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Chapter Text

“Come again?”

Old Goro didn’t bat an eye at Madara’s grouchy incredulity—long since used to his borderline rude behaviour—but the finely dressed man standing next to the village elder couldn’t suppress an affronted huff. Madara took it as a win, since he suspected there wouldn’t be much more to gain for him in the future that had just been presented to him.

“You heard me, boy.” Bold, considering Madara was already in his mid-twenties. Then again, the elder seemed to be as old as the battered cliff their village had been built upon, so maybe Madara really registered as a mere boy to his ancient perception. Goro had never been one to repeat himself so it was no surprise his overdressed counterpart chimed in after a beat of silence, subjecting them to his entirely unappreciated opinion on the mess Madara had unwittingly found himself in. With no fault of his own, as he might add.

“You have the great fortune of having caught our cherished Hime-sama’s eye on her pilgrimage last year, mercilessly capturing her heart to the point she was inconsolable when being parted from her secret love—even while surrounded by the numerous pleasures of the capitol!” The deep frown as he gave Madara’s simple clothes and surly face another once-over did little to hide his opinion on the matter. “At long last her father, our benevolent liege, couldn’t bear seeing his beloved child wasting away from heartbreak anymore and has graciously allowed her plea for a love match despite the disparage in… social standing.”

Another beat of silence, and Madara wondered distantly how long it might take for the pathetic man to pass out from the nervously fitting gaze between Madara’s and Goro’s equally unimpressed silent stare. Sadly, though, the court peacock couldn’t read a room and instead barreled on, talking about the good fortune Madara’s match would bring to the village, which answered at long last the question as to why his great-uncle went along with this farce. The old penny pincher was never one to miss an opportunity for the village, even at the cost of his own family.

“Not even in your dreams.”

Startled, Madara turned his attention back to the ongoing conversation of his impending nuptials that hadn’t demanded his input so far, never mind his agreement. Goro and the court lackey had fallen silent again, and Madara had seen his great-uncle rarely as steadfast as he was now. It couldn’t be Madara’s future the man was worried about, so what-

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is a fishing village. You seem to have sniffed too much on your scented oils if you think we could afford such a ridiculous bride price. That aside, Madara is our best fisherman. His loss will weigh greatly on the village as it is.” This… might actually be the nicest thing the old squid had ever said about Madara. He didn’t trust it for a second. “That deluded wrench wants to marry our boy, so by all means, she should pay, not the other way around.”

Ah, there it was. Madara couldn’t say he was surprised.

“This- the audacity. Outrageous! I’d never-”

Madara zoned out when the court official predictably clutched his pearls and fell into hysteric gasps at the insult to his precious hime. What a waste of space. Was this really to be Madara’s future—surrounded by people who couldn’t tolerate a moment of silence, always offended at some thing or another, and perfumed so heavily it made his head spin?

Truthfully, the thought of marriage hadn’t ever crossed his mind. For all that he slept at the village among his people, his home was the sea. Madara preferred to keep to himself—he didn’t need more than a breeze in his hair and the scent of salt in his nose to be content. Madara had never imagined himself to gain roots buried in dry land, not when for years now he had only ever been happy on his softly rocking boat, kept askew under the considerable weight of his ever-quiet company.

But would it be so bad?

Madara didn’t really get what the hime thought she’d gain by bullying her father into letting her act out her delusions of an epic romance by marrying a commoner she’d only seen once and never interacted with other than a single moment of shared eye contact—just long enough for Madara to realise their colour to be a rich but boring maroon rather than the dark hue of red he’d thought them to be.

But with his soul longing for the untameable sea, it wasn’t as if he could ever have the romance he desired, was it? And maybe, as much as his heart ached at the sheer thought of it, it wouldn’t be too bad to leave the shore and try to move on from useless desires by living with a family of his own further inland.

For all that Madara barely remembered anything about the woman apparently dead-set on marrying him, would it be so bad to grant her a happy end to her romantic tale? At least a temporary one. Any ‘magic of true love’ the hime might be able to procure by means of her worrying willingness to disregard all common sense would evaporate as soon as the reality of their marital life had settled in—as soon as the reality of Madara would register to her senses. He might have been told numerous times that his face was as pretty as his body impressive, but ‘as mercurial as the sea’ had been one of the nicer worded descriptions for his foul temper.

Then again, watching the elder and lackey clasping hands, both with a satisfied expression and a pleased glint in their greedy eyes, it didn’t seem as if Madara had much of a choice in the first place anyway.

Chapter Text

What set Madara apart from the rest of his village’s fishermen was that he held no fear of the sea. He did respect it, of course: He would be foolish not to. But how could he ever fear the depths that were the home of his heart?

Madara knew he’d never get lost and nothing ill would ever happen to him as long as he kept to the sea.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his small boat tilted askew when long fingers took hold of its battered edge and a crown of spun moonlight appeared, followed by sparkling rubies set in a face carved by the gods.

“Tora,” the name fell from his lips like a prayer, and he was rewarded by seeing the pale face lit up like the morning sun. Tora tilted his face with scrunched-closed eyes and a wide, close-lipped smile that carefully hid his sharp teeth while showing off a set of endearing dimples, portraying the pleasure he felt at the effort Madara had put into learning the butchered version of his name. It was the closest Madara had been able to get to whatever his friend was truly called, and the less said about his early attempts to emulate the set of clicks and purrs that made up his mer’s actual name, the better.

“Ma’ra,” Tora greeted in turn, and as always, Madara’s heart stuttered. It had been the work of weeks until Tora had been able to gurgle a set of sounds closely resembling Madara’s name and Madara had rarely felt as blessed. Despite the shared years, it was the only mimic of human speech that Tora was able to get past his ill-suited vocal cords, and while it made communication all but impossible—with Tora’s long and dangerously clawed fingers equally unequipped to hold a pen and write anything Madara would be able to read—it wasn’t as if they needed words in the first place. Their connection went deeper than that.

