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Chapter Text

“Best take care,” the baker’s wife said as she handed him two loaves wrapped in brown paper. “That witch has been about today.”

Philip took the parcel, but said nothing other than simple, “Thank you, good-day.”

He’d heard the rumors before, about the woman who lived alone on the outskirts of town. They said she was a harlot, a witch, carrying the son of the devil himself…he never gave much credence to these rumors. After all, he himself had been the subject of just as many tales when he first moved here. The townsfolk were always suspect of strangers and newcomers, especially those that showed up alone.

Upon rounding a corner, he saw a figure that must have been the so-called witch, carrying a basket. She looked to be headed to market.

 “Hello!” he called, raising a hand in greeting.

She froze, just briefly, before turning to him. She was young and beautiful, and very obviously pregnant. It was little wonder that they suspected the worst. “Good-day,” she said, somewhat cautiously.

He smiled. “It is a fine day. The sea sprays and the gull prays,” he sang, to a jaunty little tune.

His song was rewarded with a smile. “I confess I haven’t heard that one before.”

“No, I don’t believe it’s quite finished,” he told her. “But if you were to join me for a stroll, you perhaps could help me add a verse?”

Her smile faltered. “Oh, no, I – ”

“As a friend, only,” he added, hands up to waylay her concerns. “It only occurred to me that you are new here and might like to know a neighbor.”

She studied him for a moment, and he felt a little unnerved, as if she could see right into his soul. Well, the rumors had to start somewhere, he supposed. Finally, “Alright. Elizabeth Turner,” she said, offering her hand.

He shook it, though it was not entirely proper. Her hands were rough, calloused in strange places. “Philip Swift.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Swift,” she said with a little smile. “I was on my way to market, but if you would like to join me…?”

“Wonderful,” he said, and they began to walk. “You haven’t been here long – from whence did you move?”

She hummed a bit. “I’ve been all over. The last place I lived was Jamaica. Port Royal. But that was many years ago.”

An odd way to answer, but something told him he ought not pry. “Jamaica. I’ve never been, but I hear it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Very beautiful. Have you lived here long?”

“Not really,” he said, thinking a moment. “Longer than you, but not yet half the year.”

They’d made it to market, though the crowd wasn’t as thick as it would be later in the morning. Ms. Turner led them to the fish-seller’s stand.

 “Are you married, Mr. Swift?”

He looked out at the water with a soft smile on his face. “I suppose you could say I am married to the sea.”

She snorted, entirely unladylike. “Funny. I could say the same.” At his look of question, she continued. “My husband, he’s…a sailor, one who doesn’t make port very often. My heart is always with the sea.”

So it was Mrs. Turner. He hadn’t wanted to presume. “That must be quite difficult for you.”

She shrugged. “Some things are worth the wait.”

“Ahh,” he said, “So you are a romantic.”

She laughed. “Well, I suppose I’ve been called worse.”

“A romantic is the best thing a person can be. God has put so much beauty and love on this earth, I feel the best life to live is one where every feeling is felt as deeply as possible.”

“A very passionate thing to say,” she commented.

Philip grinned. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me. I was first brought to this part of the world as a missionary.”

“First?” she questioned, “But no longer?”

He shrugged. “I was a clergyman in England before my path diverted. Then a missionary aboard several ships. Now I am a simple fisherman.”

“Strange how things turn out, isn’t it?”

“Are you of the faith, Mrs. Turner?”

“I suppose so,” she replied, but there was a strange look on her face.

He smiled, just a little. “Ah, then you are not. It is not a choice to be taken lightly.”

She looked at him, bemused. “Is it not your job to persuade me?”

“I’ve learned there are many ways to worship,” he told her, thinking of Syrena and her sea gods. “I can only say what I believe; it is not my place to change or direct your own faith.”

Just then, the church bell rang, signaling the hour.

“I must be going,” he said. “This has been lovely, and I’m very glad to have met you, Mrs. Turner.”

She inclined her head a bit. “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Swift. Good-day.”

Philip felt a little sorry to be leaving her so soon, but this was his favorite time to take the boat out, and Syrena would be expecting him. He thought that she and Mrs. Turner might get along well, if the situation were different. He would never ask Syrena to give up her world and live on land for him, but he knew that she grew lonely, so isolated from the rest of her kind. She saw them when she was able, but they traveled far and often, and she did not like to leave Philip behind for long. He wondered if she might be willing to play at human for a few hours, just for tea or luncheon, if she thought Mrs. Turner could be a friend.

