A/N : In a far-flung place in time, a much younger captain grapples with a recurring destiny. As you read, it's important to note that each chapter in this tale maintains its own continuinity. This particular chapter represents a fresh page in the life of our young hero and should not be read in connection with the preceding chapters. Goes without saying of course, that all chapters will eventually interweave into one complete cohesive story.

A different time...

It had been relentless.

Thick sheets of viscous water poured from the skies. Like a wraith from hell, she danced her way on the churning waters, bowing and dipping and curving gracefully to meet the rising swell. Now and then, a stray streak of lightning lit up her dark silhouette. Against the backdrop of white capped waves that rose enraged, like behemoths from a tortured dream, she twirled and spun like a carefree belle, claiming this night as her own. Fluttering her sails at the gusting winds, she tenderly unfurled them as if in a lover's embrace, while her bow sliced across the waters like a silent shadow.

On this night, her suitor was Death and the raging tempest her beloved.

The night and the elements were her own and in perfect rhythm, she undulated to the drumming rain, setting a quick cadence in tune with thunder's serenade. With mincing gait, she leaped and surged on the liquid Inferno, ablaze with sound and light, dancing the Reel of Death.

On this night, she was young, as young, and merry and free as the bold hand guiding her helm. Tonight, her Captain courted her, and she danced for him. This night, she was his and he would be hers and they would flirt with the winds, kiss the skies, and embrace the waters.

This one night, she would be his Irony.

"Trim the mainsail! Aye! Lash that jib!

The Bosun struggled to secure the wet twisted coils of the mainmast. "Brace! Brace! "Hard to starboard! Full rudder! Steady her!"

Water slapped and pounded against the sides of the massive vessel sending frothing foam cascading over the deck. Streaks of brine etched long slimy stains along the weathered wood and the air was thick with curses. The boom strained and buckled under the howling wind as desperate hands grappled at soaked lines, slick with sweat and caked salt.

"Keep her afloat!". The cry echoed fiercely along the steady haggard lines that manned the port and starboard side. "Brace for the next wave"!

The ship teetered steeply to the right, its bow angling vertically, edging precariously close to the churning abyss below. With a splintering noise, the low hanging boom suddenly swung high above the deck. The deck shuddered violently as the heavy wooden spar crashed into the side of the gray-haired deck hand manning the pumps and lifting him off his feet, dragged him towards the towering waves. Before the deluge could drag him overboard, a strong arm reached out and jerked the unconscious man onto the center of the deck.

"Finn is down, man the pumps!", shouted a voice that rose above the din of the raging gale. "Crow, secure that boom! Haul aft, now!"

Aye Cap'n! Haul aft! To the left, men! Jones, heave to it!

"Keep her afloat!"

"Aye Cap'n! Keep her afloat"!

"Keep her afloat!". The cry echoed fiercely along the steady haggard lines that manned the port and starboard side.

"Brace for the next wave"! the chant caught like a hymn in the cragged throats of the harried crew.

Timber creaked as the ship surged forward and thick fumes of smoke belched and poured from the smokestack funnels. With faces etched with lines of fatigue and red dimmed eyes, the crew looked up at the merciless skies.

"Sound the pumps"! Full speed ahead!"

Amidst the shrill sound of screamed orders and scurrying feet, the clang of steel rang out like cannons and the bilge pumps spewed chunks of seaweed and storm water into the roiling depths below.

With a burst of speed, the cargo ship raced forwards on its white turf, slicing through the crests, its sails flapping in laughter at the cacophony of sound and light that cascaded from the heavens.

Occasional flares of light streaked through the gray skies.

Loud guffaws and vulgar curses mingled freely with thick streams of tobacco smoke as the crew and Quartermaster O'Malley settled down to their evening meal of salted fish and hard tack. "The men are a hardy bunch", O'Malley thought wryly as he surveyed the wearied faces gathered around the roughhewn tables. "Rugged as barnacles on a hull. But even their old sea dog hearts skipped more 'n a beat when that storm hit".

