Holy crapola people glommed onto "Missionary and Mermaid" as a title! I slapped that on here thinking that it wasn't the most creative title but it worked for the pair of them. Within a day now there are a bunch of stories, a C2 and fanart using the title.

Anyway this chapter is from Philip's pov and as such, "the mermaid" is referred to as Syrena. Because that's how he thinks of her, though I imagine she had a different name.

It was the absence of pain that woke Philip Swift.

Gone was the twisting, burning sting that seemed to take over his very reason for being. He could feel the stone underneath his back, though something had been placed underneath him to act as a buffer for the hard surface. He could hear the sound of water to his left, feel the change in the breeze as it skipped across the cool surface. Rocks, water, a part of him wondered if he had not left the pools at all. If he had failed and Syrena remained lashed to the ropes, stuck between water and air and dying because he had been too slow to save her. Fear overrode the desire to remain laying there and his eyes snapped open.

He was in a cave.

Philip's eyes took in the sight of rocks above his head. The cave was open at either end, accounting for the breeze he could feel and the sky he could see just beyond the rocks. It was midday, at the very least, and the sun was high. He could easily imagine the painful heat of it, especially since it felt as though his entire body had been stuffed through with salt. Moving his hand, Philip felt the odd, rubbery texture of the seaweed he had been laid upon. Letting his head fall to the side, he looked at the bulbs and tangles of the seaweed. Only a mermaid would think to put him on such a thing-or know how to get so much.

Carefully he pushed himself upright, wincing more out of what he assumed he would feel than what he actually did. Still it was enough for gentle hand to grasp his arm and help tug him up. His head turned to see Syrena sitting next to him, her hands on his forearm as she easily got him upright. Gone was his shirt, instead she was nude once more from the waist up. Or, he imagined, nude from the waist down as well but all he could see was the tail that occupied her lower half. Her hair offered some vestiges of modesty but if he had something to cover her with he would have given it.

Her eyes darted down to his stomach and back to his face. He followed her gaze, looking down at where the mortal wound should have been. Instead there was nothing. Not a scar, not a scratch, not even the dirt and grime that had been laying his skin. His hand reached up to touch the long scratch they had dealt him to make her think they slit his throat, but all he felt was skin once more. His hand flattened against his neck, fingers searching out the chord that always lay against his chest. But it was not there. Philip let his hand drop, knowing that the signs of his faith had been put to good use in saving her life, but still feeling oddly naked without them.

"I thought that mermaids kisses were supposed to kill sailors," Philip said, thinking of how the others had struggled to restrain the pirate when the mermaid had tried to kiss him, "or perhaps it is only the promise of a kiss that is deadly. Not the kiss itself."

Syrena said nothing, pushing her hands onto the stone and sliding back into the water. Philip moved forward but she made no move to escape, only to sink mostly below the waves. He realized that she was probably thrilled to be in the water again, especially after spending so much time weakened on land. He could not blame her. While he would have traded much for civilization he was happy enough to be in a place that was free of the pirates-wherever that place may have been. Pushing himself to his feet, he looked around the cave. The water moved gently as Syrena folded her arms over the lip of the stone and rested her head on them.

"When did the others depart?" he asked, looking at her.

Her head rose off of her arm as she looked at him shyly, her hands moving as she slipped further into the water. Not for the first time, Philip felt frustration surge through him at her refusal to speak. He needed to know what was going on, where he was. Where the pirates were. Dying, stranded on some island was not what he had in mind when he had decided to become a missionary. Dying while trying to help another of Gods creatures he could accept but wasting away in a cave on a beach? That was a fate he could not stomach.

"Will you not speak?" he demanded, looking at the mermaid.

Instantly he regretted the harsh tone of his words as her eyes lowered and she moved further towards the edge of the pool. After what she had been through she did not deserve to be spoken to harshly, especially not by him. Hadn't she said that he was different? The idea that he could prove her wrong in even the smallest way made his heart ache.