Caught up by the line of thinking Madara so rarely allowed himself to indulge in, he reached out and carefully swept away a strand of silvery white clinging to Tora’s cheek. While it was intended as a quick gesture, Madara couldn’t help himself when the impossibly fast-drying lock caught on his weathered skin and rubbed it between his fingertips, marvelling at the silken feel of it. It was quiet moments like this when Madara found himself struck by Tora’s beauty yet again and it was as if he’d never seen the mer before. Each droplet of water a diamond under the early sunlight, clinging to pale skin and silver scales alike, drawing Madara’s eye and attention to a point where he nearly forgot the need to breathe.

As he luxuriated on the feel of Tora’s hair on his skin, Madara noticed the sunlight playing tricks on his eyes, turning Tora’s hair golden. And just like that, he realised what might have been the cause for the hime’s infatuation with him: When she’d visited the village, Madara had seen her from afar and for just a moment, the sun had played a similar trick. His eyes had been drawn to fine hair, a silver banner in the wind, before the light betrayed its golden colour and Madara lost all interest. But maybe the brief moment of lost composure, the longing he was hard-pressed to keep contained when not in his love’s presence, had been what had made the delusional woman convinced Madara was the answer to her prayers for a love worthy of songs and tales.

“I’m about to get married, you know?” Madara started randomly, watching avidly as Tora’s long ears twitched at the sound of his voice. Madara liked to fill the silence and find solutions by talking through whatever was on his mind. And Tora seemed to enjoy listening to his voice, too, always encouraging Madara to continue. By this point, Madara was convinced the mer understood at least the gist of most of what Madara was telling him on any given day. His Tora was wickedly intelligent like that, one needed only to look into his eyes to realise this—the red eyes that had been the first thing Madara had ever seen of his love.

When he remembered the first time he’d seen those very eyes, Madara huffed a small laugh, causing Tora to move his ears independently as if to catch nuances Madara himself wasn’t able to hear. Had it really been a decade yet? A decade since Madara—still green and wet behind the ears—had deemed himself experienced enough to set out by himself despite being too young for it by the village’s rules.

Not that Madara would ever let his elders know, but they had been right.

At the age of fifteen—and for the first time utterly alone on sea—Madara had startled so badly when red eyes peered at him over the railing that he fell over the brink while knocking his head hard enough to pass out for a few moments. If it weren’t for Tora, Madara had no doubts he would have drowned. Or gotten himself eaten. Tora wasn’t by far the only creature living under the surface but as far as Madara was concerned he was by far the most benevolent. The most beautiful. And the most curious.

Tora had stuck around even after Madara safely made it back to the shore, reappearing whenever Madara was alone and close to the waters that felt like home, just as curious about the human as Madara was about the mer. And, almost inevitably, their mutual curiosity had led to friendship. Affection. And, more, if Madara were honest. What care did he have for their language barrier, if Tora spoke to his heart in such a matter?

To this day, no matter the endless times spent together, Madara still hadn’t had his fill of Tora, was utterly enchanted by the mer, his otherworldly beauty and sweet character. But even so, Madara didn’t allow himself to dream.

It was the common conception that a romance between humans and mers never worked out, if for various reasons. And while Madara didn’t fear Tora eventually turning out to be a siren—dangerous beauty and lovely humming aside—using all these shared years to merely butter Madara up to follow him willingly under the surface, what Madara did fear, was to confess the depth of his regard only for Tora to vanish like the mers in every tale where a human set out to confess their feelings. Shallow as they might be, considering how fast these treacherous pricks usually seem to move on from their proclaimed love to some random wanderers, living a happily ever after without ever returning to the sea and their hearts living within.

“I would tell you more about my wife-to-be, but I fear I don’t even know her name, let alone anything else,” Madara rumbled on, lost in thought as he kept petting Tora’s hair which was so different from his own mane of untameable curls. It was rare for him to be this forward, this bold with his affection, but he knew he was on borrowed time now. There was no going back, not if Tora didn’t give him a sign that he wanted him to stay.

“She is the daughter of a high lord, and I will be required to join her home. Away from the sea. From you.” Tora gurgled a questioning noise before he fell back into the purr he had adopted around Madara for ages now.

For all that Madara didn’t see a future for them, no happy end to his own tragic romance, he couldn’t see himself ever moving on either. Tora was so sweet, curious and open, free with his affections. By now, Madara had a small treasure chest full of random odds and ends that Tora had given him over the years just because they were pretty and he wanted Madara to admire their shininess. With that in mind, deeply gazing into soulful red eyes, Madara wasn’t even too upset that he would be all but forced to marry. He didn’t even mind being sold like cattle—it wasn’t as if he’d ever chosen a wife for himself or would find happiness on dry lands—but he loathed the thought of having to part from anything that his Tora had gifted him.

“They demand for me to offer her a gift, you know? To ‘prove my pure intentions’ as if I had any designs on her. A personally crafted piece of jewellery, using precious materials that the old squid knows I have been given by the sea. By you.” Madara’s hand dropped from the crown of Tora’s head to cup his cheek, thumb swiping over sharp cheekbones as the mer trustingly nuzzled into the weathered palm, peering up at Madara from underneath long lashes. Deep down, Madara knew he was telling Tora about it because he hoped the mer would be as outraged by the petty demand of the posh capital people as Madara had been, storming out of his great-uncle’s hut before he could say or do something he might regret.

No matter how much he had abstained from such foolishness before, Madara hoped against all sense or reason that Tora might give him a sign for his longing not to be without a chance after all. There was no shred of doubt in Madara’s heart that he would abandon his people without ever looking back if Tora gave him any hope that he’d welcome Madara within his arms, his heart.

In this single instance, Madara didn’t even flail as he was prone to do when overcome by emotion. He kept tracing the delicate bones and scales of Tora’s face, never looking away from these lovely eyes, taking his fill as much as he could. Something about not knowing if he’d ever be able to see his love again, if he could steal away for a swim while the hime was staying at the village—before he was required to leave—made him stuck in the moment, feeling almost bewitched.

“The elders desire the connection to the capitol without wanting to add anything to the deal other than ensuring my compliance,” Madara whispered. “But I don’t want to give up on anything you ever chose for me to have.”

Madara’s fingertips dropped to Tora’s thin lips, his gaze following promptly when pink flesh came out to meet them without hesitation, followed by a playful nip of sharp teeth. If—at this moment—Tora were to give up any pretence and haul Madara over the brink to steal him away into the depths, tearing into his flesh with these only-ever careful teeth and claws like a siren… Madara would feed him gladly.

