Chapter Text
Xie Lian has been circling the sirens’ territory for three days, flirting with the meticulous border of it, before the hollow ache of his belly finally drives him inside. A shoal of herring has made its feeding ground in the thick kelp forest here: even the flickering sight of them is enough to make his jaw ache and his mouth fill with fresh saliva. So he creeps over the borderline of the territory, his scales prickling nervously as he does, and glides towards the shoal.
It will only be a quick trip, he thinks, to appease his discomfort with the trespass. Besides, a siren with such a well-established territory can afford to spare a herring or two.
But Xie Lian is many things, and a clever hunter is not one of them. The bright colors and patterns of his scales—once so praised and prized—are now a blatant warning sign to any prey he comes across. He must be especially noticeable against the dark greens of the kelp, as the shoal skitters away before he’s even in striking distance. He sighs deeply.
Several times he tries to sneak up on them, trying different tactics to disguise himself. He prowls from above them, and then below them, but the light glitters off his scales too garishly for him to get away with the tricks. He wraps his tail in thick kelp leaves to hide the scales, but that only tangles his fins and makes it impossible for him to lunge quickly enough at the fish. His stomach growls in fervent disappointment.
Finally, Xie Lian sinks towards the roots of the kelp. Maybe he can hide on the sea floor and wait for a fish to come along before ambushing it. It might be a long wait, but his energy is so low now that he can’t afford any more false charges at the shoal. This type of hunt will be slower, but more successful—he hopes.
As he settles in among the dark roots, shimmying to bury his tail in the sand, he notices a large shadowy blot across from him. At first he thinks it must be a pile of broken kelp—but it’s too still for that, unmoving in the water currents. His throat dries, suddenly, and he swallows. His pulse begins to pound tremendously. He looks harder at the blot, widening his eyes, and—
Someone looks back.
With a startled hiss, Xie Lian darts out of his cover and towards the territory’s border. He has no right to stand and fight—not when he’s the trespasser here. The siren is well within its rights to drive him off. That doesn’t make it any less painful to bear, though.
Sharp claws sink into the flesh of Xie Lian’s tail, and he thrashes violently to dislodge them. They tear easily through his scales, and streamers of blood erupt into the water. He cries out in panic as the siren hauls itself up his body, snarling furiously. His shoulders hunch to defend his gills, and its fangs dig into the back of his neck instead. It bites once, viciously, before releasing him.
From a siren, it’s mercy.
Xie Lian darts back across the border, breathing heavily, and whips around to face his attacker. The siren has stopped inches before the border, its eyes blazing. It flares its fins, arching its back and raising the rippling sail along its spine. The bulk of its sinuous body is covered in black scales, but the fine membranes of its fins and sail are a bruising violet—a violent warning sign when they’re positioned in a threat display like this.
Xie Lian’s own tail begins to arch, and he hisses uncertainly at the siren. But it isn’t coming any closer. It seems content to have driven him off of its territory and no further. When he’s sure it isn’t going to lunge suddenly at him, Xie Lian turns and bolts. He doesn’t stop until he’s swam several hundred feet away from the sirens’ territory, and even then he whips around with his teeth bared.
When he doesn’t see the siren waiting to pounce, he sinks to the seabed to lie flat on his belly. He can feel every injury acutely—the gouges along his tail and spine, and the deep punctures against his nape. They aren’t enough to cripple him, but they throb with every movement. He laps his tongue across the gouges in his tail, clearing out the dirt of the siren’s claws, but he can’t reach the bite on his neck. It makes him anxious. If he can’t clean it, it will almost certainly become infected.
Just his luck, isn’t it?
Sighing, Xie Lian folds his arms before himself and rests his chin on them. He’s so tired. He was tired before, but the hunt and the fight have both sapped him of what little energy he had. Maybe he can just rest here, for a little while. It’s more exposed than he’d like, but it’s close enough to the sirens’ territory that there shouldn’t be any other large predators around. The siren didn’t seem too interested in eating him, either, if it let him retreat this far.
Content in his assessment, Xie Lian lets his eyes flutter shut.
