idle_curiosity

What Dreams May Come

2009-08-29T00:53:35Z

Characters: Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler(s): Not long after CotBP
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

She dreams at night, sometimes.

She dreams they chase her relentlessly through her home, room after room, as she searches frantically for somewhere to hide. She peers through cracks, watching them sniff the air like dogs after prey, sees from their feral smiles that they know where she is - cornered, with no way of escape. They take her, dragging her through the ravaged streets of her town. She looks back in fear for any hope of help, but there is no rescue for her. When they put her town to their rudder, they take her as well. And she can't stop them.

Helpless ...

She dreams of beings with skeletal faces, bones without flesh, dressed in clothing that is nothing more than rags. They chase her round and round their ship, laughing uproariously when they catch her. They throw her to the moonlit skies for their amusement. When at last their sport is denied them at the whim of their captain, she flees to cower in a corner of the great cabin like a terrified child, finally believing in ghost stories, trying not to think of what other horrors await her that she can't stop.

Defenseless ...

She dreams of being turned over to the crew as the ship's new whore. They ring her like a pack of wolves on a wounded deer. Hands are everywhere as they try to bring her down, stroking her hair, pawing her breasts and ripping at her clothes. The stench of unwashed bodies is heavy in the air, wet mouths are open to eagerly kiss her lips, her neck, other places. Her skirts are being roughly lifted, hard fingers grope bruisingly at her thighs and her loins, broken nails scrape at her skin. She shrieks, because she can't stop them.

Powerless ...

He dreams at night, sometimes.

He dreams of seeing her surrounded by pirates, being dragged away to a cursed ship. She looks back in terror, and his name on her lips is a desperate plea for rescue. He battles fiercely to reach her side, but he never does. His way is always blocked by pirates and townsfolk; he can never seem to move fast enough. Any ground he gains is immediately lost. He watches her get farther and farther away from him, and her name is a cry of devastation.

He never sees her again.

Too late ...

He dreams of finding her in a cave filled with gold and silver, yet she is his real treasure. They bend her over a stone chest, a knife at her throat. Frantic, he moves to save her, but he is held back by a pirate's grip on his arm and the command to "Wait for the opportune moment." Throwing him off, he races to get to her side, climbing a mountain of slippery gold that constantly shifts and moves under his feet, thwarting him. When he finally reaches her, he finds her sprawled at the foot of the chest like a carelessly abandoned child's toy. Her throat has been slit, her blood glistening against the pale skin like some hideous crimson grin. Her sightless eyes accuse him.

Too late ...

He dreams of swimming a wide expanse of ocean, fighting to get to a ship that is somehow always out of reach. The seas throw towering waves at him, pushing him under again and again. Weary beyond expression, he refuses to give up. Finally, he catches up, and climbs aboard to an eerie silence and an empty deck. Searching everywhere, he at last finds her crouched in a dark corner. Her dress is gone, her shift is torn into rags that pool around her. Bruised arms try to shield her nakedness, slow tears trail down her ashen cheeks as her eyes stare at nothing. He breathes her name in anguish.

Always too late ...

They never speak of their dreams, nor of the fears that they evoke. They tell themselves, in the clear light of day and the safety of rational thought, that the dreams are nothing, for everything is fine now.

And the fears are buried deep, unresolved.

Until the day that Elizabeth comes, accompanied by her chaperone, to visit Will at the smithy for the first time as his betrothed. While she waits for him to finish his work, she wanders around the shop. Supremely curious, she explores nooks and crannies, poking and prodding, lifting tools, petting the donkey as he walks in his circular, well-worn path.

She comes to the rack of finished swords, and pulls one out. The finely crafted length of steel fascinates her, it always has. Her eyes begin to glow as she wraps her fingers around the grip. It feels right, she thinks, to hold this weapon. Meant, somehow. She makes a few experimental passes with it, and she smiles. There is a feeling that comes over her, one of power. It leaves her breathless.

Will watches her from his place at the anvil. Having returned an unfinished blade to the fire, he has a chance to study her rapt expression.

The sword seems right in her hand. She looks strong and capable. With careful teaching, he thinks, she could easily learn to use a blade. Elizabeth is intelligent, fearless, and has good instincts. Fighting side by side with her in the cave of the Isla de Muerta showed him that. She would be a quick study.

It is a radical idea, to be sure. But she would be able to defend herself, if he taught her.

The darkness of his dreams suddenly brushes chill fingers over the surface of his memory, and his mind is made up.

He takes up a rag to wipe his hands and then tosses it aside, coming to stand just behind her shoulder as she studies the blade. He sets his hands to either side of her waist, edging a little nearer.

"I think," he says with sudden, quiet intensity, "that you should learn to use it. I want to teach you."

Elizabeth quickly turns her head to meet Will's eyes. His gaze is unwavering, resolute. He means this, and his determination resonates inside of her, melding with the feeling of rightness and power that came with holding the blade.

"Yes," she is as fiercely decisive as he. And her hand tightens on the grip of the sword, the weapon that will banish both powerlessness, and the helplessness of being too late.

(avi by Krism23)

A Love for Lifetime

2009-06-21T23:26:07Z

Characters: Will Turner and Elizabeth Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): mid-AWE thru life's end
Warning(s): None
Theme Set: Epsilon
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

Another response to the 1sentence challenge. This set includes the time after Will's ten years of service is over. See A/N at the end.

#01 - motion

After ten years of being aboard the Flying Dutchman, he reels almost drunkenly when he steps foot on land for the first time; the lack of motion will take some getting used to, Elizabeth tells him as she laughs through her tears, wrapping her arms around his waist to steady him and hold him close.

#02 - cool

His demeanor, as she walks towards him across the heated sand, is cool and remote; when she quietly tells him that she's been aboard the Dutchman, he sees in her eyes that she now truly understands his cause, and he softens, the first cracks in the ice of their estrangement appearing.

#03 - young

He remembers the time he'd delivered the specially-commissioned sword to the Governor's mansion, bound by propriety and calling her Miss Swann; they were both so very young and innocent then.

#04 - last

She tries not to think, as their one day wends its way towards sunset, that everything is somehow a "last" - last kiss, last touch, last gaze, last words.

#05 - wrong

He stares bleakly at his adored new wife across the distance that separates their two ships; his father tells him "Where you are bound, she cannot come," and he rails in silent anguish at the injustice of destiny.

#06 - gentle

She guides William to her breast, smiling at the gentle pull of his mouth as he suckles, gazing down at this tiny miracle that is their son.

#07 - one

Sailing over the Seas of the Dead, he sometimes thinks he would give his soul for just one hour with her.

#08 - thousand

It isn't until he has been released from his service to the Dutchman that she finally sits down and counts out the days that he was away from her - 3,652 of them.

#09 - king

He never ceases to smile at the idea that he is the consort of the Pirate King.

#10 - learn

As the ten years come to an end she knows that, in many ways, they will have to learn each other all over again.

#11 - blur

The first weeks of his service are a blur - sailing the Dutchman to lead the countless small boats to the Far Shore, reaching into the cold Seas of the Dead again and again to pluck out the lost souls; it is only his memories and dreams of her that keep him from losing himself to the dark business of death.

#12 - wait

She has set the rhythm of her existence to the rhythm of his, and waits for the day when he'll be free, each sunset bringing her that much closer.

#13 - change

He's held ferociously to every memory of her through ten long, lonely years, yet he knows that it is inevitable that they both will have changed.

#14 - command

When she gives the command to hoist the colours, it is to him alone that she speaks; he's never set a limit on how far she could go, and his proud nod is a vindication of all that she's always known he's believed of her.

#15 - hold

He gave her the heart that was always hers to hold, and takes comfort in knowing that the most integral part of himself is with her.

#16 - need

Sunset finds her on the beach, staring at the horizon; although the end of their ten years is far in the future, the longing for him this particular day has been as sharp and keen as the edge of the knife that he wears strapped to his hip, her need for him as pulsing and rhythmic as the blade he'd buried over and over into Tia Dalma's table.

#17 - vision

The vision he holds to as he sails the Seas of the Dead is a simple one - to return to his wife, to build a life with her and their children, and to grow old with her by his side.

#18 - attention

She wearies of the attentions of men who attempt to woo her, in spite of the fact that she tells them in no uncertain terms that she has a husband whom she loves, who is away at sea, and who will most assuredly be back; there are days when she must restrain herself from reaching for her sword to rid herself of the most persistent among them.

#19 - soul

Ten years of being beyond world's end, of enduring that hard, lonely, brutal existence, have sapped his soul; ten years of being in the world of the living, with its wealth of opportunities, temptations and bright joys that offered forgetfulness like the sirens of old, have tried hers as well.

#20 - picture

She lies unabashedly naked on the white sand, her small breasts, slim waist and slender legs drenched in sunlight, her gaze luminous with love; he traces every part of her with his eyes, his hands, his lips, striving to use every sense to commit this moment, and how she looks, to memory.

#21 - fool

For all the wrongs done to himself and his wife, there is a special hatred that he reserves for Cutler Beckett; as the former Lord walks the Dutchman's decks, he still carries himself with that air of privilege and superiority, right up until the moment when the Ferrier of Souls delivers him to the Far Shore to face the terrifying reward for his deeds.

