Prompt - Something Lost, Something Found
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SONG OF THE SEA ( joshua, alecto ) A selkie far from home, searching for his coat. He meets a kind, lonely, young fisherman who tends the lighthouse near the sea. |
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SONG OF THE SEA ( joshua, alecto ) A selkie far from home, searching for his coat. He meets a kind, lonely, young fisherman who tends the lighthouse near the sea. |
[Somewhere, Waiting for Me]
This success was one of the reasons the location had been chosen for the new lighthouse, one of the very first to be designed from the beginning to be installed with the Fresnel lens. While he'd done his training on several different versions of the apparatus, it never failed to thrill him how very brightly the beam of light cut through rain and fog and darkness, visible for miles and miles out to sea.
His tenure began almost simultaneously with a series of storms, and he spends a tense week and a half tending to the lamps almost without pause for food or sleep, soaked through to the skin, to maintain the lights as enough warning for ships to avoid being wrecked by wave and wind on the rocky shore. But finally a day dawns bright and clear, with not a hint of cloud or rain, and he takes the rare opportunity to make his way into town, walking the few miles along the inlet to the bustling docks, merchants and fishermen and shipbuilders all shouting past one another.
There's so much new to see, even taking into account his new vantage point and perspective as a working adult rather than a child helping his parents and siblings sort through the daily catch and repair the netting and sails. He can't say he recognizes many faces on sight, but a few recognize him - or at least, make the connection between a familiar family name and the announcement of the new lighthouse keeper - and so he reacquaints himself with some of the locals at market, to arrange for the pick up of needed supplies - some expenses for the lighthouse and some for himself - and then gives himself leave to wander.
Almost nothing looks the same anymore. Even the shape of the shoreline has changed, altered by the the building out of the docks and the dredging of sand to make more room for more ships. But there is a rocky outcropping, not conducive to other maritime activities, a little further out from town where he'd used to go and watch for whales out to sea and seals closer in, their spotted bodies well-hidden among the rocks and waves unless you knew exactly where to look. He remembers saving scraps from the daily catch in a large bucket and stopping out here to toss them to the birds and seals, laughing as the birds swooped down and the seals swam gracefully in spirals around where he'd toss in the fish heads and tails, looking for more.
He didn't have any fish with him - but then, there aren't any seals today either.
He can't stay too late - the visibility starts to drop as the afternoon advances, and he needed to prepare for the evening - so he heads back towards town again. The crowd has thinned somewhat, a changeover of shifts as the more successful fishermen head back to shore with nets and holds bursting. He recognizes a few people in this crowd - some old playmates, now grown with boats and spouses and even children of their own, exchanging a few exclamations of remembrance and acknowledgement as he purchases a few fresh fish to bring back with him, picks up the supplies he'd ordered earlier.
Something - someone? - familiar catches his eye, and he stops, glancing around in the middle of a recitation of 'where-are-they-now'. But he doesn't see anyone from the old crowd, just a small cluster of well-dressed society - they looked like merchants' wives, if he had to guess. But there is a pair of luminous eyes, fine dark hair, pale skin, dressed in warm, dove-grey hues - and he can't help but stare, briefly.
His current companion catches his distraction and follows his line of sight before laughing. "Ah, I see I can't keep your attention," she teases him, punching him lightly on the shoulder when he startles and apologizes reflexively, all good-humor. "That would be Alecto. He's the wife of Nathaniel, the head shipbuilder. They moved here a year or two ago, to oversee the building of the dry dock and their big house up on the hill." She shakes her head, still mostly in good-humor. "He's a strange one, that Alecto. Very quiet, but - well, his eyes look like they could see right through you."
Married and moved here a year ago. So there was no chance that Joshua could have met him here.
So why did he seem so familiar?
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Alecto was a child of the water. A selkie. He was born of seafoam and made a home on the cold Northeastern shoreline with the rest of his family, a raft of spotty grey seals that commonly rested upon and argued about the rocky black cliffs near the lighthouse. They’d spend the summers here, playing, reveling in their freedom and unique magic, untethered to the demands and the laws of the world of mankind. Under the cover of moonlight, they would sometimes slip into town, shedding their skin and faking their way amongst society, for entertainment. For fun. Learning the people's language and their gestures, their dances, their music. Never straying far from the waterside, from safety (“for that world is more full of weeping than you can understand,” his sister sang, a warning). And for a while, that simple, happy life was all he had known.
Until the day a man held him close and refused to let him go.
(To be fair, Nathaniel wasn't a terrible man by any means. Though he was a selfish one. He provided his all for Alecto, pampered him, cared for him like one would a treasured prize and conquest. He met all of his needs except for one - and no matter how Alecto begged and pleaded, no matter how much he ached and sobbed, the man who claimed to love him could never - and would never - give him back the sea.)