His house, little more than a bedroom and a kitchen, was as close to the shore as was practical, given the area’s propensity for storms and flooding. It was near enough that he could feel the sea spray in the air if he left the windows open, which he often did when Syrena came on land. He stopped home only to put away the bread he’d gotten and collect his fishing gear and a wide-brimmed hat for the sun. Syrena liked the freckles it brought out on his nose, but he’d seen how leathery and aged sailors and pirates got after years in the sun, and he had no desire to hasten that along.

The light of his life was waiting for him when he reached the dock, resting her arms on the side of his little boat. “Philip!” she cried, her face breaking into a wide smile. She looked at the sun, then back at him, face twisting into a put-upon frown. “You are late.”

He laughed and quickly deposited the gear and stepped into the boat, leaning to kiss her. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said, once the smile had returned to her face. “But I believe I made a friend today. Let me get the sails up and moving and then I’ll tell you about it.”

Syrena swam around the boat as he did so, though she did not flip or jump as he knew she wanted. There was no one else around, but they were always careful, lest someone see her. It wasn’t until they were out in the open ocean, far from prying eyes, that she was again free to send herself flying across the width of the boat and into the water on the other side. Philip would never cease to be amazed by the things she could do.

“Now,” she said, surfacing and leaning once more on the side of the ship. “Tell me of this friend.”

“You are amazing,” he told her. She smiled, and he enjoyed seeing the flush that came to her cheeks. The more time they spent together, the more human mannerisms she picked up.

He smiled and then set about organizing his net. “That woman who moved into town recently, do you remember? I’m sure I told you about the awful rumors around her.” When Syrena nodded, he continued. “We crossed paths at the market today. She’s a Mrs. Turner, and her husband is a sailor. She seems lovely – I think you would get along well,” he added, side-eyeing Syrena.

She groaned. “Must you always try to make friends for me? Philip,” she said, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek, “you are all I need.”

Now it was his turn to flush. He held her wrist and turned it to place a kiss on her palm. “But you are starved for other company, I know you are. You cannot possibly be satisfied with seeing only me the whole day.”

“Perhaps I talk to the fish,” she quipped, raising a brow.

He laughed. “Alright, alright. I will stop. But if you ever change your mind….”

“I’ll know right where to find you,” she said. She seemed to think a minute, then said, “What would we even talk about? This Mrs. Turner and I?”

He hummed, thinking. “Well, what does anyone talk about with anyone? What do we talk about?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

His smile dropped. “I know. But,” he continued, smiling once more, “you will never find out if you don’t try at least once to meet her.”

Syrena hoisted herself up over the side of the boat and flopped down ungracefully into the puddle she’d made. “I will think about it,” she promised, leaning her head on his thigh and closing her eyes. “Sing me the song you have been working on.”

He put a hand in her hair, massaging her scalp, and started to sing.

Chapter Text

When Philip woke to the sound of cannons, his first thought was not again. His second thought was: “Syrena!”

She reached out, putting a hand to his chest. “I am here, I am here.” She was already standing beside the bed, pulling on a nightshirt. “Pirates,” she said.

He nodded, pulling his sweaty hair back into a tail. “We need to leave. You need to leave,” he added, looking at her.

She looked grim. “I will not be caught again. I can wait at the bottom of the bay, protected by the rocks. They will not find me.”

He finally stood, grabbing his trousers from the floor and tugging them on. “I can help them,” he said, looking at the sword hanging by the door. He had hoped never to need it again. “This town, these people, they aren’t fighters. They can’t defend themselves.”

Syrena exhaled sharply. “And you can?”

He just looked at her, helpless. “I have to try.”

A moment passed. And then a resigned look settled on her face, perhaps remembering their first meeting, where she had identified him as protector rather than fighter. “I know,” she said. “Don’t get killed.”

He laughed and sat down to pull on his boots. “I’ll try my very best.”

“No,” Syrena said, sharply. He looked up. Her face was very intense, very serious. “I mean it. Do not get killed.”

“I won’t,” he promised, just as seriously.

She nodded. “Good.” She bent to kiss him, then was out the door before he could say goodbye.

A moment or two for him to tuck in his shirt and strap on his sword, then Philip was out as well.

He had deliberately chosen a secluded house with very few close neighbors, but when he reached the main street, it was busy, full of crying children and people in their night clothes. It was chaos, everyone running different directions and screaming.

“Go inland,” he tried to tell people, but either fear or simply the noise meant he was mostly ignored.

Philip did what he could as he made his way towards the center of the chaos, helping children find their parents and trying to direct people inland and away as much as he could. He saw a few pirates running through the crowds with weapons and bags of loot, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop them and his time was better spent helping people. It wasn’t until he saw one trying to carry away a young woman in just a nightdress that he stepped it, brandishing his sword.

“Release her!”