#22 - mad

Before the battle begins, she stands near the helm of the Pearl, rage, fear and doubt assailing her; he comes to stand at her side, and the madness inside her calms to match his own steely resolve.

#23 - child

He learns from a newly deceased pirate that their king has safely delivered a fine baby boy; retreating to the privacy of his cabin, he falls to his knees under the intensity of love and elation, loneliness and longing, and breaks down completely.

#24 - now

It's been over 40 years since he was released from the Dutchman's service; their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren gather beside their new graves overlooking the sea, none of them surprised that, within days of his beloved wife's death, he followed her on that final journey.

#25 - shadow

Holding her close in his arms one night, he gently tells her everything about guiding her father to Fiddler's Green; the next day, he can see new serenity in her eyes, and knows that she is finally at peace with his passing.

#26 - goodbye

She is not afraid of death; when her body gives out with age, he holds her for the very last time and smiles through his grief as, with her final breath, she whispers that she'll be waiting for him, and will be keeping a weather eye on the horizon.

#27 - hide

She hides the chest as carefully as she'd hidden his pirate medallion so many years ago; she is still and always watching over him.

#28 - fortune

His treasure is his wife and their children; his wealth is the freedom he has to live out his years with them.

#29 - safe

She returns to Port Royal long enough to settle her father's affairs; the small village that she moves to comes to know them simply as Elizabeth Turner and William, and she finds a certain amount of safety in their relative anonymity.

#30 - ghost

When she tells William about Aztec curses and undead pirates, she is amused at the irony that they aren't ghost stories to him, but family history.

#31 - book

She comes across her old pirate adventure books as she packs to leave Port Royal for good; she takes a few for sentimental reasons, wondering if anyone will ever write about the Ferrier of Souls and the Pirate King.

#32 - eye

The first time he catches her eye, after the ten years is over, his breathing hitches and his heart skips a beat; how he could have forgotten what a mere glance from her can do to him?

#33 - never

He's been released from his service to the Flying Dutchman for years, but even now she can never fully rid herself of the fear that destiny might one day touch his shoulder again, and take him away from her.

#34 - sing

William sings a familiar shanty as he skips ahead of them down the path towards home; he smiles, remembering Elizabeth teaching him the very same song when they were young.

#35 - sudden

She stands at the sea's edge, staring at the spot where the Flying Dutchman disappeared; the grief suddenly washes over her, and she takes deep, anxious breaths, almost doubling over, clenching her jaw hard against the desire to keen in her anguish.

#36 - stop

He watches her as she kneels in the dirt to weed their garden; when she rises to her feet rather awkwardly, her belly gently swelling with their second child, he wonders when he will finally stop thinking that this happiness will be snatched away from him.

#37 - time

While time had flowed around him during his service, it had moved on for her; she finds her first grey hair and uncertainty plagues her, right up until the moment that he wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her back against his chest, and whispers huskily in her ear that there's something incredibly decadent about being in love with a beautiful "older" woman.

#38 - wash

She pinks his shoulder with her blade during one of their impromptu sword fighting sessions and, at her insistence, he removes his shirt so she can care for it; even after all this time, her eyes still fill with desire and her lips still part breathlessly at the sight of his naked chest, before she collects herself to sit beside him and wash the wound.

#39 - torn

When her father had showed little concern at her protest that his arranging of a fair trial for Will would end in his hanging, only telling her that there would then be nothing left for her in Port Royal, she'd known a sudden hatred for his callous abandoning of Will to yet another regrettable fate; she'll always love her father, but even now she's been unable to resolve her feelings about it.

#40 - history

When it's time for bed, he and William will each tell the other a story about themselves, learning each other through the sharing of their pasts.

#41 - power

Being the Ferrier of Souls comes with certain abilities; he can move from one place to another with a simple thought, something he utilizes on their one day together so that he can wring out every last second of time with her.

#42 - bother

While they remain law abiding most of the time, when the love of the sea calls to them and bids them sail her waters, it doesn't bother them at all to join the crew of the Empress or the Pearl and engage in a bit of piracy.

#43 - god

She jealously wonders, during the ten years, if Calypso ever visits her husband as he sails the Seas of the Dead.

#44 - wall

He rarely talks about his service aboard the Dutchman, but sometimes, in the safety of her embrace and the darkness of the night, he will speak of the things he's seen and things he's had to do; he keeps that time separate, and she understands that he shares it only when he's ready to do so.

#45 - naked

As they lie naked in each other's arms, she traces his scars with gentle fingers - the cuts and burns on his hands and arms from his blacksmith days, the thin white line on his palm from the Isla de Muerta, the lash marks on his back from being held captive on the Flying Dutchman, and the jagged, horrific slash on his chest from the removing of his heart; each one tells her a story, and all of them are beautiful to her.

#46 - drive

What makes her strong is that she has so very much to fight for; she has a heart to guard, a son to raise, a husband she waits for, and the promise of fulfillment on the horizon of her existence.

#47 - harm

He finally confides the darkest moment of his service to her; it was near the end of seven years when he realized that he would never be able to ferry the dead for eternity, that he would lose himself and his soul long before time itself would end, because man isn't meant to live forever.

#48 - precious

She guards her love for him as fiercely as she guards his heart, feeding it with his promises, and nurturing it with her memories and their hope.

#49 - hunger

There are sultry, passionate nights when he thinks that he will never get enough of her.

#50 - believe

The first day has passed, and sunset finds the three of them standing on the shore, watching the last of its light flicker away; he raises her hand to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and quietly tells her that their love, and their faith in each other, has led them to this victory.

(avi by mooie_ogen)

A/N: I know there are two schools of thought out there regarding the end of the ten years. Each has its proponents, and each has its merits. I like both. Will having to serve forever fulfills my need for extreme, unrelenting angst, and Will being released after ten years gives me my happy ending.

If asked, though, I believe that Will is released after ten years. See #47 for the reason why. I honestly don't believe that living forever is a sustainable thing.

No Last Goodbye

2009-03-30T03:44:37Z

Characters: Elizabeth Turner, W/E
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): AWE
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

It's relatively quiet now. It's almost disconcerting, how little noise there is.

Before, there had been the endless shrieking of the wind and rain, and the roaring waters of the maelstrom. There had been the relentless pounding of cannons, the incessant clap of pistol fire, the clashing of blades and the screams and moans of men.

All of that is over, and the only sounds to be heard are the raised voices of Jack and Barbossa and the other pirates as they mill about, arguing over what to do.

Elizabeth takes no part in it. She stands instead at the rail of the Black Pearl, gripping it tightly in her hands, a tired, wet, bedraggled figure. She has moved silently away from the others to stare at the sea, at the spot where she thinks she'd last seen the Flying Dutchman.

But there is nothing there. The ghostly ship is gone, having sunk to the bottom of the ocean, taking her beloved Will with it.

She swallows against the thickness of her throat. His death was such a hard, brutal thing. And it was her place ... her right ... to mitigate that hard, brutal death with her gentle, loving touch.

She is his wife, and there are things that, as his wife, she should have been able to do. Final, tender, cherishing things. There should have been a chance for her to cradle his body in her arms one last time, a chance for her to tell Will her whispered words of love and goodbye. There should have been a chance for her to brush her lips over his in one last kiss, a chance for her to bathe him with her tears.

There should have been one last chance for her to care for him.

But the sea and Jack combined to rip her away from his side, as she struggled and fought, screaming that she wouldn't, couldn't ever leave him.

His is a watery grave, a part of some wide, anonymous expanse of ocean; his coffin is the ship of death itself. She'll never be able to find the spot again, she thinks, a frisson of desolation shivering through her.

There will be no place for her to go to when she finds that she aches with missing him and she needs to be as close to him as she can. There will be no plot of ground that she can ornament with flowers or trinkets, no stone that she can touch in love and reverence with her fingers.

It isn't right. It can never, ever be right.

Images flash through her mind, images of his final moments.

Will, his head thrown back in almost soundless agony, as Davy Jones thrusts the sword into his chest.

Will, his low groans of pain reaching her while shock holds her rooted to her spot; she watches helplessly as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman gives a final malicious twist to the shining blade impaling him, a smile of sadistic glee on his disfigured face.

Will, his dark eyes filled with confusion and anguish as she stumbles to his side, wordlessly begging her to help him somehow, unable to find the strength to pull the sword free.

Will, trying so hard to form the words "I love you" as she cradles his ashen face in her palms; she tells him again and again that he is all right, as if her very insistence would make it so.

Will, his gaze dimming with the beginnings of death, his eyes never leaving her, as if she were his North Star, while Jack helps him stab the heart of Davy Jones.

Will, his lashes incredibly dark against his too pale cheeks when his eyes fall closed, as if the rain had washed him of all colour. His life is ending, and she can't stop it.

Will, lying so terribly still, sprawled and broken on the sodden deck, as she screams that she won't leave him and struggles furiously against Jack's insistent pull.

Will, long since gone from her view as she watches the Flying Dutchman sink beneath the churning waters of the ebbing maelstrom; she turns her head away, unable to bear the sight when she rises above it all, as if she were magically gifted with wings that she never wanted.

She ruthlessly thrusts the images away, for they carry a lifetime of anguish and loss. She pushes them down, pushes all of it down, into a cold, hard place inside of her that came into being at the moment of his death, a place she is fast coming to embrace. If she didn't, she knows that she would be mindless with grief and rage.