His first few days after his…capture, Alecto had found himself roaming the land like a sleepwalker, stunned and drunk with sorrow. His coat was lost, held hostage, traded for a heavy metal ring around his finger and no amount of tears could bring him back to his family, to the depths he belonged to. But, with time, even that weight felt less ominous as he slowly fell into a routine. Into acceptance. He learned to make a home of the little house overlooking the hills, to find comfort in its big west-facing windows and large rooms - monkish and bare, with scarred oak floors and a ceiling slanted like a garret’s. He learned even to enjoy his marriage bed, laid upon it during the twilight while his new husband touched him all over, reverent and adoring and greedy, as the walls around them went slowly from grey to gold to black, every night. He learned to become a good wife too (that human term always felt so strange and alien in his mouth, not to mention strangely gendered), tending to the chores, to the cleaning, to the cooking as he was instructed.
And today, he had to make a shepard’s pie. And he was missing potatoes.
So he found himself observing the stalls at the market, a pale silver figure nestled amongst the flurry of brown tweeds and stained cottons and worn leather. He moves from stall to stall, quietly, like some liquid seraphim, turning heads. Not that he was any great beauty, but that there was an air about him that seemed to disquiet people, something that suggested he simply did not belong and therefore giving the impression that he was highly unapproachable. Perhaps it was his dark, exotic features, set against the shock of his pale, knowing gaze, wise beyond his years. Or was it his voice? Melodic, too ethereal and supernatural in quality that it struck horror in the hearts of god-fearing men. Whatever it was, it worked to keep Alecto at arm's length from everyone else.
He turns a corner and makes a face.
The fish at the market stunk. They had been dead for days and left on ice and it makes Alecto's skin crawl to think about. He couldn’t even consider it, couldn’t meet their vacant eyes, that chilly nothingness. He turns his head away, towards the baskets of vegetables and fruits instead, picking up an apple with delicate hands. Considers it. Everything on the land stinks of rotting citrus and mud, he thinks. It makes him sick.
He walks on quickly, searching for the rest of what he needed, humming a mournful, old seafaring song, the lyrics long forgotten, until a breeze picks up to interrupt him, lifting the tails of his grey scarf all about his face. It makes him startle, briefly, and misstep, bumping into - someone. Someone who reminds him of a face from the past, with golden hair like the noon sun: so similar to that of a young boy who had ran about the sands, tossing fishheads into the waves, who once touched Alecto’s wet nose curiously with his fingertips a long, long time ago -
“Oh -” he says, his voice pitched low but strangely sharp. He lifts his bright eyes, flecked with warmth from some otherworldly light. “Excuse me.”
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"I haven't heard that song in a long time," he says, the words escaping him without thought, pre-empting the man - Alecto - from moving to walk around and past him. "It's fallen out of fashion, of late." It's far from an excuse, but he's not sure what he's saying anymore as he offers a hand out, motioning for the basket he is carrying. "May I help you carry your things?"
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[Those Left Behind]
It’s been three days since his husband died. Drowned, they said. He had been working late into the evening and the black tides had risen too high in the storm, consuming him. His lifeless body was found washed up onto the wet sands, miles from home. What a pity, they said. I’m so sorry, they said.
And the first thing Alecto did when he heard the news was tear through the house. He ransacked the bedrooms in a manic frenzy, throwing furniture upside down and over, checking every corner, every trunk and chest, smashing locks with whatever blunt object he could find, desperate to look for that flowing, magical coat he knew could set him free from this landlocked curse. He trashed the closets, upended the kitchen and emptied out the pantry, the cupboard, the drawers. All around him, a mess of items, the echo of a home once made and sustained with care, now nothing but clutter and nonsense.
But after hours of this, his chest heaving and flushed with exertion, Alecto found he could only wail in frustration, having found no trace of his beloved coat anywhere, not a single glimpse of its bright diamond sheen. Could he even be convinced that Nathaniel kept it in the house? He did not know.
What he did know was that he was now a widow. With no human next of kin, no means to sustain himself, no promise of where his next meal might come from, no protector, and no guarantees. Nowhere to turn.
Except —
The idea comes to him suddenly, an uncertain warmth blooming in his chest at the thought. And it’s with bright desperation and deep sorrow that he finds himself now at the lighthouse, it’s golden beam swinging through the night in large, graceful arches.
He knocks - three tender raps of his knuckles - and when the door finally opens, Alecto breathes the man’s name like a prayer, his eyes wide and luminous as polished moonstones. “Joshua. Please. I - I need your help.”
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So when Joshua opens the door to see Alecto on his doorstep, disheveled, soaking wet, and clearly distressed, he has no idea what to say.
