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mrs-lockley · 1 year

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where the spirit meets the bones

Summary: Above, a merciful Sirena roams the seas of the East. Below, a lonely king seeks retribution. Your paths cross one war-torn night when you save the life of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles and ears that point to the sky. Enchanted by your siren song, the feathered serpent king becomes determined to find you, even if he must wait for half a century.

Posted on AO3 here.

Pairing: Namor (K’uk’ulkan) x Filipina (Kapampangan)!Fem!Sirena!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: Mentions of colonization (burning of a Spanish flag in a sea storm but nothing graphic), mentions of drowning and burning (nothing explicit), slow burn (pun not intended), mutual yearning and pining, mentions of death and the afterlife. Physical descriptions of the reader include dark hair and eyes

Tagging: @justrunamok @artsynellyyy @theatreslave @musing-magpie @lostfleurs @alathan13 @velvetmel0n @mattmurdockswife @ameliachastain

Author’s Notes: Hello my darlings! After nearly two years, I have written my first fic. Please be gentle when giving feedback and I apologize if my writing is a bit rusty. But this fic is very loosely based on the Little Mermaid with some Philippine and Maya mythology.

The reader is Filipina, but from an unidentified region from the province of Pampanga, Philippines. Kapampangan is also the reader’s first language (and my second language) and does not speak Tagalog. This is the first part of a trilogy.

Translations: Kapampangan, Yucatec Mayan, and some Tagalog is used in the fic. For smaller phrases, translations are found throughout the fic in italics. For longer sentences in Kapampangan and Yucatec Mayan, translations are found at the end of the fic (with additional author’s notes).

Namor’s monologue is in italics in respect to his language. An online translating generator was used. If there are any errors in Kapampangan and/or Yucatec Mayan, please let me know and I will correct it.

How’s one to know I’d meet you where the spirit meets the bones in a faith forgotten land?

Lubao, Pampanga, June 1827

The moon was full when you rose to the surface, the night quieter than usual. Rain clouds begin to depart as the rain lightens into a steady downpour over the calming sea. The quiet after the storm, but your burning skin and aching bones say otherwise.

On the beach, a mother cries in relief as her daughter clears the water from her lungs, her arms immediately circling around her as she thanks Apong Díos and the angels above. Beside her, the father embraces his family with a joyous shout.

You had caught the girl wandering the beach earlier that evening at the peak of the rainstorm. It was high tide then, the water lapping too close and too angry as she ran along the shore. One moment she was playing on the sand, and the next, the ocean had tried to swallow her whole.

You fought against the current in search for her, your lungs aching for air as the water screamed in defiance. Your tail cramped as you dove beneath the surface, narrowly fitting between the crevices of the sharp rocks and stones. Only slivers of moonlight guided your path through the dark stormy waters.

But you found her a moment later with her head barely above water, her arms and legs thrashing to stay afloat. Her pleas for help were drowned over the sound of the beating ocean and pouring rain, falling deaf on human ears. The girl’s panicked movements only propelled her deeper into the sea, and it was a matter of seconds before she would draw her last breath.

Softly, you began to sing to her. At the sound of your voice, the girl began to still, her movements drawing to a halt as you approached her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but her breathing slowed as her body was calmed by your song. The water around you began to bend to your will the louder you sang, enchanting the creatures and tides around you into submission.

With ease, you wrapped your arms around the child and held them in a tight embrace as you swam to the shore. Her head on your shoulder, you continued to sing softly to her to quiet her mind and relax her body.

You returned her to the surface as you gently laid her body on the sand, your hand cradling the back of her head. In the distance, the yellow lights of a nearby village hut began to flicker with shadows racing across the window. Quickly, you brushed her hair out of her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, your hand squeezing hers.

“Gumising na.” Wake up.

At the sound of approaching voices, you released her hand and returned to the sea.

The little girl stands and holds onto her mother’s hands as they depart from the shore, but she hesitates. You watch as she tugs on her mother’s hands and turns to her, urgently pleading for her mother to listen. The mother gazes at the sea, her expression unreadable as her eyes search for answers. The girl turns and points, but her mother shakes her head and carries her in her arms as the father shields them both from the rain, retreating into the safety of their hut.

You ignore the sharp pang splintering in your chest before you turn, floating on your back with your arms outstretched and offering yourself to the sky. Up above, the clouds continue to depart as the rain slows into a whispering shower kissing your skin.

As you bask in the moonlight, you run your fingers over the curved surface of the golden pendant resting on your chest. It was the last relic of your past life, the only physical memory of who you were before the ocean had claimed you as its own. Tonight was far different than the last night you walked on land, but it was quieter nights like these where your mind wandered into the past. One by one, it all came back to you.

A gentle mother’s touch on your hand during a monsoon. A sister braiding your hair by the window. A father teaching you how to sail. A lover sneaking a kiss between dances.

The heaviness in your chest deepens, spreading to your neck and to your eyes as they sting with tears. With pieces of your past echoing in your mind, you look up to the night sky and beg for comfort. One hundred years you have served the ocean. One hundred years you have saved your people from drowning. One hundred years of protecting the secrets of the sea.

But it has also been one hundred years of loneliness.

You were unlike the other creatures who dwelled in the sea. While the sirenas feasted on men and dragged them to their deaths, you rescued them and returned them to the shore. The kataws walked on land and were mistaken for humans as they manipulated the water to their will, while you tamed the water to save the innocent. Siyokoys devoured mortals, but you loved your people who walked on the land and found beauty in their world. While you have the sea turtles and dolphins at your side, your heart remains heavy as they whisper behind you. You were not their kind, why would the ocean choose to have mercy on you?

Gazing at the moon with the water holding you close, you stretch your hands and pray. Why did save me? Must I always bear this loneliness?

The only answer you receive is the pause of rainfall and a full moon sighing in the sky.

Mérida, Yucatán Peninsula, July 1858

By the time you open your eyes, the last of the sun’s rays had settled under the sea with the cool ocean breeze tickling your skin. The dolphin who carried you whistles softly as you wake, its tail brushing against yours as it waits for your command.