With a last lingering peck to his fingertips, Tora gave Madara a long glance from underneath his lashes before he dropped back under the water, invisible but for a flick of silver tail underneath the surface. It left Madara reeling, if only for a moment. Something about the way Tora left, the way he had caught Madara’s gaze with no reservation—with resolve hidden in the red pools—told him that the mer would be back, and soon at that.

Sure enough, before Madara could think himself into a frenzy, his mer returned, breaking the surface eagerly enough for Madara’s little boat to dangerously rock on the sudden waves.

A long-fingered hand held onto the edge of Madara’s boat, but for once Tora’s claws dug into the wet wood in his apparent excitement as he held his other hand in a fist against his chest. Smiling widely, showing off rows of sharp teeth, with dimples dug deeply into his cheeks and his eyes scrunched crescents. The obvious show of unreserved happiness had Madara’s breath stuck in his throat. Even more so when slowly, carefully, Tora extended his fist towards him and one by one, pale fingers opened up to reveal a perfect pearl cradled in the unmarred palm of Tora’s hand.

An offering, if Madara had ever seen one. One that was undoubtedly worthy of a princess.

Madara felt himself tearing up against his better judgement, burning eyes stubbornly trained on the miraculous beauty of the pearl and studiously avoiding taking in any more sign of Tora’s happiness for his friend’s upcoming nuptials.

He was such an idiot.

As much as Madara was relieved that he would not have to part from any gift that Tora had specifically chosen for him, it saddened him even more that, in the end, it was undeniable that he had been projecting his own feelings into his friend’s behaviour. No matter the imagined little hints of a deeper fondness, Madara had to be truly alone with his feelings, if the mer gave him an early wedding present this easily.

“Thank you, Tora,” Madara whispered, choking on the weight of his own emotions as he tried to swallow down the urge to cry. “It is perfect.”

And it was, there was no doubt. But no beauty could console him if he were to look up to see Tora glow with happiness, content to wave Madara into a future where it was uncertain if they’d ever see each other again.

Chapter Text

Listlessly lying on his bed, Madara rolled the pearl Tora had given him between his fingertips without being able to admire its otherworldly glow in the early sunlight.

Madara knew what he had to do. There was no forgetting about his ‘duty to the village that had raised his worthless hide’ with Goro haunting his every step and prohibiting him from setting sail as if afraid Madara would leave them all behind in favour of the sea given half a chance.

The old squid had always been too perceptive for his own good.

But for all his perceptiveness, Goro had yet to realise that the sea had all but lost its appeal to Madara. Even if he’d find the strength to return, there was no knowing if he’d see Tora again or if their last goodbye was truly as final as it had felt at the moment Madara’s heart broke.

He didn’t dare to find out.

Since there was nothing else he could occupy himself with for now, Madara forced himself to shore up some motivation for working with the treasure Tora had granted him to gift his wife-to-be—or was it Madara, who was about to become the hime‘s husband, her favoured pet?—and thought about designs that might please her.

Focusing on the task at hand at long last, Madara suddenly realised creating anything with this pearl in particular would be more challenging than it needed to be.

For all that Madara made a living with fishing, he did have some experience with creating little trinkets—was quite a dab hand at it, honestly. Generally speaking, creating some ‘primitive’ jewellery for the hime as had been demanded of him, wouldn’t be a hardship. But how could Madara take one of his tools to this natural marvel? The thought alone felt almost blasphemous even though he was by no means a man of faith.

Despite its unusually large size, the pearl was free of any imperfection and seemed to be glowing from within—a pink flush to its shell that Madara had never seen before, and let the pearl almost appear alive.

Madara still appreciated—was relieved—that he wouldn’t have to part from one of the gifts Tora had given him over the years—each seemingly carefully selected to please Madara and no one else—or the trinkets he created of them. But he couldn’t help but think that it seemed like an utter waste to give away this marvel to someone Madara could only assume to be too spoiled to properly appreciate its plain beauty.

Making a snap decision, Madara hid the pearl in his fist as he rolled out of bed and onto his feet, striding across the room to the simple workbench that held most of his tools.

He would have to give the pearl away if he didn’t want to sacrifice his own treasures, but no one could demand of him to ruin it by shaping or engraving as was the custom among the villagers—heathens that they were.

Instead of drilling a hole and threading a chain through it, Madara took out a spare spool of fisher wire and let time fly by as he moved his weathered hands to form tiny little knots, creating a delicate little net that would hold the invaluable gift secure without damaging its natural perfection.

For just a moment, Madara felt a pang within his chest as the nonsensical thought occurred that he was caging the pearl—trapping a piece of the untameable sea—for another’s pleasure. But then he shook his head and willed the notion away.

He was being ridiculous.

While Madara did not work on the pearl as such, he still took his sweet time at the workbench—shut away in his home without entertaining the village’s nosy elders with an explanation of what he’d create. Only when Goro forced his entrance to grouchily inform him of the hime’s party approaching the village did Madara eventually stop fiddling around and finalised his creation: attached to a thin chain, the pearl sat in a plain but intricate net made of fine silvery wire that enhanced its luscious shine by not distracting from it.

When the time came to present his offering, Madara was pleasantly surprised that despite his suspicion about the hime being too spoiled with riches to properly appreciate his gift, she turned out to be not only enchanted by the pearl itself but also positively delighted by the jewellery Madara created with it—as were her attendants and the village elders.

Even if his excitement about the upcoming wedding and all it entailed weren’t non-existent in the first place, Madara would still have loathed that what should have been a private matter was turned into a public circus in the middle of the village’s bustling market. All that fuss attached to his betrothed didn’t bode well for his own contentment at the capitol in general, or within his marriage in particular.

Before Madara could work himself into a proper snit, though, he was distracted from his irritation by a flash of white at the corner of his eye.

In a simple village like theirs, flashes of colour were nearly impossible to come by. There was nothing but the muted shades he associated with dry lands, which bored him to tears ever since Tora had opened his eyes to the wonder of true colours that could only ever be found beneath the waves. Especially true white Madara had only ever seen when at sea: the colour of breaking waves, of fine hair floating beneath the surface.

The shock turned his head fast enough to produce a painful crack, but even so, Madara couldn’t catch another glimpse.