When he wakes again, the sun has slipped below the waves and the sand grows cool against his belly. He curls himself around to examine his wounds again. They’ve stopped bleeding, now, but he swipes his tongue cursorily over them before lifting off of the seabed. His stomach feels thin and tight. Exhaustion sticks to his limbs like cobwebs.
Motivated by hunger, if not anything else, Xie Lian swims parallel to the sirens’ territory. He keeps close to the sand, peeling up rocks to look for small crabs or starfish. He comes across one shell, and his heart leaps with excitement—but it’s empty, shattered on one side and useless to him. It seems the sirens’ hunting grounds extend far beyond their borders.
Sighing, Xie Lian settles himself in a patch of seagrass. This, at least, the sirens have left alone. He plucks up a handful of the blades and grinds them between his molars. The grass is rough and tasteless, but at least it fills his belly when he swallows. With the edge taken off of his hunger, he becomes a little more selective; he only picks the smallest, tenderest shoots to munch on.
When the sirens begin to sing, Xie Lian has traveled far from their territory—but not far enough. He can still hear their haunting, melodic voices through the water. He curls his tail, sitting quietly for a moment to enjoy the serenade. It rises and falls with the waves, and he thinks he can make out two distinct voices. One is significantly closer than the other.
A little nervous now, Xie Lian kicks his tail and moves farther from their territory. Once the voices have faded behind him, he finds shelter under an overhang. He piles up the sand around his tail, creating a cushioned barrier, and nestles down for the night. He’ll try hunting again tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be a little luckier.
Xie Lian does not get luckier.
In the following days, several of his wounds become infected. He tends to the ones he can reach almost desperately, soothing the inflamed skin with his tongue, but those that he can’t reach remain hot and painful. The one of the back of his neck aches the worst, making it painful to dip his chin or turn his head. He ties his hair up with a strand of seagrass, to keep it from chafing the skin, but that does little enough to actually fix the problem.
Worse, still, the infection weakens him. If hunting was difficult before, now it’s nearly impossible. He can only chew handfuls of seagrass to slack his appetite. On one particularly memorable occasion, he finds a nest of small eggs hidden beneath the sand. He stuffs them into his mouth, and they pop saltily between his teeth. It’s the best meal he’s had in weeks.
So, naturally, he has to suffer for it.
That night he is resting beneath his overhang when he feels it in the water—the shift of something moving, something large. He tenses but holds his place. Here beneath the rock and sand, he ought to be hidden. He thinks, at first, that it might only be a passing shark or manta ray. But of course he has no such luck: the long, powerful shape of a siren soon materializes from the shadows. It’s even larger than the one who attacked him, before.
Gulping, Xie Lian presses himself even more flatly to the sand. In this case, maybe the pale colors of his scales will help him to remain unseen. The siren passes overhead, its shadow darkening Xie Lian’s eyes for only a moment before it disappears. He dares to exhale, his breath stirring the fine grains of sand before him. It must only be traveling, or looking for better hunting like Xie Lian himself. But it’s odd to see a siren so close to the shallows—they largely prefer deeper, colder waters.
A few moments later, when Xie Lian has decided to peek out of his shelter, a questioning trill comes through the water. He presses himself back to his belly, holding his breath again. Is the siren still here? What could it be looking for? Not—not him, surely? A little nervously, Xie Lian peeks back at his wounds. None of them are actively bleeding, so the scent shouldn’t be that strong. But maybe the scent of illness spreads further than he thought.
Xie Lian digs his claws into the sand as the siren trills again, long and low.
It isn’t an aggressive sound, at least. Xie Lian has spent long enough around sirens to have some grasp of their communication, and some of it is even a little similar to mer noises. This sound, for example, is like the one podmates use to call for each other—curious, beckoning. He suspects it means much the same thing for sirens. Has this siren lost someone, maybe?
Hopefully it will find its lost someone soon, so Xie Lian can go back to sleep.
Then, because nothing good can ever happen to Xie Lian, the siren peeks beneath the overhang. It hangs its head over the jut of stone, its hair billowing like a crown of ink and the yellow sclera of its eye bright against the black. That singular eye catches on his, its pupil dilating, and Xie Lian stiffens.