He'd quickly settled into a semblance of a routine, a year and half passing quickly. When the weather was fine, he still had his duties around the lighthouse - maintaining the boats and checking on all of the supplies needed for emergencies, communicating by signal with incoming vessels, keeping the logs and communications with his superiors, reporting on activities out at sea with his telescope lens. On rare occasions he would step out to town, but there was little for him there other than supplies. His occupation was considered a boon for the town, and he was greeted mainly with cautious respect, but even his old friends weren't sure how to relate to him anymore, after such a distance of years and the gap in experience and occupation. He was simply the visible face of a service - vital to the town's operations, but only notable when it wasn't being provided. So most people were friendly, but distant, his name known but with no particular intimacies.
But there was also Alecto.
After that first day, when they'd walked for almost an hour together along the seashore, talking about nothing in particular, humming snatches of song absentmindedly and looking out at the water, they'd somehow... kept running into each other. Joshua got the impression that Alecto was also a little lonely, not quite fitting in, and even if he can't shake that initial impression of familiarity, they build upon it, becoming - well, friends, if he had to put a name to the fellowship between them. He's always as conscientiously polite and courteous as he should be to another man's spouse, at least in town, but he looks forward to what little time they can spend together outside of it, strolling along the sandy paths lined with dune grass and the slightly more precarious ones lined with rocks. And if he offered Alecto a supporting hand that perhaps lingered overmuch or helped lift him over larger gaps, well - there were no eyes to see them there. And some nights, when he's observing the shoreline, he swears he sees a slim, moonlit figure standing at points on the shore, staring out to sea, the water lit bright around it, with the most melancholy air he can imagine from such a distance.
"Come inside out of the rain," he urges, heedless of propriety now. "How can I help?"
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"My husband is dead."
The words hang in the air and he makes a delicate expression.
Then -
"And...I haven't been entirely honest with you," he confesses, a strange thrill in his voice that is difficult to shake: a singing compulsion, a whispered listen. "I'm...not who and what you think I am."
Alecto isn't sure what to do with his hands, traitorous things that they are, fingers flexing nervously. "Back then when we first saw each other at the market. You said you thought you knew me from somewhere else. As if we were already old friends. ...You were right." He searches Josh's face, knowing it won't bring him any answers or reprieve. But damned if he doesn't hope. "We've met long ago. When we were both very young. By the cliffs here, below us now. I was the white seal you came to visit every evening." A pause. "...well, I mean to say, I still am. This is just how I look ever since I lost my coat."
He waits for the dawn of recognition and realization to hit the man in front of him.
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[On Golden Sands]
Strictly speaking, the town has moved on. The estate is not yet fully settled, but work had started up again in the shipyards, overseen by trustees rather than any individual. Joshua had been able to enter and search the offices, but that had turned out to be mostly a dead end.
The only lead that had seemed promising - that he had been able to access - was a ledger of transactions. Buried within it was a receipt for a deposit at a bank in another state, where Nathaniel's family lived, dated a month or so after the date of his marriage license - a single box, with no other identification, but which Nathaniel had apparently taken great care with, arranging for it to be shipped with an accompanying attendant by train and then by carriage to the very doorstep of the bank; there was a letter of confirmation from the bank of the deposit, received two weeks after it had been sent out which had been filed away with the receipt. But while he'd sent an inquiry to the bank, they had no reason to respond to him, and while he had a few other avenues to work with, for the moment, he had no other ideas.
Meanwhile, the house and furniture that had been all Alecto had left from his previous marriage (other than the ring he had pawned) had eventually been settled upon Nathaniel's remaining family; fortunately, no one had looked too closely at the story of the robbery, simply examining the house and accepting it in its existing state before essentially turning Alecto out of doors with only what he could carry so they could sell off what was left. He'd more or less shrugged and followed the familiar path back to the lighthouse.
And to Joshua.
By this point, the gossip has mostly died down. Alecto had needed a protector, a provider, and had managed to find someone willing. Whatever else had happened, whatever whispered secrets the town passed around, the two of them were and remained part of the community. Nathaniel's family were outsiders, and there was even a sight but significant shift in perspective towards sympathy for Alecto for his treatment at their hands. So there was less disapproval than usual when Alecto more or less officially settled in the cottage assigned for the lighthouse keeper. As traffic had increased and the necessity for additional coverage had become apparent, Joshua had also arranged for the hiring of a first and second assistant keeper from within the town, to better distribute the duties. While the gesture had been appreciated - providing wages and job training to two of the local lads - the slightly more light-hearted gossip seemed to enjoy the narrative of their hard-working keeper, returned from an education and training elsewhere, being bewitched by a local beauty and wanting to spend more time at hearth and home.
Joshua comes home early on a sunny afternoon late in the spring, eyes bright with excitement.
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(Because he did so love Joshua Archer. Deeply, truly. So much so there were entire days, even weeks, that Alecto found himself having forgotten almost completely about his first love, the sea.)