"It is difficult, to speak," she said suddenly, breaking the silence before he could apologize. "

He looked at her curiously. Her eyes cast to the side, something almost shameful in her gaze. She stayed where she was for a moment before she came closer and parted her lips. His eyes widened at the sight of very inhuman fangs that filled her mouth. Her eyes darted up to him before he could fully conceal his shock and instantly her lips clamped together, hiding the further evidence of her inhumanity.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I did not know."

"I did not want you to," she told him, looking up at him, "they left a day ago," she added, "with more men, who destroyed the Fountain," her fingers covered the edge of the pool, "they spoke of God."

Philip nodded. The Spaniards, he had seen them coming. It made sense that Rome would be against any source of eternal life, especially one like the Fountain that required, of all things, silver and the tears of a mermaid. But it still seemed like a terrible waste, to have the Fountain destroyed, after all they had gone through to find the thing. He looked down at Syrena. She had said speaking was difficult and the very last thing he wished to do was make things more difficult for her, but he needed to know how much trouble he was in. It was selfish and he could only hope that she would stop if it hurt her.

"Did the ritual work?" he asked, "before the Fountain was destroyed?"

"After," she said, "Blackbeard's life for his daughters," Philip looked at her in surprise, "a trick," she explained as if reading his thoughts, "he did not wish to die."'

"Not even for his child," Philip said with a shake of his head.

He doubted Blackbeard would show selflessness but he seemed to listen to his daughter. It was foolish, to think that he would show compassion for the girl when it really mattered. Syrena seemed to be watching his reaction carefully and he quickly banished any joy he would have felt at the death of his captor. Blackbeard deserved his pity, his prayers, but not his joy. Death was joyous only in its ability to reunite the Soul with the Maker. It was not for him to know which Souls God Almighty saw fit to save, though he sincerely doubted Blackbeard fell into that category, especially if his death had been through a trick, performed to thwart his desperation to save his own hide.

"I will pray for him," he said, voicing the question they both seemed to be thinking, "and that his eternal soul will find peace with God Almighty."

"Why?" Syrena asked him.

Philip looked down at her, surprised at the honest confusion in her eyes. Though if he considered it from her point of view, it was a fair question. The pirate had, after all, shown both of them about as much compassion as it seemed he had shown his own daughter. They were worthless, meaningless, his only use being to help her and hers being to produce a tear which could be used to save the pirates life. Still the man had been created by God and even if he had strayed as far from the path as Philip had ever seen, he was still one of Gods children and deserved to be prayed for.

When he explained that to Syrena, a look of distaste flitted across the mermaid's face and she turned her head away, clearly conveying that she did not share his opinion of God's universal love.

Returning to the pallet of seaweed, Philip sat back upon it. She had healed the wounds, the aches, every little pain. He could not even feel the sunburn on his skin anymore. It was difficult to fathom how a single press of lips could accomplish so much. Absentmindedly he touched the skin of his stomach, his fingers laying against skin that had been split. Against a wound that, for all intents and purposes, should have sent him to meet God Almighty, perhaps even before Blackbeard got the chance. Now there was nothing to show for what had happened, nothing except the memory of the pain and the emotions that went with it.

A soft, wet hand touched his, drawing his gaze to Syrena who was now directly in front of him.

"Its gone," he said, "but I am afraid this is was the first time I had ever been stabbed."

"But before-" she began.

"A trick," he said, thinking of the shallow cut and odd dart, "for your tear."

Whether it was the memory of her giving up her tear or the bonds they had tied her in afterwards, he had no idea. But her hand slid from his, falling silently back under the waves with the rest of her body, save for the graceful curves of her shoulders, neck and head. For a moment he was seized with worry that she would leave, but instead she swam over to the edge where he was and placed both of her hands on the lip of stone. A kick of her tail and a press of her hands and suddenly she was out of the water. Turning, she seated herself beside him and arranged her hands neatly in her lap, human hands resting on the tail of a fish. A beautiful fish, but a fish none the less.