He pulled at the thick crust of bread, broke off a chunk and then looked at it woefully. They were running low on flour and rum and brandy. They would need to dock soon if the crew was to get a decent meal.

The door to the galley swung open and the men swore as a sudden gust of cold air invaded the room along with a thickset man. The galley filled with the smell of beeswax and tallow as candles flickered and died out and the cook barked orders to light the lanterns that hung in iron brackets along the walls. The Quartermaster looked up to see Brynn, the ship's First Mate, walking toward him, and all traces of irritation faded from his face. "At last," he muttered darkly. The crew were a patient lot, but the storm had stirred their blood and they were getting restless.

"Heading south again." replied Brynn meeting O'Malley's inquisitive stare. "Stayin' the course for Galway but standing off from Port. Alert the lads ..and O'Malley", Brynn leaned in closer to the old man, his voice dropping, "When you get there, you know how it is . No lanterns, no noise. The Stow in the hold…you know what to do with it. And aye, twill be the same skiff as last time".

O'Malley's eyes gleamed with understanding. "Aran Islands then?". The old man shook his head doubtfully and his gnarled fingers buried themselves in his beard. "Treacherous waters, they are", he squinted up at the First Mate. "Inés Mor, this time?

Brynn nodded once. "The captain, he trusts you. You have eyes like a hawk, old man. You know those reefs well. Keep her clear from the kelp beds and ..." Brynn gave O'Malley a knowing look. "The starboard lanterns stay dark".

"Sailing on the edge of the law as always! The old man let out a hearty guffaw. "The captain's a brave man, aye, no denyin' it! Salt in his veins and courage in his bones! I'd not be doin' this for none other than him." Heaving himself to his feet, he waggled his forefinger playfully at Brynn, "You make sure to tell him that, do you hear? I got me the best lads on the job. Tell the Cap'n to rest easy." He turned as if to leave. "The delivery will be as smooth as a whisper on the wind". Suddenly, O'Malley paused and turned back to look at Brynn, a thoughtful look on his face. "Ye didn't answer me though, lad. The cap'n? He isn't on this one. You know Aran's a big haul and" he hesitated and then continued gruffly "And then there's Inés Mor. You know what happened last time".

The First Mate looked down at his plate and shifted a little in his seat. He could feel the heat of O'Malley's keen blue eyes bearing down on him. "Ye ain't the only one searching for answers, old man", he thought to himself perversely "but with our captain, I'll be damned if you or I find any". With deliberate and slow movements, the Quartermaster tore off a huge chunk of bread and stuffing into his mouth, began to chew leisurely. O'Malley glared at him and then snorted with exasperation. "Aye! So that be the way of it, eh"?

Brynn sighed and throwing down the bread, said dejectedly. "You know the captain. He's got his reasons; they are as well guarded as Davy Jones's locker. But don't you worry old timer; he's got a plan, aye."

Forcing himself to look up at the glowering figure in front of him, Brynn smiled wanly and winked at the old man. "Now, that's enough o'yer chatter! Less jawin'and more sailin' ye ancient seahorse. I am counting on ye and so's the captain. Give them legs a rest, mate. The hour be near!"

"Aye, that it be!" O'Malley replied grimly, turning and striding briskly toward the galley door. "Tell the cap'n I'll have that gold by the morrow, God willin'!" he threw over his shoulder at Brynn as he slammed the door of the galley behind him.

Once more, Brynn seated himself at the lone table and looked glumly at his loaded plate. Suddenly the food tasted like cardboard and he felt slightly nauseous. He and the captain went back a long ways and there was never a finer captain to sail with, he thought with a glint of pride in his sea-weary eyes. But this passage to Aran Islands. He rubbed his forehead wearily.

"Aran Islands with its steep cliffs and hidden reefs!", he grumbled under his breath. He took a long swig of brandy from the tankard in front of him. Many a foolish sailor rested at the bottom of its treacherous waters. And Ines Mor… Brynn shuddered. O'Malley was the best when it came to navigating the reefs, no doubt but time had caught up with him. Brynn sighed tiredly. What could it be, he wondered. There had never been a time when the captain had not sailed with his men for a cargo drop. And with Ines Mor on the horizon! With a sudden chill in his heart, he wondered again, what it was this time, that held the captain prisoner aboard his own ship?