So, when Joshua comes home earlier than usual, Alecto had just returned to the house himself, and is in the middle of folding the laundry he had left unfinished earlier. He had everything poured out on the bedsheets when the door swung open and he immediately looks up. A wave of dark hair falls over his eyes and he has to push it back behind his ear - his dark fringe had gotten a bit longer lately, and he'd taken to tying it back. Though, he thinks, he should cut it soon. It was beginning to fall into his eyes far too often during his chores to be agreeable.
"Joshua?" He smiles, putting down the clothes and striding over to the door to take the man's coat and press a kiss to his cheek - their common greeting. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon. Everything alright?"
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"It's a lovely afternoon," he says by way of explanation. "I have to take one of the boats out to take sounding measurements a little further out and I thought you might like to come along." Whenever he could, he liked to bring Alecto as close as he could to the ocean, on regular walks along the shoreline, or out in any of the craft assigned to the station. But there were many nights where he had overnight duties (unsurprising, for a lighthouse), and slept for at least part of the day, so having liberty to actually bring him out wasn't as common.
It really wasn't the same, he knew. But it was all he was capable of, at this time.
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[With Silver Reflections]
It's a very small private exchange, the paperwork for the license and other legal formalities all done well ahead of time, sand slipping beneath their feet as they stood facing each other. Even if pressed, Joshua couldn't recall much about the day other than the sight of Alecto facing him, the smile on his face. He knows the weather had been cloudy but warm, that a crowd of seals had borne witness, watching from the rocks (that one very enterprising young seal had made a concerted effort to crawl close enough to almost be caught), that his younger brother and youngest sister had brought well-wishes from his parents and other siblings, too ill or too busy to travel; they were things he was told, that he had writings to support, including a log in his own hand on the entry for the lighthouse records of that very day.
But he remembers almost nothing else about it, other than the light of happiness in Alecto's eyes as he'd looked up at Joshua, apparently also seeing nothing else, even with the sea and shore all around them, their hands joined together, rings snug around their interlaced fingers, a mutual claiming.
[and a song of love - the Sea]
He'd never looked forward to anything as much as this implication of infinity awaiting them, of shared touch and warmth and life, whatever they decided to make of it, together.
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(It was all very romantic, simple, and new, at least, to Alecto, who had never spent so much time this deep inland. But he meant what he said in his vows, that he'd follow Joshua Archer anywhere, everywhere, for as long as he'd be willing to lead them forward, together.)
Presently, Alecto was flushed and warm after having cleaned up from just such a swim, his hair still damp. He had recently cut it, cleaned the back and sides and leaving the top longer, wavy and smooth. It gave him a more tender, youthful, and femme look, which he preferred. And, it surely complimented the thin satin slip he was currently wearing, a special little piece of lingerie he had gifted himself recently with the hopes of impressing his new husband.
He studies himself in the full length mirror, sees how the material barely covers his pale thighs. With just the slightest motion, the edge rises up, tantalizing and silky.
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Alecto had overseen a lot of the packing, drawing on past experience, and Joshua had mostly left him to it - a slightly cowardly decision, perhaps. But Alecto's reaction to the new environment eases an unconscious sting in his heart - the uncomplicated delight he feels at swimming in freshwater, practically frolicking in the rain of leaves from the trees surrounding the lake, eager for new experiences.
Joshua had left the room only briefly, to set wood for the fire and prepare for the evening, but he comes back to an unearthly vision - Alecto barely dressed, his skin scrubbed clean and pink from exertion, practically glowing with happiness as he admires himself in the mirror. Joshua's own cheeks heat slightly, his body responding to the unexpected ideal that had suddenly stepped out of some unknown place of dreams and wishes. He takes a breath, too loud in the quiet, wondering if he'd wake up, having disturbed a fragile magic.
"Dearest," he starts, haltingly, and then, "love," like a quiet, abject prayer. He closes the distance between them, reaches out a hand for Alecto's, pulling him close and wrapping his arms around him, breathing in the fresh scent of soap and the underlying salt of the shore. He was suddenly feeling far too dressed, even if he was wearing only a single layer - shirt and trousers, pulled on out of habit, for propriety's sake.
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[and watches the ships]
There's no need to announce his arrival - he's greeted with an open door and a dark, exuberant streak of excitement before he's even managed to reach the neatly paved and swept pathway of flat stones. He catches Avery, already terrifyingly energetic at four years of age, up in his arms and tosses him, laughing and squirming, up into the air, his dark hair mussed by the wind, his eyes like Alecto's, moonstone bright and luminous in the golden sunlight, before catching him again.
"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be helping your mother," Joshua says with solemnity, setting the swaying child back on his feet and taking his small hand in his, leading him back towards the house. "So both of us are going to have to make it up to him, right?"
"But, papa," Avery protests, his high voice a reedy lisp, "I don't want to help with cooking. It's so hot inside."