His longing must have tricked his eyes since Tora didn’t have any means to follow Madara on shore to object to his engagement—if the mer would even want to after having given his blessing already.

There was no need to delude himself.

For all that Madara used to bury his feelings so deeply he rarely had to acknowledge them, even in his most fanciful dreams he hadn’t ever dared to imagine them returned. Tora was magnificent, as untameable as the currents he resided within and Madara wouldn’t have it any other way, would never dream of chaining down such a free spirit with the burden of his regard.

That he was now meant to marry someone else—someone landbound at that—didn’t change the truth of his relationship with Tora nor that it would never be the kind Madara finally admitted he yearned for.

Ah well. At least Madara could look forward to seeing his wayward brother again.

The brat, against all odds, had made a name for himself on the mainland as the expert on Merology—so much even that old Goro had thought to send an invitation, if for no other reason than to rub the village’s ‘illustrious connections’ into the arrogant attendant’s face—and Madara couldn’t be prouder.

After not having seen each other for years, Izuna would never forgive him if he’d make the long trip for nought. Then again, his little brother would forgive Madara even less if he’d allow for the rest of his life to be a miserable existence, wouldn’t he?

Madara would have to make a choice.

Gazing at the blue horizon, Madara rued his spur-of-a-moment decision to give his financé a proper chance at gaining his affection, a chance for them to build something true between them. While the woman had all but jumped at the sudden opportunity to spend more time together, it had only solidified Madara’s understanding that he was not a social creature in the slightest.

Right now, he let the familiar crescendo of breaking waves wash over him, enjoying how it blessedly drowned out the hime’s chatter. Mostly, at least.

“Don’t you agree, Madara-san?”

“Of course, Hime-sama,” Madara replied automatically without having the faintest idea what exactly he supposedly agreed with.

“Oh my,” the hime giggled daintily—nothing like Tora’s wheezing amusement on the rare occasion Madara was particularly clumsy—and battered his eyes at him. “I do have a name, you know. As my intended you are more than welcome to use it.”

Actually, truth be told, Madara still didn’t know her name.

If one wanted to get technical about it, it could even be said that—trying to give her a chance or not—Madara went out of his way to know as little as possible about the woman who would be his wife or about the court life that laid ahead of him.

For all that Madara had been resolved to accept his fate and abandon his pointless unrequited feelings for Tora, every fibre of his being seemed to resist whenever he attempted to make an effort in trying to build something with the hime—even if it were just some platonical fondness, a friendship with the person who’d share his life.

Not that he did have much hope for it in the first place, socially inept as he was. Sometimes Madara wondered if the only reason Tora hadn’t abandoned him right out of the gate was because of their language barrier.

Turning to face the hime, Madara could concede she was a beautiful woman. Even so, it was the pearl between her collarbones that had his heart suddenly in his throat. The setting sun darkened its healthy pink into the rusty red of old blood with the holding net casting a shadow that appeared almost like cracks as delicate as spiderwebs.

“I wouldn’t dare get ahead of myself, Hime-sama,” Madara demurred distractedly, blood rushing in his ears as he couldn’t help the sudden and unexplainable rush of worry settling into his gut.

Above the pearl, painted lips pursed in discontent. Madara saw them shaping words, but his thoughts were too far away to listen, his resolve grumbling like a sandcastle under the incoming tide.

Keeping his distance wasn’t working out like he had hoped it would—his yearning for Tora increasing rather than abating—so if he could not forget about his mer, maybe he should seek him out again instead.

A final shared moment.

Closure.

Madara wasn’t sure his heart could take it, but for as long as he still resided close to the sea, he should make good on whatever time he had left before the proceedings would take him away.

Shaking the hime off was easier than Madara had feared it would be. Even with his eyes and thoughts now more firmly upon the sea than ever, it was obvious that she was withdrawing into herself—from Madara and even the few more giggly villagers she used to surround herself with during the wedding planning.

All but hiding behind the guards she brought with her, she even suddenly demanded they’d speed up the wedding and leave for the capitol as soon as possible—stating echoes of a mournful song wafting in from the sea trying to lure her compassionate heart to its demise under the waves, rumours of a ghost that she was sure were out for her blood because why else would it appear only now?

Never one for superstitions, it was the one time Madara had resisted a suggestion about their impending wedding. And no matter how besotted she claimed to be with him, the hime almost seemed fearful when Madara raised his voice to his natural bellow after the days and weeks of knowing only his subdued silence.

He would feel bad about it, maybe. If it weren’t for the fact that he was beyond himself, looking for Tora but not finding his mer at any of their usual meeting spots along the coast. Madara had half a mind to go behind Goro’s back and steal a boat to sail out in search of Tora.

Ultimately, fear held him back.

Maybe giving the pearl had been a goodbye in truth? Maybe Tora—understanding that Madara was about to leave—had decided to cut his losses and moved on without looking back in a reverse of the villages folklores in which mankind tended to be nothing more but fleeting scum that settled down with random strangers at the coast after having been rejected by a mer they’d claimed to love.

But perhaps the worst truth to swallow…

Would Madara ever know?

Chapter Text

Izuna would never admit to it, but his eventual success as a researcher and thus gained elevation in status seemed to have made him too soft for the life that used to be his prospect growing up. If Madara were to see him now—clinging to the ferry’s railing for dear life, fighting to keep his meagre breakfast in his stomach where it belonged—his brother would drown himself in sheer embarrassment at their relation.

Not that Izuna truly believed he’d manage.

Since the day Madara—forever trying to pass up his general lack of common sense as bravery—had allegedly been saved from drowning by a mer, Izuna had yet to see any drop of water do more than what could only be called caress his brother.

It always made him wonder just what kind of near-mythical sea creature Madara had accidentally managed to reel in with his brutish charme, but if the wedding invitation he received was to be believed, he’d finally find out.

To say Izuna was excited would be a gross understatement.

Madara’s beau must be quite clever—and have a great understanding of humanity to boot—to have come up with the guise of a highborn hime to explain away the quirks and differing behaviours that she’d be bound to have. A true noblewoman would probably be more alien to simple villagers than a mer pretending to be human, so they should be good without opportunists coming after their hides.

Other than Izuna, that was.