The pirate did just that, only to turn and draw his sword. Thankfully, the woman was able to scramble to her feet and run off. The pirate noticed this and bared his teeth at Philip. “You bastard!” he growled.

He lunged before Philip could get in a response, and he only just managed to block it in time. He knew how to use a sword, but he was by no means a swordsman. It was only by the grace of God that he was able to hold the pirate off as long as he did, then a whistle came from somewhere and the man turned and ran off, leaving Philip sweaty but unharmed.

He looked towards the source of the whistle, but could see little through the smoke of a burning building. He headed there regardless, determined to help in whatever way he could. Just as he was passing the blacksmith’s shop, a group of people, perhaps a family, came barreling around the corner, knocking him to the ground in their haste. He landed hard on his shoulder and bit his lip to avoid crying out at the pain.

He was just about to stand and keep going, when he heard voices and froze, sinking lower to hide behind a stack of crates.

“Unhand me at once, you – Pintel?”

That was Mrs. Turner’s voice! He almost sprang from hiding, but something told him to wait. She didn’t sound scared at all.

“Poppet?” asked a male voice.

“Fancy seeing you here,” added another voice, higher pitched, with a little laugh.

“Oh yes,” spat Mrs. Turner, “fancy you showing up to raid the town once I’ve only just gotten settled. It’s nearly tradition at this point, isn’t it?” She didn’t sound angry, perhaps rather annoyed.

“All that’s missing is, well…” the second voice said, trailing off.

“Yes, I know,” said Mrs. Turner.

“Blimey,” said the first voice. “You’re not…it’s Will’s?”

“Of course it’s Will’s!” she snapped.

The first voice sounded defensive when he said, “Oy, oy, I weren’t implying anything! I just thought that, well after…you know, I didn’t know if it could be his, if you catch my meaning.”

At this point, Philip dared to shift just enough to peek through a crack in the crates he was hiding behind. Mrs. Turner, mostly dressed, stood with her arms crossed, facing two pirates. One was tall and thin, the other short and chubby. There seemed to be no hostility between the group.

“What are you lot even doing here?” hissed Mrs. Turner. “Whose ship are you on?”

Philip had spoken several times with Mrs. Turner since their first meeting, and he had come to consider her something of a friend, if not a very close one. But this, the casual way she spoke to these pirates, who she seemed to have some history with? This shocked Philip beyond all belief.

“Barbossa,” the short one said. “He’s back at it after he and Jack found the Fountain of Youth.”

Philip had to cover his mouth to stifle his gasp.

“The Fountain of Youth?” Mrs. Turner asked. She sounded intrigued. “I thought that was just a legend.”

“Aye,” said the short one. “But it’s gone now. Destroyed, so I hear.”

Mrs. Turner huffed. “Damn that Jack Sparrow.”

So it was true. Mrs. Turner, who he had considered a friend, was on a first name basis (if not a friendly one) with Captain Jack Sparrow. And other pirates as well, apparently. Who knew about the Fountain. He only hoped that no one knew that Syrena still lived, though his memories of the time after his almost-death were hazy and unclear.

“You ought to come with us,” the tall one said. “Barbossa’s got a magic ship, now. Blackbeard’s.”

“Blackbeard?” She asked, incredulous. “I’ve missed a lot, I see.”

“All the more reason,” he urged.

“I can’t,” she said. “At least, not until the baby’s born. Not until it can walk and swim, I suppose. I don’t know. God, I’ve never done this before, I have no idea…”

“Hey,” the short one said, “chin up, poppet. This is nothing after all you’ve been through.”

“Yeah,” the tall one agreed. “And we’ll visit, to help! Not like this, just us,” he added, when she looked to interrupt, presumably to refuse.

“This town is superstitious enough as it is,” said Mrs. Turner. “Having pirates around all the time isn’t going to make things any better. What are you even doing here, raiding the town? I thought Barbossa had outgrown that,” she scoffed.

“We’re looking for Jack, actually,” said the short one.

“And Barbossa thought he would find him here?” She sounded disparaging.

The short one shrugged. “Captain’s orders.”

“Yes, well. Order the captain to leave, now, and not return, if you please. And tell him it came from me!” she added, as the pirates started to leave.

When it sounded as though they were gone, Philip slowly stood. He was surprised to see Mrs. Turner still standing there, looking towards the water. He noticed a sword slung around her waist, and his throat felt dry.

“Who are you?” he asked, hand on the hilt of his own sword.

She turned, startled, and he noticed that her eyes landed almost immediately on his sword, like she had looked for it on instinct. Her hand went to her own sword, but she lowered it when she saw who he was. “Mr. Swift? Are you all right?”

“I heard you,” he said. “You called those pirates by name. You knew them.”

