And this, above all else, to thine own self be true...
Immortal words, but devoid of meaning for him. Tiernan leans against the transom at the stern of the boat, watching the sunlight play against the waves. The two ships are sailing roughly side by side, with the other ship slightly forward of his, off the starboard bow. There is always work to be done - but at the moment, nothing is more pressing than this moment. The sheets are in order, the sails unfurled, canvas snapping crisply in the gay breeze of morning. And the islands of the High King are receding into the distance.
Why am I so unafraid? It seems to me that I should be. We left on shaky terms; swearing our love for one another, but on the heels of such heated argument. How can I know that when I get back, things will not have changed? That I will not have changed; but even if I change, I am unafraid. I know the contents of my heart, and I believe myself to know the contents of his heart, and with that knowledge, nothing else can make me much afraid.
He is leaning over the back and staring, but not as if to hurtle himself over the wood and into the water. Instead, he picks up a length of line and ties a figure eight knot in the end, producing a solid lump in the end of the rope. Unhurriedly, he walks over to one of the barrels and with the hilt of his knife, bashes at one side of its lid, popping it open to pull out a chunk of salted beef. And now he makes a loop with the line, around the meat twice, trapping it in an impromptu basket which is tied shut. "Mister Starson, I'm dropping a line to trail. Keep an eye on it when I walk away, will you?"
There's a rapid aye-aye, sir, as Tiernan ties the other end of the coiled line firmly to a stanchion and then drops the bundled meat overboard. He leans contemplatively against the wood again, watching the line play out as he gives himself time again with his own thoughts.
Where am I going? What will I do? I don't have the answers. I don't even know the truth about where I come from, because I've spent so much time avoiding it. High time I started finding out; I'm not getting any younger. And while my mother was a fairy queen, you know, I haven't even got her ears...
With the salted beef knotted at the end, the line trails downward to the pitching sea below. Greens and blues commingle in those waters, with salty foam edging the trail the ship is making. It leaves likewise a trail behind it which is easy to follow for those who know how to read displacement in the seas. Both above, and below the surface.
No sooner is the line dropped than it is tugged. A shark? The tug is solid, strong. It could ring a bell, if there was a bell attached to the other end. Another solid tug!
Beneath the waves, a beautiful face is beaming, a wide and laughing grin in the delight at a game. There's nothing his particular kind love more than a good game. They can take or leave the beef jerky...
The line goes slack. Has the meat been taken? Have the sharks, if sharks they were, given up on the chase? Moments pass where the line simply trails behind, and then it is grabbed again, even more solidly than before.
Bubbles trail past Agapios as he swims with the trail line, pulling it forward as his powerful fluke propels him. The line is not trailing now. Now, it seems to be swimming ahead!
The line's disappearing below the waves gets Tiernan's attention - what, so soon? He plants his hands firmly on the wood. "I think we've got something, Mister Starson," he tells the sailor evenly, any excitement kept under cover for now; he'll wait on excitement until he knows for sure what's going on. "Bring..."
Whatever he was going to request be brought dies away as the line goes slack, and he watches, waiting patiently. He is more the fisherman than the hunter, to be sure. And then? Then the line is changing direction. What is going on?
"Bring me another line," Tiernan resumes, watching the rope being pulled ahead. "I want to test something." He waits as the sailor hastens to obey. Is it you? Is it something else? He doesn't know, but there's only one way to find out. And never let it be said that he were anything but brave...
Tiernan moves to follow the direction of the movement of the rope, even as he is stripping off his shirt and tossing aside his boots. "You," he directs one of the other sailors, "go to my cabin, prepare a pot of coffee. Mister Starson, get Ugly Ned and Bill the Bull over here." He rapidly fashions for himself a crude harness of the rope, around the waist and under both arms. "I want to have a look at what's there."
There is immediate protest at that. Even if it isn't sharks, it could be a kraken, or evil sea nymphs, or - well - anything! Tiernan ignores the protests, ending them with a look. "You fasten the other end of the rope to something stable. One of the masts. Lower me over until the rope goes slack, and when it's tugged - pull me up. I don't intend to stay down there LONG. But it's going to be a long trip - and I want to make sure if there's anything down there, we can handle it."
And, he amends mentally, to remember to make something in future which can go down there and report back so that I don't have to do it myself...
He and the ship are now sailing along at the same speed. The line tugs tight as he dives with it. When he rises, just shy of the surface to peer upward, he has wrapped the line up in his hands to keep it taught. Momentum stirred, he now surfs submerged, pulled along by the ship. Skiing, as it were, beneath the water. This is mad fun, you know.
A few porpoises swim along for the ride, cousins of a sort, and all manners of fish stay well below the seat of the vessel, not wanting to get pulled along in the current it creates. The bottlenose dolphins, on the other hand, are absolutely gob-smacked by the sudden game. A couple play at the prow, leaping out of the water and diving forward in delicate arches, surely the inspiration behind such Greco-Roman designs. Several others leap along the sides, clicking and singing between each dive.
Oh, it must be one of the dolphins, then, with the rope in its mouth perhaps. At least it's not sharks. Not yet anyway. Once they catch a whiff of salted beef, however, it could be an entirely different story.
His men are not entirely happy with this. But what is a man to do? He can't help his curiosity; and it's more than ample distraction from the cares and thoughts of tomorrow. Harness in place, Tiernan boosts himself up onto the railing, sitting with his legs dangling. "You all know what to do," he tells the sailors quietly, without any doubt in his voice - nothing to allow them to doubt their own faith in him. "Bill, Ned. Do your duty."
The harness is tied in such a way that the rope will not pull tight enough to injure him, and his weight is distributed at various points rather than jerking. He peers out as they begin to lower him, looking - well, dolphins. Dolphins are good; they aren't sharks, at least. But he'll see. He is lowered until his feet hit water with a slight splash, and he begins swimming vigorously - away from the boat, not wanting swells to knock him up against the great wooden surface. He is not the strongest swimmer in the world. But he can swim a bit - enough to do this. And now he looks around.
How small a man feels, adrift next to a moving ship, in the middle of a wide and wild ocean...
He sees the birds, the dolphins, the shadows of other fish far below. "Well," Tiernan mutters to himself, "this was a bloody brilliant idea, wasn't it? Stupid of me, but at least the men don't know how I feel. Either I'll be viewed as the biggest fool this side of any kingdom, or the bravest man; either way, like it or not, my reputation is made, now, among sailors. All I can do is bear it with grace."
