Echoes of the Enchanted Sea

4

The next day, the ship was anchored off a wee island, and Niamh, feelin' the weight o' her worries draggin' her down, reckoned she'd take a break from her crew. With all the chaos and pressure o' command, she needed a few hours to herself. Grabbing a flask o' rum, she left Liam in charge an' set off to explore the island. The men could handle things fer a while, or so she hoped.

The island was quiet, untouched by human hands as far as she could tell. Tall grasses swayed in the sea breeze, and the sound o' waves crashin' against the rocks was strangely soothin'. She wandered aimlessly, the rum easin' her mind, but thoughts of the fae's riddles, Morrigan's curse, and that silver-gray seal from the day before lingered.

Before long, she found herself back by the shore, where the seals were baskin'. That same silver-gray one caught her eye again, loungin' lazily on a rock, its dark, glossy eyes watchin' her like it knew more than it let on. Niamh settled down nearby, fingers wrapped around the flask, sippin' at the rum as she eyed the creature.

"Why don't ye say somethin', eh?" she muttered, her words slurrin' a bit. "I know ye're more than just a seal. Ye've a secret, haven't ye?"

The seal said nothin', just stared with those deep, unblinkin' eyes.

Niamh snorted, takin' another swig o' rum. "I've faced gods, cursed by one, no less. Ye think ye can just sit there and ignore me? Ha!"

Suddenly, a shadow passed over her. Lookin' up, she spotted Morrigan's raven circlin' above, its harsh caw echoing through the air. Niamh glared up at it, her patience runnin' thin. "Ah, feck off, ye blasted bird!" she shouted, wavin' her fist. "Ain't ye got some other poor soul to pester? Or are ye here to spy on me for yer mistress? Tell her I don't give a damn about her curse!"

The raven cawed once more, mockin' her, before flyin' off into the trees. Left alone again, Niamh let out a sigh, sinking back into the sand as the rum warmed her belly.

Night came, the sky turnin' shades o' purple and blue, and Niamh was still sittin' by the shore, her flask near empty. She stared at the seal, mutterin' to herself.

"Ye know, a bit o' conversation wouldn't hurt, aye? I know what ye are... even if ye won't admit it." She chuckled bitterly. "Maybe it's just the rum. Maybe I'm mad."

The seal tilted its head but stayed quiet.

"Fine, keep yer silence," Niamh grumbled, rollin' her eyes. "Just like everyone else when I needed 'em. But ye're not just a seal, are ye?"

And then, as if answerin' her, the seal moved, slippin' into the water. When it resurfaced, it wasn't a seal anymore. Standin' waist-deep in the waves was a man, his dark hair slicked back from the sea, his eyes shimmerin' under the moonlight.

"Ye've not had too much rum, lass," he said, his voice rich and smooth as the ocean. "I've been listenin' all this time."

Niamh stared, her head spinnin', not just from the rum. "Well," she muttered, blinkin' rapidly, "either I've drunk meself senseless, or ye've just turned into a man."

The selkie smirked, his dark eyes glintin' with amusement. "Ye're seein' rightly, Niamh."

Shakin' her head, she stood up, still a bit dazed. "Aye, I've definitely had too much."

The selkie waded out of the water, his skin glistenin' under the moon, the silver-gray pelt draped over him. Without thinkin', Niamh pulled off her long coat and handed it to him.

"Here," she said, awkwardly. "Ye can't be standin' there in the cold. Selkie or not, ye've still got skin like the rest of us."

The selkie grinned, takin' the coat. "Kind-hearted fer a pirate, aren't ye?" he teased, pullin' the oversized coat around him.

They sat by the small fire Niamh had lit earlier. The crackle of the flames and the distant crash of the waves filled the quiet, the only sounds breakin' the still night.

"Ye didn't have to save me from yer crew, ye know," the selkie said after a while, his gaze on the flames. "Most sailors would've skinned a seal without a second thought."

Niamh snorted. "Aye, they're brutal enough. But I knew what ye were. And ye didn't deserve to end up supper."

The selkie chuckled, his voice soft as the waves. "Still, I'm grateful. Bold, ye are, captain. Cursed by Morrigan and still willin' to spit in a goddess's face. Do ye always tempt fate?"

She rolled her eyes, leanin' back against the rocks. "Ye've no idea. An' I don't need ye remindin' me." Her lips twitched into a smirk. "So what if I'm cursed? I'll live me life how I want. The gods be damned."

The selkie's grin widened. "Morrigan's got her hands full with ye, eh? Stubborn as the tides."

"Stubborn or determined," she shot back, smirkin'. "And what about ye, eh? What's yer name, selkie?"

He glanced out at the sea, hesitatin' before answerin'. "Lirian. Been swimmin' these waters long before yer ship ever crossed 'em."

"Lirian," Niamh repeated, noddin'. "Well, it suits ye. An' as fer me stubbornness, it's kept me alive this long."

The hours passed like minutes, the two o' them talkin' easily about the sea, adventures, and the curse that hung over Niamh's head. Lirian teased her 'bout it, but there was a warmth there, a bond they couldn't quite ignore.

As the night grew late, Niamh nudged him playfully with her elbow. "If ye think yer so clever, why not join me crew? We could use a man with yer talents. Unless ye're too scared o' sailin' with a cursed captain."

Lirian laughed, shakin' his head. "Scared? Me? Never. Though sailin' with a goddess on yer tail sounds like trouble." He grinned. "An' I do like trouble."

"Then it's settled," Niamh said, standin' up, dustin' off her coat. "Ye'll join me crew. Just don't get in the way when we're fightin' gods and serpents, aye?"

"Aye, captain," Lirian replied, still grinnin'. "I'll be right by yer side, wherever these wild seas take us."

The grandfather paused, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed at the wide-eyed children around the fire.

One of the younger kids, a lass with bright eyes, piped up. "Grandpa, did Lirian always have to stay human 'cause of his pelt? Couldn't he turn back into a seal?"

The old man nodded, smilin'. "Aye, lass. Once a selkie's pelt is taken, they're bound to their human form 'til they get it back. A powerful bond to the sea, that is."

Another child, a lad, leaned forward eagerly. "Did Niamh really give him her coat? What did he do with it?"

"She did," the grandfather said. "He wore it 'cause it showed her kindness. A gesture that meant a lot more than words."

The older girl, who looked so much like Niamh, raised her hand. "Grandpa, what happened next? Did Niamh and Lirian have more adventures together?"

The grandfather's gaze softened, his mind drifting back. "Oh, aye. There were more adventures, but that, my dear, is a story for another time."

As he spoke, the grandmother sat quietly in her chair, her heart full as she listened. Her gaze drifted to the granddaughter who reminded her so much of herself, and for a moment, the firelight flickered in her eyes, connecting the past to the present in the warmth of shared stories.