath and throws it open, floating past familiar seaweed gardens and brightly colored coral. In the middle of the courtyard, she sings of her arrival to those who reside within the palace, and every siren who swims out eagerly joins her to welcome their crown princess home. While making music with Jehan was undeniably one of the many highlights from her little excursion, the whole chorus of voices sends excited chills down her spine.

Grantaire stops right in time for a blonde blur to collide with her and nearly send her spinning.

“Cosette!” she exclaims. “I’ve missed you, my darling sister!”

Cosette grins and clutches at her hands. She is Grantaire’s adoptive sibling, but they love each other like any pair of blood sisters.

“Yeah, me too. Now you have to tell me about every single one of your adventures. Pirates, R? How scandalous,” she teases, causing Grantaire to blush.

She protests, “No more scandalous than Marius! At least I didn’t drown a poor sailor only to turn him into one of us because of ‘love at first sight’ or whatever.”

Cosette huffs and puts her hands on her waist, “So you’re telling me that you joined a pirate crew purely because the notion of any kind of adventure makes your heart sing?”

“Well… no,” Grantaire defends. “It wasn’t love at first sight, though!”

Her little slip-up is more than enough to make her sister’s blue eyes glimmer. Cosette grabs Éponine’s hand in hers, leading both her girlfriend and Grantaire back to the palace.

“Now, you will tell me anything and everything about your little paramour,” she chirps, and Éponine shoots a helpless look at Grantaire, shrugging. Somewhere in the hallway, Marius joins them, giving Cosette a kiss before ushering Éponine into their room, probably so he can welcome her back properly. Grantaire sighs, watching her sister and her lovers embrace.

“Oh dear, are you alright?” Cosette asks, and that is all it takes for Grantaire to break down into tears, sobbing about how much she wishes she could be back with Enjolras.

“It’s not fair!” she cries. “I would give up the throne in a heartbeat to be with her again.”

Cosette hugs her and pats her back comfortingly.

“She was the first to call me beautiful as myself, did you know?” Grantaire mumbles. “Someone who wasn’t you or ‘Ponine or ‘Chetta. I just love her so much.”

“This Enjolras of yours sounds like a noble woman. I would’ve liked to meet her, I think.”

“Oh, ‘Sette. She’s beautiful and so kind to me and also a little scary, which actually makes her even more beautiful,” Grantaire sighs dreamily. “To be in her presence was dazzling and brilliant, and when she kissed me, oh, when she kissed me, I felt like I couldn’t breathe! ”

At the lovelorn expression on her face, Cosette runs a sympathetic hand through her sister’s hair, smoothing it down from where it floats around her head. Grantaire only cries harder, blubbering about how Enjolras did that too.

“I never meant to fall in love,” she wails. “I was only singing as I do, and one thing led to the next, and I couldn’t bear to live without her. Ironically, I am the one drowning in emotions.”

“Aww, R, I’m sure everything will eventually work out. Until then, you have to figure out what you’re going to do before your coronation.”

She falls asleep in her own bed that night, thinking about everything. The sheets and the covers, although luxurious, feel foreign and definitely lack the comfort Enjolras provided. Grantaire presses her face into her pillow and dreams about pirate ships and her captain.

Cosette comes back the next morning with Éponine, Marius, and Musichetta trailing behind her to accompany Grantaire to breakfast. Before they leave her room, she looks at the trident where it is propped up against the door and notices how dull it looks when it is not radiating with power. Its luster has faded to the point that it looks almost fragile, like it can be bent and snapped in half. Grantaire tries to recall if it has always looked like that and comes up blank. When her father ruled, it was massive and could create earthquakes with a single sweep.

“I wonder…”

She swims over to pick it up and with a burst of adrenaline, promptly breaks the staff into two parts. Her friends gasp in the background, and Grantaire waits for something to happen. Nothing. The waters remain as calm as ever, like destroying the symbol of power had no effect whatsoever. She exhales a sigh of relief.

“I renounce my position. There will be no throne and no monarchy in the ocean realm. In the time that I was absent, the only major problem was being caused by the throne being perpetually empty, and now, I hope we can all live peacefully,” Grantaire says. “There will always be something to worry about, whether it is a consequence of the humans living above us or caused by our own people, but we are free.”

Cosette claps for her, smiling with tears shining in her eyes, and asks, “And you? What will you do?”

Grantaire glances at her fin, knowing the answer to that question. Her sister must know too from the wistful look in her eyes and somehow manages to squeeze the breath out of her for such a petite siren.

“I will miss you, R. If you don’t visit us when you’re close, I will rock your friends’ ship until you do.”

“Of course,” Grantaire replies, and Musichetta piles into the hug, the others following close behind.

“Gav can help you find the Musain again,” Éponine says, and right on cue, a tiny blue blur zips into the room.