“I did,” she said slowly, still looking at his sword. “But I see that you’ve perhaps not been entirely honest either. Do you know how to use that?”

“Well enough. Do I need to?”

She blinked, startled. “I’m not going to attack you, Mr. Swift.”

He lowered his hand. “Explain. Please.”

 “I knew them,” she said. “In another life, it seems. I got abducted by pirates years ago – it’s quite a long story, really, but I was something of a pirate, myself,” she said with a little smile he didn’t understand. “Briefly.”

His hand had crept back to his sword. “I haven’t exactly had the best experiences with pirates.”

“Of course not,” she snorted. “It’s in the job description. Some are really vile, though. Those two, their captain, they’re some of the good ones. Most of the time,” she conceded, looking around. “I suppose a lot must have changed.” She sounded almost wistful.

He followed her gaze and saw that the pirate ship was indeed retreating. He looked back at her, unsure how to feel about the knowledge that she could make a request like that and be obeyed.

“I’ve got to help,” he said, looking away. “This mess won’t be fixed with prayers alone.”

“I’ll help,” she said immediately. “Or, as much as I can, at least,” she added, gesturing to her bump.

“You ought to stay away from the smoke,” he said. “But I saw lots of lost people – perhaps you can get them sorted out?”

She nodded her acquiescence, and they parted ways.

...

By the time the town’s immediate problems were dealt with, the sun was rising. Philip rushed to leave, praying that Syrena would be waiting, unharmed, in the cave that was their emergency rendezvous point.

When he finally arrived, Syrena was there, just as he had prayed. The nightshirt she had worn was in a sopping pile on the sand. She pushed herself up onto a rock and smiled at him with blood and bits of gore in her teeth. He recoiled, but only for a moment. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

She sniffed. “I am unharmed. A pirate tried to grab me,” she said. “So I removed his hand.”

He blinked. He had never ignored what Syrena was, nor had he tried to, but she still managed to surprise him at times. Despite the fact that he had too often sliced his tongue on her razor-sharp teeth, he still managed to forget that she was, by nature, a predatory creature. “Ah. Good. I was worried,” he added with a little smile, “but I suppose I needn’t have been.”

She returned the smile, still with those bloody teeth. The expression fell quickly when she noticed the odd angle of his shoulder. “You are hurt! What happened?”

He splashed through the shallow water, then ungracefully dropped down to sit beside her rock, so that she could better see the injury. “I fell. It’s only bruised, I think, but it does ache.”

He let his eyes fall closed and leaned his head back onto the rock, enjoying the feel of her hands delicately examining his shoulder. “You were gone very long,” she said quietly. “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes still closed. “There was so much to do. I lost track of time.”

She smoothed a hand over his hair. “You are exhausted.”

He smiled. “And you are expanding your vocabulary.”

She swatted the side of his head gently. “Do not change the subject.” She shifted, then gently moved his head to rest on her lap. “You should rest.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, feeling as though all the energy in his body had evaporated at once. “Remind me later, I saw the strangest thing last night, with Mrs. Turner…”

Chapter Text

“I want to meet her.”

Philip blinked. “That…wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

Syrena flipped her tail, sending a spray of droplets towards him. “Well, I do.”

“You didn’t want to before,” he felt the need to say.

She shrugged. “She wasn’t interesting before.”

“And she is, now that you know she used to be “something of a pirate”,” he asked, incredulously.

“Yes,” she said with a shark-like grin, folding her arms over the edge of the boat and laying her head on them. “Much more interesting.”

He sighed, laughing a little. “I do love you, you know. You say such peculiar things, but I just love you all the more for it.”

She laughed, a big laugh that came from deep in her chest. “You are a romantic, Philip Swift.”

“Says the woman who fought death to keep me with her,” he said with a fond smile.

She splashed him again, but was smiling. “I think your Mrs. Turner is probably in love with you as well,” she said with an overdramatic sigh. The smile pulling at the corner of her mouth told him she wasn’t upset, though.

“She’s married!” he protested.

She waved a hand. “Bah! Some common sailor cannot compare to my Philip. Who could help but love you?”

He felt himself flush, and stuttered over how to respond. Syrena saw this and laughed, then said, “Will you help me dress and style my hair? If I must act as a human, I want to be fashionable, at least.”

For someone who mostly preferred to be in her natural form and totally naked, Syrena had taken to the idea of fashion very quickly. Philip had been trying to teach her to read, so that she might have more to occupy her days, but she was much more interested in any fashion plates he could bring home than his dusty old book collection. She loved textures most of all, and all fabrics were new textures to her. Since she rarely wore them, she only had two gowns, but had managed to collect all manner of caps and handkerchiefs and bits of lace and ribbon.