“Dakal a salamat,” you whisper. Many thanks.

With a soft smile, you affectionately run your hands over the dolphin’s back as it clicks before disappearing into the sea.

You do not know how long or far you have traveled, but as you take in your surroundings, you realize that you have wandered into foreign territory. As the sky darkens into the blues, violets, and greens of the night, the ocean welcomes you into its soft embrace. Around you, the waves fall into a steady calmness. Just as you enchant humans with your voice, this new ocean comforts you in a strange way you could not quite understand, almost as if it were welcoming you home.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to relax in these new waters by diving into its arms. As you swim beneath the surface, you find yourself finally able to breathe for the first time. You were far from your home in the Pacific, and you were far from the angry voices of the merfolk who haunted you.

“Alang cuenta,” the sirenas sneered at you when you had rescued stray fishermen from falling into their trap. Furious at your intrusion, your sisters lunged for you and tore at your tail and skin with their webbed claws and bared teeth. You screamed for mercy as you fought back, but their teeth and nails were stronger as they dragged you deeper into the darkness of the sea.

Either out of boredom or mercy, your sisters finished their prey upon you and left you in the cold depths of the ocean where the light of the sun did not reach. Hours passed before you were able to move and swim to the coral reefs where the dolphins and sea turtles found you nursing your wounds. With your arms covered in bites and your chest and tail in cuts, you found refuge in the dolphins and allowed them to carry you far away from your tormentors.

Rising to the surface, you push your hair back and run your hands over your face, suppressing a childish giggle at the realization of your newfound freedom. For weeks you traveled with the dolphins to escape their persecution. Despite spending the past one hundred years alone, for the first time in over a century, you feel nothing but relief. You were never welcomed by the creatures of the ocean back at home. Perhaps you could find a new home here.

You pause. Around you, the ocean suddenly grows cold as ripples slowly reverberate throughout the surface of the water. A chill descends your spine as you suddenly become breathless and frozen.

On the seashore, a man slowly rises from the water, holding a scepter adorned in engravings in one hand with his back turned to you. A golden plate rests on the back of his neck with matching cuffs on his arms, wrists, and legs reflecting the glow of the rising moon. A similar belt rests on his hips and above a pair of dark green shorts, the only article of clothing he wears. In the dim light, your eyes trace the broad expanse of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his back, arms, and legs. An air of regality surrounds him as he fully emerges from the water and stands in his full form.

This man is not human, you realize as he walks along the beach, the water yielding to his presence. He is a man of the sea.

Your brows furrow in confusion as he kneels on the sand.

Wings. There were wings on his ankles.

Something inside of you whispers to swim closer to the shore. With the waves beckoning towards you, you have no choice but to obey.

Holding your breath, you submerge yourself deeper into the water and hide behind a rock to avoid being seen. On the sand, the man with the winged ankles speaks softly in a language you don’t recognize.

“Jach tak in wilech,” he whispers and lowers his head. I miss you.

His movements and words are gentle as he places a white flower on the sand, his voice soft and low as he continues to speak. Your heart pounds in realization as you watch him revere someone who could not be seen. This was a grave.

Guilt consumes you as memories of your past life flood to the surface, your pendant weighing heavily on your chest. Turning away from the shore, you close your eyes to force down the tears that threaten to spill. How silly of you to think you could run away when your family rests at home across the ocean. Here, the water belongs to another. Who were you to leave your home behind and reside in a place as sacred as this?

Wiping at your eyes, you turn back to the shore and find the man speaking to the spirits. Even in the dim moonlight, you catch a glimpse of his face, his dark eyes full of emotion and grief.

Slowly, you reach for the sampaguita flowers in your hair and cradle them in your hands. One by one, you sing quietly to yourself as you place the flowers in the water. You linger for a few moments, your fingers running over the pendant on your chest as the water guides them to the beach.

“Patawad na,” you breathe. I’m sorry.

With a final prayer, you return to the sea.

On the beach, a soft hand reaches for the jasmine flowers. Dark eyes look to the horizon in search of the one who brought them, but the only answer given were the quiet waves lapping at the shore.

Gently, the man with the winged ankles places the white flowers on the sand, creating a trail from the grave and towards the spirit’s old home before disappearing into the water.

The only evidence of his arrival is soon washed away by the rising tide of the ocean.

Philippine Sea, near Manila, August 1894

Tonight was much like the last night you walked on land.

The air was laden with tension and uncertainty. Word from the fishermen and villagers had gone around that the conquistadors were having trouble with their colonies in the West. On the surface, you often found the land-dwellers running through the shadows of the trees in the jungle. The islands seemed to hum in anticipation at the whispers of a possible revolution.

In times like these, you turned a blind eye to your sisters drowning the oppressors on the beach. But your hands weren’t clean and bloodless either. As your sisters feasted on their flesh, you were the one to sing to them, distracting them with your sweet voice and innocent smile.

(You would do it again in a heartbeat, you soon realize. With each conquistador that steps into the water, another revolutionary returns safely home.)

But tonight was different from those quiet nights of revolutionaries lurking in the shadows of the jungle. Tonight was a war.

Lightning strikes through the stormy sky and fuels the flames licking at the near abandoned trade ship drowning in the fury of the summer typhoon. The white sails darken into ash as the Spanish flags fade into dust.

Around you, your sisters call to them with outstretched arms, promising to save them from a violent death. You do not sing to invite them further in, nor do you move when your sisters feed on their flesh. You watch silently as your enemies fall and drown to their death, your skin heated by the scorching fires of their sinking ships. With memories of your last night flashing through your mind, you gaze at the burning flags in contempt. It is only fitting that the last thing they see is your face before falling to their demise.

Suddenly, one of your sisters screams and points to the sky.

Aswang!*

The sirenas shriek and recede into the water as the remaining men on deck scream in terror. Lightning illuminates the sky once more and reveals the silhouette of the figure flying in the air.

Your breath stops in your throat as you glimpse at the figure, your eyes falling to their feet.

The man with the feathered wings on his ankles.