"Only with eating, hm?" Joshua says, as they step over the threshold into the cottage and Avery nods so earnestly that he can't help but laugh. "Well, if you help momma with the cooking, we'll finish eating dinner sooner, and then maybe we can go down to the water to see if your cousins want to play with you."
He trails off then, distracted, as Avery considers the logic of that train of events, because he can see Alecto, because - even after all these years - the sight of him never fails to make Joshua stop short, like the first sight of the sun after days of storms.
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He sees Joshua like it's for the first time, every time, their eyes meeting across the room: Joshua's warm amber squared to Alecto's chilly moonglow. And instantly, his heart melts. It always does, without fail. Even more so now, lately, at the sight of him with their child, an adorable disaster of a boy ("My little tidal wave," Alecto cooed at him when he was but an infant, lulling him to sleep with old sea shanties that no one sings anymore, lost to the pillage of time). He was only four years old but already as wild and free as the wind ("We gave him a name with too much power and now look at him," Alecto had laughed, watching Avery roll about in the swarm of spotted harbor seals that were his equally mischievous cousins, tempting riptides and chasing seabirds with careless courage - ), deeply stubborn and opinionated about nearly everything ("I wonder where he gets that from," Joshua has whispered to him, his arm around Alecto's tiny waist - ).
"Darling," he says, and then looks down as Avery runs to him. His son throws his little arms around his mother's legs and squeals. Alecto smiles, pats a pale hand through the boy's mop of dark hair, calm and tender. "Go wash up now, and don't let me catch you sneaking a bite of the pudding again."
"Oh, alright," Avery relents, into Alecto's legs, in a hilarious imitation of Alecto himself whenever he was a bit annoyed at something.
Alecto huffs and pats his son's rump to speed him along; the boy is likely lying about being on good behavior, likely thinking already of a way to trick his way out of his promise or convince his mother into some sort of compromise - which Alecto will most certainly agree to even as Joshua sighs at him about it. What can he say, he was soft on the child, he couldn't help it. The moment he was born, Alecto knew he'd give his all for him.
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[the sea and the summer sky confounds]
Joshua flips through the pages, back and forth. He's not sure exactly how he feels, at the moment. There is no question in his mind that he would write back, that he would furnish whatever proof they demanded, that he would follow this seemingly final clue, one last thread to unravel, one last chance to solve the only mystery he cared about of all those left in the chaos of Nathaniel's death almost six years ago: Alecto's coat.
It's listed, right there in the inventory, as: A seal fur coat, very fine, of unusual color and luster
Easy as that.
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Joshua is quieter than usual that afternoon, responding almost immediately to Avery and Alecto when they address him, bouncing Avery on his knee at his insistence, but otherwise falling into silence, staring off into the distance. He kisses Alecto with his usual attentive tenderness before he heads back up to the lighthouse, wrapping his arms around him just a little bit tighter, more securely, feeling strangely reluctant to pull away.
As he sits in the lantern room gallery, watching the light flash out into the darkness, he realizes what it is.
He's afraid.
Alecto has entwined himself into every aspect of his life, his work; there were parts of the lighthouse itself that held his mark, some small consideration or decision that indicated his care for Joshua and his comfort. There was literally nowhere he could look without being reminded of Alecto. They had a child together, a home together.
For as long as he had the reality of him, those mementos would be sweet, the scattering of light and magic over every single step he took.
Joshua has no idea if he could recover, ever, from losing that.
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So as he watches Joshua's back retreat out the front door that evening, Alecto knows something is off about his husband, knows that he isn't quite himself. It wasn't in how he seemed distracted, or distant, his responses to questions or the sound of his name decidedly colorless. Nor was it in how he appeared unfocused and clumsy all day, when usually he was dexterous and witty, sharp as a tack -
No. It was all in how he held Alecto that gave it away. It was in the way he tightened his arms, hard, around his waist, and in the way he took a deep, shaky breath before letting go that made Alecto's heart twist painfully in his chest. It almost felt as if Joshua was...frightened.
...Something was definitely wrong.
After tucking a very fussy Avery into bed ("But momma -" "No, my little tidal wave -" "Just one more song, please? I promise." "...Oh, alright -") Alecto dons a pale, dove-colored shawl and heads outside towards the lighthouse, cutting a stark image against the evening landscape, as if he were a wisp of smoke, burning a path across the grass.
His bootheels echo as he slowly climbs the 72 cast iron steps spiraling up the tower to the lantern room. A distinct, sinking feeling he has in his stomach grows thicker the higher up he goes. In his head, he's trying to think through what he wants to say or ask. His throat feels uncharacteristically dry.
All around him, the sea echoes, hissing and sighing, back and forth.
Finally, Alecto opens the door at the very top to see his husband looking out the windows where the water all around is pitch black, like the open maw of some wild animal: untamed and free and unforgiving. The look on his face seems...so very sad.
