Chapter two comeith. I wrote this thing basically up 'till chapter three in a few sittings before deciding to give Fanfiction a try. So... well, yes, I suppose this is chapter two. Can you tell that I am new to this? Oh, I am terribly new to this...

Disclaimer again: Still own nothing of Pirates of the Caribbean, nor Celtic Woman amazingness.

"It is impossible for the pub to be that empty," a red-haired man stammered uneasily as he rounded a corner to a large wooden building. A swinging sign in the salty breeze read The Emerald Mug; never a truly good name for a pub, the whole town agreed. But it did the job: supplied the drinks and kept the fire going all night. It was a favorite amongst the citizens of the little harbour and not an evening went by that it was silent.

Until now where no laughter echoed through the open windows.

"Oh it can't be empty, Finley," a young woman walking close to the man grinned. "It's never empty."

"Would you listen? There's nothing!"
"Quit your worrying, little brother, you're just nervous."

Finley shifted a violin case uncomfortably in his pale hands. He glanced around the dark, cobbled street with cobalt blue eyes ringed with nerve. "I am not," he murmured. "It... it just looks empty, and it is our first gig, and if no one is here to listen, we might as well--"
"Fin, for God's sake, quit acting like a woman!" His older sister growled up at him. "You'll do fine, we've done this duet for years on end, what's different about tonight?"
"That we're doing it in front of an empty pub."
The young woman snorted. "You're impossible," she sighed as she pushed the weather-eaten door open. "Now get in, ya git."

He scowled at her before stumbling into the dimly lit pub.

Before she followed, the sister glanced around the streets. It was unsually quiet... and yet she felt like the night was alive.

Hector pushed his back against the rock of a small building, waiting for the two people to pass. He motioned for the others behind him to stay quiet until they were gone. His eyes followed the bickering pair as they entered The Emerald Mug. "Queer name," he muttered under his breath before shaking his head.

"Well?" Pintel breathed out, his hand at his knife.

"Did we find it yet?" Ragetti wondered aloud.

"Shut up!" Hector hissed. The two were silent, along with the five others behind them. "And put out that lantern, we're not blind!" A man with yellowed dreadlocks spit out the candle within a glass case and once more, there was silence.

Hector stroked his beard thoughtfully again. His mind went to the orders his captain had given him. Far too vague and not enough closure... but what had to be done would be done.

"Find it. Bring it back to me. And don't read it."

Paranoid little bugger, the pirate thought.

"Finley! Maev! Good to see the two of yeh!" A robust, red-faced bartender stepped out from behind the counter and took the man and woman into his arms.
"Tom, thank you for letting us come tonight," Finley sighed as Maev shot him a daggered look. "We're... very grateful that you're letting us play tonight.

"Anytime! My apologies, it is a little quiet tonight. Odd, really... but here, come in, come in! You can set up in that corner and I'll get ye something to drink. Whatcha take?"
"Two mugs!" Maev smiled as she shoved a very green-looking Finley towards the tiny little platform. "Fin, stop being such a baby and move you feet!" She hissed into his ear.

"Piss off," Finley growled. "I haven't played the fiddle in front of anyone except the family and now--"
"You're going to be FINE, little brother!"
"And stop calling me 'little brother', I'm almost a foot taller than you!"
He cried out at a sudden sharp pain as Maev stamped her heel on his foot. "Just... get... up... there."
"FINE!"

"Ah, good evening sirs, how may I--" Tom stopped speaking as he stared at the company of men that had just entered.

The leader stood tall and almost elegantly. He clasped his hands behind his back, the folds and dust creasing over his long navy jacket. A pair of black boots made a satisfying thump across the wooden floor as he steppd over to the bartender. His light, tangled brown hair was covered by a billowing blue hair. He shook his grizzled beard and pierced the tender with a sharp amber stare.

"Table for eight, please. And bring us your best."
"Right away, s-sir," Tom stammered, retreating.