“G’morning!” Gavroche exclaims cheerily. “Follow me, R.”

Grantaire gives them another round of hugs and kisses their cheeks before trailing after the young siren. When the ship’s shadow comes into view, her next inhale catches in her throat. So close. A few more minutes and she can be reunited with her love again. It has barely been a day, and her heart trembles in excitement.

“Go back to your sister, Gav,” Grantaire tells him, causing him to pout and cross his arms.

“I wanna see pirates! ‘Ponine never lets me have any fun.”

“When you’re older, I’ll take you aboard, but until then, under the surface is the safest place to be for a young siren like you,” she comforts. “Maybe the next time I come visit, I’ll bring you a little coin or trinket.”

Gavroche’s eyes grow wide and he nods excitedly in agreement, giving her a parting hug before disappearing into the depths.

Bracing herself, Grantaire launches herself the rest of the way to the surface with a flick of her tail and pops her head out of the water. Almost immediately, she catches Enjolras’s happy gaze and nearly bursts into tears of relief.

“Anchor!” Enjolras yells, and they lower it just enough for Grantaire to hold on and be lifted over the railing and into her lover’s arms.

The crew of the Musain welcome Grantaire back warmly. Enjolras doesn’t care at all that she still has a tail and is soaking wet when she hugs her tightly. All that matters is that her love is back where she belongs.

“Is it pathetic that I missed you within a minute of your departure?” Enjolras asks, voice wavering with emotion.

“Definitely not pathetic. I couldn’t even last a day without seeing you,” Grantaire replies, her own trembling words muffled in Enjolras’s shirt. “I love you.”

She presses so many kisses to Grantaire’s face in response, one on each cheek, on her nose, eyelids, and forehead before sealing their lips together. In that time, the siren shifts into her human body and lets herself be covered by Enjolras’s jacket as she is carried to a familiar room, waving to the rest of the crew as they cheer and whistle loudly.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Enjolras mutters as she kisses a path down Grantaire’s neck, biting where she sees fit. Her lover gasps at every one and moans brokenly when Enjolras finally presses her lips where she wants them the most, causing her toes to curl in pleasure and her fingers to scramble to grip the sheets.

For the rest of the day, Grantaire remains burrowed between the sheets, head resting against Enjolras’s chest. She closes her eyes and is almost lulled to sleep just by listening to Enjolras’s heartbeat. Enjolras looks at her fondly and kisses her tenderly. Grantaire hums and finally gives into the urge to fall asleep, cuddled warmly by her love.

“‘M never leaving again,” she mumbles, half-conscious.

“Marry me?” Enjolras asks right as Grantaire drifts off and watches as her lips curl up in a sleepy smile. The siren shifts her head in a slow nod before the only sounds in the room are her soft breaths.

Enjolras feels overwhelmed by how much she adores the woman napping next to her and grins giddily. She would give up all of the treasure she has previously stolen from wealthy nobles without a second glance for her lover. If Grantaire wanted to settle down on land, Enjolras would leave the Musain to Combeferre and the rest of her crew and somehow find a way to hide from the law. However, she has it in good conscience that Grantaire would never ask her to do that in favor of being in proximity of both her old and new friends.

“Do you, Enjolras and Grantaire, take each other to be unlawfully wedded wives?” Courfeyrac asks, as their unofficial officiant. They both eagerly agree and before she can even tell them to kiss, Grantaire leaps into Enjolras’s arms and kisses her new wife, both hands cupped around her face.

“Okay, well, that was fun, folks,” mutters Courfeyrac as she steps away. The Musain is anchored nearby, and her crew had disembarked a while ago and now stand on the sandy shores of some island or other, far away from dangerous eyes. Enjolras lifts her wife’s petite form and twirls her around happily and stares at their matching rings. The hem of Grantaire’s green dress flutters around her calves as she squeaks in surprise and laughs.

“If this is a spell-induced dream, I never want to wake up,” Enjolras tells her. “I don’t need to know if I’m actually alone on deck without the most beautiful woman, whom I love dearly, in my arms.”

Grantaire kisses her again and replies, “I don’t think it’s possible for me to be under my own enchantment, darling… oh, look at the kitties!”

The pair of cats wobble around them on shaky sea legs and then collapse in a heap next to them after tripping over their tails. Enjolras grins as Grantaire falls over in a heap of giggles before joining her, lying down in the sand. Thankfully, their friends had left to explore, leaving the two of them to bathe in each other’s presence. Enjolras will never get over how Grantaire seems to become more beautiful every single day, today especially. Her lengthy curls have flowers woven in, courtesy of Jehan, but Enjolras loves it no matter what it looks like, even when her inky hair rippled around her underwater the first time they met.

“I’m so glad you almost drowned me that day,” she says in a low voice.