Much better, this.

They seem to be waiting for something, Jack and Barbossa and the crew. The battle isn't over, and their chances of survival, much less victory, are infinitely small. Yet they seem to be doing nothing. And she doesn't care.

A movement out of the corner of her eye, an unnatural churning of the now quiet seas, pulls her away from her unseeing contemplation of the horizon. She turns her head to witness the Flying Dutchman explode from the water, coming to rest not far from the Pearl.

There is a little flare of life that rises up inside of her at the sight. Will was on that ship when it went down. Maybe she can find a way to get back to it, she thinks. As little true sense as this makes, she needs to be there, with him. Not here, never here.

A dark figure stands at the helm, and she wonders for a moment who it might be, knowing only that it can't be Davy Jones. As she watches, he turns to grasp the ship's wheel and his defiant cry splits the air.

"Ready on the guns!"

An incredulous smile blossoms over Elizabeth Turner's features, her eyes sting with sudden tears as her world reels almost drunkenly around her.

He is alive! Somehow, some way, Will is blessedly, wonderously alive. She doesn't know how her heart can contain her joy, and the ice that has been slowly encasing her very soul since that terrible moment when Davy Jones thrust his blade into her husband's chest, shatters into a thousand shards at the utterly miraculous sound of his voice.

(avi by warriorchick)

A Mighty Swing

2009-03-12T04:29:40Z

Characters: Elizabeth Swann, W/E
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): CotBP
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

In honor of spring training, and in anticipation of our home opener on April 9th. This is a response to the AWE anniversary drabble challenge of last year. The prompt was sneak attack.

She had no trouble negotiating the tunnel that led into the cave of the Isla de Muerta. Her memory of how she was taken there the last time, and how she'd been rescued by Will, was faultless.

Elizabeth had no idea what she could do against so many pirates. But that didn't really matter. All she knew was that she had to do what she could to save Will, that she had to get to him.

When she'd come as far as she was able, she jumped out, and pulled the boat onto dry land. She could already hear the clashing of swords and occasional cries of pain. Following the sounds, the path she retraced opened up to the cave itself, and she could see that most of the pirates were gone. There were only three left, and Barbossa himself.

While Jack dealt with the good captain, Will fought the others. Elizabeth simply stood and watched for a moment, her attention riveted on him. A fierce pride licked through her veins. No one could handle a sword like Will. No one.

And with that pride was something else. Fury, the likes of which she'd never felt before, seethed inside her.

Their butler, a man who had been with them since they'd arrived in the Caribbean, had been killed in front of her very eyes. She'd been kidnapped, and terrorized aboard the Black Pearl. She'd stabbed Barbossa in a futile attempt to escape, only to have him show his true nature, and the nature of the crew that sailed with him as they threw her to the moonlit skies for their own amusement.

She'd had her hand sliced in some bizarre ritual. They'd threatened to slit her throat as well. She'd been rescued by Will, only to be taken again. She'd watched the Interceptor explode, and her shock and grief at thinking Will dead nearly brought her to her knees.

She'd been offered up to the crew like some harlot.

She saw Will appear over the ship's rail like an avenging angel, and the soaring delight and relief she'd felt at knowing he was alive took her breath away. She'd then watched him give himself up for her. And she'd known exactly what that meant for him.

She'd been marooned with Jack, rescued again, and had listened to her father and Norrington decide to abandon Will to his "regrettable fate" despite her pleas. She'd bartered herself away in marriage to save him, been locked up, escaped, and freed the crew of the Pearl to help save Will, only to have them be of absolutely no help at all.

In short, she was thoroughly enraged, and Jack the undead monkey was not the only one who was going to pay.

Her eyes narrowed as she searched the cave floor. There had to be something she could use as a weapon amongst all this swag. A tight smile bloomed as she spied a gaff. It was as thick as her arm and almost as long as she was tall. It would do nicely. She moved to pick it up, and hefted it in her two hands. It felt good in her grasp, right somehow.

Turning, she started towards Will, determined to take her place at his side. She could see him sprawled on his back, having been thrown there by a small explosion. One of the pirates who had terrorized her was standing over him, poised to kill him.

Primitive and elemental, the need to protect rose up in her like a flame at this newest threat to Will's life; it melded with all her anger. She bounced the gaff in her hands in anticipation as she strode up behind the man, testing it's weight.

"I'll teach you the meaning of pain," the unsuspecting pirate sneered, sword held high.

Elizabeth planted her feet. The fingers of one hand curled over the top of the gaff, the fingers of the other curled underneath. She put a little more space between her hands, tightened her grip, and brought the weapon back over her right shoulder.

"You like pain?" she snarled, and all of her pent up rage went into the swing. The sound of the gaff connecting with the pirate's head was the most satisfying thing she'd heard since the Black Pearl had sailed into Port Royal and they'd spirited her away. The hapless man went flying, and she suddenly felt much better.

"Try wearing a corset."

(avatar by warriorchick)

Rules for a Rule

2009-01-12T04:52:27Z

Characters: Will Turner; W/E
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

A long time ago, there was a fic, written somewhere, that listed the rules of the Flying Dutchman. One of them seemed to beg for further elaboration. Because I don't remember who wrote the fic (this is one of the first things I ever wrote for PotC and, again, it was a long time ago) I'm only posting this on my own LJ.

Rule 19 - Sneaking the Captain’s wife on board disguised as the new cabin boy is not breaking the rules of the curse. (So there.)

The following is a set of rules (that's right, rules, not guidelines) for the above occasion:

a) To show his eternal gratitude, the Captain will award the responsible crew member(s) the reward of his/their choice, within reason.

b) Effective immediately, Mr. Turner (Senior) will have temporary command of the ship. All questions and concerns will be taken to him, all orders will be given by him and will be strictly obeyed. Men, he is in charge.

c) The Captain will have a closed-door policy that will be in effect for the duration of the Pirate King's visit. We are on board a ship, it is always rocking, do not come knocking.

Addendum to this rule ... any interruption of the furious swordplay (and the long, lengthy silences that follow) that goes on behind this closed door is punishable by keelhauling. It is not worth the risk.

d) There is no situation that requires the Captain's personal attention during this time ... we are the ferriers of the dead, Gentlemen, and to us there is no such thing as a matter of life and death.

e) After the Pirate King returns to her ship, approaching the Captain for at least 3 days is unwise at best. I'm sure you can all reason out why.

(avi by the talented mata090680)

The Blacksmith's New Clothes

2009-01-09T00:44:20Z

Characters: Will Turner; W/E
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post-CotBP, pre-DMC
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

Many, many thanks to mamazano and immortal_jedi and danglingdingle for advice and help and betaing and encouragement. You're the best.

Written for yoiebear's prompt Will's wedding attire, for the turningpirate challenge.

The details of the wedding were Elizabeth's domain. After all, what could he possibly know of such things? All he wanted to know was the date and the time, and what church he was to be at.

When he was told that their marriage would be more than a year away, his heart plummeted. He suspected that Governor Swann'd had a hand in that particular decision. He just wasn't sure if it was to give Elizabeth a chance to possibly come to her senses and change her mind, or if the Governor simply wasn't willing to part with his only daughter any sooner than he was absolutely forced to.

Resigned to the wait, he spent the year working hard at the shop. He had finished his apprenticeship, and was working with Mr. Brown as a journeyman blacksmith, his wages rising appropriately. During the course of the year, the master smith came down with the fever, and he passed away rather suddenly. Will sincerely grieved the loss of the man who had taught him his craft and given an orphan a home.

He was more than a little surprised to learn that Mr. Brown, a widower with no children, had bequeathed the blacksmith shop to him. Along with the smithy, Mr. Brown had left him the small, modest house built on the property as well.

Will worried at first that business would fall off. But it would seem that most of the patrons of the establishment knew quite well that he was the one who'd done most of the work in the later years. Will found himself to be the owner of a successful business. He worked hard, taking in all the custom that he could, saving every shilling possible towards the beginning of their married life.

He knew that Elizabeth was working just as hard on the wedding plans, and they were myriad. She would talk to him of flowers, and guest lists, and music, and the church, and the weather and how it had best not dare rain on that day. She would mutter about the wedding breakfast, and the food, and how many bottles of champagne to have on hand, and seating arrangements, and who could not be placed next to whom if she wished to avoid social disaster. He knew that he wasn't expected to do anything about any of it; what she needed from him was a listening ear.

As the wedding grew closer and closer, there were days when she was tense and irritable. She could be snappish with him at times, and she seemed to be developing what he considered to be a rather adorable little frown that would crease a tiny line between her brows on the really bad days. He was wise enough, however, not to point these things out to her.

When he would conduct their many sword fighting lessons, he'd look for the frown before they even began. If he saw that little crease, he would adjust his style to strictly defense, having quickly learned that with the tiny line came an absolute dervish wielding a blade. She would throw herself into an attack. The fighting would be fast and furious, she'd give no quarter, and he sometimes came away from those particular sessions with nicks and cuts.

Ah, but when they were done, she would stand in front of him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lips parted, her cheeks flaming, her eyes clear of frustration and sparkling once again. Both of them would be breathing hard, staring at each other, and they would suddenly drop their swords to come together in a passionate embrace. Her chaperone would thunderously clear her throat, but she had long since come to the realization that there was really nothing she could do with them when they were like that.