"Darling?" Alecto says, but his voice is quiet, unsure, tentative.
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[I know we'll meet beyond the shore]
He's gone to visit his family, he says, as Avery waves enthusiastic greetings to the other children his age. It's a long journey, he explains, when he goes to pick their clothing up from the local laundress. I'll let him know you asked after him, he offers with a smile, gently tugging Avery away from the bakery window before he burns his hands on a just-made pie.
Avery asks, of course. But whether through some selkie instinct that Joshua didn't have access to, or the innocence of childhood, or his interpretation of that gentle admonishment to 'help take care of your father for me' he doesn't linger overmuch, though he still throws tantrums now and again, yelling 'but momma says,' in the face of Joshua's best efforts. But he settles sooner than might have been expected, as Joshua works hard to establish a predictable, reliable routine, leaning on intermittent help from town and his own efforts, keeping the house tidy and neat (if not up to Alecto's exacting standard), a sufficient amount of healthy, if simple (and repetitive), food on their table, and Avery clothed warmly as he shoots up another two or three inches almost overnight.
Summer wends its way to a chilly, brisk autumn, and then the storms come, battering the shore and the lighthouse for days at a time. He brings Avery with him up to the lighthouse when he's working almost every day now, makes a bed for him there, watches over him and the lamps, counting the shadows of ships out at sea while humming half-remembered lullabies. It's been a few weeks since they had last gone down by the water, the ocean cold and too rough for him to trust his own abilities, even if was entirely likely that Avery would do just fine. He hasn't caught hide nor hair of any seals or selkies near the shore since summer ended - not even Pippa or her children, though he's always thinking that perhaps he'd caught a familiar flicker of movement in the distance - other than Avery in his sealskin, who's always swimming just a little farther than Joshua is entirely comfortable with, but obediently returns (eventually) when he calls.
It's...tolerable, with Avery there. He can stay alert, can stay aware, can smile and sing and play with him with all the energy he has to spare when he's done working. He knows Avery misses his mother, but at least he doesn't lack for companionship. He's writing with a surer hand now - though with very little grasp of spelling - able to read short sentences and clamor for specific stories.
(He asks, one night, for a poem, with the oddest look on his face. Joshua is never sure, exactly, how much he understands when he looks like that. So he picks, at random, from one of the books he'd recently found in town, allows Avery to pick a page. But when he gets to the lines:
he stops short, and Avery doesn't complain, simply takes the book and closes it, setting it aside again before he nestles against Joshua, pressing his smooth cheek against his far more weathered one, and says nothing about the dampness between them.)
The days continue to slip by - alternately slow and fast, frantic storms and quiet haze, but marching ever onward - and before he quite realizes it the seasons have turned again, from autumn to winter.
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It's been nearly 4 months since he's seen the cottage by the sea cliffs. 4 months since he kissed his husband goodbye, held his son. For a moment, Alecto stands there, observing the way the beam of the lighthouse lights up the sky, before ducking his head back down and slowly making his way to the front door. He pauses, hand up against the wood, an aborted motion and intention; he can hear the sound of life inside the house, a child laughing, dinner being eaten and shared. Alecto's heart twists in on itself.
Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe -
A little wail comes from his daughter, cradled against his chest. Alecto takes a deep breath.
And knocks.
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[we'll kiss just as before]
Generally speaking, Josh is too pleased and dazed with renewed happiness to even think of pursuing anything additional. But he's learning to ask, more and more, without fear of loss, and he looks up one evening from a laborious hour working through some of the finer points of grammar with Avery and the alphabet with Daphne - just about three years old and the furthest thing from precocious, though she was happy enough to be spending time with her father, however difficult it was for her to grasp the finer points of penmanship with her small unsteady hands - and meets Alecto's eyes across the room. He thinks about their small house, already filled with light and laughter and so much love he can barely remember what it was to ever be without it; he thinks about Avery's first stumbling steps and the musical gurgle of Daphne's chiming laughter, and the way the two of them cling to each other and play with each other, whether with hands or fins, and the way the two of them served as reflections and meditations on him and Alecto both, in appearance and behavior and little gestures and turns of phrase.
He smiles, automatic and helpless, as he sees Alecto looking back at him - that had never changed between them, from the moment they had met, only transmuted when given more latitude, more opportunity for expression - and he allows himself to imagine, for a moment, another child, or two, or three, lets his mind drift past the practicalities and the inconveniences, as he watches Avery and Daphne curl together in front of the fire, having been set free from the tyranny of letters and writing, at least for another night, and he knows for a fact his gaze warms more than a little, before he pulls himself away to pack away slate and chalk and the papers they'd been practicing with, setting everything back into place and out of the way for the evening.
When everything and everyone is in harmony like this, it's hard to envision making a change. But that familiar desire is there, a quiet thrum of thought in his mind and through his veins, the stirring of a potential melodic variation in counterpoint to the current arrangement.