Like hell would he pass up the opportunity to learn more about any kind of mer and their various relatives right from the source. He had never been as glad as he was now about his pristine reputation as an expert, it would allow him to get away with publishing his newfound knowledge without having to plainly cite his source, thus protecting his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law.

By the gods, the suspense was killing him. Had been for years, ever since he learned of his brother’s saviour but had been unable to meet the elusive mer. While it had been a constant argument between him and Madara in their adolescence, after years of studies on the topic Izuna had realised it had been for the best.

Most sub-species of mer only showed themselves to humans if they aimed to mate or feast, after all. And obsessed with his chosen field or not, Izuna wasn’t interested in offering himself up as a snack one way or another. If the mer wouldn’t kill him, Madara certainly would.

If this thrice-damned storm didn’t take him first, that was.

The village’s muddy streets had never looked more inviting to Izuna’s salt-burned eyes—he was even willing to declare them solid ground, never mind that he was sunken in up to the ankles as soon as he stumbled from the ferry.

Izuna didn’t dally, quickly approaching the hut his brother falsely claimed to be a house. Hand raised to knock, the door was ripped open and Izuna buried in the warmth of his brother before he had any chance to properly announce himself. Madara must have kept an eye open for his arrival and the thought warmed Izuna’s heart.

While he hadn’t visited in ages—too caught up in his studies and writing first articles and later books about his discovery—it wasn’t out of lack of care for his brother, nor had he ever stopped missing him.

“It’s good to see you,” Madara murmured into Izuna’s hair, “you’re late.”

Just like that, Izuna felt like a child again. In stark contrast to their youth, though, the thought didn’t fill him with annoyance or contempt. After having travelled for the past years it was nice to know that someone was looking out for him, waiting for him.

Still, there was no reason to let Madara know about his mushy feelings lest he got ideas.

“You’re one to talk,” Izuna drawled, drawing back from his brother to box his shoulder. “Aren’t you almost ancient for a bachelor? High time for you to settle down at long last.”

Taking in his brother for the first time, Izuna was taken aback by how downtrodden Madara seemed—downright exhausted. At Izuna’s quip, something dark passed over his face, too quick for Izuna to catch. He was about to ask about it when he heard the rustle of fabric coming from further inside, announcing his brother’s bride that he had hidden for far too long to Izuna’s tastes as a nosy little brother.

Sue him, but he was almost vibrating out of his skin in suddenly renewed excitement.

“Let’s meet my new sister then!”

Madara’s face spasmed at that, but before the reaction truly registered, Izuna’s attention was caught by the distinctive pearl openly worn around the woman’s neck. His breath caught in his throat at the unexpected show of trust he had done nothing yet to deserve but would do everything to prove worthy of. About to pledge himself, Izuna looked up only for his big fat mouth to ruin this moment he had so long waited for.

“Huh, I didn’t know mer come in such plain colouring.”

There was a moment of silence, the three of them blinking at each other in surprise as each worked through Izuna’s thoughtless words, before Madara suddenly doubled over with a raucous laughter that almost seemed painful in its intensity and Izuna closed his eyes in defeat. Madara would never let him live this down, way to go to make a first impression.

Which didn’t mean he hadn’t spoken the truth, though. What a strange specimen. Maybe mer lost their vibrancy upon gaining legs? There wasn’t anything in his research supporting that thought, though.

“Excuse me?”

Izuna opened his eyes in shock, taking in the indignant woman who carried her disgruntlement with the pose of someone trained into it before they could walk. But more importantly…

What.

“You can talk. Why can you talk?” Izuna blurted yet again, forgetting all about the grace he’s learned to handle himself with ever since he left his humble beginnings as a sea-sick fisherboy behind to travel the world and make a name for himself.

“Why wouldn’t I talk,” the woman sniffed, her small nose upturned. Her appearance was objectively lovely, Izuna had to give her that. Shimmering blonde hair and unmarred pale skin, untouched by the sun or the strife of honest work. Lovely, but not to a degree Izuna would have expected of a species that was renowned for drawing grown men beneath the surface with nothing but a smile, inspiring songs after merely a glance.

“I’ll have you know, my father didn’t spare any expense regarding my education. I’ve enjoyed the tutelage of the greatest thinkers of our time,” she continued before she narrowed plain brown eyes on Izuna. “Considering your reputation I would have thought to count you among them, but it seems I’ve been mistaken.”

That someone hadn’t spared expenses for her was obvious, at least. Her fine clothes were far beyond anything Madara could ever hope to afford even if he found the heart to part from the ‘treasures’ he kept squirrelled away ever since he got his first broken but shiny shell a mere days after his rescue.

She looked like a hime, indeed. A proper one. Not like a mer out of water pretending to be one to fool simple villagers.

That only begged the question…

“Where did you get that pearl?”

Izuna’s abrupt demand startled the hime out of her posturing, chancing a glance at Madara who himself furrowed his brow at the accusing tone.

“From your brother, of course. He was to prove the depth of his feelings with a gift and I’d say no one could claim them to be lacking in the face of this generosity, no?” Her voice grew surer with every word until she was almost simpering at the end, batting her eyes coyly at Madara who in turn didn’t seem to notice the attention, focused on the pearl in question instead with a complicated expression on his face.

“And where the fuck did you get that pearl, brother?”

Madara was visibly taken aback by Izuna’s sharp tone, the rare crudeness of his word choice. “It was a gift,” he said slowly as if afraid of the consequences. He did have his rare moments of social awareness after all. Still. Izuna could feel the vein at his temple begin to throb.

He had a hunch and he did not like it.

“A gift,” Izuna repeated, tone flat. “I recognise this kind of pearl, Madara. They’re rather distinctive if you know what to look for. It’s a mer’s pearl, brother. A mer gifted you their pearl and you gave it away—just like that?”

They stared each other down in growing suspense, Izuna trying to hold onto his quickly shortening temper as Madara parsed through the accusation but came up none the wiser.

“I told them I needed an engagement gift and that I was unwilling to part from the treasures they’ve given me over the years,” he eventually began, voice carefully modulated but Izuna could still hear the lingering upset the memory seemed to invoke in his brother. “When they then gave me the pearl, of course, did I give it away. What else was I supposed to do with it? It’s the most beautiful item I’ve ever been given, I admit, but it got me to keep the things that had been chosen for me. So what’s the deal with you?”

