PotC Fic: The Price of a Tear (1/1)

[corrielle]

Title: The Price of a Tear
Author: corrielle 
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Lieutenants Groves and Gillette
Word Count: 3,586


Summary: The Spanish thought that destroying the chalices and smashing some rocks around the Fountain of Youth would break its power.  Luckily for Groves and Gillette, they were wrong.
Author's Notes: Though I've had this idea since I stopped weeping copiously after seeing OST for the first time, the "Tear" challenge at blackpearlsails is what motivated me to actually write it down.

The Spanish had seen fit to drag him off to the side before destroying the Fountain—a small kindness for which Groves knew he should be thankful. However, as he was also slowly bleeding out from a gut wound inflicted by a finely tuned Spanish pistol, mustering the proper sense of gratitude was understandably difficult. At least they had propped him up next to his ship mate before marching out as quickly as they'd come.

Andrew Gillette was sprawled on his belly less than an arm's length away, blood from the nasty wound in his chest staining the moss-covered tile. He had not stirred when the Spanish moved him, and he had not opened his eyes as the drama between Sparrow, Blackbeard, and his daughter had played out at what was left of the Fountain. Gingerly, Groves reached out and rested a hand on Andrew's shoulder, checking for the tell-tale rise and fall that would let him know his friend still lived. After a moment, he smiled. Andrew was breathing. Not for long, probably, but it did Groves good to know he wasn't alone just yet.

He let his eyes droop closed, and for a moment, the moist, warm air, the birdsong, and the trickle of water seemed to soothe the searing pain in his side. He was just on the edge of blessed oblivion when something broke the surface of the water in the pool nearest him, and a cold, wet hand grabbed his arm. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring into a woman's face. Her skin was a rich, warm brown, and her eyes, so dark they were almost black, were ageless and ancient all at once.

"You still live. Good," she said, and pulled herself farther up onto the land until only the fin at the end of her tail was in the water.

If it had not been for the fact that Theodore Groves had spent much of his adult life hoping to meet a mermaid, he might have fainted then and there. As it was, he simply croaked out a "Yes."

The mermaid smiled.

"Tell me what happened here, Englishman," she said, gesturing at the ruin of the Fountain behind her.

"Blackbeard… he wanted to find the Fountain… drink from it… cheat death." The words came more easily as he spoke. "My captain wanted Blackbeard dead, and so we followed. But the Spanish came while our two sides were still engaged. They called the Fountain heresy, an abomination, and they destroyed it. But when they were gone, Sparrow… he used the chalices, and the tear… and he saved the girl, I think. I saw the waters rise up and take Blackbeard's years from him, and leave her whole."

Anger, terrible and sudden as a storm at sea, passed over her as he spoke of Blackbeard's demise, but when she looked at him again, her face was calm and gentle.

"It is good to know the truth. The Seas will be alive with rumor before the moon rises, and it will be hard to sift fact from fancy."

That such an achingly beautiful creature would put such faith in him on such short acquaintance sent a pleasant warmth spreading through his body. "Then I am honored that you trust my word," Groves said.

"You are dying," she said, reaching out to stroke his check with the back of her hand. "What reason have you to lie to me?"

"None, Lady," he said. "Though even if I were healthy, my word would still be good."

Her fingers traced the bloody hole in his waistcoat where the Spaniard's bullet had gone in.

"I am surprised that you have not tried to reach the Fountain," she said. "Most men would be crawling toward it with the last of their strength."

With a bit of effort, Groves turned his head towards the pile of rocks that had once been the Fountain.

"And what good would that do me?" he asked. "The Fountain is dry, the chalices are lost, and I don't have the stomach to take the years from another, even if there were another nearby."

The mermaid hissed angrily at the mention of the Fountain's price.

"Ponce de Leon," she said, spitting out the word as if it were the vilest of curses. "It was his doing, his dark magic that bound the Fountain to this bargain."

"It hasn't always been this way…" Groves said. "Then there's something you can do? Something I can do to break it?" For the first time, he allowed himself to hope.

