A/N: I give you this piece that has been floating around in my brain since I've seen On Stranger Tides. Enjoy!

Summary: Far from the Fountain of Youth, a young minister's wife is the subject of rumors. One-shot.

Disclaimer: Philip and Syrena are not mine.

A Tale of a Mermaid

People scattered as Mistress Beryl Thurston strode through the marketplace of the small town of Jamarion, the heart of and the largest collection of people currently inhabiting the island of Massika. The other patrons, participating in the communal buying and selling of wares, quickly dispersed as the woman stalked through the stalls, ignoring many of the vendors in favor of one.

The heavy-set woman tugged on her dress, adjusted her cap, and strode up to the table of a young woman who was currently helping a patron select a brace of fish. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties, with deep sable hair pulled away from her face with the aid of two braids, and her golden-green eyes flashed with good humor as she animatedly haggled for a better price.

"Mistress Swift, I have something I must discuss with you."

Glancing up, the young woman merely frowned at the brooding storm clouding the older woman's brow and turned back to her customer. "I'll speak to you in a minute, Mistress Thurston. My business comes first."

Scowling, Mistress Thurston rocked back on her heels. She would not stand to wait while a vicious rumor was swirling around this young woman! And worse, the minister's wife acted as if she did not care! Even now, Beryl was aware of whispers swirling around her. People would continue to talk unless she discovered the truth and set things right! It was bad enough that the rumor had entered her household, and she would not have folk repeating it!

Finally, the younger woman had finished her business, and began to collect her wares, packing them away in smaller wicker baskets. Mistress Swift made a modest profit from selling fish and some medicinal remedies that came from the sea, of which she had extensive knowledge. Some whispered that she was a fisherman's daughter, and yet some spoke of knowledge of the sea that was not quite natural.

Clearing her throat loudly, Beryl planted her fists on her hips, waiting to be acknowledged. Spinning around, the younger woman's eyes widened, her surprise evident.

"Mistress Thurston! I'd forgotten! You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," Mistress Thurston growled, leaning forward. "Mistress Swift, I realize that your venerable husband and you are new to this island, and the Good Lord knows we needed a minister, but I find that a minister's wife should be above reproach, and it does not do to have rumors swirling about you."

Instead of appearing alarmed or even pensive at the beginning of such an impressive lecture, Mistress Swift glanced towards the sea, visible below the sloping hills and gleaming with the beginnings of a sunset. Her eyes were filled with longing, and Beryl began to wonder if the tales of her origins as a fisherman's daughter didn't have more credence—she had never seen another human so enamored with the sea.

"Mistress Swift," Beryl continued, undeterred by her subject's apparent indifference, "what do you know about mermaids?"

That got the younger woman's attention. Her head snapped around, golden-green eyes shifting from wide and wistful to sharp and narrowed in an instant, her lips half drawn back as if she were about to hiss or snarl, like an animal.

A moment's tense silence passed between them, and then Mistress Swift seemed to regain her composure. Smoothing her dress in a nervous gesture, the younger woman sent her inquirer a side-long glance.

"Mermaids?" She murmured demurely, flicking a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes. "Mistress Thurston, aren't you a bit too old to be listening to tales?"

The younger woman's wide, guileless expression gave the older woman pause. When her eldest son Jem had stumbled in the previous night, wide-eyed and raving about having seen a mermaid in the sea, his mother had given him a proper beating for sneaking out, and sent him to bed. However, in the morning, with both in better tempers, Beryl was more inclined to listen to her son's wild tale, which involved spotting a mermaid swimming in the moonlight. A mermaid, Jem swore, that looked exactly like the minster's new wife.

"My son seems to think he saw you out swimming last night."

At her words, Beryl watched as a rosy blush tinted Mistress Swift's cheeks, and she leaned forward, intrigued. Could her son be telling the truth?

"Mistress Thurston, could you keep a secret?"

At the younger woman's innocent question, Beryl nodded pompously, smug and pleased that the minister's young wife, who was often considered aloof, would confide in her.

"You see," the young woman explained, her hazel eyes twinkling, "I do my best fishing at night. Your son and his friends happened to come upon me with my late-night catch."

Leaning back, Beryl huffed out a sigh, disappointed. That was it? Fishing at night? Her own father had used that trick, swearing that the fish were less observant in the moonlight.

Trying to regain her composure, Mistress Thurston straightened. "Well, a good day to you, Mistress Swift."

Watching the older woman bustle away, trying to look pleased in order to salvage her dignity, the young woman known as Mistress Swift within the confines of Jamarion smiled, pleased with her deflection. Leaving her baskets where they sat—most of her wares would go bad, and were best left for the strays and vermin while she collected more—but slipping her money pouch into the inner lining of her dress, the young woman turned away from the town and started towards the glistening sands.

By Calypso, her legs itched. She knew she had not spent enough time in the water, but nights when Philip wasn't away, tending to some faith crisis or another were rare. Treading down the sand, barefoot, the young woman who was once a mermaid marveled at how far she had come since the night she had taken a young man away from his captors and set them both free.