Grantaire props herself up on her elbows and looks over at her wife, smiling, “And you were immediately awed by my looks?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. And then you put on my shirt and looked all lovely with the wind blowing through your hair while you stood at the railing of my ship. And then you lifted everyone’s spirits with your singing and your laughter and your kindness. I’ve never witnessed anyone dare to be in the kitchen at the same time as Bossuet because she’s a menace with a knife, yet you went to help her anyway, and Joly’s pirate puns are cheesy, yet you laugh at them like they’re the funniest things you’ve ever heard while making sure to calm her down when she gets too stressed because of the rest of us. You make Jehan happy when you make music with them, you help Feuilly with the sails and the rigging, and you drink with Bahorel until she can’t stand straight. For all the lewd looks Courfeyrac gives us, she adores you, and you even won Combeferre over. How could I not end up falling in love with you, sweetheart?”

Grantaire just blushes and tries to hide it in Enjolras’s shoulder, but Enjolras guides her with a finger under her chin until they can stare into each other’s eyes, glimmering with emotion and love.

“You call Joly’s puns cheesy, yet that was definitely the cheesiest speech I’ve ever heard in my life,” the siren complains, but her façade is broken by a sniffle. “And fuck you for making me cry.”

“Aww, it’s okay to cry,” Enjolras teases, pinching her cheeks playfully. “I love you.”

Grantaire pouts and glares at her, but her expression transforms into one of content and adoration as she replies, “And I you. Even when you make fun of me for displaying emotions that have been repressed for a long time.”

Enjolras only responds by kissing her sweetly and maneuvering Grantaire to straddle her waist. They end up making love right there on the quiet beach without anyone to disrupt them.

The water stirs and bubbles, rousing Enjolras from her nap. Her wife lies on top of her with her head pillowed on Enjolras’s chest, still snoozing away and very much naked, so she ghosts her fingers over a bare shoulder to try to coax her from her slumber. It takes a moment because Grantaire is a notoriously deep sleeper, but when she finally blinks her blue eyes open, Enjolras greets her with a smitten smile.

“There must be something in the water,” she says, and that shakes the cloud of sleepiness from Grantaire’s mind.

“This isn’t a horrible pick-up line, is it?”

Enjolras stares at her with an incredulous expression and asks, “I didn’t think I’d need to use one on my own wife, but if you really want to hear it, I would swim into the depths of your love until I finally reach your heart and dance with you.”

“Oh, who knew you could be so poetic? And here I thought you would be sarcastic and say something like, ‘You. Clothes off. Now.’ I would have gladly complied if I had any on,” Grantaire mumbles in an attempt to brush off how flustered Enjolras could make her even after all this time.

Enjolras snorts, “I was considering it. But really, I think there’s something in the water-”

Before she could say anything else, a huge wave douses them, and they gasp at the sudden chill. Enjolras quickly puts her clothes back on to combat it.

“Who- Cosette?” Grantaire asks when she catches her breath again. “Is that you?”

Enjolras looks at her wife in surprise. Sister? she mouths, receiving a nod in reply.

“We didn’t miss your wedding, did we?” Cosette exclaims, gathering Grantaire in a hug, disregarding the fact that they are both completely naked. “Oh, how impolite of me! Let me just shift some clothes on.”

“Wait, R, you can do that too?” Enjolras asks. “Yet you’ve been wearing my shirt-turned-dress and the stuff I gave you if not parading around my rooms in the nude?”

Grantaire blushes and slides on her velvet gown again, crafted from the materials Enjolras purchased for her months back, protesting, “Well they’re comfy, and I like the notion of wearing your gifts.”

Enjolras squints at her before embracing her tightly because she has no right being so cute. Cosette squeals behind her.

“Is this Enjolras? How lovely to meet the one who captured my dear sister’s heart!”

“Nice to meet you too, I suppose,” she replies, squeezing Grantaire a little. “Oh, and technically we’ve been married for a couple hours now, but you’re welcome to join whatever else Courf planned.”

“Shame I missed it, but sounds fun!” Cosette claps her hands. Éponine, Musichetta, and two others Enjolras have not been introduced to appear out of the waves, panting slightly.

Grantaire fixes that and says, “This is Éponine’s little brother, Gavroche, and that is Marius.”

Her wife nods in greeting. Suddenly, her friends reappear out of the forest. Joly and Bossuet immediately take each of Musichetta’s hands in theirs and start jabbering at a speed Enjolras cannot comprehend.

“We heard noises, so we had to come back to make sure you didn’t get yourself in trouble on your wedding day,” Courfeyrac explains. “I see you have company… Marius?”

“Wait, you know Marius?” Grantaire asks. “What?”