The mermaid shook her head. "No. Nothing either of us can do." Groves was about to despair again when she added, "The Spanish have already done it for us. The chalices, broken. Sent back to the sea. The Fountain, emptied. The wellspring stopped. That is what broke the compact that Ponce de Leon made with the Power in this place."

"So the Spanish meant to destroy the Fountain…" Groves murmured.

"But they liberated it instead," the mermaid finished for him, mirroring his amused half-smile.

He forgot himself for a moment and laughed, which was a mistake. The pain in his side increased a thousand fold, and he knocked the back of his head against the stone behind him as he gasped for breath.

"Easy, sailor man," the mermaid murmured, running cool fingers through his hair. "The Fountain can't help you if you're dead."

"But you said yourself the spring is stopped," Groves reminded her.

"I did not say it was stopped for good," she said. "This is not the first time that men have tried to destroy the Fountain." And with that, she swung her tail out of the water so that she lay on the broken bit of tile beside him. Moments later, her kelp-green tail began to slough off like a snake's skin, falling away in filmy, translucent strips. When the transformation was complete, she held up one long, human leg and regarded it with a critical eye. Groves' appreciation, while much less critical, was just as intent.

She pulled her newly-human legs up under her and whispered to the surface of the water as she reached down into it. When she drew her hands up, she held a large white shell between them. Steadying herself against the broken rock that jutted up from the floor, she stood and took a few cautious steps towards the Fountain. She wavered at first, but she did not fall. Having found her footing, she moved more quickly, and Groves had to crane his neck to see what she was doing.

When she reached the pile of rocks that had once been the spring and the basin of the Fountain, she set the shell down on the ground and pressed her hands and her cheek against the rock. And then, she began to sing. If there were words, they were not in a language that Groves could understand, but her song was familiar all the same. She sang of the deep currents that ran through the ocean, the rocks that were the bones of mountains, of sea birds high above the water and lush, damp forests where the sun shone green through the leaves.

She had spoken of Power before, but Groves felt it now, old beyond imagining, awakening to the sound of her voice, slipping in and out of her song, creating harmonies of such complexity he could barely stand to listen to them. This went on for a long while, and when her voice was at its height, the cavern began to shake. The old, broken pillars began to crumble, and where they fell, grass and vines and flowers spread across them as fast as wildfire. Where the moment before there had been only bare rock, there was now a tapestry of greens and reds and purples. The earth where the fountain had stood groaned and split, and the stones that had formed the basin were swallowed by a chasm that closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving only a smooth, shallow depression in the ground.

When all was quiet, and the vines and flowers had ceased their headlong advance, there was one last crack of splitting stone, and the sound of water bubbling up from a spring as the shallow pool began to fill.

When the pool was half-full, the mermaid dipped the shell into the water and picked her way over islands of newly carpeted stone to Groves' side.

"Is that water enough for two?" Groves asked as she knelt next to him. "My friend… he's even worse off than I am."

"He is still alive?" the mermaid asked.

Against all odds, Andrew was, though his breathing was shallow and labored. But at the Fountain, that little bit of life would suffice.

"Yes. Sheer stubbornness, mostly," Groves told her.

"Then there is enough for both of you," she said. "And now, before you drink, you must do one last thing."

"Anything you ask," he said

"You must help me cry. You will still need my tear."

"But… you said the old contract was done…" Fear and the certainty of death gripped his heart again. What did he know of how to make a mermaid cry?

"The Fountain no longer requires a living victim. That is the evil that has been undone. But the Fountain has always required a mermaid's tear. That cannot be changed. Please, believe me. I wish to help you, but you must… make me cry."

"Think of something sad, then… all of those mermaids, your people, left to die…" The words came out of him in a rush. "I saw what Blackbeard and his crew did to them at the bay, and I saw the bodies staked out in the sun as we walked inland…"

The mermaid put up a hand to silence him. It was a sharp, queenly gesture.

"I have wept out all my sorrow for my daughters long ago, and the sea has long since claimed those tears. No." She nodded towards Andrew. "Your friend. Tell me about him. Tell me why I should give my tear to help him live."