“What’s the-” Izuna whispered aghast before catching himself. “You can be such an idiot, sometimes it’s hard to believe we’re related.”

Izuna kept grumbling under his breath as he ignored Madara’s sputtering offence and his fiance’s outcry when he snatched the pearl from her neck with nimble fingers, the holding net separating from the chain with no issue under his experienced touch.

He did have to make a living somehow before his academic career started to pay off, it wasn’t his fault that no one had ever asked how he’d managed to survive these early years on the mainland without support—thievery made for a pretty good income if you had Izuna’s face and social grace to get away with it.

Looking down, Izuna stilled completely.

While Izuna’s dig caused Madara to angrily puff up in preparation for a spat, the sudden quietness prompted Madara to get serious in an instant, a vague sense of dread settling into his bones.

After all, his brother was neither known for his silence nor for a tendency to keep still.

“What’s wrong, Izu?”

Upon hearing the old shortening of his name, Izuna’s fist closed over the pearl he had snatched with surprising proficiency, hiding it from view and raising the hand against his chest in a protective manner. He looked at Madara with something close to pity in his eyes that stood in stark contrast to his previous fit of temper.

“It’s a mer’s pearl, Madara,” Izuna repeated sombre, the change in mood setting Madara on edge. “A mer gave you their pearl only for you to give it away.”

“I- yes. We have been over this. I still don’t understand what the big deal is, Izu.” Madara tried to keep a facade of calm aloofness, willing his brother to start laughing and claiming a prank, but something about Izuna’s expression seemed almost mournful and it made the hairs on Madara’s neck stand up in a foreboding sense of doom.

“A mer’s pearl is their heart, Madara,” Izuna finally explained with a low voice. “I don’t know if their bodies truly are built from seafoam as is told in the old tales but I do know that a mer’s Heartpearl is what holds their very essence and it reflects the state of their being. Protected by the sea it allows the mer to be what they are—their physique as we know them—but if it finds a way to the shore and is taken inland, the mer loses their tail and gains legs instead.”

Flashes of white at the corner of his eyes, rumours of a pale ghost haunting the coast.

It couldn’t be, could it?

”They- Madara they only ever give it away to the one person they recognise as their mate. Your mer literally gave you their heart as a sign of trust and a promise to cherish and you-” Izuna broke off and Madara didn’t want him to continue, didn’t want to hear anything else. Didn’t know if he even could, beyond the rush of blood in his ears. “You gave it away, Madara. And it-”

Izuna was never one to mince his words so for him to stall now didn’t mean anything good. He held his eyes, Madara silently urging Izuna to keep going, not able to open his mouth because he didn’t know if he’d manage without vomiting from the sheer horror of his own actions, unknowing they might’ve been.

“It would have been less hurtful if you spit into their face and ripped off their tail with your own two hands.”

Madara wanted to refute the words, but then Izuna carefully held out his hand to present the pearl and Madara’s eyes caught on its dullness, the fine cracks running through the surface. He vividly remembered the healthy pink and purple flush when he first got it, its shell free of any imperfection.

Knowing what he did know, Madara dreaded what it meant for Tora’s well-being.

“What can I do?” Madara whispered, and there was no denying the thickness of his voice. Izuna looked at him, really looked at him, and Madara knew he noticed the bags under his eyes and the haggardness from repeatedly returning to the sea looking for a dream out of his reach.

“Show me where you used to meet, maybe we can go from there.”

It was opportune that Izuna hadn’t yet properly entered his home, because Madara only needed to quickly slip into his shoes and cloak before they could get going. When he opened the door, though, it was ripped from his hands by a gust of wind, the storm having drastically picked up since Izuna made his way over.

Behind them, Madara could hear the hime shrieking but he did not care. Tending to her whims was what got him into this situation in the first place, and Madara was so done with it. Done with her and the village that made him give up the heart of his love, shielded his eyes from its truth.

Madara had never been one to deny accountability. But now he accepted that it was easier to lay the blame at others’ feet until he knew Tora was safe, was alright. He didn’t know if he could keep going, fighting through the storm—through his life––if Tora weren’t.

Followed by Izuna, Madara ran until he reached the cliff their village was built upon, making a beeline to the hidden path to the bay where he used to meet up with Tora most often when he wasn’t out on the sea.

He chanced a glance down, taking in the turmoiling sea that threatened the bay which before me today always had seemed to be protected from the harsher tides.

From his vantage point, Madara could see a big wave incoming from the horizon, tall enough the spray of its breaking might even reach their village for once. A magnificent force of nature of the likes he’d never seen before and made him immensely grateful that his brother seemed to have narrowly missed it.

He was just about to turn away from the view, ignoring all danger to his life by making his way down to the shore when another glimpse of white caught his attention, a person sitting on a boulder like a siren of old.

Madara choked on sudden emotion. He would recognise Tora everywhere and this was the first time he had seen the mer since the day he had been given the pearl. But for all that Madara knew it to be Tora, his love looked different. Impossibly small and frail, nothing like the magnificent creature of the sea he used to be. Even from a distance the sadness coming off him in waves was easy to tell. Despite his exotic colouring, he somehow looked… dull.

Like his pearl.

It was with horror, that Madara had to realise Izuna had been right. And he had been so, so terribly wrong.

Upon the wind, Madaa heard something eerie beyond the thunderous storm, a wordless song that tugged at his memory and called to him—called him as it had before, once upon a time.

Suddenly, Madara remembered. When he had first set out on his own, it had not been to prove himself. Madara had always been proud, yes, but he was never one to overestimate his own abilities. That’s what got you killed, after all.

He had been called then, as he was called now. Called to the sea, further and further out until exhaustion pulled him under and he woke upon old wood, with large red eyes tracking his every move with wonder over the railing of the little boat Madara since then claimed as his own.

A boat none of the other villagers ever dared to touch, their actions guided by a near primal fear that Madara had always chalked up to one superstition or another. Now he had to wonder: Did they know? Or at least suspect, that Madara was a dead man walking, that he had been enchanted by the sea and only returned by a miracle clad in silver scales?