You look up at him, your heartbeat mirroring the resounding claps of thunder. The man with the wings pays no heed to your sisters retreating into the safety of the water. Instead, his gaze is focused on the colonizers clinging onto the debris of their sinking ships.

He raises his spear and strikes.

The ocean thirsts for violence as crimson stains its waters. With each strike of lightning and roar of thunder, the further the Spanish ships sink to the bottom of the sea. Screams and gunshots plague the night as the monsoon beats its anger onto the surface world. One by one, the colonizers perish by the sea, the bloodthirst of your sisters, or the man exacting his vengeance from above.

Your eyes widen. On the deck of the last ship sailing, a colonizer opens fire and aims his weapon at the sky.

“Saguli-!” You shout. Wait!

Everything moves in slow motion. Before the trigger is pulled, bursts of red, orange, and yellow blinds your vision. Your ears ring from the explosion as your left shoulder is consumed by a sharp pain that resembles shark teeth digging into your bones.

As your vision begins to clear, the rain continues to pour. Furls of silver smoke surround you as the burning fires devour the last wooden planks of the sunken ship. Despite the rumble of thunder and cries of the sea, the night is suddenly quiet with only the low crackle of flickering flames filling the silence. Your sisters have disappeared. The colonizers have perished.

In the sky, the man from the sea burns before falling into the water.

Without hesitation, you dive into the sea to search for him with the flickers of the dying flames guiding your path underwater. In the distance, the glint of his spear reflects the light of the surface fires with its owner sinking beside him, his eyes closed and his back covered in black ash.

Ignoring the pain in your shoulder, you wrap your arms around his torso and hold him close as you swim towards the surface.

Please be alive, you pray as you break through the water, your lungs aching as you carry the man in your arms. Please.

...

The monsoon begins to falter when dusk brightens the sky. The rain slows into a steady downpour and the wind turns from a thunderous gust and into a whispering breeze. Gray storm clouds weigh heavily in the sky, but cracks of sunlight peek through the horizon.

Tears burn your eyes as your cries echo in the cove. Pain engulfs your left shoulder and your body screams in agony from fighting against the violence of the waves and the rage from the skies. With a cry of pain, you push yourself up and untangle your arms from the body of the man you rescued. The man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles.

A gasp of relief escapes your lips the moment you feel the steady drumming of his heartbeat underneath your trembling fingertips.

“Salamat,” you breathe, a childish laugh rumbling in your chest as you wipe at your eyes. “You’re alive.”

With a gentle hand, you brush his dark hair back. The dusky rays of sunlight kiss his tanned skin, casting shadows of the planes and contours of his peppered cheeks. Drops of jade sit beneath his pointed ears and mirror the jewel on his nose. Beads of white pearls and golden rings adorn his neck. A large plate rests on his chest with two deep blue serpents meeting in the middle, a large pearl sitting in the center.

In the dim light of the early morning, you cannot help but gaze in awe at the beautiful man laying in your arms.

Who is he? You wonder as you softly trail your hand from his hair and down his arm, a frown settling on your lips at the sight of dried blood and deep bruises at his side.

You glance back at his face once more. You should be afraid of him, a stranger from a foreign land who showed no mercy to his enemies. But despite the violence of the previous night, you remember the first night you saw him on the beach in the Atlantic. You remember his dark eyes full of grief, his gentle hands cradling the flowers, and his soft voice whispering in the wind.

The man sleeping before you now was not the same man that tormented his enemies at sea, but the man you met on that summer seashore.

Gently, you lean forward to caress his cheek and sing.

“Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka. Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata. E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka, uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala.”

As you sing the last note, the man begins to stir.

Panic floods through you as you look down to find his hand wrapped around your right wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, with the heat of his skin warm against yours.

Swallowing the ache in your chest, you lean forward to cup his face with both of your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks as you gently press your lips to his forehead.

“Mikit tána pasibáyo,” you whisper. We will meet again.

With one last look, you squeeze his hand and retreat into the water.

…

Whispers of a man from the sea with feathered wings on his ankles spread across the surface. From the villagers and fishermen to the convoys and rulers, people spoke of his existence in hushed tones, afraid that speaking his name would incur his wrath. Parents passed his story to their children as folklore, but those who were old enough remembered seeing him walk along the beach before his footprints were washed away by the waves of the ocean.

K’uk’ulkan, they called him. The feathered serpent god.

The King of Talokan prided himself as a benevolent ruler and a protector of his people. For three hundred years, K’uk’ulkan kept their kingdom a secret under the sea. He lived, breathed, and bled for them, enduring the pain from the surface world to protect the Talokanil from the violence of the land-dwellers. For this, K’uk’ulkan reigned as their king, their feathered serpent ruler.

While tales of the feathered serpent were considered myths to the tribes on the beach, another name was whispered across the seven seas. From the clergy and the admirals, no one dared to speak the moniker out loud.

El niño sin amor, the Spanish priests warned. The child without love.

“Namor,” his enemies gasped as they looked up at him, their eyes wide with fear.

It had been five weeks since the Spanish ships departed from the Atlantic. Five weeks before he finally found the ships that had stolen the resources from his kingdom. As the monsoonal rain raged its wrath over the blazing fires of the splintering ships on a foreign sea he was not familiar with, Namor raised his spear and struck with no mercy.

It all unraveled so fast. One moment he vanquished his enemies, and the next he was swallowed by flames.

He vaguely remembered the ocean welcoming him as he fell from the sky. In the dark stillness of the water, Namor could only watch a dark shadow pass above him. Three hundred years he served his people as their king. Three hundred years he fought, protected, and bled for his kingdom. Maybe just this once, he could overcome the trials in Metnal* and leave the crown behind.

But the gods had other plans for the King of Talokan. Behind the dark veil of his eyes, a soft voice called out to him. The voice was different from the songs of the Talokanil and sung in a language he did not recognize. Her voice was lower, deeper, but sweet and comforting.

A siren song.

With eyes as heavy as stone, Namor willed his body to move, his hands grasping at rough skin. It was a song that willed him to return to the land of the living, willing him to carry the crown and breathe.