“So good to see you again, friend! He was my betrothed wayyy back when I was just a nobleman’s daughter,” Courfeyrac chirps. “And then his ship got lost at sea on a journey to the New World, and nobody ever saw Baron Pontmercy again. Until now, I suppose.”

Enjolras gets whiplash from the sequence of events and just has to clarify a few things, “This was ten years ago from before we met?”

Courfeyrac shudders just thinking about being stuffed into layers of dresses, replying, “I’m so glad those days are over. I think things turned out for the better anyway. I have ‘Ferre, and he has Éponine, I’m assuming, and another lovely lady whom I have not been introduced to. Hello!”

“Name’s Cosette, and I’m the one who drowned him,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Pleasure,” Courfeyrac replies, shaking her hand to the siren’s bewilderment at the human custom. She lowers her voice to whisper, “Between you and me, I’m glad you did because I wouldn’t have met my beautiful friends otherwise.”

“Hey!” Marius yelps, obviously having overheard. He shrugs, nonplussed.

“Small world we live in,” Enjolras quips.

“Hey, Enj?” Grantaire asks, getting her wife’s attention once more, even though it has never really left her. “I’m curious… if Courf was born to an aristocratic family, what about you? I think you know more about me than I do about you at this point.”

“Hmm? Oh, I was in the same social circles, but somehow, we never crossed paths until I ran away and joined Lamarque’s crew, disguised as a young man. Honestly, I was happy just to never wear a corset or a skirt ever again,” Enjolras says, reminiscing her teenage years. “The ocean also provided and still provides a freedom the capital will never give me and my friends. I was sick of being treated like an object my parents could show off at balls and parties and tired of nobles looking down upon those less fortunate. I wanted to experience that for myself, so I gave all my jewels and valuable possessions to the beggars on the streets and left that life for good.”

“We are not so different, it seems,” is all Grantaire says, and she leans up for a kiss. “I wish I had known you back then.”

Enjolras looks at her wife, allowing everything else to fade away.

“I wish you had as well, but just know that I look atrocious in giant ruffles and bows,” she deadpans. “Thank God you’ll never have to see that.”

Grantaire laughs, a tinkling sound, and bends down to pick up the cats, placing one in her wife’s arms. Enjolras smiles down at the furball purring away and at her love, looking as radiant as the sea when the sun sets across the horizon.

Back on the Musain , Enjolras drinks with her friends, not nearly as much as her companions, but it is enough to make her feel lightheaded. Or maybe her proximity to Grantaire does that. Either way, she giggles a little, drunk, and clutches her wife to her chest.

“I just love you so much,” Enjolras sobs amidst her mirth, squishing Grantaire. “You’re so pretty. Your heart is so pretty. I must have done something right to have you as my wife.”

Grantaire, flattered, reaches up to pat the head resting on her shoulder, and wheezes, “There, there. I love you too.”

“Oh, she loves me! I should tell the world,” Enjolras exclaims, slumping further against her. She kisses Grantaire’s neck.

“Okay, I think we need to go to bed now,” the siren huffs. “Who knew our fearless captain would be such a lightweight?”

“Hng,” is all Enjolras says in reply. “‘M gonna kiss you everywhere.”

Grantaire slings one of her wife’s arms around her waist to keep her upright with a grunt, “Come on, love. I need you to help me here.”

Enjolras grins against Grantaire’s soft curls and strokes a finger back and forth over her clothed belly. The dress is nice to her touch. She cannot wait to peel it off of her wife and relish in the sweet sounds she will make after a finger or two is inside her.

She doesn’t end up doing that. 

Right after she gets undressed, Enjolras gets in bed, pulling Grantaire onto it with her, and promptly falls asleep, cuddling her. Grantaire curls closer against her and finds pleasure in the peace on her wife’s face. She will always be in awe of how such an expressive person can be so relaxed and how such a wonderful woman can love her in return. The siren lifts a hand to stroke Enjolras's defined cheekbone, marveling at her beauty. The scar on her cheek has faded to a white line, barely visible against her golden skin, but Grantaire kisses it and loves the memories it holds.

Come morning, Enjolras wakes up with a groan and to Grantaire’s beautiful face staring back at her, fully awake for once.

“Good morning,” she grumbles. “Actually, let’s just sleep. ‘Ferre can take over for today while I revel in having my wife in my bed.”

Grantaire laughs, “I thought you liked adventure. Nothing is more adventurous than sailing while hungover, according to Bahorel.”

“Adventure can come later. For now, I’ll stay in bed with you.”

“Aww, I’m honored. Please, bestow your hugs and kisses upon me,” the siren says happily, and Enjolras does exactly that, pulling the covers over them until they are wrapped in a single lump.

“Stay with me no matter what. Come with me wherever I go,” she mumbles into Grantaire’s hair. “Go on a million adventures with me, sweetheart.”

“For you, my love, I will follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Fin.