He shakes his head, dipping his head then below the waves, blinking and forcing his eyes open against the salt for any sign of life. As if anything could be seen - with one hand, he reaches up, preparing to yank on the rope and have himself pulled back up.
You are met with the face of genuine surprise commingled with the hand in the cookie jar -- or in this case salted beef. With a grin a wide as this ship's hull, Agapios swims up to you, tugging you into a breath-giving kiss. He is perfectly camouflaged. His hair is the color of the surrounding waters, his body could be a play of sunlight on currents, his eyes are children of this ocean.
Parting from the kiss, the breath given, he winks, showing you his capture of the salted beef. He points upward to say Let's surface and with a flap of that great fluke, whose motions you know intimately well, Agapios is surfacing.
And with no less aplomb than his dorsal-finned cousins...
He makes a great arching splash upward, His arms spreading, the beef line still held. Grinning he makes a series of whistles, whistles to which the dolphins click and chirp their replies. "They suggest you toss tuna next time," Agapios says. "We do love tuna. I like it in little rice rolls wrapped in seaweed, personally. So what's for lunch?" He winks and grins again, his blue hair slick to his shoulder blades when it is not lifted and mussed for style's-sake.
He is as surprised as you - more, possibly. Though in his case, without the mischief and guilt, mere surprise, and surprise moving to astonishment as you swim up to him. As you kiss him. It is a kiss which by rights should steal his breath instead of giving him it... especially with how you look.
No wonder sailors can be drowned so easily by sirens...
You surface, and with your motion, he struggles to follow suit. You hold the beef, he holds himself. "I don't mind tossing tuna to your friends," Tiernan says half-humouredly, "though in their case, probably best not with a line attached. Lunch? I don't know. I've coffee on board, though." He is watching you, a hint of uncertainty in his face - puzzled. Not so much 'why are you out here' but more 'did he fire you already or not'. The guilt of that is now pulling at him, whereas before it was put aside.
He lifts a hand to your hair absently, then lets it drop as if burned. "That is," Tiernan says as politely as if he were at a formal tea party, rather than half-naked and harnessed in rope and treading water, "if you would like, you are quite welcome to come on board. I really should notify my men, however, that I'm well, before they begin to panic about sharks."
If he was fired -- and it is difficult to be fired from a volunteer position -- he makes no mention of it, nor is there any sort of recognition on his face that such a thing has (or even could) occur. As he surfaces, you see a necklace of shells, mother of pearl, pearl and other treasures of the sea interwoven into a cirque. The mark of someone who, among his 'people', has a certain amount of status. In his case, quite a bit of status.
"Yes, preferably without a line. No one here wants to be lunch." He laughs with delight, including himself in that sentiment. "Oh, yes, of course," he says about your men, giving his line and then yours a two-tugged pull. Lift please! "I'll need a pair of pants," Agapios mentions, hand looped around the line as he pulls it taut. His great tail and fluke extends back, slowly becoming visible as he pulls himself up against the ship. He's an excellent climber. "Oh, and you should tell them I'm coming up," Agapios grins, "I don't want to be harpooned."
He laughs and twists, turning to look toward the prow. He makes another series of whistles and clicks, and several dolphins leap upward and stand erect, their flukes flapping beneath the waves, churning water and holding them upright. People on earth pay a lot of money for this kind of entertainment. "They are going to swim with us. You do still want to see Oannes, yes? They will lead your men there. Have your navigator follow them. It is not charted."
Climbing with his hands interchanging on the taut rope, Agapios pulls himself fully from the water. He looks at you as casually as if he were sitting on a sofa and not hanging off a line off a ship out in the middle of the sea. He smiles to you, enjoys seeing you and being seen. And when he shakes off the water with a flap of his tail, his fluke becomes two strong legs.
And you see what he means about needing pants...
"...Maybe I had better go up first." Tiernan smiles halfway, though he is not untroubled. If you do not know - then he will have to tell you. Ah, such torment. He pulls at the line with both arms, bracing bare feet against the hull. "I'm sure someone on board has pants that can fit you. If not, well, there is no lack of canvas for making such." He fills his lungs with air, and then he bellows - perhaps Iowerth would be shocked that he can make himself heard such : "AVAST! I'M COMING UP - WITH A FRIEND!"
Oh, this will make a tale for drinks at journey's end...
He begins climbing, helping himself up even as the sailors begin to pull on the ropes. Best for him to climb, so that he is not scraped against the ship's side. "They're welcome to swim with us," Tiernan agrees. "Oannes? I ..." A hesitation. But why not? It can be done now as easily as else-time. He will simply promise the men an extra amount. He can afford generosity - and they can afford patience, as his generosity is worth more once reaching dry land once again. "Certainly. Shall we discuss it over coffee, and lunch? In my cabin?"
"Excellent!" Agapios agrees, "I'm famished." With a grin and a wink he begins walking up the side of the ship, his hands on the line pulling up more and more upward. He moves toward you to make sure you're alright. He climbs beside you. His hands pulling, his body moving, his feet flat to the vessel.
"I'm sure they'll get tuna along the way. We passed by a school not too far back, but I wanted to press on. Besides, I like mine scaled."
What a spectacle a siren creates, no more so when he's in his own form as when he's straddling a ship's rail completely nude with legs. He must be something fantastical. If the hair and eyes did not give it away, then surely the necklace would. Oh, and the fact that he was out here in the middle of the ocean without another way of getting here. Sitting on the rail, no concern at all for his nakedness (it's just skin), he twists to watch you climb up and he offers you his hand as you get to the top.
"It's a lovely day for a swim and a bit of salted beef," he says with his easy carriage, his easy demeanor, and him being easy on the eyes. He gives a nod to those sailors closest by and hops onto the deck to stand tall and amazing. He tosses the line back overboard. Might as well let the sharks have at it.
The men are not sure what to make of you. Tiernan does not blame them; he has known you (and biblically, too) and still is not sure what to make of you. "Bring him a pair of trousers, would you? Mister Whelam, you're about the same size as him. Don't worry, you'll be reimbursed - have the ship's purser make a note."