And Elizabeth would always lovingly tend to any of his hurts afterward.

When the wedding was just a few months off, and he could see the culmination of all his hopes and dreams like some bright and shining thing on the horizon, she came to him with something that he himself actually had to do for the ceremony.

He needed a suit of wedding clothes.

Will's brows raised at this revelation. As Elizabeth's fiance, he'd been required, over the course of their betrothal, to escort her to functions that were at times of a formal nature, and he'd had to have some fine garments made for those occasions. They were all of good quality, better than anything he'd ever owned before. Slightly confused, he wondered if there was suddenly something wrong with them.

"I have proper clothes," he pointed out to her in a reasonable voice. "I've worn them to all the balls and all the parties we've had to attend. Surely there is something amongst them that I can wear when we get married."

Elizabeth laughed, and shook her head.

"Will," she told him, "a wedding is special. It's something that happens only once in a lifetime. Everything about it, from the ceremony, to the breakfast," she slid in close to him, "to the wedding trip afterward," her gaze became rather sensual, "is extraordinary. That means," she ran a finger down his chest, "that the clothes have to be extraordinary as well."

Will captured her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a warm kiss on her knuckles.

"So even what I wore to the high toned and fancy to-dos doesn't quite pass muster?" he murmured, turning her hand to kiss the inside of her wrist, his eyes locked with hers. Her chaperone gave a long-suffering sigh, not even bothering to try.

"No," she breathed, "not quite."

"Very well," Will agreed, his free hand gliding down her side and coming around to rest low on the small of her back. He pulled her closer still. "But, you'll come with me to the tailor's? To make sure that these clothes are extraordinary enough for the wedding?"

Elizabeth nodded her head as she gave him a sultry smile. "Of course."

True to her word, she arrived one morning not long afterward to collect him from the shop. After a quick wash up, they left. Will locked the door to the smithy and posted a note stating that he was closed, but would reopen again that afternoon. They quite enjoyed the stroll, taking their time, Elizabeth's hand tucked in the crook of his arm, her chaperone following a short distance behind.

It wasn't until they met with Wellington, the tailor, that Will understood the size and scope of the order. It seemed that he needed everything but the small clothes. There was the coat, the waistcoat, a new shirt of the finest lawn, a cravat of the same, silk breeches, white stockings.

There were the embroidery and the trim to be considered. The merits of different materials were discussed at length, and there was the color of each item to be decided upon. His measurements were retaken, subsequent fittings were scheduled.

Head spinning, he found himself nodding and agreeing to all of it. He wondered, but didn't dare ask, how much of his hard-earned income this was going to cost him. He well understood that if he raised any objections, the next sword fighting session would be just as fierce as some of the others had been, but the adorable little frown would be all for him.

Almost as an afterthought, Elizabeth turned to tell him that he would also need a new hat, the amusement in her eyes letting him know that she was remembering the hat with the plume of feathers that he'd worn when they'd rescued Jack.

He drew the line, however, at the wearing of a wig. There, he took a stand. Absolutely not. Not even Elizabeth leaning in close to whisper in his ear that she had to wear a corset with her dress, and if she could do that he could certainly wear a wig, would cause him to consider it. His refusal was adamant, and since Elizabeth so loved his dark hair, she happily conceded the point with no further argument at all.

After what seemed like forever, the final order was placed.

On the day of the wedding, Governor Swann sent over his valet, ostensibly to help him dress. Will told the man that he didn't need his help with anything other than the tying of the cravat. The intricacies of the neckwear were still a mystery to him. Once that was done, the valet left, and Will stood in front of the small mirror in his room.

He listened to the rain of a storm that had come up as he stared at his reflection. His hair was neatly tied back in a queue, the valet having tried to fuss with the ribbon before Will shrugged him off. He looked down at the beautiful blue coat, the intricately embroidered waistcoat, the snowy white shirt and cravat, the dove grey silk breeches, the stockings and the black buckled shoes.

He felt stiff and uncomfortable, and very unlike himself. But he had to admit that it was the finest suit of clothes that he had ever owned. He wondered what Elizabeth would think when she saw him, standing at the altar, waiting for her in all his nervous splendor, and a smile quirked his lips.

He drew in a deep breath. He was ready. He was more than ready. In less than a few hours' time, he would be Elizabeth's husband. The dream of his lifetime was about to be realized.

He was placing the hat on his head, when he heard the furious pounding on his door …

(avi by mata090680)

A Toast to Simpler Days

2008-12-13T03:40:03Z

Characters: Elizabeth Turner/Will Turner
Rating: G
Time frame: Post AWE, a Christmas tag of sorts to the excellent Ordinary Man by mamazano and danglingdingle, found on pirategasm. This is set not long after Will returns home from his service on the Dutchman
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

I listened to Dan Fogelberg's Same Auld Lang Syne in my car on the way to work, and this just wrote itself. A link to youtube to listen to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NmdFgFyhnk

He found her, that Christmas night, in the garden, sitting on a stone bench, staring out at the sea.

The sky was a deep azure blue, her favorite color he knew. The moon was a mere sliver, low in the western sky, hanging close to the brightest star seen after sunset.

In the gathering dusk, he could see that her posture was a governess' dream, back held straight, chin held high. A gentle breeze blew her hair away from her face, carelessly lifting the strands of gold.

His approach was silent, but somehow he knew that she was aware of him coming up behind her. He passed a warm hand over her shoulders as he walked around the bench to come and sit next to her. Wordlessly, he handed her a glass of wine, and his gaze drifted over her pensive profile as she set it down next to her.

"Liam's having something to eat," he finally told her, breaking the quiet.

Elizabeth shook her head, a smile of amusement gracing her features.

"There are days when I can never keep him fed," she said fondly. "This must be one of them."

A silence stretched and deepened between them, and Will wondered what she was thinking as she continued to drink in the last colors of the darkening sky.

"Do you think that he was happy with his gift?" he asked, searching suddenly for something to say.

A fleeting grin curved her lips at the question. She remembered Liam's ecstatic joy on that very Christmas morning at finding the sword that Will had forged for him, and she nodded.

"There is nothing else that you could have given him that would have pleased him more," she turned her head briefly to assure him, before turning away again. "It's the best gift he's ever gotten, a beautiful blade, made by his father. I doubt that anything will ever surpass it, or will ever come close to its meaning."

Elizabeth's wine sat untouched beside her, and Will found himself at a loss at her continued contemplation of the most brilliant star of the western sky. He found himself wondering how many nights she'd watched it while he was away.

This was not the way things usually were between them, since he'd ended his service on the Dutchman. He was the silent one, she the one who would keep the conversation flowing, effortlessly. A testament to her social upbringing, he was sure, and something that he was normally grateful for. It made up for the many times when he didn't know what to say, or didn't want to say anything at all.

"Elizabeth," he finally asked in a soft voice, "what are you thinking?"

After a long moment, she smiled.

"I was remembering," she said. "It was the year we were seventeen, and it was Christmastime. We were both at the marketplace; it was your half day off. We met on the street as I came out of the bookseller's, after buying my father a new book."

"You dropped the package," Will nodded, catching up the memory. "I picked it up and returned it to you. I believe I stammered something completely foolish," he chuckled wryly.

"I made you walk with me to one of the benches in the square, and sit with me while I caught my breath," she laughed. "I complained of the heat, but I really just wanted you to stay with me for a while."

"We talked for a long time," Will said quietly. "It was one of the best days of my life, and the best Christmas gift I'd ever received."

"Ah, you refer to the kiss, perhaps?" Elizabeth teased.

At the thunderous clearing of her maid's throat, she realized that she'd stretched the interlude for as long as she dared. They both rose to their feet, and Elizabeth impulsively stretched out her hand. Will took it in his own callused fingers, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat in wonder. She somehow hadn't thought he'd do that. He straightened, and gave her a respectful little bow.

"Happy Christmas, Elizabeth," he said, his dark eyes intent on her face.

With that, he turned and began to walk away. She watched, and gave a little shake of her head, unable to leave the moment there. She ran after him, ignoring her maid's scandalized "Miss!"

"Will," she placed her hand on his arm to stop him. When he turned towards her, she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, heedless of whoever might see.

"Happy Christmas, Will," she whispered in his ear, before turning away. He watched her hurry back to her maid, stunned by what she'd just done. He could see Elizabeth was receiving a scolding for it, because her expression became mutinous.

"You didn't even call me Miss Swann," she arched a delicate eyebrow.

"Christmas isn't a time for propriety," he smiled.

Their amusement faded, the silence returning.

And then she surprised him once again. Finally picking up her wine, she turned towards him, holding the glass up high.

"To our innocent youth," she toasted, a glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.

"To a time I wouldn't ever trade for anything," he raised his own wine, touching his glass to hers.

And her tears spilled as they drank to simpler days.

(avatar by the talented mooie_ogen)

The Pirate in the Mirror

2008-11-30T12:49:48Z

Characters: Will Turner
Rating: G
Timeline: Post-DMC, pre-AWE
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters. They are solely owned by Disney, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.

Everyone has an idea, I think, of how Will got his earring. This is mine.