Madara had known Tora for almost half his life, but never knew him to sing. Was he a siren after all? One that had never acted upon his nature where Madara was concerned—instead going as far as saving him after he’d already been caught?

While he knew the truth should put him off, longing surged through him, stronger than ever before, and he knew it to be entirely unrelated to the mournful song.

Madara took a step forward—held back from the edge only by Izuna’s hand at the back of his coat—and reached out, Tora’s name ripped from his lips by the wind.

As if he’d heard him over the storm and the raging waves, Tora looked up. At long last their eyes met, and for a moment it felt like the time stood still just for them, a single moment stretched over an eternity in which Madara knew them both to be safe, a shared future no longer impossible.

From afar, Madara saw Tora part his lips and raise his hand as if to meet him halfway. Madara’s heart surged to delirious heights at the sign of his longing being returned. He shook off his brother’s hand, wanting nothing more but to find a way down to his love, when-

The tall wave he had seen incoming before crashed into the bay, what little protection it used to have not measuring up to the force of nature coming upon it. Madara watched in horror as white-tipped ripples clawed at the rocky walls beyond the little beach that was entirely submerged. When the water receded a moment, a lifetime later, Tora was gone.

A tentative dream Madara didn’t know he was allowed to have, taken away by the tides like seafoam.

Madara screamed, lunging forward to try and follow his love but once again held back by Izuna. As he tried to free himself from his brother’s surprisingly strong hold on him, Madara realised in confused terror a tiny speck of white falling from the cliff and towards the receding tide.

It felt as if his heart were ripped out and thrown away just the same when Madara could only watch as the last tangible piece of Tora was taken from him for good, swallowed by the unforgiving sea, and he was left with nothing but a longing heart and broken dreams.

Chapter Text

Tobirama let the currents claw at this frail body of his without putting up a fight, merely closing his eyes against the burning salt.

How odd, that they would burn underwater when human tears were as salty as the sea. The discovery had almost startled Tobirama out of his grief the first time he had noticed it, his face wet as his eyes were leaking without his say-so.

The pressure on his body increased as he was pulled deeper, his head pounding from the unfamiliar hostility of his home.

Tobirama opened his eyes again, the glimmer of sunlight dimming the more he sunk until it was nothing more than a suggestion of brighter times. Of warmth.

He had only ever felt warm with Mara. His broad human body a furnace within the careful embrace of Tobirama’s arms on the few occasions he had taken his love swimming. Rough fingertips trailing fire over Tobirama’s face and hands whenever Mara reached out with something akin to affection stark on his face.

At least Tobirama had assumed it to be affection. Love, even.

Tobirama watched bubbles ascent towards the surface until the burning in his lungs grew more pronounced than the one in his eyes. It still didn’t measure up to the burning pain within his heart, though.

He had been a fool.

What love was there for one like him?

He wasn’t to be loved. To be warm.

It seemed the cold depths were the only place for the likes of him. Already, his body felt numb from the temperatures, his skin too tight due to the pressure he used to welcome like a hug.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

One of his kind taken by the sea, drowning.

Tobirama welcomed it.

He closed his eyes, and-

The change took him by surprise.

Agony seared along his nerves, setting them alight as his lower half broke and tore, stretched, rearranging itself into the tail Tobirama had willingly given up to be with his love. Even worse, though, was the way the fire melted his insides, organs seemingly all but liquified and moulded back into the shape and place they used to be until at long last the need to fill his lungs with air replaced by reflexive relief as cool water filtered through his regrown gills and sorely needed oxygen flooded his blood.

Tobirama knew this pain. He had endured it once before.

He didn’t think he would need to do so ever again.

That he did, though, could only mean that his pearl had been returned to the sea. Set aside as he had been, thrown away like his undying love for the human who had enchanted him the moment Tobirama had first met his eyes and knew him to be his mate.

It seemed Tobirama had been mistaken yet again.

Mara hadn’t returned to the sea in search of him. Tobirama must have imagined the longing he’d seen on the dear face, the desperation he would have liked to glimpse if only to reassure himself. He had fooled himself as he had done before. All his mate had wanted to do was to let go of the last reminder of Tobirama before he ran off with the human who, in a cruel twist of fate, had worn his heartpearl. It was pure luck that Tobirama had caught on to his mistake before he debased himself any more in front of his love.

Tobirama should go looking for his pearl, his heart, and reclaim it—but no. He had given it to Mara in full faith, had found his mate and was rejected. What need did he have for his heart now? His kind only ever had one mate, even in death. That he hadn’t died when the sea reclaimed him didn’t change that his future would be bleak. Lonely.

Not moving a single muscle, Tobirama let the sea take him deeper, sinking into the depths where no light would reach him, nothing would bother him as the truth settled in.

Why should he care about the pearl? Let the sea crush it, a predator swallow it. Maybe it would end his suffering, the useless pining that had trapped him on land and nearly drowned him as he waited.

Tobirama had spent his life waiting.

Waiting for his mate. Waiting for a chance to be with him.

He could wait a little longer. With how dull his scales were, how brittle he felt, it wouldn’t take long for the currents to sap away the last of his essence, for the sea to reclaim in truth what had always been hers. Tobirama had been a fool to expect any other fate.

He closed his eyes again.

And waited.

He felt-

Warm.

It was a ridiculous thought, sluggish as it was. The sand beneath his back had long since leeched all the warmth his body had to offer, his fingers and tail almost numb to his senses.

Still.

Struggling to properly wake from his torpor, Tobirama couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth seeping into his bones, prickling his skin. A warmth that was impossible to come by in the depths he resided within. Even if he were to hunt now, he wouldn’t find warmth like this in his prey’s flesh or blood.

Not properly awake yet, Tobirama allowed himself to bask in it, to enjoy the trailing sensation over his skin and scales that almost felt like a caress.

It reminded him of the few days when his heart hadn’t yet been broken, his fate not yet doomed. Mara must have cradled his pearl with care those days, the sensation linked to what allegedly accounted for Tobirama’s soul.

The pleasantness promptly ebbed as Tobirama ached for more, something tangible. For Mara. But he now knew that his longing was futile. His love was not returned, his mate did not care for him, only came when he followed the song that Tobirama had been unable to repress as his essence slipped away without his mate to anchor him on dry lands, mourning himself when nobody else would.