“You could never look unfashionable,” he said. “You would be the most beautiful woman in the world in anything.”

She smiled. “You’re very sweet. I still do not want to look like, how do you call it…out of date.”

He laughed. “Of course not. Well, what shall I ask her?”

Syrena thought for a minute, humming. “For tea. With your wife, who travels to visit family.”

“Alright. You can’t back out once I’ve asked her though!”

She laughed. “I won’t, I promise!”

…

Mrs. Turner was surprised at the invitation he offered when he saw her in the market the next day. Little wonder, for he hadn’t been entirely happy with her when they parted the night of the attack, nearly two days ago now.

She blinked at him for a moment, then said, “I thought you were married to the sea.”

He smiled. “I am, in a way. My wife travels often, visiting family. Please – she’d love to meet you.”

She nodded hesitantly. “Alright. If you insist.”

He walked with her as she finished one last errand, then they headed towards his house. “It isn’t much, I’m afraid,” he warned her. “And the only seating is in the kitchen, but I thought we might sit outside on the porch, to try to avoid the heat?”

“That sounds lovely,” she agreed. “I’ve lived in the Caribbean since I was ten years old, but never gotten used to the heat.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “Well, there’s no hope for me, then. I’m afraid I didn’t leave England until adulthood, so I suppose I’ll never acclimate.”

When they arrived at the house, he stepped forward a bit to call out, “Syrena!”

She stepped out of the door, dressed in her nicer (but still within a fisherman’s budget) blue gown, and waved to them.

“Mrs. Turner, this is my wife, Syrena,” he said, gesturing between the two women. “Syrena, this is Elizabeth Turner.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Syrena, smiling at Mrs. Turner.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she responded. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“The tea tray is all set, I will just bring it out,” Syrena said. “Sit, please,” she gestured to the table and chairs on the porch, where the breeze could reach them.

Philip and Mrs. Turner got seated while Syrena brought out the tray, laden with tea (that she had made), sugar, cream, and some biscuits (that Philip had made).

“You have a lovely accent, Mrs. Swift,” Mrs. Turner commented. “Might I ask where it’s from?”

“France,” Syrena answered with a smile. It wasn’t entirely a lie; she did indeed speak better French than English, but she wasn’t from anywhere in particular, not in the way humans thought of countries.

“Oh, how interesting – I’ve never been. Is it nice there?” There was a strange inflection to Mrs. Turner’s voice, and Philip started to wonder if this whole thing had been a mistake.

Syrena did not seem phased. She sat, once she’d finished serving everyone’s tea. “It’s not as warm as here – the sea is colder, as well.”

“Do you spend a lot of time in the water, then?”

Syrena laughed like it was the silliest question she’d ever heard. “My husband is a fisherman – the sea is always a part of life. What about you, do you spend time on the water?”

Mrs. Turner looked briefly between Syrena and Philip, like she wasn’t sure how much he had told her. He simply sipped his tea, waiting to see what she would say.

“I did once,” she said after a moment, “but not any longer.” She rested a hand on her bump.

“You must be very close,” Syrena commented, nodding towards the bump.

Mrs. Turner smiled slightly. “Yes, very.”

“Your husband, will he return soon?” Syrena asked. Philip shot her a glance, but she ignored him. She was deliberately prying, then, not just making a misstep.

Her smile fell. “No. I’m afraid he won’t be back soon at all. The baby will be born long before he returns.”

Syrena’s brows drew together. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching out a hand to lay over Mrs. Turner’s.

After a moment, Philip cleared his throat. “Mrs. Turner was telling me on the walk over that she moved here as a child; how was that? Your parents must have been very ambitious, to move a family so far.”

She pulled her hand back from Syrena’s and smiled tightly. “It was just my father and I, but yes, he was. Once we settled, it was alright. I lived in the same house in Port Royal for most of my life,” she added with a fond smile.

“That’s nice,” Philip started to say, but he was interrupted by Syrena, saying:

“Port Royal?” Her face looked strangely intense. “When did you leave?”

Mrs. Turner looked a bit confused. “Three years ago, perhaps four. Why do you ask?”

She lowered her teacup, still with that intense look on her face. It looked out of place with her hair done up in the latest style. “I hear many stories from Port Royal. They say that it was the home of a legendary pirate…” she trailed off.

Mrs. Turner narrowed her eyes. “Mrs. Swift, I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I –”

“It is you!” Syrena interrupted, eyes going wide with delight. “I knew it!”

Mrs. Turner’s mouth was tight and she looked increasingly angry, but Philip was just confused. “I’m sorry, what?”

Syrena grinned, teeth just sharp enough to be unnerving. “I know who you are,” she said, looking directly at Mrs. Turner. “You are Captain Swann, the woman who was King when the Brethren freed Calypso!”