The room at the back of Tia Dalma's hut was small and cramped. It didn't boast much in the way of furniture; a cot, a chair, a low chest of drawers, and above that a mirror that was little more than a sheet of metal that had been polished to a high sheen and hung at eye level.

The air was still and close. No muggy breeze lifted the tattered curtains to relieve the heat.

It would have reminded Will of his room back at the smithy, but for the fact that his quarters had never been so cluttered. There was scattered clothing everywhere, apparel for both men and women, shoes, tins and sacks of miscellaneous items, drying plants that hung from the ceiling. The chest was carelessly littered with bits of things, jewelry, scraps of paper, brushes and combs, jars of bugs large and small.

Will stood in the middle of the room, having divested himself of his baldric, leather coat, and the shirt that Tia Dalma had given him to replace his shredded one. Bare to the waist, he kept his eyes stoically fixed on a large water stain on the wall he was facing, as the obeah once again tended to the wounds on his back.

Before, he wouldn't have hesitated to ask Elizabeth for her help. Now, he couldn't bring himself to let her know that he'd even been hurt, much less have her care for his injuries. Instead, on that first night, he'd pulled Tia Dalma to the side, asking her if she would help him with them.

She washed the cuts, as she had before, with tepid water and a fairly clean rag. She then set aside the basin and picked up a jar of dark and pungent ointment that she'd sworn would speed the healing. She applied the salve with slow, careful strokes. Although her fingers were gentle, and somewhat seductive, an occasional hiss of pain escaped him.

He could hear the obeah murmur low words here and there as she worked. Will didn't really try to follow what she was saying, his mind far away. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear her gather up her supplies and leave the room, closing the door behind her, when she was done.

They'd been there for almost a week. During that time, after thinking of and discarding many, they'd come up with a final plan to steal a set of navigational charts from Sao Feng, the pirate lord of Singapore. Barbossa knew of them, had often itched at the chance to free them from their current owner, as it were. He'd insisted that they were the only way to sail to world's end, whatever that was, and from there find the way to the Locker to rescue Jack.

Barbossa had not been pleased to have Will and Elizabeth as part of the crew, disinclined to trust either one of them, but he'd agreed with rather graceless reluctance at Tia Dalma's insistence that they were to be a part of this venture. A ship had been hired, and supplies had been acquired.

All the while, Will had found himself adrift. Once he'd agreed to the journey, to helping Jack escape the Locker, he'd found himself unable to meet Elizabeth's all too infrequent gaze, to talk with her, or to have much in the way of dealings with her at all, really. He'd watched her mourn Jack Sparrow, involved in her own private misery, and he'd wondered at how his own life had fallen into ruins. Everything he'd dreamt of, the life that he and Elizabeth had planned and were so close to achieving, was gone.

He was lost in the vast emptiness of a world destroyed. He needed something, anything to fill that endless void. And he remembered the vow he'd made to his father, before he'd left him on the Flying Dutchman.

"I take this with a promise. I'll find a way to sever Jones' hold on you, and not rest 'til this blade pierces his heart. I will not abandon you. I promise."

From that moment, he'd turned his thoughts resolutely away from Elizabeth, and turned them instead to coming up with a plan to free his father. He realized that he would need the Black Pearl, the only ship fast enough to catch the Flying Dutchman. As the Pearl was resting in the Locker, along with her captain, Will needed to be a member of the rescue party, and was thankful for Tia Dalma's insistence that he be part of the crew.

He also knew that he would need the means to take the Pearl, Jack having shown no inclination to rescue Bootstrap the last time. That would involve a mutiny, something that none of the current crew would be willing to participate in, he was sure. No, he would need to make some sort of deal with Sao Feng, would have to find some means to contact him and complete negotiations for taking over the ship, and having the crew necessary to sail her.

He would need to be the one to steal the charts.

Beyond that, Will had no idea how he would accomplish his goal, but he'd left his plans fluid enough that he thought he'd be able to find a way.

Think like Jack.

And he'd laughed at the irony when he'd come to a final, stunning moment of self-revelation. Somehow, somewhere, he had become a pirate. While he had been well on his way to being one before, according to Jack, there was no doubt that he was truly one now.

Take what you can, give nothing back.

Realizing that he was alone in the room, he walked over to the chest of drawers, and came to stand in front of the polished metal that served as a mirror. Looking closely at his reflection, he saw the steely gaze filled with determination, the hardness of his features. He turned slightly so that he could see the lash marks on his back, turned back to lean closer and take in the bruises on his face. The metal cast a darkened hue, and a slight distortion, to his face.

Looking down at the cluttered chest, he spied a small, golden hoop. He picked it up, staring at it for a long time, before closing it in his fist. Using his other hand, he sorted through the bits of things, until he came up with a needle; a sewing needle. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he raised both hands to his left ear and, without hesitation, pushed it through the lobe, not even wincing at the pain. Dropping the needle, he fitted the gold hoop into his ear.

Taking a step back, he stared at his reflection again.

"Pirate," he told the man in the mirror, before turning away. Picking up his shirt, he slipped it on. Gathering up his coat and baldric, he left the room.

A Life on Hold

2008-11-16T20:29:15Z

Characters: Elizabeth Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE, tag to the excellent Ordinary Man by mamazano and danglingdingle, found on pirategasm
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

To me, it's always a sign of excellent writing when I become so emotional over a story that I write something in response, because I feel just that strongly. It's rare that it happens, but this is one of those rare times.

It's the times when she's alone with her thoughts that the doubts slither in. They will wrap themselves around her resolve, doing their best to choke off her hope, much like the snakes in the Caribbean she's often seen smothering their prey.

The uncertainty is slowly suffocating her.

She watches him often. She's become a master at reading him, knowing when he will slant a glance in her direction. And she will quickly turn her eyes away, a second before their gazes would meet, to continue with whatever task is at hand with an air of unflappable calm.

She finds herself treading so very carefully around him; she fears upsetting some critical, but unseen, delicate balance.

She has long ago perfected the art of waiting. She's waited ten years. Surely she can wait a little while longer, she thinks.

She knows that Will has incredible adjustments to make. While she has created a life for herself and Liam, one that has carried at least a modicum of satisfaction for the past ten years, Will has left the only life he's known and must needs start completely over. She and Liam had the freedom to go anywhere in the world, should they have chosen to do so, while Will was limited to the seas of the dead, with no thought of touching land.

He does not talk about those years, but his eyes give him away. What he has seen, and what he has done, has imparted wisdom, but also darkness. He is old in his soul now.

To try and insert himself into the life that she and Liam have is a daunting task, she tells herself. She knew it would be, and so she tried to do everything she could to make it easier. She bought the smithy, thinking that the familiarity of his old occupation would help him ease back into their lives. And she knew he would never be happy doing nothing. In the months before he came home, she talked to Liam, telling him everything about Will, answering every question, acquainting him with his father as best she could.

She is patient, tender, affectionate when he lets her be. To hear his heartbeat under her ear at night is her greatest joy. They have bested the curse, she tells herself.

So why is it that she doesn't feel that she's won? What she feels, when she allows herself to think about it, is that she's still running the same race for her marriage, for her life with Will, that she's run for the last ten years. The finish line has been passed. It's over, but it isn't over. It was only a partial victory.

There are times when she goes to the smithy, just to watch him without his knowing it. She peers into the darkness of the shop, sees him as he was when he was an apprentice and it sometimes brings tears to her eyes. She can see that he's found some comfort in being a blacksmith once again, and has found a link to this world through that.

She watches him with Liam, can see their son able to coax from him the smile that she cannot seem to, and she knows that he's has found another way to the living in his relationship with their boy.

But, somehow, there doesn't seem to be a link to this world through her. And she thinks herself inadequate.

She misses him, misses the man with ardent eyes that spoke volumes of his love for her. She misses the man who'd proposed to her on the heaving, rain-drenched deck of the Pearl, unwilling to wait, telling her that he'd made his choice and what was hers?

"Now may be the only time! Elizabeth Swann, do you take me ..."

She misses the gaze that never left hers as he lay dying, as if she were his North Star. She misses the eyes filled with despair and impossible determination as he bid her keep a weather eye on the horizon.

There are moments when she feels hope. Today, at the market place, Will stood back and watched her barter with a merchant, something she's done a hundred times at least. The smile of wry amusement on his lips had her heart soaring, and she'd smiled back sunnily. Yet it didn't last. He's once again withdrawn, almost secretive.

There is a panic that accompanies these moments, fear that she ruthlessly buries deep. She cannot allow herself to think that the man who'd loved her beyond reason, who'd done everything for her, is the man who doesn't seem to hardly love her at all anymore. That her ten years of love, of faithfulness, of fierce determination to see him free of the curse, are slowly turning to ashes in her hands.

So she tells herself yet again that he merely needs time, and she can wait.

She just isn't sure for what anymore.

(avatar by the talented mooie_ogen)

AWE Anniversary Drabbles

2008-11-16T19:56:01Z

Characters: Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): All three movies
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

These were some drabbles, written from prompts, for the one year anniversary of AWE. They were posted only on ff.net. Time to bring them over. Some stayed at 100 words, some went far beyond that and I wasn't counting.

001 - Arrow

Through all the fierce fighting, she always knew exactly where he was. They fought side by side, back to back, never far apart.

"Elizabeth," he shouted over the din, before helping her dispatch a barnacle-encrusted crew member. He grabbed her arm, making sure she faced him, that she saw him. She didn't think she'd ever seen his dark eyes so direct.