How naive he had been, to think someone like him could be loved.

In the end, Tobirama was weak. He simply could not help himself.

Keeping track of time was impossible in the depths, but since he had shaken off the last remains of his torpor state it wasn’t habitable to him anymore—yet another place that he was not welcomed by.

Weakened as he was, his ascend to the surface waters had taken a few days for sure. The warmth pooling in his chest a constant companion, noticeable even when the temperature rose and some of the critters he caught were deliciously almost warm-blooded.

It made his teeth ache for something more nutritious, something that would properly fill him. He had not hunted for humans since he’d found his mate among them, settling for a different palate in fear he might accidentally take away a friend or family from his love.

Tobirama was still apprehensive about returning to his roots—his true nature that he had denied for so long—but he was so hungry after his rest in the depths had used up more of his reserves than he could reasonably spare.

It was oh so tempting.

Just as tempting as the pull to the shore that he could not deny. A tugging in his chest that cost him more to resist with every day that passed.

As much as he tried to refrain, Tobirama still wondered what he might find if he were to return.

Sometimes he dared to imagine Mara having reclaimed his pearl, longing for his return, but he knew it was a futile dream, a disappointment in the making. One he wouldn’t survive another time.

It was a dangerous dream to entertain, for all that it was an impossible one. Tobirama still had his tail, his pearl could not have been found by a human, lest of all the mate who had rejected him once already.

His heartpearl must still reside within the sea or he would have drowned for good already. Maybe it had been found by another dweller of the waves, maybe it had been swallowed whole by one of the sea’s creatures. Most likely, Tobirama would never know.

It was for the best.

Still.

He was drawn back all the same.

Tobirama had yet to properly approach the coast, the shallow waters that would hide him no longer, but his sentimentality drove him closer until he had a view of the village Mara called home.

The village Tobirama had thought he might call home, too.

It wasn’t to be. And Tobirama needed to accept the fact. He would.

He had.

This was the last time he would be this close to Mara’s home, this Tobirama had sworn. He did not know how long he would have before his body dissolved into the sea, but after a lifetime of waiting it was time to live a bit.

He could try, at least.

Tobirama let himself be pulled underwater, aimlessly drifting in body and mind alike as his eyes lazily tracked the sunlight dancing through the clear waters.

Maybe he could search for the kind mer that had taken him on when he had just been a hatchling, raising him as if Tobirama were of his own blood despite their obvious difference in species or even the fact that he had still been an adolescent himself.

But would Hashirama welcome him back after all these years?

If not even his own mate wanted him, why would someone without any obligation or relation to him do so?

Tobirama should just-

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the sunlight that allowed his scales to glitter. They still weren’t restored to their former glory, but he must have done something right since waking up in a world without his mate, for they were ever so slowly regaining their vibrancy.

But never mind his scales.

Tobirama recognised the aged wood above, the scattered claw marks that were his own.

He had always wondered how humans could be so senseless to follow his song into the sea, diving under the waves with no hopes of ever coming back up. But now, Tobirama found himself equally senseless, mindlessly drawn to the boat and who he might find upon no matter that this way laid heartbreak of a magnitude he wouldn’t recover from for a second time.

There was still no denying the pull, though. Just a glimpse. A glimpse of wild dark hair and a dear face, a glimpse of his lost dream, his stolen future.

Silently, Tobirama breached the surface, the sun upon his head just as warming as the link to his heartpearl.

Fittingl—despite the surprise of it— the pearl was the first thing he saw as soon as he blinked the water away. Worn around a neck yet again, this time though not a slender one begging to be snapped, but the strong tendons Tobirama had fantasised to nibble on—to mark—since he had first been swamped by hormones after finding his mate.

His pearl rested on a strong chest, close to a human’s heart. Rather than held by a net as it had been before, it floated in a ball of glass, submerged in what could only be seawater—how else would Tobirama still have his tail? He would have drowned at the bottom of the sea if his pearl had been removed from the sea’s embrace.

Tobirama didn’t think Mara would care. But the handiwork of his love was unmistakable in the necklace, as was the wild hair whipping in the breeze, touching upon Tobirama’s face like a caress.

The warmth in his chest doubled as it was fed by his own foolish hope.

Carefully, deliberately, Tobirama dragged his eyes up over the pointed chin and chapped lips—pausing on the pink tongue that darted out to lick the salt away. Tobirama wanted but what good had it done him before?

He was not strong enough to experience another rejection.

Tobirama held his breath—stilled his entire body—when a callused hand carefully reached out, clearly projecting its movement before cupping the side of his face oh so carefully. It made him wonder if he looked as brittle as he felt, to warrant such a delicate gesture.

With the tiniest amount of pressure, Tobirama’s face was angled up, more a question than a demand—a plea that Tobirama could not resist.

He allowed his face to be turned up while keeping his eyes downcast. There was only so much goading he could take before the hope brewing in his chest would overwhelm him, burn him out for good. Or before the proof of having lost his mate would ruin him. But-

“Tora?”

How could he deny his mate? Especially when he sounded as breathless, as longing as he did.

Tobirama closed his eyes for a moment to gather his strength before steadily dragging his gaze up, wondering about the haggard look on the dear face, the dark circles underneath his eyes—but all thought was lost when his heart soared at seeing his own red mirrored in bottomless black, the undeniable love shining through under the exhaustion and the yearning.

Something restless within his chest settled at the sign of their bond, the proof that despite it all, Mara was still recognised as his mate. He wouldn’t be if he had broken Tobirama’s faith in truth, if he had abandoned him for good in favour of the woman who had worn Tobirama’s pearl as if it were common tand.

Slowly, Tobirama lifted a clawed hand out of the water, trapping Mara’s hand against his cheek and nuzzling into it without breaking eye contact. His hope settled more firmly, pushing out the doubts, when suddenly Mara nearly doubled over with a long exhale that suspiciously sounded like a sob, his free hand in a white-knuckled grip on the railing despite the gentleness of the one against Tobirama’s skin.

It seemed Tobirama hadn’t been the only one mourning their possibilities. Was not alone with his crushing loneliness and longing.

They would need a way to figure out what had happened. To ensure nothing like it could ever happen again.

But it was fine, for now.

They would figure it out.