The man and his group sauntered past the stunned Irishman. Tom instantly glided to the counter and pulled out several bottles of his best whisky. With rapid feet, he swam through the tables, placing one at each. When he reached the amer-eyed man, he hel his breath. Hector grinned at him snidely. "Thank you, good sir," he spoke with ice.

"You're welcome," Tom whispered, stumbling back.He retreated back behind the counter and slid down against the wall.

"Aiden," his voice came out in a horrified whisper as he rubbed his wrist mechanically.

"Now," Hector said to an older man at the next table, "what seems to be going on tonight?"

The man stared ahead, taking a swig of his mug. "Live entertainment."
"Hm," Hector raised his eyebrows leaning back into his chair.

He glanced around the little room. A few empty tables were scattered about the dusty wooden floor. Aside from the old man, there were only a few other lads positioned at three tables, clustered in low talk about fishing. The lanterns were hung in corners and several candles had been lit on an ancient chandelier.

There seemed to be an underlayer of solitude in this pub; it felt like it should be filled with warmth and laughter.

Just as Pintel and Ragetti had begun to fight over the last swallow in the bottle, the strike of a high violin erupted from the front.

Hector whirled around in his seat and paused.

A tall, lanky red-haired man (who seemed rather pale at the moment) shakily began to play his fiddle. The notes wound in and out of the instrument, echoing and airy, yet skipping and bright. A bead of sweat trickled down the tip of his large, pointed nose as he tried not to stare into the crowd with his horrified blue eyes.

Poor kid, Hector smiled to himself.

Siuil... Siuil... Siuil a run...

Hector was startled again by the sudden voice. He moved his eyes from the violinist to the smaller figure stepping towards the platform.

Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin...

"What language is--"
"Shaddup!"

Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom...

The violinst's shoulders slowly relaxed and he began to play clearer and more powerfully.

Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan...

Hector leaned forward in his chair and began to stroke his beard as Maev stepped up in front of the small crowd.

I wish I was on yonder hill
'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,
And every tear would turn a mill
I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel
I'll sell my only spinning wheel

To buy my love a sword of steel...

The pirate was taken aback, this he would not deny. For years, the only singing he had heard was that of the barmaids in Tortuga, the crewmen during work, or Captain Sparrow when he was particularily drunk. But now he sat there and listened to the woman sing with perhaps the purest voice he had ever known.

Siuil, Siuil. Siuil a run

Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin

Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom

Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan

Her Gaelic was perfectly spoken and clean, as all Irish dwellers speak. He found his amber eyes fixed on her as she sung. A mass of thick black hair tumbled down past her back, rippling with soft curls. She barely passed her brother's shoulder and Hector had to lean forward so that she didn't disappear behind the man sitting in front of him. The candlelight of the room danced across her fair skin nicely, spotting the sprinkling freckles along her heart-shaped face.

I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red
And 'round the world I'll beg my bread

Until my parents shall wish me dead...

The violin began to pick up again and Finley began to move around a little more, feeling the old steps his mother had taught them kicking in. A smile crossed his face as he watched Maev move with him. She sent him a little smirk and continued to sing the Gaelic chorus.

Siuil, Siuil. Siuil a run

Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin

Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom

By now, the two were spiraling around the little platform. Maev had pulled up her skirts and petticoat, allowing her feet to dance about, following Finley's own step. The brother and sister felt little fear now as the roots of their old family began to burn brightly in their performance.

Siuil, Siuil. Siuil a run

Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin

Siuil go doras agus ealaigh liom

Maev spun around, her skirts swirling about her dainty feet. She came to a halt and Finley suddenly stopped playing. She parted her lips for the final verse...

...and then she caught sight of the pirate with amber-brown eyes.

Hector bore into her wide eyes, painted with the gray mists that had swirled across the waters of the harbour.

Maev had never seen such hard, cold eyes before... nor had she ever been so entranced by such a stare...

Finley held his breath, the nerve returning to his eyes as he glanced at his sister. Why isn't she singing!

...Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan...

She finished softly and lowered her head to the rippling applause through the pub.

A/N: It's 12:45 am, why am I still here? Ah, 'tis right, I'm starting to try to get the hang of this little ditty. Heh.