And there, on the heaving deck of the Pearl, drenched with rain, surrounded on every side by Company marines and Dutchman crew, Will went to the heart of the matter, his question piercing her.

"Will you marry me?"

002 - Eye

She isn't sure when he'd started using the words.

She knows that he doesn't like to say goodbye. He'll say good day, or good night, but not goodbye. She thinks it's because he's had to say it too many times … to his father, his mother, his friends in England, the only home he'd ever known. People and things that he can or will never go back to.

But when he is going to be gone a long time, he will use the words, needing always to remind her of the promise of his return.

"Keep weather eye on the horizon."

003 - Patience

She's never been patient, because she's never had to be. It's always tried her spirit to wait for anything.

He's always been patient, because he's had to be. His craft taught him that.

"Will, just hit it," she says from her perch in the blacksmith shop. She watches him lift the sword he's making, carefully gauging the color of the heated metal.

"it's not time yet," he replies, thrusting the unfinished blade back into the coals of the forge. "I'll ruin it. It'll be nothing but slag if I bang away on it now."

She huffs an impatient breath, and he laughs.

"Sometimes," he slides his finger playfully down her nose, "you have to wait to get what you really want."

Ten years stretch out before them like forever. She remembers what he'd said. He's always been patient. And she will learn to be … to get what she really wants.

004 - spider

The web of a spider doesn't look like much. In the early sunlight, it will glisten with dew and is actually beautiful to behold. There is nothing about it, just by looking at it, that shows its intent to be a trap.

Jack's words and plan weave a web, strand by strand. There is nothing in them to tell him what the intent is.

"No, you want you to find this."

"How much do you know about Davy Jones?

"Yeah, it's gonna save Elizabeth."

"Hey, if you do happen to get captured, just say Jack Sparrow sent you to settle his debt."

"Might save your life."

When Davy Jones asks him his purpose aboard the Dutchman, he tells him the words that Jack told him to say. They are the final strand in the web, and he finds himself well and truly trapped.

And he likens Jack to a spider.

005 - Cold

She's been cold before.

She was cold when she lived in England. The flames in the fireplaces never seemed to keep the rooms warm enough to suit her during the long winters.

She was cold in the cave at Isla de Muerta. It was damp and chill, and she was frozen with the fear of having her throat slit in some bizarre ritual.

She was cold when they'd traveled to world's end. She'd shivered with guilt and shame, even as she'd marveled at her fall from grace.

She was cold when she'd watched Will's life fade away. The ice encased her heart, and all she'd felt was hard and brittle and numb.

She is cold now. This is the cold of loneliness. She misses the warmth of his touch, and the flame of his love.

But in ten years, she tells herself, she will be warm again.

006 - Chaperone

They're getting married in three weeks.

Thank the Lord, says I.

I wish the Guvnor'd never given me this job.

Estrella, he says, you will be in charge of chaperoning Elizabeth and Mr. Turner while they are betrothed, he says. I'm quite certain I can rely on you to protect my daughter's reputation, he says.

Hmph. I'd like to see him try and keep an eye on those two. Always disappearing somewheres, soon as my back's turned, and then showing up later all mussed-like. Always touching each other when they think I'm not looking. Him teaching her to fight with a sword, and her wearing those breeches. They play with those swords for hours, and he kisses her every time she does something right.

I can't stop 'em. I caught her more'n once trying to sneak out in the middle of the night, to go meet him somewheres, I'm sure.

Good thing the Guvnor's never found out about that, thank the Lord again.

They're getting married in three weeks. I just hope I last.

007 - Ring

It's a sound that she hears often in her nightmares.

There were so many sounds that day, a veritable cacophony. There was the thunder and rain of the maelstrom, the crashing of waves against ships, the pounding of cannons and the musket fire, the clash of swords, the shouts of pirates and marines and barnacle-encrusted crew, the shrieks and moans of the dying.

Yet, above the din, even above Will's cries of pain, that particular sound had a piercing clarity ... the ring of fine steel as Davy Jones released the sword from his grasp, leaving it embedded in Will's chest.

She will never forget it; her nightmares won't let her.

008 - Embrace (dual view, one on each side of the ten years)

She can hear the staggered breath he takes, can hear the grief in just that slight, hitching sound. He pulls away, and she opens her eyes to see him walking towards the shore and the waiting Dutchman. Her heart rebels; this cannot be the last time she holds him, kisses him. She runs after him, crying out his name, throwing herself into his arms, and their lips meet in a caress that holds a world of love, of desperation, of unending sorrow.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are dark with anguish. "Keep a weather eye on the horizon," he pleads, before turning from her and towards his unwanted fate.

It is their last embrace for a decade.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She walks through the tall grasses of the cliffs at day's end, their son skipping on ahead. This is the sunset she has waited ten years to see. They stand together, and at the last flicker of the sun's brilliance, there is a flash of green. Her lips curve into a secret smile and she tells her son that she will race him to the beach. And then she is flying down the path, holding her skirts high. When she sees him, standing straight and strong on the shore, she cries out his name and throws herself into his arms. Their lips meet in a kiss that holds ten years of love, of longing, of loneliness and determination.

It is their first embrace in a decade. And her heart sings, because it will not be their last.

009 - Fairy tales (my cynical moment, so shoot me)

Pirates were my fairy tales.

They sailed the seas, they had adventures, they were swashbuckling buccaneers who lived their lives for freedom.

What could be more romantic than that?

Yet pirates live for themselves, and for selfish impulse. They will trade a man who'd risked his own life to save theirs, to settle a debt that they themselves owe. They will abandon their ship and crew in a time of distress. They will come back, but will not face the inevitable and sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

I've grown up since then. I want what I can count on.

I want someone who acts on his conscience. I want someone who believes in me and what I can do. I want someone who will take an apprenticeship he'd never asked for and turn it into a craft. I want someone who puts the needs of others before himself. I want someone I know would sacrifice himself for the good of all, if that was the only thing that there was left to do. I want someone who picks up the pieces that others dropped, and defends despite the odds.

Will once told Jack he would die for me. I believe it.

I don't want a fairy tale, I want something real.

010 - dust

It completely infuriated him to see her there, kneeling on the dusty floor of her cell, her beautiful wedding dress bedraggled and dirty.

She was a pawn in the hands of a ruthless man who played a dangerous game - they both were. Yet he cared nothing for himself. He knew that he would do whatever was necessary to not only get her out of there, but to be assured of her freedom from future persecution as well.

He knew that the Governor didn't have much faith in his ability to track Jack down and retrieve the compass, but his opinion mattered not one whit. Elizabeth believed in him, and that was all that mattered.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon," he whispered, before racing up the steps of the prison.

Buying passage on a ship bound for Tortuga, he strode up the gangplank, the dust of Port Royal and its jail covering his boots.

He never realized that he would never see the town again.

011 - Eagles

She'd heard about eagles, although she'd never seen one. Birds of prey that could soar majestically through the sky, wings spread to the winds, flying higher and farther than any other.

How did that feel, she used to wonder, to fly?

The fighting is furious around them. They circle the mast, hands coming together. They will do this themselves, they will not be stopped again.

"Elizabeth Swann," he asks, his dark eyes as intent as if they stood before the altar of their church, "do you take me to be your husband?" .

"I do!" she gives her joyous her reply.

"Great," he is almost giddy.

Separated by the battle, they fight to come together again.

"Will Turner, do you take me to be your wife?" she smiles at him over their clasped hands.

She ducks under his arm as he continues to hold her hand in his, changing positions with him.

This is their wedding dance, she thinks.

"In sickness and in health," he comes up behind her as she crosses swords with a barnacled crew member, stabs it under the blades as she holds them high. He pushes it off his sword with his foot. "With health being the less likely?"

They are separated again, and when they come together, his answer is warm and firm. "I do!" She smiles.

They duck and continue to fight, as Barbossa tries to tell them that they are husband and wife, that they can kiss. She goes high over Will's shoulder as they stab and slash.

Will leans her over his arm, his lips close to hers. She is angry and frustrated as they are pulled apart again, and she takes it out on any unfortunate Marine or crew member in her path.

In the heat of battle she and Will turn to each other, blades crossing above their heads, almost killing each other. Panting, they stare at each other, eyes equally alight with an almost feral gleam.

"Just kiss!"

Fiercely, she grabs his arm and pulls him to her, and their lips finally meet in a caress that carries equal amounts of love and desire.

And Elizabeth at last understands how it feels to soar like an eagle.

On the Hunt

2008-11-16T19:10:00Z

Characters: Will Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post DMC
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

The swim upward from the depths is endless.

Lungs burning, he at last breaks the surface, greedily taking in great gulps of sweet air, entranced for a moment by the simple joy of breathing. Treading water, he spies a large piece of wreckage, and makes his way to it. Pulling himself up onto its slippery surface, he lies on his face, exhausted.

All the while, his mind works feverishly. The threat of drowning has passed, but the danger of being killed is far from over The kraken is still somewhere below him, still on the hunt, and there is nowhere to go. A part of him begins to resign himself to eventually being pulled under again. He knows that he will most likely die here.