“The what?” Philip asked, nearly spitting out his tea.

Mrs. Turner looked somewhere between fearful and furious, but Syrena spoke again before she could respond. “My kind heard and sung songs of you even in the deepest pits of the ocean,” she said, still smiling. “You caused quite a stir.”

At that, Philip groaned, letting his head fall back a bit. This was not how he had expected or wanted the afternoon to go.

“Your kind? What are you?” Mrs. Turner asked, slowly rising to her feet. At least she wore no sword this time, Philip reasoned.

“I am a mermaid,” Syrena said, “and you freed my Goddess.”

Mrs. Turner reeled back, grabbing the first thing she saw as defense – a butter knife. Philip stood, then, too, and held out his hands.

“Whoa, alright,” he said, aiming for a soothing tone of voice. “Let’s all just calm down, alright?”

“She has killed people!”

“So have you,” Syrena shot back.

“I don’t eat them afterwards!” Mrs. Turner sounded on the verge of hysteria, gripping the knife with one hand and her bump with the other.

Syrena waved a hand, unconcerned. “That’s just a story – most of us just eat fish and things.”

“Most of you?!” Mrs. Turner was astonished. She looked to Philip. “Did you know this?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I know that my wife is a mermaid. I have always known,” he added with a fond smile at Syrena.

Mrs. Turner hesitated, but eventually sat back down, still flustered. “Alright. Alright. Well, I imagine that’s a story I’d like to hear, then.”

…

“Blackbeard?” She said, incredulously. “You defied Blackbeard? And lived?”

Philip smiled wryly. “Only barely. His daughter convinced him to let me live, for fear of his eternal soul. In the end, it was a British soldier who dealt the killing blow, thinking me a pirate. But,” he said, reaching for Syrena’s hand, “Syrena saved me. She brought me to the ferrier of souls to bargain for my life.”

At this, Mrs. Turner’s attention snapped to Syrena. “Davy Jones?”

She shook her head. “There was a new captain. I did not ask his name.”

“Will,” said Mrs. Turner. “Will Turner.”

Philip looked at her; thrice now, she had shocked him beyond all belief. “Your husband is the captain of the Flying Dutchman?”

She looked at him, a smile twisting across her face, and laughed. “It sounds like it ought to be a joke, don’t you think? You know, a missionary, a mermaid, and the wife of the devil walk into a tea garden…”

Syrena threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said, grinning widely. “I knew you would be interesting.”

Chapter Text

When Philip woke to the sound of banging on his door, his first thought was that the pirates had returned, but wasn’t it odd that they bothered to knock?

“Mr. Swift? Mr. Swift, please, help me!” That was Mrs. Turner – she sounded awful.

He jumped up and ran to the door, grateful that he had chosen to sleep in his breeches as well as a nightshirt due to the coolness of the air. “Mrs. Turner?” he asked, opening the door.

Immediately, he had to hold out his arms to catch her as she nearly collapsed. He quickly walked them inside and sat her down in the nearest kitchen chair. She looked just as bad as she’d sounded, and her face was dripping sweat, strands of hair all stuck to her forehead.

“Good God, what’s happened?” he asked, testing her temperature with the back of his hand against her brow.

Her face scrunched up in pain and her mouth snapped shut, as if to grit her teeth. After a moment, she answered, “I think that – oh bloody hell – I think I’m in labor! The doctor didn’t answer, he isn’t home or –” she paused to groan and lean her head back for a moment, brow furrowed tightly. “I dunno, he just didn’t answer. I didn’t know where else to go,” she admitted, tilting her head to look at him.

While she spoke, Philip had wet a small towel. He handed it to her, and she gratefully mopped at her brow. “I’m glad you thought to come here, but I’m not sure how much help I can be. Syrena is out tonight, but if you’ll be alright alone for a while, I can get her. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he added, seeing the slightly panicked look on her face.

After a moment, she nodded. “Yes, alright. Please,” she added, eventually.

He poured a glass of water and set it on the table beside her, then pulled on his boots, grabbed the lantern by the door, and set out.

He lit the lantern on the way down to the shore. He and Syrena had developed an emergency signal – he would lean over the end of the dock and flash the light in a certain pattern until she happened to see it. He only hoped she was still in the general vicinity…

Philip reached the dock, then uncovered his little rowboat to grab the towel, shift, coat, and shoes that Syrena wore to go between the house and the water.

It took longer than he’d hoped for her to show, once he’d started with the lantern, but eventually she broke the surface a few feet from him, smiling.

“Philip!” she said, “Is everything alright?”