In the light her tail caught the light. Copper, gold, amber, all the warm colors seemed to be reflected in the coral scales that covered her from the waist down. He had seen her tail before, but the panic for her life had kept him from realizing how beautiful it was. He realized that the scales did not stop at her tail. They rose up, along the gentle curve of her stomach and ribs to lay like sleeves against the warm tan of her skin. They too caught the light, making her entire body seem iridescent. Angelic, even, if Angels took to the seas instead of the skies.

When he finally dragged his eyes up to hers he realized that she was watching him from lowered eyes. At once Philip felt heat rush to his cheeks again. He seemed to blush more in the presence of the mermaid than any time he could remember. But then, it seemed that with her the common laws of prudence and social propriety were cast aside. After all, it seemed that in the water a mermaid had no use for clothing, so why should her nudity matter more on land? His eyes trailed down the glimmer of scales on her arms until they reached her wrists.

"You're hurt."

Syrena's head flew up as his hand reached out and grasped hers, gently turning it over to reveal the angry, reddened skin on her wrist. The men had been rough tying her up initially and rougher still when they tied her down after she had become useless. He had been none too careful in undoing her bonds either, more desperate to get her free before he lost consciousness than take care in making certain she did not come to further harm.

"It is nothing," she said softly, watching as his fingers brushed against the pulse point on her wrist, "i will heal."

"You should not have been hurt in the first place," Philip said, remembering all too clearly how she had looked when he staggered to her, "left out to dry like some animal."

"But I did not," she said, her hand turning so that it covered his.

Philip looked down. The hand that covered his was as delicate as the rest of her, yet on some level he knew that hand could crush him if she wished. Perhaps it was simply the way of mermaids, to be full of such paradoxes and contradictions. Yet he found he could not help but be drawn to them-and to her. Barely a day in her company and yet suddenly life without her was unimaginable. Her eyes focused on him as she watched him. Suddenly, head whipped towards the opening in the rocks, fear written on her features before she turned desperately to him.

"Syrena?"

"Do not call me Syrena in front of her," she whispered as the waters parted and a second mermaid emerged before he could ask what was going on.

Philip's eyes widened.

In all his dreams and nightmares he did not think he would ever forget the face of the mermaid in front of him. Even without the glow of the fire or the tease of the song, she was breathtaking. The sun teased the blonde in her hair, making it seem almost halo like as it fell around her angelic features and pale eyes. Try as he might, the memory of her true face with fangs and demons eyes seemed little more than a faint thought, one better left to the back of his mind.

Much to his shock, she pressed her hands to the stone and pushed herself up, sitting delicately on the rocks facing them. Unlike Syrena, her tail was as blue-green as the water when hit by the sun. She sat with her back erect, her eyes meeting his without an ounce of shame for the earlier attack by her people. If anything the way she looked at him made him feel as though he had been the one to do something wrong.

"You have saved my sister," she said finally, her blue eyes giving away no indication at how she felt at his actions.

"Truthfully, your sister saved me," Philip said, "I was dying and she kissed me."

"Then we are even," the mermaid said.

Philip nodded. The mermaid was silent for another moment, as though she was considering his words. Philip could see that she was something of a leader, certainly more in charge than Syrena was. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze was squarely on the water, her head slightly bowed in submission and her hands folded to hide the rope marks that her wrists still bore. She looked very much like she wished to disappear and against all rationality, Philip felt anger at the blonde mermaid for making her feel as such.

"There is an island not far from here, many ships come there on their way to farer waters," the mermaid said, "you have been kissed by a mermaid, the journey will not be taxing."

"And if I do not wish to make the journey?" he demanded, the question leaving his lips before he could fully think it through.

Both mermaid's eyes snapped to him at his rash question and suddenly Philip wondered if it had been better that he not ask it. But he knew what the underlying promise of the mermaid's words were. A trade vessel would take him far away, away from the island, the Fountain, away from Syrena. Philip looked over at the mermaid. Her eyes were wide with surprise but he did not see any distaste in them. No indication that his question of staying was an unwelcome one. Bolstered by her, he looked back at the blonde mermaid who seemed not to share her sisters feelings.