Almost as if he senses its presence, his dark musings are interrupted. He lifts his head and turns to look, dreading what he'll see. The Flying Dutchman sails into view, tattered sails fluttering, the ship of death that he'd tried so hard to escape. He gives a mirthless little chuckle. He's well and truly trapped.

Then the idea comes to him. Taking a deep breath, he launches himself into the treacherous seas again, swimming for all he's worth, heart pounding with terror. There is so much open water to cover, he thinks, given what is beneath him. Coming even with the Dutchman he frantically pulls himself up and up, scrambling into a convenient spot in the mouth of the prow. He presses himself low onto the sodden wood, panting.

And he smiles, almost ferally.

Raising his head, he leans out a bit to risk a look. Below, he can see the kraken circling, circling. It's confused, poor thing. It is on the hunt, but in order to take down its prey, it would have to take down its master and the Flying Dutchman as well. And that it cannot do.

He remains tense in his hiding place. It isn't until he hears Davy Jones thump over to the rail and call his pet off that he relaxes, quietly blowing out a relieved breath, his hammering heart beginning to slow down.

He takes a chance once again, climbing to peer onto the deck of the ship. He listens to Maccus report that there is no sign of him, watches as the survivors of the Edinburgh Trader are slaughtered, wincing at the sight. When it seems that Davy Jones senses that he is near, he ducks and returns to his place in the prow of the Dutchman, safe for now as they sail to Isla Cruses.

In a combination of cunning and sheer good fortune, the hunted has bested the hunters.

Edges

2008-11-16T19:07:23Z

Characters: Will Turner
Rating: G
Spoilers: Between DMC and AWE
Warning: None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement intended.

Note: An extra drabble, written for the turningpirate challenge. If it's not 300 words, it's damn close.

It's been said that there is given to every man a space of time to abide on this earth; that at the beginning of his life, the end of his life has already been established. That it is not a matter of when, but of how and where.

He is in the prime of his youth, and there is a certain bold confidence about him; although he respects death, he doesn't fear it. After all, more than once he's slid the edge of his sword along the edge of death's own blade, and has come away unscathed. He's been thrice shipwrecked, stared down undead pirates, escaped from the very ship that ferries the dead, has twice evaded the kraken's embrace.

And yet, his time is more limited than he knows. The boundries of his existence are shrinking. The edges of his life are being filled in faster than he realizes.

For something that had been slumbering all this time shook itself awake that day in Tia Dalma's hut.

"You," she spoke in a sugary twang as she stood momentarily transfixed by him. The obeah stared at him over Jack's shoulder, her eyes filled with some dark, secret knowledge. "Dere is a touch of destiny about you ... William Turner."

There is an unrelenting urgency that he feels now. He is restless, driven. He thinks that it is because of the threat of Bootstrap being absorbed into the Dutchman's embrace, like Wyvern. Part of the crew, part of the ship. The image never ceases to haunt him. He thinks that time is running out for his father, and saving him from his fate has become of chief importance.

What his waking self doesn't know ... but the deepest, most elemental places of his soul now understand ... is that he is running out of time for himself.

Death of a Dream

2008-11-16T19:02:59Z

Characters: Will Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post DMC
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al

Note: Written for mamazano's prompt root, for the turningpirate challenge.

A special thank you to mamazano for checking it over for me.

I tag immortal_jedi with the prompt "silent".

Thunk

There was something soothing about the rhythm.

Thunk

He wasn't really aware of what he was doing, as he sat at Tia Dalma's table, staring at nothing. His mind was far away, as his hand unconsciously threw his father's knife into the table, paused for a moment, and then pulled the blade out with a slight digging motion.

Thunk

Not so very long ago, his life was a bright and shining thing. Faint heart never won fair lady; his decision to try and save Jack from the hangman's noose made his own death imminent, and had shored up his courage and loosened his tongue.

"Elizabeth. I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. I love you."

He marveled at how he'd come away from it all with his life spared and his feelings returned. From that moment on, his days were filled with sunlight and laughter and love. He'd worked hard to finish his apprenticeship and lay aside whatever money he could to start their marriage together. He'd begun his courtship of Elizabeth in earnest, spending every free moment with her. He'd offered to teach her how to use a sword, a decision born out of a desire to see her able to defend herself in the future. They'd spent long, sometimes passionate hours together as he taught her everything he knew. They'd made a game of seeing how often they could evade her chaperone, the stolen moments all the sweeter for being forbidden. She and her father had planned their wedding, and he'd just wanted to know where and when, and why couldn't it be sooner.

It was the happiest that he had ever been.

Thunk

Now, it was all wrong.

The arrival of Cutler Beckett, on the very day of their wedding, was the beginning blight on the landscape of their future. Their arrest and potential hanging, so soon after Elizabeth's kidnapping and his very public attempt to save Jack from the noose, were scandals that could not be recovered from should the charges ever be dropped and they be freed. Not even her father's position as Governor could fix this. At best, they would have to begin life anew somewhere else.

Jack's manipulation of his desperation to free Elizabeth was not completely unexpected. While he knew that Jack did nothing unless there was some sort of profit in it for him, he'd hoped that gratitude for his and Elizabeth's saving him from hanging would mitigate that. And yet, Jack's betrayal of him to settle his own debt with Davy Jones was somehow still a shock.

He'd made a formidible enemy in Jones. He'd used Jones' own pride and arrogance against him to reveal the location of the key, stealing it from under his very nose, and escaping the ship of death. Unforgivable sins all, ones that now carried future consequences should he ever find himself under the Ferrier's thumb again.

He'd lost possession of the key, and with it the chance to free his father. He'd failed in his defense of the Pearl against the kraken attack, although he'd bought them the valuable time needed to escape.

Thunk

And somewhere, somehow, in the space of those dark days, he'd lost Elizabeth.

It wasn't just the kiss itself that told him this. It was her hunger, her eagerness, her complete passionate involvement in it to the forgetting of all else, everyone else, him.

It was the guilty aggression in her response to his clipped query as to Jack's whereabouts. It was her devastated face, with its tracks of hot tears down dirty cheeks. It was her turning inward to her own misery, leaving him helpless as he watched her anguish, sitting in Tia Dalma's hut. It was her quiet acknowledgement "he was a good man" as she held her cup of grog, unable to drink to Jack's memory.

Thunk

He didn't know what to do. Leaving the knife buried in the table, he turned to Elizabeth, unsure of what he wanted to say, and found himself softening in the face of her grief. Even now, he could never stand to see her unhappy. He got to his feet and took a step towards her.

"If there was anything that could be done to bring him back," he told her. "Elizabeth …"

Whatever else he'd intended was lost to Tia Dalma's breathless interruption.

"Would you do it? Hmm? What would any of you do? Hmm?" she hummed. "Would you sail to de ends of de earth, and beyond, to fetch back witty Jack, and him precious Pearl?"

He found himself taken aback, and then found himself considering what she'd asked. Could he? Would he?

There was the selfish part inside of him that immediately said no. In the face of Jack's monumental betrayal, he owed Jack nothing. He'd given enough, lost enough, he thought, as a trickle of blood from a reopened lash wound wended its way down his back. With the tricksy pirate dead, there was still a chance that he could salvage something of his relationship with Elizabeth. There was the possibility that, with time, he could get his life back.

And then he looked at all that was left of his hopes and dreams. What he'd had, what they'd had, was dead. If not dead, then it was dying, choked by the consequences of Cutler Beckett's not-so-provincial desires, Davy Jones' hatred, his own failures, and the shattering betrayals of Jack and Elizabeth. What they would have now would not be something wondrous, but a vestige of what once was. And he found that it would never be enough.

So he made his choice. With sure and steady hands, he reached out and uprooted from his heart the dying remnants of the life he'd come so close to having. He was ruthless, making sure that he pulled up every dream and every desire, casting them away.

Whatever his life would be from this moment on, it could never again be the bright and shining thing that it once was. But it wouldn't be this faded shadow either.

He listened to the others eagerly agree one by one, waiting, waiting for Elizabeth's response. At her soft "yes," his heart faltered once more. And then he made his decision.

"Aye."

To Love and To Hate

2008-11-16T03:33:11Z

Characters: Will Turner & Elizabeth Swann
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): CotBP & DMC
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al. No infringement is intended.

This is a response to the light & dark drabble challenge that was posted God knows where. The first one is love and hate.

001 - Love

Will pov -

He's loved her as long as he's known her, although always from afar. He is the blacksmith, she the Governor's daughter. He's ever been mindful of their differing stations in life, and he'd been resigned that it would always remain so. But the risky venture to rescue Elizabeth has changed him, the probability of death by a hangman's noose frees him of the shackles of propriety and class. The tie on his tongue loosens, as he finally reveals all that is in his heart.

"I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. I love you."

Elizabeth pov -

She doesn't remember a time when she didn't love him. At first, it was friendship, albeit one that her father actively discouraged. Over the course of time, however, it became something so much more. But while she was willing to breach the barrier of class, he would never do so. She blesses the day that she was kidnapped. The diffident, mindful of his place blacksmith has at last given way to the pirate. When he boldly proclaims his love for her, it frees her to do the same.

"So this is where your heart truly lies then?"

"It is."

001 - Hate

Will pov -

He had once proclaimed Jack a good man, one that was worth saving, even at the cost of his own life.

Now Jack is dead and he feels nothing but the sting of the pirate's betrayals.