He nods to the man, who runs off. Scrupulously fair, if a bit strict - and not unreasonable, or that's what he strives for. "Tell the ship's cook my compliments, and I'll be dining with my guest in my cabin," Tiernan tells the men, speaking loudly but unhurriedly, making no particular effort. "Mister Starson, mind the line, though you men will have to bring any catch in yourselves. Special dispensation this once, as I'll be busy discussing business with my guest."
He turns to you as Whelam comes up with a pair of duck-cloth trousers - his shore trousers, being a bit of a dandy. Tiernan does not so much as crack a smile as he observes the transfer of pants gravely.
"Tell the ship's navigator to meet me in my cabin in two hours." So long? But then, you are lunching first. Tiernan beckons to you, then turns to stride across the deck to his cabin which - as is captain's rights - is the largest on the vessel, complete with small table at which he can eat, a writing-desk, and a chart table for captain's use, separate from the navigator's stand elsewhere on board. There is a sturdy berth with high edges to prevent the occupant (or occupants) from being tossed out during heavy weather, and a lantern is presently unlit as the ship rocks gently in the early afternoon waves.
"Thank you, Mister Whelam," Agapios grins. He holds up the pants to give them a look before stepping into them. They are not a perfect fit but they shall do for covering when covering is needed. "Very nice," he croons, and he strides after Captain (Who Does Not Wish To Be Called Captain) Tiernan. His walk, his manner speaks to an innate grace. A natural swimmer's stride. "I will be sure to take them off before I dive in," he says, glancing backwards with a grin.
Entering the cabin, Agapios smiles to you. "I would have been happy with a pair of your trousers. I will make sure he gets his pants back soon." His aquamarine eyes glimmer like the waves of the ocean you ride as they linger on you lightly. His smile returns. It is easy. It comes and it goes without effort. "It was a lovely swim. Your ship is quite quick. But we did enjoy the game of take-away."
He removes the torque from his neck, setting it upon your desk to glisten there. It is heavy when he does not have the extra buoyancy of the sea to cancel out its weight. "I should tell you that I took leave of your king today. It was my choice, my decision, and as I may ... give my affections and services wherever I wish, I saw no purpose in continuing to fluff his pillows while wanting to by lying among your own. He and I will have other discourse to enter into eventually. He is a highly intelligent man. And he understands the value I and my people will bring to his kingdom." There is no mention of you, or of outing, or of any drama whatsoever.
Agapios does not need to get 'sea legs' -- he was born with them, so to speak. As the ship moves, he moves with it easily, his slow stride accounting for it with each and every step. He moves to stand in front of you and he smiles again, his hand coming to glide against your hip. "You should change clothes. You are not used to being wet and cold, like I am."
"Yes, well, my trousers were further from us than were Mister Whelam's," Tiernan answers quietly. He closes the door, moving to pull out a chair for you, listening to what you say as he moves around you, around his cabin. "And the sooner you were dressed, the sooner work could start again on deck. Whether or not my men appreciate your natural beauty, a dripping wet mer-man on the foredeck will ensure that no work gets done but the work of their tongues in gossip." He grins at you just faintly. "At least this way, they will work while they gossip."
He runs a hand back through his hair, watching you as you take away your torque; he glances at it, his eyes drawn to it by natural inclination. Were you not present, he would be fingering it, seeing how it is made and of what, not with a thief's appreciative eye but a jeweler's. But what you say gets his gaze jerking up soon enough to your face.
"...You did." Tiernan's voice is flat, steady only with his sheer surprise, eyes widening. Of course he cannot simply let it lie there. "Did he ... did you ... and you are happy with this?" That is what he finally says. He is unsure of what else he should say. There is more - but it is held on his tongue, for the moment. And then you are moving toward him.
Wet and cold? He had been ignoring it, but at the touch of your hand, a dark flush moves into his cheeks. Abruptly, he turns away. "Yes, of course," Tiernan mutters. "I'll do that." He is embarrassed. He brushes his hand through his hair again, stalking to his wardrobe and fumbling for dry clothes. "I'll have to wash off, or the salt will just ruin them. I should have given the cook orders as for what to prepare. I don't even know what it is you need or prefer to eat. I''ll have to issue orders about the next island, too - and for the next course from there." He is dithering, not quite babbling, not yet blustering, the colour high in his face as he speaks to fill the cabin with sound and distraction. For himself as much as anything.
"Oh I am in complete agreement with myself about my decision, yes. As I said, my service to the king, in that fashion, was completely voluntary. I enjoy the minutia of such rituals, personally. My role was never to be his valet," he grins. "My father would be so disappointed if that had been all. No, I am, first and foremost an ambassador, if you will, from Oannes. I have, as of yet, received no specific orders so was... serving the king for my own pleasure in doing so. He accepted my change of course quite easily and with the politeness befitting his station."
He quit before he was fired. Not that he could be fired from what was a volunteer position.
He smiles as he watches you take interest in the torque and then realize that you are, indeed, soaked to the bone. "You should let your things soak in fresh water, if you can," he suggests, moving to take a seat. "And you are welcome to look at my necklace," Agapios smiles to you. "It is very heavy when out of the water." He moves his own hands through his hair, the strands beginning to dry as magically as his legs become a dolphin's tail when wet. "Do not let my visitation keep you from what it is you should be doing." Rising from a chair, he curls himself into a comfortable seat on your bed, tucking his legs beneath him.
Agapios smiles, a constant, light hovering smile, as he watches you get flustered, pace about your cabin, divert your eyes, and horribly blush. "I hope it is no great imposition," he murmurs. "I will strive to make it worth the... inconvenience."
"Yes," Tiernan says absently, pulling out a change of clothes and half-hiding behind his wardrobe door. "I made a water-maker that is attached to the keel. The ship's motion processes salt water and our own rate of progress sucks the salt water into the trap, where it is processed by our motion further, then channels it to our holding tanks. We don't lack for fresh water, though we still have to be careful. But it saves us time and manpower and so on, not having to stop at islands to look for it all the time."
He is changing behind his wardrobe door - well. Stripping. The sodden trousers are draped over the door and then his underclothes. And then he is in a dilemma - he still needs to wash off. Despite what has transpired, he is suddenly shy about it, and so without looking at you, he strides hurriedly to the corner with its folding screen and water-maker's outlet, uncoiling the hose and turning it on to rinse himself off. "I can imagine that it must be heavy," he tells you, voice raised over the flow of water from the hose. Even with the screen in the way, he has his back turned to you - as if it will fool himself into thinking you in another room. "Did you make it, or was it given to you, or am I asking stupid questions again?" He expects that he is. Holding the hose in one hand, he uses the other to pick up a cloth, scrubbing at himself to rinse the salt from him as much and as quickly as he can. No point in wasting water, even if he can make more...