"Then you may stay on this island and rot," she said with a shrug of her shoulders, "it matters not to me."

"What about her?" he asked, looking over at Syrena, "can she stay on this island?"

The mermaid looked skeptically at him,

"You would condemn her to the agony of a human shape?" she asked, "to the unimaginable pain of walking?"

Philip fought not to balk at the words of the mermaid. Walking was painful? Being human was a condemnation? He glanced at Syrena who remained unreadable as ever, though she did not seem to share the other mermaid's opinion. Or, at the very least, he hoped that if she did it would show on her face. Bravely he faced the blonde.

"No," Philip said, a smile threatening his lips, "I would carry her."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Syrena duck her head to hide the smile on her lips. The blonde mermaid's eyes narrowed, clearly missing the endearment. Philip hoped he did not think he was mocking her, he was being honest. He had, of course, carried Syrena for the better part of a day during their journey to the Fountain. And thanks to her kiss, his arms did not ache at all. If it took him carrying her another day, he would do it gladly. After a moment of silence the blonde mermaid broke the silence and though her gaze remained on his, her words were not meant for him.

"Then she must choose," she said, "her sisters or the man of God?"

Philip did not think he had ever heard his title sneered as such an insult. Even the Pirates seemed to hold a glimmer of respect, if not for him than for God Almighty. He fought the urge to frown at the tone before it registered what she had said. His eyes widened. She was asking Syrena to choose, to pick between the life she knew and the life she could have with him. To decide to be a mermaid or a human, a creature of the sea or one of land. They had only spent a day in each others company, it hardly seemed to warrant a thought as to which she would pick.

Yet he could feel her gaze, hot on his skin and realized that she was watching him, to see how he felt. She was actually considering what the blonde mermaid had to offer. He kept his eyes on the water for as long as he could before he allowed himself the weakness of looking at her. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, only that she was considering both options. His eyes met hers and he did everything he could to keep his features blank.

To not let her know how much, God help him, he wished for her to choose a life with him.

And then, to the surprise of himself and the blonde mermaid, Syrena twisted, lifting her spectacular tail out of the water and brought it firmly down onto the rocks.

Just as before, the tail fell away with a whisper of water, leaving a very naked young woman where a mermaid had previously been. Philip felt heat race to his cheek as he realized that there was nothing but her long brown hair covering the pale skin. Unlike before, however, her head was held high and she seemed to match the blonde mermaid for haughtiness.

With dignity that surprised even him, Syrena rose to her feet. Her legs trembled with the effort, unused muscles straining to accommodate the burden of her weight. Vaguely he heard the other mermaid make a sound but it did not matter. Hs thoughts were only on the mermaid in front of him, struggling to stand even though he knew that any assistance he could give would not be well received. Carefully he rose with her, fear flashing through him at the memory of how hard she had fallen when the ground was covered in leaves The rocks below their feet looked incredibly dangerous but Syrena managed to wobble to her feet.

Without warning her legs buckled.

Philip's arm wound around her back in a flash, shouldering the burden of her slight weight onto his frame. He could feel her tremble with the effort of getting to her feet after all that she had been through. Her eyes rose to meet his and he felt his heart break at the pained look in her eyes. Whatever point she was trying to make would have to wait. She was in pain and he was not going to stand by and let her suffer more. His back moved, ready to bend down and pick her up.

And then the sound of the other mermaid laughing echoed through the cave.

Determination flashed in Syrena's eyes at the sound of the blonde mermaid's amusement. Forcefully he moved his hand away from her knee. Her other hand gripped the back of his vest, fingers knotted in the fabric but her legs remained on the ground. He imagined it was sheer will more than anything else that let her lift her leg and place it down in front of her. The laughter paused as Syrena took a deep breath and lifted her other foot, taking a small, jerky step forward. The laughter did not start again. Philip's fingers tightened on her rib cage, helping to bolster her weight as they continued their slow journey forward.

Finally the sound of splashing reached their ears as the blonde mermaid slid away.