For a brief moment, he felt the ghost of her hands stroking his face and her lips on his skin. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in a cove with the monsoon slowing into a whisper.

Running a tired hand over his face, Namor sits up and breathes a deep sigh. His lungs ache from the sharp exhale as he takes in his surroundings. Straight ahead, the wide entrance of the cove welcomes the quiet low tides of the sea. Despite the storm clouds, the horizon brightened into hues of deep blues and violets with the distant call of songbirds singing in the distance.

In the calmness of dawn, the King of Talokan could still hear the soft whispers of the siren song singing to him in the cove. Like a fog, his senses were enveloped by her, his skin prickling at the memory of her touch and his ears mistaking the sound of songbirds to the likeliness of her voice.

As he stands, his eyes flicker to the reflection of the rising sun in the water, a small burst of light catching his gaze. Ignoring the pain in his back, Namor rushes to where the edge of the rock meets the sea.

His heart pounds and his head spins as he cradles the item in his hand, his breath halting in his throat.

In his hand was a golden necklace with its delicate chain torn in two, a pendant of a small flower resting in the center.

The same flower he found on the Yucatán seashore.

“Yaan in kaxtikech,” he breathes. “Ma importa u tojol.”

I will find you, no matter the cost.

Philippine Sea, December 1910

It had been sixteen years since Namor heard you last.

The skies disagreed with him when he returned to the sea where you rescued him. For several months, the monsoons raged throughout the region. Time to time, he encountered trade ships from the North, South, East, and West sailing through the merciless monsoons. Other times, he found war on the sea with different flags flying through the wind and crimson being spilt on the waters. Echoes of gunshots, fire cannons, and war cries sounded throughout the night with the tumultuous tidal waves consuming everything in its path.

With each passing ship, Namor heard the distant sound of the siren songs calling to the unsuspecting sailors and soldiers. With their heads barely above water, he watched the sirens bewitch their prey, their eyes glassy and unseeing before falling to their death. More than once, he found himself entranced by their voices. But each time his ears registered their harmonies, he turned away.

Their voices were beautiful, but they were not you. They were not his sirena.

Only you were the one to enchant the feathered serpent king.

Tonight was different from that summer night, for it was the start of the dry season. Up above, the moon glowed brightly in the night sky without a single cloud in sight. The luminous glow of the moon reflected on the surface of the water, but its reflection was distorted by the growing ripples and the quiet tide of the sea.

The air cooled his skin as Namor reached the surface, his back turned to the full moon. It was almost as if no time had passed since the last time he was in the cove. Although the tides were lower, Namor could still hear the distant melody of your song echoing throughout the cove. It was as if he were drowning in you all over again.

Sixteen years ago, he first heard your siren song. But it had been fifty-two years since he first met you.

A deep ache ate at his chest that particular night. After distracting his generals and evading their watchful eyes, Namor sought refuge on the sand. For three hundred years, he reigned as the King of Talokan. When the crown became heavy to bear, he would slip away from his advisors and find solace in visiting his mother on the surface. He carried the souls of the departed in his heart and their memories in his mind, but sometimes the water suffocated him. Nearly two centuries have passed since he last laid his mother to rest and cleaned her bones, but her memory was clear as day in his mind. He may have been born in the water, but his mother had walked on land - it was all in his blood.

“The Talokanil look to me as their King, their God. I would do anything for them,” K’uk’ulkan whispered as he gently placed the water lilies on her grave. “Just as you did everything to protect me.”

He loved his people just as they loved him. He did not regret taking the throne at a young age and the responsibility of leading and protecting them, but there was a heaviness growing deep inside his chest. An emptiness that he often ignored, but was constantly consumed by its hand.

He remembered watching her hair turn silver and the fine lines settling on her skin as he remained young. In the eyes of many, he was still a child. Yet, he carried the years inside him as centuries passed, watching the people he loved age before they breathed their last breath.

“Every day I see our people grow old, but I remain young and know one day I will mourn and miss them as much as I miss you, na’*.”

The only memories K’uk’ulkan had of his father were the stories recounted to him by his mother. When he sat on her knee, he remembered the smile on her face as she showed him the bracelet she wore on her wrist. Tracing the pearls with his fingers, he could feel his father’s love radiating from each bead. Despite their circumstances, he admired the love his father had for his mother, the same love that he carried in his veins.

“I may be King, but I stand at the throne with no one to share it with, and sleep with no one to hold at my side,” K’uk’ulkan whispered. “I am lonely, na’. So incredibly lonely.”

He wondered what it would be like to love just as his parents did. To have someone to wake up next to, and to fall asleep with every night. To hold and be held by the arms of someone who loves you.

The King of Talokan did not expect an answer, nor did he expect to see white jasmine flowers drifting towards him on the seashore.

The very same flower that rests in his hands now.

The petals are soft in his hands as he places it on the quiet whispers of water. In the beginning, Namor thought of the flowers as a strange coincidence. He knew that such flowers were native to the lands in the East, but he had seen trade ships sail across oceans and between continents. It was possible that cargo could have fallen through the cracks.

Initially, Namor tried to ignore it and stop himself from jumping to conclusions, but something foreign gripped his heart. A small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there meant for him to love and be loved.

It had all come together when he found your necklace on the rocks.

For sixteen years, your siren song haunted Namor. He had met sirens and other merfolk throughout his lifetime, but there was something different about your song that called to him. Other siren songs were meant to hypnotize their prey before they drowned or were sacrificed to water deities. Their songs meant destruction to anyone who heard their voice, but your song was sweeter, more gentle. Rather than death, your song brought him back to life.

That was something he still did not understand. Why would you save him?

With the jasmine flowers as an offering, the King of Talokan begins to sing.

“X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc.”

As he sings, the tidal waves begin to slow into a lull. The ocean did not dare to drown his melody.

“Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u.”

The water stills on his last note, but the ocean breeze carries his lullaby throughout the cove. His heart beats heavily, his grip tightening on the necklace as he turns. Dark brown eyes flicker to every corner and crevice of the cove and his ears strain to hear any sudden sounds that could indicate your presence.