Groves' mouth went dry. He was good at spinning tales over a mug of ale or a glass of port, stretching the truth or propping it up a little when it needed the help, but he was no barrister. To speak in defense of a man's life was a weighty task, and not one he would have taken on willingly. But there was no one else. And it was Andrew's life as well as his own in the balance, and so he had to try.

"He's a good man. Good sailor, too. Fair, loyal, respects the rules… and he doesn't deserve to die here far from home… forgotten… with none but the two of us to mark his passing."

It seemed a good enough argument to him. To die was one thing, but even the lowliest of sailors on a Navy ship would have the service read over him, his name read out, the crew on deck to see him given to the sea. Not to have any of it would be a terribly lonely way to meet Death.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she lowered herself back into the water. Green scales crept up her legs as the divide between them disappeared. "You would have me give my tear for the vanity of a dying man?"

"No! That's not what I meant," he protested.

"Then what did you mean?" she asked. "The truth at the heart of it. Tell me that."

For the space of many heartbeats, Groves was silent. Finally, a quiet confidence settled over him, and he said, "This is the truth of it… even if I did not speak it often enough to him. He is my dearest friend… and I love him more than anyone else on this earth."

There it was. Unvarnished and sentimental. But it would have to be enough.

"Ah, that had the ring of truth to it," the mermaid said. "But the wife you left in port would be sad to hear it, I think."

He shook his head. "I have neither the funds nor the inclination to have a wife on shore. So him? He is my family. If there is aught I can do to save him… Please. Help me."

There was wise, ancient sadness in her eyes, but no tear.

"I am sorry," she said, and she turned and began to sink down into the pool.

"Wait!" Groves called after her. His voice echoed off of the high walls of the cavern, and she swam back to his side.

"Speak," she said.

"I tell a good story…" he began, "and I've got quite a few about… your kind. Mermaids. But most of them are all about how you're cruel and dangerous, deceptive at best, and man-eating monsters in the worse tales."

"My daughters have done what was necessary to protect themselves from the spears and nets of men," she said haughtily.

"I know," he said. He knew he walked a thin line, but there was little left to lose, and so he pushed on. "And in turn, men come here with fire and steel. It's not hard to hunt a creature the stories say is monstrous. But… what if the stories were different?"

She came further out of the water and rested her chin in her palm. "Different… how?"

"Well… if we live through this, I'll have one about how a mermaid saved two dying British sailors, not because they staked her in the sun or tortured her, but because she thought they deserved to live. And I'll tell it to anyone who'll sit down long enough to listen. And they will listen. I know sailors, and I know a good story when I'm in the middle of one. And they'll tell their mates, and soon enough, you'll have men coming here to seek the favor of your people, not kill you for your tears."

"That would be… acceptable," she said. Her voice was rough, and her eyes were shining in the dim light. "But you promise a great deal for one man."

"You're right," he admitted. "One man telling one story isn't enough, but I can't help that. You can, though… some of your kin could give the truth to the old rumor that a mermaid's kiss saves a man from drowning… and take him back to shore to tell of it. Then it's not just me sounding like a madman after too many pints. Just think on it. No more nets, no more traps… men and mermaids, at peace."

She smiled and closed her eyes, and a single tear ran down her cheek.

Quickly, she snatched the shell from the ground and held it against her face until the tear trickled over the rim and into the water from the Fountain.

"That was well done, Sailor," she said, holding the shell out to him. "Drink, then help your friend."

Carefully, Groves raised the shell to his lips. The Fountain's water was fresh and cool, but it tasted no different from any other water.

"Is that it?" he asked after he had drunk half.

"Look at your wound and tell me," she said.

He put his hand on his side, and for the first time since being shot, felt no pain. He fumbled to unbutton his waistcoat and pull up his bloodstained shirt, and when he exposed his side, the skin there was clean. There was no wound, not even a scar.

Never had he been so grateful to move without pain as he turned Andrew onto his back as quickly as he dared and supported his friend's head and shoulders on his lap.

"Come on, Andrew… drink this…" Groves murmured, putting the shell against Andrew's lips.

Andrew didn't stir, and water ran down the side of his face.