And now he is wet, but free of salt. He turns the hose off again, grabbing a towel and tying it around his hips as he strides back out to where he has his clean clothes. "I ... am sorry if I am being a poor host," he begins a bit stiffly, "but ... really, you are not interrupting. We are underway. Until we reach a point where we will be changing course, there is no rush. If our present course is at all correct, anyway - ah, right." This is proving tricky for him. "...I was going to try to send you a letter, you know."
Aquamarine eyes light up. "A letter for me? I love correspondence. What were you going to say?" He grins leaning back. For your peace of mind, he is averting his eyes, playing along (as most dolphins enjoy doing) in whatever new game this is. "And you are not being a poor host. I would tell you if you were being rude. You seem nervous, but not rude," he notes softly.
"As for the necklace, it is a bit of both. The torque was given to me by my mother and father, but it has been added onto over the years. The more elaborate, the higher one's family status." He comes from a very good family. "And each shell or stone or pearl is symbolic not only of individual meaning but of the time it was given. They can become very elaborate. The Elected Chief Administrator has one so elaborate that it's become an entire shirt. Of course, he can only wear it when he's holding court under water. He would never be able to bear the weight of it otherwise."
Agapios turns to look to you in your towel. He smiles gently. "Now... your letter. You wish to tell me something? You can always just tell me, Tiernan. We have been intimate. It does allow for a certain familiarity. You should feel comfortable sharing with me...whatever you wish to share with me. I will not judge you. It is simply not my way."
He colours again, eyes averted as well - he does not see you not looking, he is so busy not looking himself. He draws on fresh trousers, then shirt, tucking the shirt in with difficulty as the towel's dropped but he's not quite fully dry. "I was going to put it in a bottle and throw it overboard," he says simply. "I ... did not know how else to reach you." It is an astoundingly bad idea, but the only one he could come up with. Which should indicate the depths of his lack of an idea.
Well, he could hardly ask his lover to pass along a message, could he?
He comes out from behind the wardrobe door again, padding barefoot towards you, hair slicked back against his scalp. He looks from where you sit to the torque. "It is beautiful," Tiernan says simply. "More beautiful than anything I could make. It must be ... nice," he settles on the word uncertainly, "to have such a tie to your family, to your history."
He turns again, looks at you. "I ... do not know what passed between you and Iowerth." Yes, he calls the High King by his name, here, with you. "I don't think I need to know, as long as you aren't angry with him, and he didn't - mistreat you. You don't look mistreated, so I hope not. But ... I wanted to apologize to you, and offer you a job. It seems you don't really need one, though. I mean - do you?"
He looks at you in the most extraordinary way: with equal parts affection and amusement. Perhaps Iowerth had not let on in the slightest when Agapios himself volunteered to stop fluffing his pillows and pouring his drinks. "No, he did not mistreat met. It was quite the amicable discussion. He neither spoke nor alluded to disappointment or displeasure. The king is not the sort of man who would hurt someone merely because of an alleged intimacy. He seemed, if anything, relieved." He laughs at that, quite amused on that point. Agapios leans forward. "He did not dismiss me. I dismissed myself. I should rather... entertain you. As for employment... I do not need payment. Oannes ensures that I am well taken care of for the ambassadorship."
After a brief pause: "I was not the king's valet, Tiernan, for the money. Only to get to know him in terms as non-political as possible. I did not foresee meeting you and enjoying your company so thoroughly. I would... enjoy tending to you and your needs. I like you. Why shouldn't I enjoy pouring your drinks, making certain your bedding is warmed, pouring tea for you, rubbing your shoulders when they are tight. Like now." He grins, noting the knots from where he sits. "There is nothing wrong with that. Or with what we have done and I hope shall do."
He sees how you look at the necklace. Your unflagging curiosity. "Would you like a closer look at the necklace? You are welcome to pick it up, feel it." tHe smiles to you in that easy way he has. "Yes, well... Oannes is a rather sheltered and closely knit kingdom. We have not had much interference or relationships with others outside Oannes. This makes having ties to family and a history far easier. Go ahead, pick it up," he gently encourages you. "Bring it to the bed and I will explain the story to you..."
It is all the more reason for embarrassment - to hint at the sturm und drang of the past couple of days, that you are the unwitting and unintended source (though not cause) of, and have you know nothing of it? Tiernan sighs, ducking his head. "I am glad of that," he murmurs, stubbornness settling in his chin. "No; he would not hurt you. I knew that. But - I had to be certain, all the same."
You talk, you continue talking, and he almost wishes the cooks would hurry up with lunch, because if there is no interruption, he may embarrass himself further. It flits over his face, easy to read even by a novice in his uncertainty of the moment. "...It's good that you're an ambassador," Tiernan finally answers you, expelling a breath. "If you were incapable of diplomacy, I would be rather expecting to get clapped into irons by - someone, eventually, as things get out and about." He moves over to the necklace, fingers moving lightly over its surface now, exploring with slow curiosity. And he does not look at you. "I - feel rather foolish, offering you such a job. I mean, I should respect your station, yes? As an ambassador. Deus." He expels another breath, almost laughing at himself, despite the pitching of his stomach and his brain. "I can't seem to avoid stepping in it, with you."
He picks up the necklace, looking over his shoulder at you. You encourage him to do what he wants to do - what he is half afraid of doing, suspicious of himself even if not you. Slowly, Tiernan nods. "The food," he says almost intelligently. "It should be here soon." But he picks the necklace up anyway, and he comes slowly over, cautiously as if the ship were caught in a storm. "I would like to hear it. The story, I mean. Not the food. Well, the food too, but I don't think it will have much to say."
"Relax, Tiernan," he grins as he says it. "Yes? You have done me no disservice. Was I not tending the king as a valet when we met those several occasions before we spoke? Did I not also offer you my services in that regard? What I do on my own time," he gives you a pointed look there, such as valet work, "... is my own concern and business. You could definitely do with having someone who knows how to work the knots from your muscles. One day, I will have you relaxed," he chuckles. "And you will be able to enjoy all the possibilities of what is before you."