Slipping around the rocks that formed a natural barrier around her home, Syrena gazed with delight on the small cove that was her haven. Against the shelter of the rocks, high on the sands and away from the tide, a stone cottage faced the waves. Syrena smiled at the sight of the man leaning in the doorway, watching the sun's descent and clearly waiting for something.

Waiting for her.

Here, the woman was not Mistress Swift, the minister's wife and a proper member of polite society. Here, she was only Syrena, former mermaid and now woman and wife to her beloved Philip, the one human man who had shown her kindness.

His blond hair, mostly tamed into a ponytail, fluttered in his face in the wind, and he turned towards her, his green eyes glowing at her approach.

"Hello, dearest," he greeted her, wrapping her in his arms and bending down to welcome her home.

Melting into his embrace, Syrena accepted his kiss eagerly. No matter how many they shared, each one was different, and each one captivated her completely. The sand vanished from beneath her feet, the waves ceased their drumming, and even the wind seemed to fade for a moment as they stood entwined. No conquest her sisters had ever boasted about could ever feel like this.

Pulling away, Philip Swift smiled at his wife's contented expression. "Were you successful today?"

In answer, Syrena pulled the small pouch from her dress and handed it to him, delighting in the clink of the coins against each other. When they had first settled here, Philip had been clear: as minster's wife, she was not expected to labor, or even associate with the people of the island if she did not wish to. However, Syrena had objected to that. After all they'd been through, she would not become a burden to him, and she would pull her own weight. She would not have survived long in the depths of Whitecap Bay if she had not contributed, even some small way, to the hunts of her sisters.

Unwinding a gold chain from around her wrist, Syrena slipped it over her head, allowing the wedding band on the end to nestle against her collarbone. Pulling her hair from her braids, she allowed it to cascade down her back. Turning to smile at her husband, who had reached out to caress the silky tresses, she tilted her head towards the water just beyond their simple home.

"Come join me?"

Philip hated to refuse her hopeful expression, but he shook his head, waving the ink-and-dirt stained pages she had just now noticed. "I have to complete tomorrow's sermon," he told her ruefully, reaching out to brush the small wooden cross that hung beside her wedding band. "Some on this island take their faith seriously."

Syrena smiled at his teasing, but shifted uncomfortably, the itching in her legs increasing, her true form begging to be released. Philip did not mind—terribly much—that her faith did not yet match his. He was aware that some conversions took time. Until she was ready to accept his God, Syrena wore the cross as a reassurance for Philip—the symbol of his God was a protection to her that he had to know she wore.

"Dearest," Philip called as he trailed after her, following her quick footsteps down towards the beckoning waves, "did you notice some young boys nearby last night? I thought I heard them."

"Of course," Syrena, responded, slipping out of her dress and letting it ripple against the sand, leaving her chemise on for Philip's sake. She was grateful for the natural rock barrier surrounding their cove, for it wouldn't do if the townsfolk suddenly discovered that their minister's aloof wife had the habit of undressing every evening before diving into the sea. Also, even months after their marriage, Philip was not yet completely comfortable with her ability to divest herself of clothing out in the open at any given moment, despite the way they met.

"Did they cause any trouble?"

"They thought I was a mermaid. They took the tales back to their mamas, but no one believes that mermaids exist, except for those that know the seas."

Her lips quirked in amusement, Syrena felt her smile die as she turned back to her husband. His face had lost all color, similar to what she knew must have been her own visage when Mistress Thurston admitted the rumor to her.

"It's all right," she consoled him, stepping out of her chemise and sliding back into his arms. "I told Mistress Thurston that I was out adding to my catch at night, and that's what they saw."

Philip's green eyes flitted briefly in the direction of the town before darting back to the beautiful woman he had secured in his arms. "Did she believe you?"

Reaching up to stroke his rough cheek, Syrena offered him a comforting smile, seeking to calm his fears. "Our secret is safe, dear one," she crooned.

Relief danced across Philip's features, and then his green eyes shimmered with heat as he skimmed a hand down her bare back. "Go and enjoy your swim," he growled into the soft skin of her neck, ignoring her delighted squirming and feeble attempts to escape his onslaught, sensitive to his touch, "or I will drag you inside for something we'll both enjoy, and then the people will wonder why their minister has no sermon for them tomorrow."

Kissing him quickly, Syrena danced across the sand and into the water. "My gain," she tossed over her shoulder, diving into the waves and reemerging in a graceful arc, her coral scales shimmering red in the dying light of the sun as it spread over the horizon and bled into the sea.

Seating himself on a nearby boulder, away from the sea spray or mischievous splashing from his wife, Philip turned his attention to finishing his sermon, intent on his topic.

Forgiveness is important. We are all forgiven by the Lord, and that is a great boon, but there is more to forgiveness than what the Good Book says. While the Good Word is vital to our faith, we must not forget that forgiving others is needed to live a good life. It is in forgiving others that we are forgiven, and in gaining forgiveness, we often find that we are granted a new life, far from our previous failings.