Groves glanced over at the mermaid. "It's not too late," he insisted. "It can't be. Not after all of this…"

In his arms, Andrew shifted and licked his lips. His eyelids fluttered, and he stared groggily up at Groves.

"Give him more, now," the mermaid said.

He grinned and wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. No need to mention those tears when he told the story.

Again, he held the shell against Andrew's lips, and this time, he drank. Slowly, at first, as if it pained him to swallow, but more easily by the time he finished.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Groves said when the shell was empty.

Andrew squinted and tried to sit up on his own.

"Where did I go?" he asked. "What…" He seemed to be on the verge of demanding an explanation for his prone state when he saw the mermaid for the first time, and the newly verdant Fountain, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp in Groves' arms.

"What's wrong with him?" Groves demanded.

"He was closer to death than you were," the mermaid said. "The waters did their part, but he needs rest. See for yourself. He is sleeping, not dead."

Sure enough, Andrew may have been unconscious again, but there was no new blood on his clothes, and his breathing was deep and even.

"How long will he be like this?" Groves asked.

"A while. Long enough for you to do me one last favor," the mermaid said.

"A price for your help?" he asked. Not for the first time, he worried that their bargain had been made too easily.

"No. A request. If you say no, I will leave you here to stay with him until he wakes."

"What is the favor?"

She put her hand over his and whispered in his ear, "It has been a long time since I took a human man to the deep… my youngest daughters were grown and gone long ago."

"You want me to…" He couldn't even finish the sentence as he stared at her. He had known she was beautiful before, but now that he was not faced with certain death, his body was awakening to just how beautiful she was, all soft, dark curves and smooth skin.

"I do," she said. "I miss having a daughter near me, and a child of mine will be greatly honored among us."

He swallowed hard. "Are you… their queen?"

She laughed, and she sound was sweet and silvery, like chimes moved by the wind. "We don't use that land-folk word. My people call me Eldest." She kissed him on the cheek and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. "Now, will you come with me?"

"I must warn you…" he said, mustering all of the grave seriousness he could find, "any child of mine is likely to spin tales and laugh when she shouldn't."

"Then I will love her for it," the Eldest said, and she pulled him down with her into the deep.

*****

Quite some time later, Groves broke the surface of the pool with a gasp and shook the water from his eyes before clambering back onto solid ground. Andrew had woken while he was gone, and a blue coat and white waistcoat were spread neatly on the rocks. A much-abused wig was carefully draped over a stone roughly the size of a man's head, and Andrew was sitting nearby, mending a long tear in his stained shirt.

He offered Groves a hand as he stumbled away from the water.

"Theodore! I knew I'd heard your voice!" Andrew said. "But when I woke, you were gone, and I thought you'd gone to find a bite to eat, and so I waited but…" He drew his eyebrows together, confused. "How did you hold your breath so long? I've been sitting here for the better part of an hour..."

"Long story… no time for it," Groves said. "If we move fast, we might just catch up to Sparrow or Barbossa before they sail. With any luck, they'll not refuse two fine sailors such as ourselves."

Andrew nodded. "As miserable as crewing with either of them sounds, I suppose we have no choice."

After Andrew had gathered his half-dried clothes and Groves had snatched up the ship's flag from where it had fallen, the two of them turned their backs on the Fountain and headed for the pool of swirling mist that led to the outside world.

Later, as they were hacking their way back through the jungle the way they had come, Groves looked behind him, grinned, and said, "When we're out of this, remind me to tell you the story of how I defied the Spanish, saved both our lives, and fathered a mermaid princess all in the same day."

Andrew swatted at the infernal insect that had just bit him. "Why do suspect I'll be hearing about it at length regardless of my feelings on the matter?"

"Well, as long as we're here…" Groves slashed at a particularly thick knot of foliage. "There we were at the Fountain… you with Blackbeard's sword recently in your chest, me covered in the flag and headed towards the ranks of the glorious dead, but then, just when I thought we were done for… the most beautiful mermaid I've ever seen comes up out of the water and says…"

Groves was facing forward, so he didn't see it, but as the story really got going, Andrew lengthened his stride and closed in behind him, the better to hear what happened next.