“It’s Elizabeth Turner,” he said grimly, offering a hand to help her out. “She’s in labor.”

When they returned, Mrs. Turner was standing with her arms on the back of the chair, groaning. Syrena quickly ran over and took her arm.

“Let’s walk, no? Breathe, nice deep breaths, good,” she said as they started in a slow circle around the room. She looked up at Philip, just for a moment, looking slightly bewildered.

Great. So, between the three of them, they all might as well be clueless. Philip was still grateful Syrena was here, for propriety’s sake, if nothing else.

Half an hour later found the three of them crammed into Philip’s tiny bedroom, all significantly bedraggled. Elizabeth (“I have a feeling we’re all going to get rather disgustingly intimate tonight, so you might as well call me Elizabeth”) was lying on the bed, holding Syrena’s hand so tightly that she surely would have broken a bone if she were human. Philip flitted in and out, fetching fresh water and rags to mop her face and neck. He really didn’t know what else to do, but Elizabeth and Syrena seemed to have it well enough in hand.

To distract her from the labor pains, Syrena was trying to keep her talking about anything she could. Fortunately, Elizabeth had quite a lot of questions for her – about her diet, about navigation underwater, about Blackbeard, and about religion.

“So how does that work,” she asked, taking deep breaths in her respite between the pains. “You said before that you serve Calypso, but you’re with a missionary?”

“Philip has been telling me of his god,” Syrena said. “In return, I have been telling him of the many gods of the sea, one of which is my goddess Calypso. We haven’t yet come to an accord, but I love to hear him speak,” she said, tossing a smile in his direction.

“Sickeningly sweet,” Elizabeth commented, just as another pain overtook her and she, once again, attempted to break every bone in Syrena’s hand.

As it calmed down, Syrena slid her hand free and stood, running a hand over Elizabeth’s belly.

“How do you know how to do this anyway? A human birth, that is,” she added, when Syrena seemed confused.

“Calypso taught those of us who came to her,” she told her, bending to listen. “She said that all life is a circle. We are all born from water, and to water we all return when the sea claims us all in our time. She taught us that there is value in helping those who deserve it. Like you,” she added, looking up.

Elizabeth smiled, though it was weak. “So mermaids do have morals.”

Calypso returned the smile with teeth just sharp enough to make a person shiver. “More than pirates, perhaps.”

Philip walked in as the next pain hit, and his eyes went wide. “Perhaps I ought to –” he started, but Syrena cut him off.

“No. You sit there,” she said, gesturing towards the chair she had just vacated. “Hold her hand,” she instructed. “She is almost there.”

“About bloody time,” Elizabeth grit out between clenched teeth. Philip did as he was told and took her hand. He had never considered himself particularly faint of heart before, but this was not a situation he had ever even remotely prepared for. He had a feeling that prayers wouldn’t be appreciated, but he found himself saying them in his head, at least.

It felt like hours passed with Elizabeth screaming, Syrena crying encouragements, and Philip holding her hand and averting his eyes from everything else, but eventually, it was done.

“It’s a boy,” Syrena said, wrapping the baby up in Philip’s softest towel and bringing him over to Elizabeth. He was an ugly little thing, all red-faced and squished, but Elizabeth gasped and held him like he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Have you thought of a name?” Philip asked, leaning in. Syrena was doing the same on the other side, poking at the little toes that stuck out of the towel. The baby was quite sweet, actually, if a little rough after his journey here.

“Henry,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve always liked the name Henry.”

“Hello, Henry Turner,” Philip said, giving the boy a little wave. “Welcome to the Caribbean.”

Chapter Text

Elizabeth and Henry stayed at Philip’s for the next few days, but she seemed eager to get back to normal, despite Syrena’s attempts to tell her she was still in recovery. Elizabeth was insistent, though, and a few mornings later saw her and little Henry bundled up on the doorstep, trying to refuse Philip’s offer to walk them home.

“It isn’t a long walk at all,” she had said. “We’ll be fine.”

It had barely been two days when Syrena had the bright idea, while checking up on Elizabeth and Henry, that she could tell the father, after all.

“Davy Jones, you said?” she asked, folding some linens while poor, exhausted Elizabeth burped Henry over her shoulder.

She smiled anyways, despite the exhaustion. “Will Turner. Much nicer than Davy Jones, I can promise you that. But yes, the captain of the Flying Dutchman. Why?”

Syrena hummed. “That point isn’t meant to be traveled by humans, you know,” she said. “It’s nearly impossible.”

Elizabeth grinned wryly. “I know. We managed it once, but only barely. To save Jack.”

“I’m not human,” Syrena said, contemplatively. “I think I could cross it. To find him. I found him once before, after all.”