It is not often that the feathered serpent god sings. Rare and far in between, the only times he ever sang with his heart was with his mother. She taught him the songs she learned when she was a child on the surface, especially this song.

“When I was young, my friends and I would gather and sing this song to keep and bring back a lover.”

“Did it work?”

His mother smiled sweetly at him and playfully poked the tip of his nose. She could not help but laugh when he scrunched his face. “It did. This song was how I met your father. It is the reason you are here.”

He holds his breath as he waits for your arrival in the cove. With each heartbeat echoing in his ears, a heaviness begins to settle in chest. Hope turns to fear, its icy hands crawling at his skin as the waves rise with the tide.

Shadows of the waves dance across the dimly lit walls. Above, the stars whisper to the moon as the celestial beings await your arrival.

Swallowing the growing ache in his heart, Namor turns his back to the moon and starts his way towards the darkness of the cove.

A small splash disturbs the silence.

“Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku.”

The King stops in his tracks.

“Balu ku, atindian ku.”

It is you. His sirena.

“Akit me ing bulan a masala, karin mikit kata.”

Like ivy growing around a stone, your song ensnares him.

“E na ka tumakut, e na ku naman migaganaka.”

Slowly, he turns around. Underneath the silver halo of the bright moon, you rise to the surface.

“Uling balu ku balang bengi mikikit kata king lalam ning bulan a masala.”

Hanging onto each word, Namor walks towards the edge, his senses enveloped by you. Your voice is soft and deep, comforting and captivating as you swim closer to meet him.

“Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan.”

Your dark eyes meet his gaze as you look up at him. His eyes never leave yours as you sing the final note with a small smile gracing your lips. Time seems to still, his heart skipping a beat as you finally meet where the land meets the sea.

You are more beautiful than he could have imagined. White jasmine flowers adorn your dark hair like little stars shining in the night sky. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of your dark green tail, its scales reflecting the glow of the moon beneath the surface of the water.

His sirena, his lool.*

He finally found you.

The feathered serpent god slowly falls to his knees right in front of you, his head bowed in respect.

“Because of you, my people still have a King,” his voice is gentle as he speaks. “You saved my life, and I will forever thank you.”

He still remembers that morning when he returned to his kingdom. For almost a week, Namor had left Talokan in search of the Spanish ships across the Pacific and placed his leadership into his advisors and top generals. This was not the first time he left to protect the borders and identity of Talokan, but it was the first time he did not come back on the day he promised.

Fear flooded his mind when he fell through the sky. He was always strong enough to destroy his enemies, but he was never this defenseless when his unconscious body hit the water. Any remaining survivors could have exploited his lack of defenses, but he was stunned to wake up in a sea cove with his wounds nearly healed.

You reach for him, your gentle hands cradling his face as you silently plead for him to look at you. Almost hesitantly, he follows your command.

“Who are you?”

He has many names, but he wishes for you to call him only by one name.

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan.”

K’uk’ulkan closes his eyes and leans into your touch as your fingers delicately trace his face, your voice enchanting him once more as you repeat his name.

He remembered your palm caressing his cheek and your lips on his skin. As King of Talokan, he often hid this soft side of himself away from his people. But with you, his walls crumbled like tidal waves dissolving castles in the sand.

Pulling himself out of his trance, he opens his eyes and covers your hand with his own, his thumb lightly tracing over your knuckles.

“What is your name?”

Your voice is quiet as you speak, almost as if you are hesitant to reveal yourself.

“Y/N.”

A beautiful name for a beautiful soul.

K’uk’ulkan repeats your name as he grasps your hand and gently raises it to his lips.

For a brief moment, the King catches a flicker of sadness in your eyes, but it vanishes as you conceal it with a small smile.

Little did he know that he is the first person to call you by your real name and touch you with such care in two hundred years.

Not wanting to frighten you, K’uk’ulkan softens his voice as he speaks. “I believe I have something that belongs to you.”

Confusion passes over your face, your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a silent question.

Although he did not know the importance of your necklace, he noticed the rust and scratches that eroded at the delicate metals. The necklace was worn with love, but it was crafted by human hands and not intended to withstand the cruelty of the ocean. With care, he brought the necklace to his jewelers to restore it to its former glory with the addition of two pearls and the revived jasmine pendant in the center.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he presents your necklace to you, your eyes wide as they brim with tears.

“May I?” He asks quietly.

You nod and bow your head.

With soft hands, the feathered serpent god leans forward and places it over your head. Once it settles over you, you cradle the pendant and pearls in your palms in awe.

“I thought that this was gone forever,” you whisper as you look up at him, a stray tear streaming down your cheek. “Thank you for bringing it back to me.”

“Nothing is gone forever, only lost until it is found.” K’uk’ulkan cups your face gently, his warm hand brushing away the tears that had fallen down your cheeks.

His heart warms at the sound of your soft laughter and the sight of your smile. How true his words were. In the fifty-two years he had met you, he thought you were a dream, a possible figment of his imagination that his mind created to cope with the growing emptiness in his bones. But you were real. You were the one watching over him when he found the flowers on the seashore and rescued him from the scorching fires that raged across the sea. He vowed to find you, but he had gotten it wrong.

Each time, you were the one to find him.

Looking into your eyes now, he finds himself drowning in them. Dark, deep, and inviting, a silent storm brewing inside of them. The King of Talokan had seen eyes like yours before– eyes that look young, but have seen years of pain, heartbreak, loss, and grief– yet, there was a vulnerability to them. Despite the centuries you carried in your heart, he knew and understood the violence you endured to be this kind.

You thread your fingers with his, your hands locked in a delicate embrace as you begin to pull yourself away from the rocks and swim closer to the waves.

You call his name tenderly, your voice a soft plea. “K’uk’ulkan.”

With a gentle tug on his hand, the feathered serpent god descends into the water.

Come with me.

There is no song to entice him. It is only you.