The dim light from the lantern glinted off the stones setting sparks flying across the dark wooden walls of the cabin. The craftmanship was exquisite; he could see that, even without having to look at it closely. The base of each earbob was made of delicate beaten gold and swirled upwards in a floral motif to encase a brilliant cluster of rose-cut diamonds. The gemstones themselves, cascaded down in a chandelier-like fashion with multiple dazzling tiers. The tall man bending over them, on the oaken desk knew that if these had ever flashed in a ballroom, the mesmerizing play of light and shadow would have been breathtakingly beautiful. Yet, not more beautiful than the creature that wore them, he mused pensively.

The earbobs lay on a square of moss green velvet spread across the desk. As he reached for one, the rainbow hues reflected in a flash of color on his large brown hand. Slowly and deliberately, his fingers closed around the fragile trinket until he felt the cold stones pressing into the callused skin of his palm. Unbidden, memories of another day and another time rushed in- the day when he had first laid eyes on them. He closed his eyes and saw her face again. Aran Islands!

It had been the storm that had led him to her.

He opened his eyes, and they blazed as fiercely as the fire spitting forth from the stones in his hand. His fingers curled into a hard fist until he could feel the diamonds cutting into his hand.

It had been two years since that stormy day when they had last set sail for Aran Islands.

But it had not been the same back then. Back then, he had nothing to his name, except his wits and a pair of double-barreled guns and a deck of weathered playing cards tucked into his back pockets. By the time, he'd gathered enough money to spare his own ship for the gun-running and the trafficking, his reputation had preceded him. The vicious cut-throats and felons; savage men who would not hesitate to dig a dagger in his back for the price of a dime, had quickly learned to give him a wide berth. In as short as six months, he had his own fleet and between the gun-smuggling and gambling, he had cleared up a small fortune. After that, there had been no turning back.

Aran Islands had been just another hustle, a routine run, until the storm hit. The cargo holds with its hidden cache of rifles and guns had stood waiting as his men rolled the ship off the south side of Galway. They had been less than a hundred leagues from port when he had first caught sight of the gray fleeting clouds.

For two harrowing days, they fought the surging waters, barely staying afloat. The ship had lost course and he had been at the helm charting a path northwest. Brynn worked alone to his right, struggling to securing the mainmast and he had meant to give him a hand after he had set the ship's course. He remembered looking up briefly to scan the heaving waters for the tell-tale red tipped reefs that would signal the islands were nearby. It was at that moment that he'd spotted her. Even as he watched, his mind numb with shock, she had floated gently past him on a cresting wave, her pale lifeless form tossing about like discarded seaweed. It surprised him, even now, that he hadn't spared a thought before diving into the cold rushing waters like a fool. She had been barely alive and by the time he had dragged her out and onto the deck of his ship, he had decided that she would not survive the night.

"Captain?" A sharp knock sounded on the cabin door. "May I come in"?

Startled from his reverie, he looked up at the closed door. Brynn had his orders and despite it, if the man stood outside his door, there must be questions. How long had it been since he had been down here? He glanced up at the roof of the cabin. He could hear splashing and loud cries from the crew as they bailed water over the sides of the ship. His dark eyes clouded for a moment, and he lowered his gaze back to the desk. The lone diamond earring gleamed dully back at him. As he watched, fascinated, it abruptly began to move. Swaying in harmony with the ship's motion, it rolled gently once to the left and then to the right of the green velvet and then spinning and circling madly in a hypnotic dance, edged closer and closer to the rim of the desk. Instinctively, he stretched out his hand and the earbob rolled neatly into his palm and lay glinting beside its twin. Dazed, he stood looking down at the pair of glittering ear bobs, his hand clenched into a tight fist.

But he had been wrong, he thought wearily as he watched Brynn make his way across the room towards him.

She had survived. And so had the earbobs.