“Would you?” Elizabeth had surged forward before Syrena had even finished speaking. Henry started to whine and she absent-mindedly rubbed his back. “I would be forever indebted to you,” she said slowly, “if you would bring my husband the news of his son.”

Syrena smiled that too-sharp, not-quite-human grin. “That’s a dangerous debt to make, Captain Swann.” She never called Elizabeth Mrs. Turner. It was always Elizabeth or Captain Swann. “But I accept. It will take some time to find him,” she said, grin dropping into a slight frown. “With Philip, he was so close to death that the ship was coming for him already. This time, I’ll be seeking it out with nothing. But I will bring your news,” she promised, looking Elizabeth in the eyes. “You have my word.”

Elizabeth gave a solemn nod, understanding the weight of the words. She only looked away when Henry’s whine turned into a cry, and Syrena nodded, satisfied. She would leave at dawn.

Finding a shipwreck or a lone dying sailor was harder than Syrena had expected. She spent days seeking out the most perilous storms, the most vicious rocks, and the hunting grounds of her sisters. But she found no souls, and the Flying Dutchman did not appear.

She considered, briefly, just killing some man and being done with it. But Philip would look at her with those awful, disappointed eyes… She sighed and resolved herself to sleepless nights chasing down a shipwreck.

It took ages, but eventually she found it. One lone fishing vessel, too old and too weighed down. Three of the five crew perished in the fight to keep the ship afloat. The other two huddled on what was left of the deck, shivering, as the sun went down and the green flash lit up the world.

The Flying Dutchman has never been a subtle ship, and that didn’t change with her new captain. She lurched out of the sea, water pouring out of every crevice, and towered over the wreckage. The captain, who inspired fear by virtue of his title alone, walked down the gangway, and stood in front of the cowering fishermen.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, voice exceedingly gentle. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Behind him, crew gathered on the deck, overlooking the potential recruits. Syrena had not often seen the ship of Davy Jones, but she had heard stories of the captain and his crew. Legend had it that they spent so long between worlds that they started to become one with the ship, growing barnacles and strange protrusions, like those of deep-sea creatures. This crew looked human enough, she thought, but legends were often wrong.

“You have a choice,” Captain Turner was telling the fishermen. “There is no right or wrong answer. You can become part of my crew and serve until you’re ready to move on, or I can ferry you across now. The choice is yours.”

“W-what comes next?” One of them asked, shivering with cold or with fear.

Captain Turner smiled gently. “I can’t answer that, I’m afraid. Haven’t made it there, myself, you see,” he said, pulling aside his shirt to expose a deep scar down his chest. “But I can’t imagine it’s all that terrible. There’s nothing to be afraid of, either way.”

The fishermen both stuttered out responses, but Syrena cared little about their choice. She had only moments to act before the ship was gone again.

“Captain,” she called, hauling herself up onto the sunken stern of the boat, just barely above the waves.

He looked over, surprised to hear another voice, and blinked with confusion when he saw her.

“I remember you,” he said. “It’s not often that a mermaid begs for the life of a human.”

“I have news,” she said, disregarding his pleasantries. “From your wife.”

His smile dropped. “My wife?”

“Yes, Elizabeth.”

“You know Elizabeth?”

Syrena was growing frustrated. “Yes. She sent me with this news: you have a son.” When Captain Turner looked too shocked to respond, she continued. “His name is Henry. He is several weeks old and has blue eyes and no hair.”

Captain Turner still seemed shocked. The fishermen still sat before him, dumbstruck as they looked between the ferrier of souls and the mermaid. Turner ignored them. “How did you…”

Syrena smiled, and tried to tone it down to look reassuring, rather than unnerving. “I brought him into this world. He was very small, but strong. He is healthy.”

His face was splitting into a wide grin. “Henry. My son. My son, Henry. Ha!” He shouted, looking at the fishermen before him. “Did you hear that? I have a son!” He ran up the gangplank, back onto the ship, shouting, “I have a son! Henry! His name is Henry!”

The fishermen were smiling now, and easily followed him up the ramp, fears forgotten. One of the crew embraced Turner, smile just as wide as the captain’s. The green light was starting to fade.

Suddenly, the captain ran to the railing, calling to Syrena. “Will you tell him that I love him? And Elizabeth, too? I haven’t forgotten about them, promise me that you’ll tell them that. I love them, and I haven’t forgotten. And I’ll see them…” he trailed off, his smile fading. “I’ll see them in ten years.”

The older crewmember, the one from before, stepped forward and placed a hand on Turner’s shoulder. “It’s alright, son,” he said. “It’s alright. They’ll be alright.”

“I will tell them,” Syrena promised.

Captain Turner nodded to her, then the green light was gone, and the ship along with it.