A situation like this—really, what is he supposed to do? If he darts for the entrance, the siren will catch him easily enough. Maybe he can thrash free, but he’s sure he’ll have more wounds to show for it. If he stays here and the siren dives in after him, though, he’ll really be cornered. That’s all expecting that it wants to eat him, of course. Maybe it really is searching for someone, and wants to know if Xie Lian can help. Or maybe it’s only a very young siren, and curious, having slipped the grasp of its parents to come exploring here.
Cautiously, Xie Lian chirps to it.
The siren’s eye widens, and it chirrs happily in response. It pushes off of the overhang and comes to rest in front of Xie Lian, instead, laying on its belly with several feet still between them. It props its chin in its hand, studying him intensely. At least it doesn’t look hungry. In fact, it looks very well-fed—its body is sleek and strong, much longer than Xie Lian’s own, and covered in scales so dark red that they appear black.
Then, to Xie Lian’s shock, the siren spreads its fins and presses itself flat to the ground. This sort of communication isn’t mer at all, but has to do with the complex hierarchies sirens holds within their own pods. It’s a submission display. While such a thing might be quite common between sirens, Xie Lian is sure it shouldn’t be a gesture given so freely to an unfamiliar mer.
Besides that, if he accepts this sort of submission he knows he’ll be responsible for the siren’s wellbeing. Xie Lian can hardly take care of himself, let alone another person! But to reject the submission outright would be unbearably rude, as it’s really very flattering of the siren to offer it. So Xie Lian fumbles, straightening up enough to slide the sand from his back and waving his hands at the siren.
“Ah, no,” he says, “I really, I really can’t—”
Seeing his confusion, the siren decides to display more extravagantly. It rolls onto its back, showing him the smooth red plane of its belly, and wiggles playfully. A beguiling purr starts in its throat. Xie Lian’s face burns.
Well! Well, if he can’t reject it, at least he can play stupid. He shakes the rest of the sand off of himself and runs a hand through his hair, wincing when his fingers catch on mats. He backs off a little, furrowing his brow and looking with bafflement at the display. The siren catches his eye and frowns, too, a little less enthusiastic in its wallowing.
“Sorry,” Xie Lian says sheepishly, “but I don’t understand. I’m a mer.”
As if such a thing wasn’t obvious already! Xie Lian lacks the sharp and large fins of a siren, and his tail is much shorter and thicker. He’s too colorful to be a siren, too—hunting in the depths like they do, his iridescent scales would be altogether too visible. In combination with his flat teeth and dull claws, he would be a really pitiful siren.
The siren relaxes a little with this admission, rolling back onto its belly. Xie Lian breathes a sigh of relief. Then the siren starts to come into his small den, and Xie Lian responds with a flinch and a defensive hiss. At once, the siren flattens itself back to the sand. Oh, dear. This is going to be a really awful series of miscommunications, isn’t it?
“Sorry,” Xie Lian says again, sheepishly. “But do you need something? Otherwise, I’m really more comfortable with you staying out there…”
The siren thumps its tail on the sand, and then says, in perfect mer, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have startled you. I only wanted to come inside to see gege’s wounds.”
Gege? Wounds?
Xie Lian’s face flames again.
“Ah, it’s nothing, really,” he says, flapping his hands at the siren again before wringing them nervously together. “Just a little scratch.”
“I know they’re not,” the siren says, flicking its tailfins. “My podmate was the one who made them. He says they’re quite deep.”
This siren’s podmate—?
“I’m sorry!” Xie Lian says, and flattens himself to the floor in a clumsy attempt at siren submission. The siren recoils slightly, startled. “Forgive me! I shouldn’t have come into your territory, but I was so hungry. It will never happen again. I’m already this far away, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t care about that,” the siren says, and its hand stretches towards him before withdrawing to its chest. “Please, get up.”
Xie Lian peeks up, trying to judge the siren’s honesty. It really does look distraught to see him submitting like this. But, he thought sirens liked to establish hierarchies…? Ah, maybe Xie Lian isn’t as good at their communication as he thought.
Tentatively, Xie Lian straightens back up, and the siren relaxes. “I really am sorry, though,” Xie Lian says. “But I didn’t take any fish.”