Long ago, K’uk’ulkan heard tales of a red string of fate that tied two soulmates together from the Far East. Perhaps it is the red string that pulls him closer to you now as you guide him deeper into the water, your hands entwined together, your lips whispering against his and your tail curling around his legs. With your dark eyes and gentle voice, he has no choice but to follow.

Only the bright full moon bears witness to the reunion of the sirena and her feathered serpent king disappearing into the sea.

Translations

Alang cuenta (Kapampangan) - Useless, no meaning

Aswang (Tagalog) - Monster

Potang paintunan mu ku, lumwal ka, talanga ka (Kapampangan) - When you look for me, go outside, look up

Akit me ing bulan a masala karin mikit kata (Kapampangan) - We will see each other when there is a bright moon.

E na ka matakut, e na ku naman migaganaka (Kapampangan) - Do not be afraid, do not worry.

Uling balu ku balang beni mikikit ka king laman ning bulan a masala (Kapampangan) - I know one night we will meet underneath a bright moon.

Na’ (Yucatec Mayan) - Mother

Metnal (Yucatec Mayan) - The Yucatec Mayan term for the Underworld. Not to be confused with Xibalba, “the Place of Fright.”

The Flower Song (Yucatec Mayan) - 1, 2

The Flower Song is originally ancient Maya lyrical poetry from the Songs of Dzitbalche. According to John Curl, the Flower Song was a “rite” to keep a lover that was traditionally sung by a group of women–typically under the supervision of an older woman– and performed under the moonlight. Later parts of the poem mention offering plumeria flowers to create a love potion.

For the purpose of this fic, K’uk’ulkan learned the song from his mother.

X ciih x ciichpan u tz’ u likil yook kaax; tu bin u hopbal tu chumuc can caan tux cu ch’uuytal u zazicunz yookol cab tu lacal kaax chen cici u tal iik u utz’ben booc - The most alluring moon has risen over the forest; it is going to burn suspended in the center of the sky to lighten all the earth, all the woods, all the lights shining on it all.

Pitah nookeex luuz u kaxil a holex ba teneex hee cohiceex uay yokol cabile x zuhuyex x chupalelex hel u - Take off your clothes, let down your hair, become as you were when you arrived here on Earth.

Maryu ka man kabug ning salu mu, saingsing mu panamdaman ku (Kapampangan) - Your chest/heart will feel heavy when we are apart

Parati mu sa’ng tandanan, muran man atiu ya ing bulan (Kapampangan) - Do not forget that the moon will be there when it rains.

For the complete lyrics and song, please refer to the YouTube link here.

#namor x reader #namor x fem!reader #k'uk'ulkan x reader #namor x filipino!reader #namor x filipina!reader #namor x woc!reader #namor x asian!reader #namor imagine #namor x you #the amount of research i poured into this to make sure i did it right- if there are any errors please let me know #please be gentle with your feedback too #I'm sorry for using emojis but i do not know HOW to make a nice banner like some y'all between paragraphs

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fluffypotatey · 9 months

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*smashes in like the Kool-Aid man*

PENDRAGON SIBLINGS YOU SAY????

I have. So many Feels. About Themst™

The complexity?? The layers?? The angst?? Hello??????

Their relationship is just So Much, because you are right, it's all tangled up in miscommunication and missed opportunities, and so many problems that can be sourced back to Uther "War Crimes" Pendragon, who wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it bit him on the ass.

If Merlin and Arthur are two sides of the same coin, then Arthur and Morgana are edges of the same blade.

Because it's the lonely childhoods, the shared grief, the friendship, the vulnerability, the fondness, the teasing, the envy, the jealousy, the almost romance, the protectiveness, the betrayal, the loss, the hurt, the refusal to let go and the desperate hanging on, and the love, the love, the love.

Indifference is the true opposite of love.

Hate is love that's gone rotten.

“If Merlin and Arthur are two sides of the same coin, then Arthur and Morgana are edges of the same blade.” oh fuck….

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FUCK

WAIT HOLD ON WAIT LEMME PIGGYBACK ON THAT BESTIE @0hheytherebigbadwolf (tagging you bc it will be a couple days after you sent this ask)

(Also, for anyone wanting background context on what me and bestie are bouncing off on: voilà)

OK OK SO

we are all familiar with King Uther being the greatest (worst) dad of all time, correct? places such high expectations on his “only son and heir” whilst never officially acknowledging Morgana as his daughter until the very end?

F+ father of the year :)

he is not above sending his children into the dungeon if they disobey him as seen here:

(Jfc he even put Morgana in chains like wtf)

also, he is not above using emotional guilt towards them when he deems it necessary (aka one of the only times he actually acknowledges them as his children)

UTHER (1x02 Valiant) I trust you will make me proud.

UTHER (1x08 The Beginning of the End) I’ve treated you like a daughter. Is this how you repay me?

UTHER (1x12 To Kill the King) You are the daughter I never had.

UTHER (2x08 Sins of the Father) You would believe a sorcerer’s lies over the word of your father?

not to mention that when Arthur or Morgana try to reason with him or argue with him since they are the only ones with the status to do so, he pulls rank

UTHER (1x12 To Kill the King) May I remind you that you are speaking to your King [...] Take care, child, or I’ll have you restrained.

UTHER (2x08 Sins of the Father) I am your king and your father. You will show me some respect!

UTHER (2x06 Beauty and the Beast) We live in dangerous times, I cannot allow you to undermine my authority.

UTHER (3x10 Queen of Hearts) You have caused this to happen, Arthur. My decision is final.

ngl i could include more but i have already spent hours searching for shit (YOUTUBE WILL DIE BY MY HAND THAT STINGY BITC—) but y’all get what i mean: Uther is an abusive fucker and it has messed up the conditions of Arthur and Morgana

now, about the double edged blade…..

as previously established, Uther is a fucking dick and wants his children to obey him but also adore him. with this behavior, the Pendragon siblings react in two ways: with anger & contempt or submission and remorse

way #1

i’m gonna start with Morgana because anger is the easiest to pick out throughout the show. in the first episode of the first season, our introduction to Morgana’s character is her lecturing Uther about executing the man Merlin witnessed upon entering Camelot (such a warm welcome for Emrys, mh?)