Agapios motions for you to join him. "Lay it on the bed, and I will show it to you." If there was any disconcertion for your admission to the king, it does not show on his face or on his voice. It seems to be a non-issue.
"In Oannes, there are many Houses, or families. Some are ruling houses, some are merchant houses, and others are laborer or artisan houses. The House of Oannes is one that is assigned to, or given to the family of the High Priest of the Temple to Oannes. That position has been in my family now for... I will say fifteen generations. The symbols of this House is a pearl on a field of mother of pearl. You see the first three strands are plates of mother of pearl with pearls embedded in them. This denotes my family and House, there are fifteen which denotes the number of generations. The pearls that drip downward on the subsequent strands denotes my work for the temple and family, and my status among my cousins and so forth. The pearls are not white, you notice, but silvery-blue." He looks to you as his fingers run along them to enhance their color. "This shows that I was born during the festival of Oannes."
He looks to you as he unwinds this tale, his fingers lightly gliding over each feature he explains. Agapios tilts his head. "The aquamarine stones here, these were ones that I added. Because I like the color. It denotes the summer waters, warm and pure. The opals were a gift from the Chief Administrator for excellence of service in the military. And these, these last little bits here, these grains of pearls? They signify I am a new ambassador. They symbolize hope that one day they will become big pearls, very valuable."
Carefully, tenderly he sets the necklace down on his pillow as you speak, where it will not be damaged. He listens to you in a bit of a dream-like state; it is that which makes him push aside his embarrassment (or more truthfully, pushes it aside for him) and allows him to obey without argument or question, stretching himself on one side to look at it with you.
If he were not fascinated by the workmanship - you would hear argument. Denial. Bluster. But because of it, he allows your words to go unchallenged this once. "Fifteen generations. Is your race long-lived?" Tiernan asks naively. "I know how long the elves live, but noone has ever said, I don't believe. And I have not read many books about your people." If your people live only twenty years, that is a respectable amount of time, but not so long. If your people live to be hundreds or even thousands of years old, as the elves, however...
He looks at the necklace rather than at you, rolling over and propping his chin on his fist. It makes him seem younger than he usually allows; more boyish. "And anyone can add to it? Or is it only through some rite or ritual, some semblance of importance on their own part? You were able to add to it yourself, you said, so I wonder."
"Lifespan varies. The mermaids are a bit more long-lived that the male varieties. I think the conservative estimate is two-hundred. Sometimes longer, sometimes much shorter. Depends on the sharks." He winks a little. He must be teasing. "I am still quite young. As you can see from the chains. I am," he pauses to count, not individual pieces but a combination of rows and symbols, "...twenty-eight. We do not celebrate birthdays," he grins. "So that is why the estimate is conservative. Time comes and goes. Hardly anyone pays attention. It is different, when you are underwater. What difference to stars and suns and the revolution around suns mean? It goes by currents. Fast, slow, cold, warm, great cyclical events and so on."
Glancing to you, Agapios smiles. He turns to lie next to you. "Oh, others can give you tokens or shells that you can attach should you wish. Some are ceremonial, the first ones were attached at my birth, this one when I stopped suckling, my mother insisted I get a medal. I apparently liked to be suckled. I'm sure that explains much," he lightly teases himself and you as he points to a particular mother of pearl shell with two pearls inset. Only now do they look like breasts."
Leaning in against you, he rests his blue-haired head on your shoulder. "If I were to receive a gem or shell or some other like token of affection, I could, and would, attach it here," Agapios murmurs. "No ceremony is needed for that, unless the giver or receive really wants one." Aquamarine eyes sparkle as they light on you again. He grins. "If you were to give me something, I would display it proudly. I'm sure we could come up with a ... suitable ritual."
His twitches with humor again. You can imagine, he knows, what that would entail. And how it would feel. "The importance that one places on these depends upon the importance that was placed at the time the items were received." He reaches up with his hand, massaging what he knows will be the tightness in your neck and shoulders, and he bends, lightly brushing his lips against your closest shoulder.
Twenty-eight. You are older than he is, although not by much. It surprises him a little; but then, if you have a natural lifespan of more than a hundred, there is time for such things. "I have trouble believing that I ever suckled," Tiernan murmurs, looking at the necklace rather than at you. "If I did, quite likely it was on a nursemaid. Who was later killed," he adds after a moment's thought, "so I wouldn't get too attached. Mother had a habit of that."
Perhaps it is his new year's resolution, being more open about it. Or just the belief (or delusion) that he cannot find himself without exposing it, if only to himself, and to those in whose presence he intends to remain. He is less certain that he intends to remain in your presence than that you are determined to remain in his; and to that, he seems to have capitulated.
"How did you know that I-" Tiernan cuts himself off, reddening in a blush. It is partly at the presence of your head on his shoulder. Partly at his own obviousness. "Never mind. I have lost touch with subtlety over the last few years." He squirms a little as you mention ritual, and rolls his eyes. Yes, he can imagine. Despite himself, he is mentally reviewing the past encounters - brief as they were in the grand scheme of things - and how they felt. How they would feel - he can extrapolate from available data.
Your hand moves, and he stiffens (parts of him certainly are), then slowly, forces himself to relax. "You are going to be very bad for me, I can tell," Tiernan whispers to you, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "Fattening to women, too, I imagine."
"Your mother sounds charming," he dead-pans, kissing your shoulder as his fingers knead the nape of your neck. "She sounds like my Aunt Odysseia. Odious Odysseia," he grins to you, his fingers pressing firmly as they drag down the center of your spine, following the line of your spine to where it disappears beneath the pants you pulled on. Regretting that yet? "She was thankfully eaten by sharks. The sea has a way of exacting justice. For a nurse shark mermaid, she was rather lacking in compassion."
Agapios smiles, his head bending again. His mouth presses another soft, brief kiss to your skin. "How did I know that you... were you going to give me something? I do like presents," he whispers near your ear. "That would be nice. A gem that would go on this strand, so unlike all the others. And I would always remember our time in the pool, and on this ship," he speaks as if there will be something to remember, "... no matter where the currents take us."
His hand balls into a fist, rolling back up your spine and against the nape of your neck. His hand releases, his fingers spreading out along your scalp, moving amid your still damp hair. His has dried in waves, curling upward here and there like the waves of the sea. "I will not be making any women fat any time soon. I am still a young merman. Being the youngest, I am not expected to do much until I'm eighty or so. My sisters are ensuring the line continues at the very least."