With a choked gasp, Syrena's legs buckled and she all but collapsed against him. Philip scooped her up, lowering her carefully to the ground as the muscles in her legs trembled with the effort they had just gone through. It did not matter that the woman in his arms was naked, or that a moment ago she had a tail in the place of legs. All that mattered was the pain written clearly on her face. She had just been tortured, it was unfair that she was expected to suffer further.

"I am so sorry," he said, looking at her legs, "I should not have let you walk-"

Her finger pressed against his lips, silencing him as effectively as a gag.

"I chose to walk," she told him before lowering her hand and carefully pushing herself up, "I will walk," she said, though if her promise was for her or for him, he could not say.

"But the pain-" he began, thinking of the mermaid's earlier words.

"Philip," she sighed his name, in a tone his mother would have used when his head got too far in the clouds.

"Of course," he said, realizing the exaggeration for what it was. Syrena's hands tightened against his as she moved to stand, "wait, no," he shook his head. She looked at him, "you have been through enough as it is."

"I will not have you carry me forever," she pointed out, a warning in her tone.

"Nor would I," he replied, wincing at the falsehood as it came too easily from his lips, "but for today-" he began, trailing off when she looked away.

Pride was one of the sins. Philip knew that and yet as he watched the mermaid in his arms he could not help but admire the pride in her gaze. Fully clothed, he imagined she would be a truly breathtaking lady. Unfortunately the thought of her in clothing reminded him painfully of the fact that she currently was wearing none. Swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat, he felt heat burn at his cheeks the likes of which he had not felt since she was in his arms and his hand slid well up the length of her thigh.

"To those rocks," she said, pointing at a cluster not ten steps away.

"Will you lean on me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said sliding her arm around his neck.

Philip rose with her, letting her take the lead. Her steps were halted, slow, but they were steps. It took them a very long time to get to the rocks, long enough that the sunset was beginning by the time they reached them. But the pride in her gaze at the victory and the odd surge of joy he felt for her seemed to outshine the sun. And then, much to his surprise, her lips parted and a laugh of pure delight spilled from them. His eyes widened at the beauty of the sound before he felt his own face break out into a grin.

"Well done Syrena!" he congratulated her.

Her arms went about his neck before he could fully comprehend what was happening and suddenly the entirety of her body was pressed against his. His entire brain seemed to go blank, even as he felt the heated blush he had worn drain from his cheeks. Her body was still wet, her hair doing a very bad job of acting as a buffer between the two of them. Suddenly he wished desperately that he had thought to grab his shirt, or sew his vest shut, or something. Yet when he felt her draw back and the tease of air between them he irrationally wished for her to remain exactly where she had been.

"Are you not feeling well?" she asked with concern, "I will keep walking-"

"No," he shook his head, thinking of her earlier pain, "no it is not that," he fought the urge to shudder as she moved, her soft skin brushing lightly against his, "I have not been in the company of a woman in such a state of undress," he confessed.

Confusion ruled her face before comprehension dawned and much to his surprise he saw two spots of color grace her cheeks.

"I did not know-" she began, "but you carried me for so long."

"It seems silly for my discomfort to cause you to suffer," he replied, his voice matching hers for softness.

Her head titled gently to the side as she studied him. Philip found himself powerless under her inspection. Eyes so wise should not belong to a face so young. One of her hands reached up and touched a faint mark above his eye, a cut that under any circumstance would have been a scar. Her palm was delicate, perfectly smooth. As smooth as the un-calloused soles of her feet. The urge to protect her was overwhelming in its strength, though at the same time he thought it somewhat ridiculous. He scarcely had more experience with the world than she. Syrena's fingertips trailed to the skin of his cheek, rough with the shadow of a beard he seemed to be growing now. The beautiful smile was back on her lips as her thumb ran along the roughness.

"Why?" he asked finally, "why did you choose me?"

"You did not ask me to save you," she said, "only to forgive," her gaze softened, "you are not like the other men," her fingers moved to the curve of his jaw, "I would not like a world without you in it."