“Don’t worry about that. The territory is big enough for you to hunt in anytime. Yin Yu only thought you were someone else; he’s very sorry to have injured you.”
“Oh.” Xie Lian looks meekly over the siren’s shoulder, as though its smaller podmate is lurking somewhere nearby.
“He would have come to apologize,” the siren adds, “only we thought you might be frightened to see him.”
Well, that’s true.
“So I’ll take responsibility in his stead,” the siren says. “I’m very sorry that you were injured in my territory. Please, let me tend to the wounds for you.”
Xie Lian hesitates, looking at the siren’s strong jaw and sharp fangs. The uppermost of its canines jut over its bottom lip, making it look very fierce. Its claws are twice the length of his own and wickedly sharp. The muscles of its arms and shoulders are thick and corded; its tail is lean but equally muscular. It is every inch the predator. If it wanted to kill him, it would hardly have to try.
But, really, what choice does he have? If he lets the infection continue, he’ll die anyway. At least the siren might make it quick, and eat him so he could be useful instead of rotting away. Xie Lian shyly lowers himself back to the sand, setting his head down.
“Will you at least eat me if you kill me?” he asks.
“I’m not going to kill you,” the siren says, and looks offended at the very notion. But it seizes on his agreement and slinks into the den, which is a little too small for it; they have to be tucked very close together. “If gege gets scared, just let me know.”
Xie Lian squeezes his eyes shut as the siren’s mouth approaches his spine. He doesn’t want to see it bite. But its tongue comes before its teeth—it laps at the scales around the wound, first, letting Xie Lian adjust to the cool and rough sensation. Then its tongue catches on the first laceration, and he winces as it pulls up the scabbed skin. The siren loops its tail around, nudging it under Xie Lian’s chin as a pillow.
“It’s alright,” the siren rumbles, even as its tongue draws bands of fresh agony from the wound. “Cry out if it hurts.”
Xie Lian does not do that—he’s sure it would be really annoying, despite the siren’s encouragement—and bites his tongue, instead. The siren is dutiful and thorough, rasping its tongue over each wound until the pus has gone and clean blood runs from it. Xie Lian tries his best to hold still, but as the siren reaches the nape of his neck he can’t help but flinch.
“Easy, gege,” the siren murmurs, and the tips of its claws touch his shoulders. “Can you hold still?”
Xie Lian squirms. His tail aches all over, and he’s really not sure he can bear it if the siren touches his neck. So he shakes his head, and the siren hums sympathetically.
“I’ll help you,” it says, holding his shoulders more tightly. “It’s only a little more.”
That tongue returns, grating over the puncture wounds at the back of Xie Lian’s neck. He can’t resist whining, this time, the sound altogether too much like a frightened pup. The siren croons in response, laying its tail over his as it reopens his wounds and laps the infection out. It really only takes a minute or two, but Xie Lian is miserably exhausted by the time it’s finished. The siren doesn’t draw back, though; it shifts its attentions to his hair, instead, easing out tangles with its teeth and tongue.
The grooming is just like what Xie Lian used to experience, back in his own pod. It’s been so long since he felt something like this. His eyes burn a little, and he relaxes more fully beneath the siren’s weight. It works slowly now, gently, bringing its claws up to run through the worst of the mats. A soothing purr rattles in its chest, and Xie Lian musters up his own purr in return.
Eventually, the siren disentangles itself from him. It pulls itself back into open water, stretching its tail and spine. He looks sadly after it—it was nice to have a friend, even if it was only for a few moments, and only out of obligation. But the siren doesn’t leave. It only settles onto the sand again, peering in at Xie Lian.
“Gege,” it says, “stay here and I’ll bring you some tasty food.”
“Oh! You don’t have to do that,” Xie Lian exclaims. “You’ve done enough.”
“It’s no trouble. I’m hungry, too, so we can eat together.”
“You really don’t have to…”
“It’s my pleasure,” the siren says, with a toothy smile, and Xie Lian has no doubt of that.