His hand in your hair, he leads your mouth to his. The kiss beneath the waves was just a rehearsal. Even those you experienced in the bath were simply leading up to this expression. The bubbles of air are still there, but now they bring with them a sense of euphoria.
Agapios parts the kiss with a grin, his hands going back to work on your back. They roll, knead, press, and smooth over you. "I think, on the contrary, that I could be very good for you. Let's think positively," he whispers. "I'm not your horrible mother. And you're not my Odious aunt Odysseia."
He would remark, but your hands are working magic. Tiernan groans quietly, melting into the bed. Well. Most of him is melting. "I suppose it is fortunate for me that I did not stay in the sea long," he murmurs. "I am sure that I have done much for which I should show penitence."
He sighs as you kiss him, soft though it is. "Yes, that," Tiernan whispers in answer - two boys after lights out. "How did you know that. I ... will think about it." He is not grudging with his gifts, but it becomes awkward and he becomes shy when the gift might be expected. It is hard to exceed expectations then. "I wasn't expecting you to be impregnating women," he adds. "I just -"
Whatever he 'just' is cut off. Your hand is in his hair, and he likes it. It shows in his eyes. And then your mouth is on his, and he likes that, too, his mouth opening to yours with a slight gasp. You are so pushy. And he likes it. The only part he doesn't like is when you pull away, and that shows in his eyes as well. He licks his lips, folding his arms under his chin as you return to rubbing his back. There is a time to argue. This is apparently not yet.
"You're not my mother," Tiernan agrees muffledly. He closes his eyes. "For one thing, I kept refusing to sleep with her."
"There are some mothers who eat their young," he seems to understand it, in theory. "It is not a fault with the young, but with the mother. It is good that you did not allow her to swallow you whole. I should have missed meeting you then, and that would have been a shame." He smiles again, that easy smile. His aquamarine eyes, close in color to the blue topaz, shimmer brightly in his humor. There is compassion it in, as well as disarming charm.
"I don't keep up with penitence and guilt, sins or infractions. Atone less, enjoy more." To some cultures, those ideas would be diametrically opposed. But not in his. His fingers slide against your scalp, directing your face back to his. "And I did not know. But I guessed." Agapios' smile spreads. "I will put it out of my mind," he whispers, "...so that... if you get me something, it will be a surprise to me."
The kiss returns. It is a clasping, grasping, tangling thing. A full kiss. A breath of fresh air. An intoxicating rush of oxygen and affection. His fingers wind your hair around them, becoming intwined in you like seaweed.
You do not have to be under water with him to feel like you are floating...
"She tried." Tiernan does not offer more details just yet. He is settled with his chin on his arms, hands closed into casual fists. "But if I commit a sin against someone, it would be wrong not to try to make up for it; not to feel badly for it, if only as a social grace," he adds earnestly, opening his eyes and turning his face towards you. "It would be disrespectful of me. I try hard not to become a weapon, aimed at those who could not defend against me. What would hurting people do but prove me all the things that my mother was?"
"Not," he adds a trifle grimly, "that I intend to be anyone's pawn, or that I think those who harm others should be allowed to do as they please." He has had too much experience in fighting pirates to think such naive thoughts.
But you are there - and warm. And he cannot maintain such grimness o'erlong with you whispering to him. Tiernan smiles at you, almost shyly. "I will try to surprise you, yes." His eyes widen for a moment as you lean in to kiss him; there is that suggestion of nervousness which is not true nervousness but a mixture of anticipation and self-doubt. And your mouth is there, and your hand in his air, and he gasps. So this is what it's like...
Who can say No to a siren, really? They are as they are because they are bewitching. It is in the kiss, it is in the song, it is in the grace. His fingers tickle against your scalp, and he leans back. His fingers trail along your shoulder and he bends to kiss you there. The bubbles, the enchantment washes over you like clear water.
"I am sure you will surprise me," Agapios smiles. "After all, I do not know everything there is to know about you. How do I know what you will or will not do?" He chuckles. It has only been a week. "While it may be disrespectful for one to not apologize for the wrongs you may do or have done, one can get ...captured, caught up in atoning, feeling guilty. It can tie your hands," he whispers, reaching to put his hand upon your own, "...or your heart," his fingers move through your hair.
"And so... to torment yourself... that is no better than others tormenting you," Agapios speaks it quietly at your ear, that you might better hear it. "What your mother was, or tried to turn you into, those things died with her influence. All that remains is what you will do, who you will be. And whether you will allow yourself to be a pawn or not. That is all up to you, Tiernan. Speaking as your friend, and I am," he smiles at your ear, "... I do not think you are any man's pawn. Who could like here in bed with a siren and not be a babbling idiot otherwise? Now," his whisper lowers to a breath and his hand in your hair guides your face to him again. He kisses you with sweetness. He kisses you with absolute pleasure. He enjoys your mouth. He enjoys it for its sake, for yours, and for his.
And even as he enjoys you, he gives himself to you as freely for you to enjoy. Rolling you in his arms, he moves you so that you face him, the both of you lying on your sides on your captain's bed. "You have such a quick mind," he whispers, "...you are intelligent, you have a quiet humor, and a real and an endearing truth within you. You have suffered. But do you see all these things could not be had you suffered nothing at all."
It is hard for him to deny you - anything. He listens to you, albeit with a dazed expression, eyelashes lowering until his eyes are half open. And half closed. "I am not sure if they died with her influence," Tiernan says quietly. "If I were sure - if I could be sure - but I cannot. And there is no point talking of what cannot be."
But you turn him towards you, and with a groan, he opens his eyes to look at you. You kiss him, and he responds to the kiss, putting all artifice of tongue and lips that he can summon into it, behind it, to you. There is little presence of teeth, but he kisses you wholly, without hesitation or doubt. This, at least, he can be sure of.
"Not so quick," TIernan murmurs, a bit breathless after such kisses and rolling around. "Nor so intelligent. I am just myself. I am still trying to find out who and what that is." His hand reaches for your hip, patting and dragging a bit, so that you and he are close, sharing one another's space in more ways than one. "I was ... wanting to ask you."
"Only Time will prove it out, but I do know this: you cannot fight ghosts and win. Continue your searching," Agapios nods. "This is the only way you will know who you are. No one is born knowing, Tiernan. No one. Your journey is the one we are all making. Only I am swimming when I do it," he smiles between you as you lie together.