Some coaxing and a story (or three) later, the children are dozed off in bed in the other room, and it's just him and Alecto still conscious, sitting together and enjoying the rare moment of quiet and ease and privacy.
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Gingerly, he slices a single crescent of the apple and offers it to Joshua and together they eat it, chatting gently, kissing here and there, tasting each other and the sticky sweets and sours of the fruit between them.
"Thank you for sitting the children through those lessons," he says, leaning his head against Joshua's shoulder. "Your patience is truly commendable, darling." A warm chuckle as he thinks back to Daphne, stubbornly wiping her frustrated tears, needing a solid hour to figure out how to correctly spell her own name in a sentence with consistency.
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[it's just love nobody dies]
His other two children were nothing like this, he laments. Then again, Avery and Daphne were born of magic, with the song of the sea in their veins. They were born as selkies, as part of this ancient tribe and species, wise beyond their years, amidst the seafoam and the crashing tides.
But Percy? Percy was human. And just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
There were a lot of firsts with him in fact. Unlike his siblings, Percy took a full 9 months in the womb instead of the usual 3-4 for most selkie pups. He also made Alecto so violently ill while pregnant with him, causing him to throw up every morning since he first started to show, straight into the marigolds outside the house. The constant kicking and turning of the stubborn infant also made Alecto woozy and useless for hours while simultaneously giving him an absolutely crazed craving for almonds at all times.
When Percy was finally born, it took nearly a full day of agony and once he was finally out, Alecto immediately knew there was something missing, something wrong: he had no sealskin. He was just a wriggling, screaming, messy, pink skinned little boy, completely naked and plain. No magic, no blessings. He had only one form, one body, locked to the land. Alecto had stared, unbelievingly, hair damp and stuck to his face, all color having left his cheeks in shock.
Immediately, tragically, Alecto was struck with this thought as the infant was placed in his numb arms: that isn’t my child. It can’t be. And the sour taste of such a terrible idea, that he would even consider that to be true, hammered an open wound into his very heart.
(It must have been his fault, Alecto thinks, irrationally, and daily. How could his magic have skipped his new son but not the others? How could his body not have known what to do after all this time? How -)
When he hears the front door open in the middle of his musing, he finally realizes what time it is and he starts. His husband is back home and there is, for the first time in a long time, no dinner waiting for him, no delicately clean home: just a tired, mournful wife and an unhappy baby he didn’t know how to connect to that was howling. Alecto panics, scooping up the miserable infant into his arms and desperately tries to soothe him to no avail while he rushes into the kitchen, frantically trying to think of what to do. A mixture of shame and terror fly over his face. How could he have forgotten?
Percy is shrieking in his ear and Alecto is pleading quietly in his mind for a moment’s peace so that he could think. The laundry hadn’t been done either, he realizes, now that he was taking full inventory of the home around him, and the floors were still dirty from when Avery chased his sister in from outside, dragging mud from his boots all over the ground. And oh, there had been a jacket he was mending for Joshua, for the coming autumn, that he still hasn’t touched and now there was so very little time left -
(He remembers when he first came on land and was taught by the women in the Blackburn family what a man expects of his wife. He remembers doing it all wrong at first, how annoyed Nathanial had been - “What even do you do all day here, then?” He had sighed, shoving Alecto aside to get himself a drink and annoyed at having to do so - and how Alecto had eventually found a rhythm of tasks and activities and duties that he was then determined to never faltered from.
But that was so very long ago.)
“I’m so sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth when he sees his husband walk in, wondering if he’s disappointed - god forbid, angry - at all for having to come home after a hard day’s work (and he does, he works so hard to provide for them) to an empty table and a weepy wife and nothing but problems. He wants to go over and help Joshua with his things, help get him settled, but he’s frozen in place, his hands feeling both empty and full at the same time.
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With Daphne - well, he hadn't been there, but Alecto had been surrounded by family, who had clearly taken good care of both of them, even through that difficulty. And in the aftermath of delirious joy after their return, everything had seemed wonderful, doable, limned with gold and light. She was a charming baby and had only grown more so over time, and both she and Avery got on so well together now - their lessons in reading, writing, and mathematics notwithstanding - that it seemed Joshua barely needed to lift a finger, really. The long ago years of helping take care of his own younger siblings seemed very far away, and he was definitely getting older; perhaps his memory was starting to go?
But with Percy, the memories come flooding back in, even before he starts to suspect what makes this particular child different. He shares what he can of advice from his own family, his own shaky recollection, from their friends and acquaintances in town - to their credit, everyone had been solicitous and understanding, commenting on how every child and pregnancy was different in its own way. He'd diligently sought out food based on Alecto's unusual cravings, taking care of chores around the house (having finished building out two additional rooms for their growing family), and keeping Daphne and Avery occupied when Alecto was dizzy and needed rest, often bringing both of them up to the lighthouse tower with him.