MORGANA I just don't think chopping someone's head off is cause for a celebration. That poor mother. UTHER It was simple justice for what he'd done. MORGANA To whom? He practiced some magic, he didn't hurt anyone. UTHER You were not around twenty years ago, you have no idea what it was like. MORGANA How long are you going to keep punishing people for what happened then?

early on, it is easy to pick up on Morgana’s resentment and anger at Uther, who she believes is blinded by his fear of magic and his need for control (which she isn’t wrong about). also, we find that she isn’t one to back off when poking the bear (Uther). she does it constantly in seasons 1 & 2

MORGANA (1x03 Mark of Nimueh) Why would she kneel on a cold stone floor morning after morning when she could make these things happen with a snap of her fingers? Like an idle king!

MORGANA (1x08 The Beginning of the End) How can this child be your enemy? He's just a boy. UTHER He is a Druid. MORGANA Is that such a crime?…What have these people done to you? Why are you so full of hate?

UTHER (2x04 Lancelot and Guinevere) How many men would you have me sacrifice to save a servant? MORGANA As many as it takes!

to be honest, i wouldn’t be surprised if screaming, arguing and berating Uther about his morals and ethics is her way of proving that she is not weak or submissive to his actions. i mean, Morgana grew up in a household the complete opposite from her time in Camelot. Gorlois, the man whom Morgana considers to be her father and one and only family member, was said to be “just” and “kind” and someone that Uther even considered a good friend who openly kept him in check. Morgana, until the age of ten, understood parental love and empathy unlike Arthur, who spent his whole life without any good or healthy substance of it.

the culture of Camelot and Uther’s wrath is not something Morgana was ever able to fully acclimate to as Uther himself pointed out in 1x12. She “was at odds with [him] since the beginning” and could never picture herself as a Pendragon (point further proven in 4x05: she looked revolted when Queen Annis compared her to Uther) because she didn’t share in their idea of magic = evil and a king = absolute control.

ironic in terms of future plot events, isn’t it :’)

way #2

compare that to Arthur: man’s respressed af. keeps all his emotions under lock and key if they are anything but haughty and serious. y’all, Arthur even says it himself how he “[can't] disagree with Father [Uther] in public.” whenever Arthur finds himself at odds with Uther, he holds his tongue and waits until he can disobey secretly (2x05 when he leaves to rescue Gwen, 1x08 when he helps Morgana sneak out Mordred in the dark of the night, 2x08 when he sneaks out to meet Morgause for more info about his mom, etc). it is only the rare moments when Arthur feels impassioned enough to speak up without fearing any retribution does Arthur talk back at him (so satisfying 👌)

ARTHUR (1x03 Mark of Nimueh) [Morgana’s] right, Father. You hear the word magic, you no longer listen.

ARTHUR (2x08 Sins of the Father) This is what fuels your hatred for those who practice magic. Rather than blame yourself for what you did, you blame them….You hunted her kind like animals! How many hundreds have you condemned to death to ease your guilt?!….You speak of honour and nobility! You're nothing but a hypocrite and a liar!

ARTHUR (3x10 Queen of Hearts) You can't forbid my feelings any more than I can. I won't deny them any longer, I love her. I love Guinevere.

we can even compare how the two react to Uther’s violence towards them

(ahahahahahaaaaa what a wonderful dad)

on the left, you see Arthur’s face right when Uther crushes the morteus flower needed to heal Merlin (his manservant/friend/????) and on the right, is Morgana after Uther discovers she was harboring a Druid child in her chambers and she refuses to listen to his reason.

notice how both faces are remarkably similar 👀

however, Arthur’s look of shock and dismay come from his hope that Uther would do the right thing. that he would help save Merlin’s life from dying of poison. that he wouldn’t use this as a method to teach Arthur “what it means to disobey and cross the king.” he truly did hope, just like he always does with the people he holds close. Arthur cannot help but hope and trust that those close to him will not betray him and yet so many do. hence the remorse

looking at Morgana, her shock comes from the fact that this might be the first time Uther reacted to her words and actions in a physical manner. my suspicion is that most of the time, all Morgana previously got was Uther reprimanding her and yelling at her to stop questioning his methods (bc, let’s be real, she was the favorite child.) never has he lifted a finder on her like Arthur and i have proof (cue transcript!)

AND! and, Arthur is constantly warning Morgana about not angering Uther any further because of the consequences she might face (consequences this boy is very familiar with) when Uther deems it necessary to “teach” his children obedience.

UTHER (1x04 The Poisoned Chalice) You have to learn there's a right and a wrong way of doing things. I'll see you're let out in a week. Then you can find yourself another servant.

UTHER (3x10 Queen of Hearts) You have caused this to happen, Arthur. My decision is final [...] This is for your own good. - UTHER She will die. The enchantment will be broken. You'll see I was right.

UTHER (2x08 Sins of the Father) I am protecting you from your own foolishness!

so educational 🥰 but see, because Uther presents his punishments as lessons, Arthur himself views them as just a fucked up but meaningful way of his father’s concern because “yeah, I am the first born son and only heir to the throne. of course I need to learn not to do silly things like disobey, talk back to him, be my own person.” <- I’m paraphrasing here

Arthur does and has never seen a way out of the life thrust upon him by Uther (see 3x06). succeeding Uther as king, marrying a noblewoman of high standing for heirs and alliance strength was always expected of him. Arthur never saw a way out of this. even when he and Gwen were in their secret relationship phase, Arthur had to remind himself that this would never last. he loved her and knew she loved him, but there was always that reminder (that sounded a lot like Uther) in the back of his head telling him that it would never last so long as he was prince. he had a duty (constructed by Uther) to serve Camelot and going against his father would mean (in his eyes) that he is going against Camelot (as Uther always presented it to be).

so unlike Morgana, he did not kick and scream but stood firm because that was what he believed was stronger. if he stayed in his lane and did his part, then he would be a good king, maybe even a better one than his father, for Camelot. however, the show proves that differentiating himself from Uther actually made him the better king and more respected, but this is not the meta for that. I am getting side tracked.