"There are two things, now, I must teach you: how to enjoy yourself, that is still one, and now how to take a compliment. That is two," he holds up his hand, first and second finger lifted. "I have my work cut out for me, I see," a blue eyebrow ticks upward.
He lifts his hand, brushing the back of it against your face as your hand rests on his hip. For this time, he is content to look at you, to be held, and to say nothing. When he nearly kisses you, there is a change to your complexion, He strokes the side of your nose with yours, feeling each and every thing for itself. That, too, is part of enjoyment.
"What would you like to ask me?" he replies easily. He does not kiss you to distract you from your question. He is genuinely interested. His hand lowers to rest upon your own, upon his hip.
It is not difficult to distract him. He looks at you, and goes on looking, biting his lip for a moment as if it will help him think. "You think I cannot enjoy myself?" He'd argue, really; but your hair is so blue. He is caught by the movement of your eyebrow as if entranced by it. Each hair, so perfect - you haven't been slipping him drugs, have you?
"I ..." He would like to forget his question. With you so close - he would like to forget that there is a door, and on the other side of the door, men awaiting his orders. Abruptly, Tiernan moves to sit upright. "I was going to ask you if you would help me. I ... need to find something. And I do not know where. Since you have been so kind as to invite me to Oannes, I thought I might begin there."
Tiernan looks at you, speaking very quickly. "If you do not want to help - or if your duties would not give you time - I understand. I just - I wanted to ask, yes? Because I do not know who else I would ask. I - I do not have many friends. I do not have many people I can trust. But I ... trust you."
The dolphin in him cannot resist a game. He simply cannot -- even if he could...
Sitting up as you do, he folds his legs beneath him to relax cross-legged in the center of your bed. His overall demeanor of serenity is met with flashing-eyed curiosity. "I would be happy to help you. What are you looking for, is it an object, or is it a subject? Do you seek treasure or the greatest treasure of all -- knowledge?"
Suddenly he seems the only son of a High Priest...
He reaches out, putting a hand to your shoulder. It will be alright, captain. He massages it lightly, then glances to the door. "Your men need you, yes? If you would like, I can sniff out the galley on my own. You do not have to linger with me. I am perfectly happy taking a meal on the deck. For that matter, I could go catch my own tuna," he laughs at that. "I should not pilfer from your provisions."
His hand massages again, his fingers finally drifting away. Turning, he stands from the bed, not having to make an adjustment for balance. He understands waves on an atomic level.
"I am glad you trust me. Trust is important between friends. Whether they are intimate or not," Agapios adds with a smile. "And ... you are my friend. You do not have many, perhaps, but you do have one."
Serenity is not Tiernan's middle name. His hair is mussed, his expression is somewhere between confusion and contrition with a dash of frustration (sexual and otherwise) and maybe just a pinch of duty. "Knowledge," he admits with another glance to the door. "And no - no, I told them to deliver the food, remember? I am just ..."
Trying to be discreet. No matter how much you tempt him, he does not want his men to walk in on him rolling around in bed with you. It would send the wrong message. Or maybe the right message - who knows?
"There is more than enough food. We are laden for four weeks' journey. It is only a one week trip to our originally scheduled destination." Tiernan stands, tucking his hands in his pockets as he looks at you - a bit sheepish. "I ... did not know if I would find you out here in time or not."
He exhales, closing his eyes. "I appreciate your friendship," Tiernan says quietly. "Even if - I am afraid I do not make a very good friend."
"Again, you worry," Agapios notes softly. "I tell you there is nothing to worry about. You are as you are. You will be as you will be." He does not want to repeat himself by saying, again, that he likes you, or why. You will hear him when you are ready. "Sometime I will let you try to find me... if you can," he teases. "But this time, since we had just spoken of Oannes and you expressed interest, I thought I would offer you the chance to see it now."
Leaning back on his elbows, he watches you, he smiles at you. You do make quite the spectacle. "You are nervous. And you do not want anyone to walk in on us, right? That part I understand. You do not have to say anything to me. Maybe later," he whispers with a wink. "At night. When most of them are resting. Sailors all sleep sometime. Or, I could lull them into a nap..."
The famed voice of a siren. He gestures to his throat and then sits up once more, scooting back to rest his back against the wall. "Knowledge... an excellent journey. I would be happy to show you everything I can of Oannes. Of the temples. Perhaps you will find some answers to your questions -- or other questions that lead you to such answers."
His arms lifted, hands folded behind his head, Agapios extends his legs, stretching. "The moon tugs on the water," he lightly sings, "...and the water must respond. You tug on my fingers, and I follow." His voice is clear and sweet as the water he poured for you on the first day you spoke. It is of a higher register, a tenor, with a warm resonance. Soothing. So soothing. "You tug on my hands, and I come to you. The moon sits on the water, and waves ripple to the shore. You wrap your arms around me, and I come. Your arms around me and I come to you."
He smiles slowly as the last breath of his song drifts away. "Do not worry, Tiernan. Do not be afraid. I want you to look at the moon tonight, look at the stars, and see yourself there. See the goodness in the possibility. Tonight, at least for one night, do not think about the nervousness and fear. Rejoice that you are free enough this day to realize you wish to know yourself better."
"I will try to worry less," Tiernan answers humbly. "But yes. I was interested. I am interested."
You are leaning and watching him, and he is standing watching you; a separation borne of his own urgencies. "You have it right," he says softly. "I ... am not ashamed, you understand? But I have to keep order on board; I must appear in control, most of all of myself. The men will work for me and do their best as long as I appear to be what they need." And rolling around with male sirens would not fit into their expectations, clearly.
He exhales, looking at you, listening to your suggestions, teasing and serious as they are. "I want answers," he says simply. "I want to know who I am. I want to know where I come from. My mother hid me in darkness. But there has to be some reason why it turned out the way it did. Why me? Why, when I so consistently would not be her puppet, did she keep me around at all? I watched so many people come and go in my life. Is it just because I am her son? If I am her son ... what does it mean? Is it only that I am the son of a dead queen, once-prince of a kingdom that now lies conquered by the mother of the High King? She laid her hooks in me, even so."