He'd asked Alecto, as the months dragged on and it seemed clear that whatever was happening, this baby was different from their previous two, whether he should write to his family and perhaps invite one of his younger sisters to stay with them, just to have an extra pair of hands around the house, or perhaps look into engaging some help from the town itself. There was no reason for Alecto to take on everything on his own, and with the growth of his responsibilities and family, they could certainly look into finding someone to help cook and clean, at the very least. Alecto had seemed reluctant, and so Joshua hadn't pushed the topic.
Percy's birth had been hard on Alecto, though it seemed very much in line with Joshua's previous remembered experience, so he'd rearranged his shifts at the lighthouse for the next month to cover the overnight watch, so he could stay close by during the day, but Alecto was determined to do almost everything on his own, already up and about barely a day after, despite his pallor and obvious exhaustion, no matter what Joshua said. But they were both learning, trading off care of the baby and all the sundry errands around the house. Joshua had been intending to ask Avery and Daphne to at least help - Avery was old enough to run simple errands, and pick up orders from the market, at the very least - and give them small responsibilities and duties, just as he was used to, but Alecto was far too soft-hearted to reinforce those expectations. But overall, things seemed to be going smoothly, and Alecto urges Joshua to start going to work at his usual times again, rather than staying up through the night and catching only a few stray hours here and there.
On the second day after he started working his full shift again, he comes home to find a tearful Alecto, holding a wailing Percy, blinking up at him like a doe caught in the crosshairs of a hunter. He glances around the house, at all the small things out of place - where were the other two children, why hadn't they put their own things away, as they knew they should? - and walks forward slowly, holding his arms out for both of them and enfolding Alecto and Percy, still crying his head off, against his chest.
"Oh dearest," he murmurs, reassuringly. "There's nothing to be sorry for. You more than deserve a rest." He gently extricates Percy from Alecto's shaking arms and rocks him automatically, trying to soothe his hoarse crying while counting the days in his head; they were close to a full moon, which would come in three day's time. "Maybe you should bring Avery and Daphne out to see your sister this evening? You haven't had a good swim in such a long while." Percy hiccoughs and screeches protest as Joshua taps gently against his back, and then his whole small body shivers with reaction, a loud sound as he burps and coughs at the same time, and then suddenly stops crying, settling against Joshua's shoulder, eyes drifting shut.
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[changing reflections under the rain]
She'd taken the revelation of who exactly Joshua had married entirely in stride, a hint of amusement in her eyes at the fairy tale he'd found himself in. Kate was a romantic, but only in the abstract, in story and song; she had no real expectation of falling in love or being whisked off her feet personally, being quite content to live out as comfortable a spinsterhood as she could manage with friends and family, or perhaps looking for opportunities to teach - as a nanny or a governess, or a school teacher. Joshua knew she had some degree of wanderlust and interest in traveling, and was conscious of coming to depend on her too much.
Percy, for his part, after a rough start, made leaps and bounds in progress well in advance of most human children, though Joshua could tell Alecto was anxious for his progress, without having anything to compare him to. He started walking early - at around nine months of age - and took to swimming just as easily a few months later, if not to the same level of expertise as his elder siblings. Daphne loved carrying him - once he was old enough to be carried without fear of accidental injury - and after he started walking they could often be seen together, her larger hand linked with his smaller one as they wandered around outside, picking seashells, wildflowers, blueberries as the season dictated, bringing back basketsfull in accordance with their ability.
Perhaps due to his tumultuous start, while his physical development seemed to grow by leaps and bounds ahead of his peers, he started speaking quite late. But once he did begin to talk, they were mostly full sentences, complete thoughts, and there was no doubting that he was taking in almost everything he saw and heard. By now, at age three and a half, he was generally a quiet, preternaturally polite child, with Joshua's eyes and Alecto's coloring, following after his older siblings, his aunt, or his parents without making much of a fuss, saying 'please' and 'thank you' even to acquaintances and strangers without being prompted, or throwing tantrums.
On this particular evening, a waxing half moon hung bright in the sky. Joshua was up tending to the lamps. Avery and Daphne were visiting their other cousins, loud barking and splashing carried up to the windows by the wind, while Percy, with a solemn expression on his round, childish face, constructed a circular tower out of blocks on the rug in front of the hearth. Kate was stitching ribbon trim onto a hat for Daphne and keeping half an eye on Percy, lest he stray too close to the flames.
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"Well, isn't that something, sweetheart?" he says gently, observing Percy's serious little face as he stacks his blocks. "What are you making?" Alecto's heart warms at the sight, thinking briefly that the way Percy's brow knit together was so reminiscent of the way Joshua's would whenever he was particularly focused on a task at hand. He reaches a pale hand out, smooths back his son's hair to kiss his forehead with utmost care.
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