The siren swims away, into deeper waters, and before long its song rises to him. He pillows his head on his arms, listening to the pulse and rhythm of it. It’s really so pretty. He could almost fall asleep—and, well, he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t. He buries himself halfway under the sand again, briefly checking that the area is clear of predators. Then he shuts his eyes and he lets himself drift.
When he wakes again, it’s to the scent of blood.
He jolts up, nearly striking his head on the top of the overhang and squawking in alarm. The siren chirrs comfortingly to him, and when he looks its arms are piled full of fresh fish. That explains the bloodsmell, at least. Xie Lian tentatively swims closer, pulling himself out of the sand to observe the siren’s catch.
“I wasn’t sure what gege would like,” the siren says, “so I caught a lot.”
It’s not an exaggeration. The siren has brought mackerel and shrimp, clam and eel, and even a small octopus. The blood is still fresh on its claws as it sets the pile down, thumping its tail proudly. Xie Lian leans forward, sniffing, and his mouth floods with saliva. But this, too, is a siren ritual. Accepting food from one of them—should he really do something like this?
Well, what could be the harm? If it wanted to kill him, surely it would have already. Plus, Xie Lian really is so hungry.
Licking his lips, he snatches one of the fattest mackerel before darting back into the shelter of his overhang. He eats quickly, tearing off strips of scale and meat and swallowing them whole. The taste is salty and rich, and it fills his belly quickly. But he doesn’t know when he will be able to eat again—he has to have as much now as he can. So he reaches forward, snagging an eel, and begins to devour that, too.
“There’s plenty,” the siren says, with a note of worry. “Gege doesn’t need to rush.”
“Thank you,” Xie Lian says, through a chewy mouthful of eel. “Really, thank you very much!”
The siren picks its own pair of mackerel from the pile, scraping off the meat with its claws to eat more neatly. Once it’s finished, it fastidiously licks its claws clean. Sirens are not usually as vain as mer, but this once seems to take a care for its appearance. Wouldn’t that be funny? The neatest siren and the messiest mer together…
A little ashamed, Xie Lian looks over his own scales. They’re dull and flaking, dirty around the edges. He skitters them, shaking sand from his tail, and sighs before turning back to grab a handful of shrimp. His stomach feels uncomfortably full, now, but there’s still so much to eat. Maybe the siren would let him keep some for later…?
It can’t hurt to ask.
“Can I keep a few?” he tries, pointing to the mackerel. “For later?”
“If you like,” the siren says, “but I’ll hunt more for us in the afternoon.”
“Oh.” Xie Lian swallows around the bubble of hope forming in his chest. “Do you mean to stay here long?”
“Until gege is healed,” the siren says. “It’s the least I can do, since it was my pod that injured you.”
“Oh, well—thank you, but you really don’t need to feel obliged,” Xie Lian says. “I was the one who trespassed.”
“You were hungry,” the siren says, its eyes half-lidded. “Who could blame you?”
Lots of hungry mers trespass on siren territory, and not very many come back alive. This sort of sentiment clearly isn’t a common one. But Xie Lian isn’t about to turn down this offer—not when it means free food and a siren’s protection. Even if he feels a little bad, it’s worth it to have this. So he relaxes beside the food, not so rushed now.
“Then, if I can ask,” Xie Lian says, “what’s your name?”
“San Lang,” the siren says, smiling and propping its chin in its hand again. “What about gege?”
“Xie Lian.”
“Xie Lian,” the siren says warmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
The siren smiles, its eye crinkling at the edges. Its iris is silver, like the sheen of a blade, and Xie Lian can’t help but think that sort of color is very familiar. Maybe they’ve met somewhere before…? But no, Xie Lian would remember a siren as big and bold as this.
“Let’s rest for now, gege,” the siren says, swimming into the underhang with him. It curls its body, forming a sort of half-nest, and Xie Lian tucks easily into the curve. Its fins tickle his side, so he presses more firmly against it. It makes an approving sound, and offers one of its arms as a pillow for him. “I’ll wake you for lunch.”
“Thank you,” Xie Lian murmurs, warm and comfortable and full for the first time in forever. “San Lang, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” San Lang says, his tongue rasping affectionately over Xie Lian’s hair again. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And despite all of Xie Lian’s disbeliefs and doubts, San Lang is.