He takes a sharp breath, turning away from you. "She laid her hooks deep," Tiernan says quietly. "She tried to turn me into the puppet I was not willing to be. She would have used me to kill them all, you know. Iowerth, his entire family, anyone else. And then I would have died... if I were lucky. I would not bear to live with such sins on my conscience. But now? Now that is no longer enough for me. I need to understand. I need to know what has been hidden from me, who and what I am. What is possible ... and what is not."
He cracks his knuckles nervously, looking to his feet and then over to you. "I am trying not to be afraid. But I am afraid. I am afraid of what I don't know about myself, and how it might hurt those I love."
There is sympathy and empathy. "I will help you where I can, Tiernan. It would be my pleasure to assist you." His arms unfold and rest on his lap a moment. He stands after another moment and crosses over to you. Agapios reaches for your hand. "It is natural to be afraid -- that would be the most common reaction. But often, when you search for things to frighten you, you will find them. If you are so worried about hurting those you love, I think the knowledge may elude you, or you may unwittingly do that which you fear. However, if you seek to find yourself, your answers, with a mind focused upon a positive outcome, chances are greater that the outcome will be positive. Or at least constructive. And this is something you can do, you can control. The only thing you can control, in truth, is how you react to things and the attitude with which you approach these things."
He twines his fingers around your own, giving you support, gentle contact. "Dwell not on what occurred in the past, but how you can, in knowing what occurred and where you are from, make yourself the person you wish to become." He pauses. "Have you ever inquired with the other queen, the mother of the High King? Perhaps she has a piece of what you are needing -- a clue, perhaps, on where to begin your journey. It is worth asking, I think. It is a thought."
Agapios lays his other hand upon the ones that are joined. It is a hug as much as anything. "What I say, I truly believe. I understand my beliefs may not be your own. But I hope you can find some comfort in them. I do not say these things to be judgmental, I hope you understand. I am sorry for your pain, for what was done to you, for your suffering. But I can tell you with utmost certainty that you do not need to continue to live through this suffering, nor bring it upon those you care for. I do know that."
"I have been worried about hurting them for a long time." Tiernan looks to you, looks to where your hand touches his. "But I have made the decision to put aside the fear, enough at least to find what I need to know. Because if I do not find out, then it will never matter what I do. What I achieve will never be good enough - it is not good enough now, to me - and I want to be good enough. Everything I do, I do with my mother's ghost leaning over my shoulder. She is dead, and her shade consigned to whatever hell she deserves - but I must lay what is left to rest, for the sake of those around me as for my own sake."
As for my own sake is likely added for your benefit, but the words are said soundly, with quiet conviction. He looks to your eyes now. "I have not. He is her mother," he smiles a little, "and in truth, I've always felt intimidated - embarrassed. I think she has been a little uncomfortable, too. It's difficult, isn't it? How do you open a conversation? 'So, you killed my mother and I really don't hold it against you, but could you do me a favour?' So ... I decided my journey should begin with Oannes."
He has given it thought. He squeezes your hand, then tugs you towards him, one of his hands dropping to your hip. "I like having you around me. Whether or not your beliefs and mine will overlap - whether or not this helps me with my problem - I still want to see where it is that you come from. I want to see your world with my own eyes and not just through your words. I am making myself open to these experiences, even though it makes me uncomfortable because it is so different from how I have seen things, because it is only through such that I can grow and be the person I mean to be. My lover would be dismayed if he knew I were with you, though he has not forbidden it; but if he knows, or if he learns of it, he will have to accept it if he wishes to accept me. Because whether or not I say so again, Agapios - you do bring a rare perspective into my life. You bring to me an ability to look at things of which I have been afraid. And for that ... how could I repay you?" Tiernan smiles a little, dipping his head downwards, letting a lock of dark hair fall over his eye. "I wouldn't have enough money if I labored as long as Heracles."
"We will go to Oannes," he quietly confirms, and with his own conviction. "And the hope is it will not be your one and only visit. We will go to the temple, and I will take you to Oannes' Grotto, which is a place of serenity, where even angels come to take their rest. It will soothe the heart, and hopefully will be able to provide you with the perspective you need for your journey." His hand grips yours, echoing his conviction, and his promise to you.
"I like being around you," he smiles, able now to say he likes you and you will hear him. "I like you very much, Tiernan. And if my words, if my home, if my perspective can assist you then... I am very happy. And I am glad you feel the same. I had no intention of letting your lover dictate whom I could call my friend. But, please, no talk of payments, there is no debt you need to pay here. You and I, we are now on this journey together. I am with you."
His hand lets yours go, drifting up to capture that lock of dark hair. He curls it around his finger, and then brushes it aside. "I am on this journey with you," he whispers, repeating his promise. "Wherever it takes you, I will be there to help where I can. And if I can't help you," Agapios smiles, "...then at the very least I will be there to entertain you. And if the journey to Oannes does not provide you with the answers or questions you need, we will go to the queen. And from there, wherever the answers and questions lead us."
His hand cups your face. "The best antidotes for ghosts is illumination," Agapios murmurs, his fingers stroking your cheek. "They cannot abide the clear light of examination. And so... we will vanquish her. I am confident of this." Your story has touched him. It swims in his eyes, in glorious colors of the sunlit sea. Leaning in toward you, he places a kiss on each cheek. Your face in his hands, he kisses your mouth, sweetness lingering along with the champagne fizz of oxygen he leaves behind.
"If it helps you, feed on my confidence," Agapios smiles, "... as you breathe the air in my kiss. For I am confident you will find what you are looking for, and I will be there with you when you do." He kisses you gently once more and then steps back, cognizant of your desire and need for discretion. He respects it and so he puts a respectful amount of space between you. "Shall we inquire after lunch?"
There are many things which he could say - but already this has been a very lengthy speech, for him, who usually keeps so much behind locked doors. He looks at you, but he is not seeing you; he is instead concentrating on how your hands drift, how they move, where they move to. And you kiss him, and he leans into it for a moment, forehead pressed against yours.
"...I do not think I can feed on your confidence. But for now, let's feed on lunch. They are taking entirely too long. They must be trying to listen at the door, for all the good it does them. I soundproofed it myself." Tiernan smiles a little, watching as you withdraw a few paces; then he turns to the door himself, striding towards it. He draws air into his lungs for a mighty bellow as he pulls open the door. "AVAST! Where's my lunch, midshipman? I am entertaining the ambassador. Do you want him to think I run a loose ship?"
Posted by rowan at January 15, 2007 08:21 PM