Philip looked down at her, struck by the simple honesty in her words. Her eyes moved downwards before holding his own gaze once more. She leaned forward, her body fitting against his. Philip felt his own lips part in anticipation as the mermaid gently pressed her mouth to his. There was no drag of water or burn of wound this time to fog his mind. There was only the unbearable softness of her lips and the rush of his heart as it pounded in his chest. His lips parted further, deepening the kiss as his arms wound their way around her back, fingers threading easily through the length of her hair.

They broke apart, both breathing unsteadily as his forehead rested against hers. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her warm breath fanning across his face as he fought to regain control of himself. A part of him still could not fathom that his kidnapping had led him to this moment, standing on a deserted island kissing a mermaid.

The sound of a throat being cleared drew both their gazes over to the side.

Standing in a large group was a number of very well dressed men, the thick gold embroidered on their jackets revealing they were wealthy and the conformity of their dress revealing they were most likely not pirates. Even on the heat and harshness of the island they wore the wigs and the buckles on their boots were carefully polished. But the greatest give away as to their origins was the fact that when faced with the sight of a beautiful, naked woman, their only reaction was to keep their eyes firmly on him.

"Who are you?" one man asked, his thick accent revealing these men to be the remnants of the Spanish who had not, in fact, departed with the pirates.

"My name is Philip Swift," he said, injecting as much authority into his voice as he could, "I was captured by the pirate Blackbeard some weeks ago."

"And why would Blackbeard capture you?" the man questioned, "why not kill you?"

"His daughter would not let him," he said, "I am a missionary and she is a woman of deep faith."

The Spanish found it more than mildly amusing that a pirate could have any kind of faith, but amidst their laughter Philip watched as the man he had been conversing with undid the sash about his waist and stripped off the long jacket he wore, tossing it to him. Philip caught it deftly and turned to Syrena, carefully pulling it over her shoulders. The mermaid slid her arms into the sleeves and quickly set about doing up the buttons of the massive black coat.

"Can you sail?" the man asked.

"Not very well," Philip said.

"He is a quick learner," Syrena spoke up in his defense, drawing the mans gaze to her. For a moment she drew back, as though she was afraid of what the man would do to her. Then she straightened up, "and he is very strong," she added.

"Is he now?" the Spaniard inquired.

"He has carried me for a day," Syrena pointed out, "since my foot was injured and I could not walk."

"And what is your name?" the Spaniard asked.

"Syrena," she replied as quickly as if it was the name she had been born with, "I too was captured by Blackbeard."

The Spaniard seemed to consider them both for a moment. If he had been put in charge by the death of another it did not show. He seemed to be as accustom to authority as Syrena was to the water. He did not even glance back at the men but Philip got the distinct impression that whatever he said would be listened to without a second thought.

"Many of my men have perished in doing Gods work," the Spaniard said, "they died with honor but honor, unfortunately, does not sail a ship," he looked at Syrena, "have you ever been to Spain?" he asked her.

She shook her head. The Spaniard looked hard at her for a moment before turning around.

"But i should like to go," Syrena said abruptly.

The smile that pulled at the mans lips suddenly made him seem both far more sinister and younger. He turned fully to the men and signaled them to move out.

"We sail with the tide," he said to the two of them.

Philip nodded and looked at Syrena who was watching the Spaniards. She turned to look at him and he tried his best to smile. Getting off the island was far more important than who they got off it with, and sailing with Spaniards could not possibly be worse than sailing with pirates. Syrena returned his smile, her arm sliding around his shoulders to its familiar resting place. Philip stooped down and hooked his arm under her knees, straightening up with the mermaid in his arms. She looked down at him, her own face painted with disappointment.

"You will walk," Philip said to her quietly. She looked at him doubtfully, "and when you are able to walk," he continued, "I will teach you to dance."

This time the smile she gave him was so dazzling it truly made his heart skip.

Okay, so next time is the last chapter and will be after they get off the Spanish ship when they are 'home'-ish. It will be longer and from both their POVs (so 1 chapter her, 1 chapter him, 1 chapter both) and will explain what choices Syrena made and why.

Please review!