OK: so we’ve established parental issues between the two siblings. now onto their very complex, complicated yet beloved dynamic

sO, as i mentioned in this post (because i am lazy and too tired to copy/paste the evidence from there), these siblings do care for one another. they just go about it in the most hilarious and repressed and in-denial way (hilarious to me 😤)

when we meet them, it’s established that these two have known each other for some time. enough for them to bicker and have banter, you know, as you do with a Pendragon. also, should add, neither character are ever aware they are blood-related until s3 (because of some weak-ass bitch named Uther), so you have that very, uh, interesting subplot in s1 that everybody forgets about until you rewatch it. (honestly, I have so many questions. number 1: why???? number 2: it’s only in s1—was it scrapped??? is it like it never existed???? what was its purpose to the plot??? bbc explain yourself—)

however, despite how much it is shown that they do care for one another, they’re relationship in s1 is still undefined and vague as if they also don’t know how to accurately define what the other means to them. it’s very similar to the whole “i really love this person so much but is what i’m feeling platonic, familial, or romantic?” because….you know, guy and girl besties who are close are typically expected to grow romantic feelings for each other, so tbh i would not be surprised if both mistook their love as romantically inclined in the beginning bc, reminder, neither of them were aware they were siblings until much later.

[and this is ALL i am saying on this subplot. i do not want to cause any negative discourse, so if anyone has a few choice words about it, either keep it to yourself or feel free to talk about it with people you know. personally? not a fan of the ship and never will be, but i am not here to post about that.]

anyway, have some featured receipts showing Arthur and Morgana slipping up and showing how much they care for each other.

SEE!!!! LOOK AT HOW THE CARE!!!! SEE HOW THEY WORRY FOR THE OTHER AND WISH TO PROTECT THEM FROM HARM!!! (and see how even when they’re on opposite sides there is still that same love. just more warped and corrupted T^T)

^worried/protective Morgana

^Arthur’s face after Merlin informs him that there’s an intruder heading to Morgana’s chambers

Morgana is very aware of Arthur’s trusting nature. Arthur is very aware of Morgana’s empathy and righteous nature. they understand each other so well which is why Morgana knew just how to harm Arthur in later seasons and why Morgana’s betrayal hit Arthur so hard. it’s also why he never stopped trying to reach out to her in s4 & s5. as @merlinemrys said in this lovely post, the show’s driving force is love. love of all kinds. whatever conflict it is, love is there at the center of it all and, in Arthur and Morgana’s case, it does not save them (just like how love does not save Merlin or Arthur from what lies ahead, as the op of the post pointed out).

that is what makes their relationship/love be like a double edged sword!! that is why they are edges of the same blade!!! they protect and fight for what they believe in and for the people they love, but the same blades cut deep and twist their wounds into a lasting scar.

it is because of Arthur’s love for Morgana that he cannot help but hope and mourn the woman he once knew. it is because of Morgana’s love for Arthur that her feelings of hatred are so strong and ugly.

like honestly,

look at them T^T compared to before

their relationship is so tragic T^T because we knew them before it all went wrong. we knew they cared and understood each other. we knew that for some time, they only had each other to rely on for a friend, a crutch, a breather for when the royal life was too much. both of them were fighters and strive to honor their values. both of them had once leaned on the other for support, had wanted nothing but happiness for each other.

fuck, they didn’t even get the chance to really be siblings because they found out too late, and by then Morgana was on a war path and Arthur only found out at the last minute.

like fuck, man

two sides of the same blade: forged with love, yet used for blood

screencaps brought to you by me, @sourdough-morbread, and farfarawaysite

#i will spare you the gorey details of me trying to fine decent screencaps & screenshots for this fucking post or else i’ll get pissed again #(i am considering whether it is worth it to go to war with youtube)#special thanks to my bestie mor for being there for me at the gorey times and helping me find more screenshots #fucking love you bestie 💕💕💕💕#also only including s1-2 bc i am tired and they are the ones where we get pendragon siblings not trying to kill each other #forgive me for always bringing up uther and the pendragon sibs’ upbringing with him it will happen again #also after hours of rereading transcripts and rewatching clips of bbc merlin: it is so obvious that uther cared and treated Morgana like hi #own child more than Arthur. like jfc he let’s her get away with so much stuff he is way for gentle with his words towards her #when he realizes that he was too cruel or rude like bro…..where tf was that for arthur #it just adds to the complicated sibling dynamic because there is the added jealousy and resentment of knowing a parent loved another more #literally most of Morgana’s time with Uther was her at odds with him and yet he views her as his child more #well no ducking dur that Arthur ‘i-would-do-anything-to-receive-my-father’s-love-attention-and-pride’ Pendragon resents Morgana for #always being the one Uther goes easier on and finds ways to turn a blind eye for like wtf #also during my research i was reminded of how done dirty Gwen’s story was by bbc #loses her father to a king fearful of magic barely gets to mourn him bc she now has to keep up the smithy and her maid job; reunites #with her brother who’s been AWOL for some years and still they don’t get a moment to talk about their dad and mourn TOGETHER #her storyline is pushed aside by s4 bc now she’s fulfilling the role of Arthur’s love interest and oh yeah they still need to incorporate #the lanceot/guinevere scandal and then banish her for some episodes without even letting her brother be mad about it like ?????#anyway #continued saga of fluffy rereading transcripts -> uther: ‘it’s been a long time since Ygraine…since anyone’ me: ducking liar >:(#[sir leon begins the slow clap] king you dropped this 👑IT IS 1AM HELP 😂#place your bets on where my laziness for evidence came in! (I honestly don’t know lol scavenging evidence is all a blur)#spent 2 days on this post lol #me: ok i think that’s enough evidence for this argument…………ok maybe ONE more won’t hur—#me after day 2: ….am i done???? am i free????#pendragon siblings coming behind me with a steel chair: nah mate!#me: FUCK THERE’S MORE #bbc merlin #merlin meta #pendragon sibs

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