He had once trusted Elizabeth with his heart, his life. Now, turning to gaze upon her devastated face, all he sees is the kiss. Betrayal's lash stings yet again.

He rhythmically sinks his knife into the table. Dark tendrils of hatred weave their way around his heart. He fights it, grimly wrestles it into submission.

What remains allows him to see to her happiness.

Elizabeth pov -

She hates herself.

To save her own life, and the lives of Will and the others, she'd offered up a man to die.

"Pirate," Jack had taunted her, as she'd chained him to the mast.

She has finally achieved what she's desired. She's become what she's admired for so long. She is a pirate.

And she finds that she cannot live with it. She is drowning in guilt and remorse. When the opportunity presents itself, she eagerly agrees to a risky venture to undo what she's done.

Because it's the only way she'll be able to live with herself again.

Drabbles of Heat and Memory

2008-11-16T02:39:33Z

Pairing: Will Turner/Elizabeth Turner
Rating: M
Warning(s): Post AWE
Disclaiming: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, etal

Longing - Will pov

How is it that he can close his eyes and still feel her in his arms? Can still see her eyes, dark with desire and luminous with love? Can still hear her low moans and tiny cries as they'd lost themselves in each other? Can still hear her breathing hitch at the slow, searing kisses he'd pressed to every inch of her body? Can still feel her skin, so soft and warm and smooth, beneath his hands?

His throat gets tight with longing and desperation as he grips the Dutchman's rail. How is it that he can still taste her?

Remembering - Elizabeth pov

Pulling on Will's shirt, breathing in his lingering scent, her eyes fall closed. Tilting her head back, she allows her hands to wander, feeling the soft fabric like a caress against her palms as they move down her body. She lifts one hand to skim her fingers over the line of her throat, following a path to the swell of her breast.

She remembers how she'd guided his hand the exact same way as they'd sat in the heated darkness of the Interceptor's hold. She remembers his warm, rough touch on her moist skin, shivers at the memory.

... blacksmith's hands.

Yes to it All

2008-11-16T02:36:50Z

Pairing: Elizabeth Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, the characters belong to Disney, et al

He doesn't ask me to stay in this most unconventional of marriages. That has never been his way. My freedom, and what is best for me, are all he's ever wanted.

He tells me, instead, that he doesn't expect the world to stop turning.

I see it in his eyes, what it costs him to tell me this. How it shatters every hope and dream that he's ever had for himself. His life has been broken, yet he will release me to fix my own.

The only thing he asks of me is to keep safe the heart that has always belonged to me.

But when I answer him, I say yes. Yes to it all ... to guarding his heart, to loving him with everything that is in me and staying in this marriage, to waiting for him as he will wait for me, to being there in ten years when a flash of green will signal his soul's return from the dead.

My hands rest over his as he holds the chest, our foreheads touch, and I know he understands all that I am saying in that one simple word.

With an aching sigh, he turns to leave. I watch him walk away to fulfill his destiny, but I still can't let him go. Not yet.

Setting aside the chest, I cry out his name, running to him, and we share a last desperate kiss. As he breaks the caress, I search his eyes. Under the pain of our parting I can see the determination, but there is also a flicker of new hope.

And I rejoice at his last words, for I know their meaning well. They are not good-bye, but I am coming back to you.

"Keep a weather eye on the horizon."

Wetting the Baby's Head

2008-11-16T02:32:07Z

Characters: Will Turner/Bootstrap Bill Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al

Wetting the baby's head - the process of celebrating the birth of a baby. Traditionally taking its name from the Christian baptismal rite, during which the head of a baby would be wet with blessed water, the phrase now commonly relates to the consumption of large amounts of alcohol as a celebration of the new arrival.

(Definition taken from www.urbandictionary.com)

Wetting the Baby's Head

As he always does at the end of every voyage, Will Turner, Captain of the Flying Dutchman, ferrier of souls, stands at the rail next to the gangway of his ship and watches as the latest group of passengers disembark onto the dock of the shores of the afterlife. His father, long ago made his first mate, is standing by his side, as is his custom.

They will file off in an orderly fashion. Some of them are very tentative of what might be waiting for them, some show absolute terror, and others seem to be ready to embrace Fiddler's Green with smiles of joy on their faces. And there are always some who will acknowledge him as they walk past.

"Thank you for the safe voyage, Captain."

"I'm grateful for all you've done, Sir."

"You've made the trip easy, Sir."

He will give them a slight smile, or a nod of his head, and wish them Godspeed.

Should a voyage happen to have any children aboard who are alone, he will take time with each of them, kneeling to whisper a few reassurances to them before they depart. Losing his mother at an early age, learning to fend for himself, and having also been shipwrecked, he finds that the little ones always tangle themselves in his heartstrings. He understands completely what they are feeling. They often break his heart.

Once the passengers are gone, he will give orders to put to the seas of the dead again, and then either retreat to his cabin or, more often than not, take over the helm himself.

This time, however, is different. This time, he watches for someone in particular, all the while holding himself tensely. When he sees who he's looking for, he unconsciously stands a little straighter, and waits.

A rather nondescript pirate comes striding up, stopping for a moment in front of him. He holds out his hand.

"My congratulations once again, Cap'n," he says with a smile, as Will grasps his hand and shakes it firmly.

"Thank you," Will warmly replies. "I will forever be in your debt. Go with God."

As he watches, the man disembarks and eventually disappears into the mists that shroud the shores of the afterlife from the crew of the Dutchman. He has never seen what lies beyond that mist. It is not his place to know where the souls he delivers are going; he has long ago come to realize that he really doesn't want that knowledge, for not everyone is destined for happiness in the hereafter.

As he continues to follow the man's progress, his father looks at him curiously, eyebrow raised. Will can feel the weight of Bootstrap's gaze upon him, but doesn't say anything. When he can no longer see the nameless pirate, he finally turns towards his sire, his dark eyes a curious mix of sadness and wonder.

"We picked him up with the last shipwreck," Will explains, nodding his head in the man's direction. "He said he didn't fear death, when I offered him the chance to serve before the mast. He said he was ready to face whatever was waiting for him."

Will lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck, and rolls his shoulders as if to relieve an ache.

"I asked him if there was any news of Elizabeth," he confesses, turning his head away to stare once again at the spot where the man had disappeared.

His father is not surprised at this. He knows that Will asks the same question of every pirate that they pick up.

"She's the king of the Brethren Court, Da, and a pirate lord herself," Will tells him. "If there is any news of her, be it good or bad, there isn't a pirate that sails that won't know about it eventually. Don't you see?" he cries. "I have to ask! This is all I have, all I know to do."

As it always does, it pains Bootstrap to see how hungry Will is for any scrap of news of Elizabeth, how greedily he soaks up anything he hears, and how his shoulders sag when, more often than not, the pirates have nothing to tell.

It was in just this manner that Will had learned that Elizabeth was with child. Bill had never seen him so torn apart with incredulous delight, bitter resentment and aching pain as when his son had told him the news. Then he'd watched Will stride away to his quarters. He'd stayed in his cabin for an entire week. When he'd finally appeared on deck again, he was calm, but he'd looked pale and strained.

"I gather you've learned something," his father says.

"Aye," Will replies softly. He looks at Bootstrap, and his eyes fill with tears as he tells him the news. "I'm a father," he gives a crooked little smile. "Elizabeth safely delivered a fine baby boy. He's almost six months old now."

"He said she's named him William," Will's voice cracks, "after his da."

With that, he turns abruptly on his heel and strides away, going to his cabin. Bootstrap can hear the distant slam of the door. And his heart breaks for his son once again.

o-o-o-0-0-o-o-o

It's been five days. Five days, during which the captain of the Flying Dutchman has not been seen outside his quarters.

There have been a number of times during those 120 long hours that Bootstrap has found himself hesitating outside of the cabin door, his hand raised to knock, only to drop it again after thinking the better of it, and walking away.

His father knows that Will needs time - time to come to terms with the fact that he is an absent father, just as it had taken him time to reconcile himself to being an absent husband. He remembers how Will had struggled at first, how he'd fought against the bond that the Dutchman and Calypso had over him, fruitlessly searching for a way of being able to escape his fate.

"Indentured servitude, Da," Will tells him bitterly, as he stares out over the endless waters that now comprise his world, "that's all this is. Indentured servitude. It's no different than when I was apprenticed to Mr. Brown. I did his work, now I do Calypso's. Only then, I had chances to see Elizabeth, to talk with her, to be with her sometimes." His fists tighten on the Dutchman's rail. "Even when she was so far above me, I could at least gaze my fill. Now, I have nothing - nothing, except for what scraps I can glean - for ten long years."

"Bloody hell," he breathes out his anguish.

It had been a dark and terrible time, before a certain acceptance had come.

Will learning that he was going to be a father had been an equally dark time. Now, Will knows he has a son. And Boostrap knows that Will is reeling from this latest bittersweet blow. So Bootstrap searches for something, anything that can possibly help him get through it. And he thinks he's found an answer. But he also thinks it might be the wrong thing to do, and he's plagued with uncertainty.

Everything about being bound to the Dutchman and its purpose, about being the ferrier of souls, is wrong. Oh, not in and of itself, maybe. But wrong for Will. Still, it is what it is. All he knows is that his son is struggling as he never has before, and Bootstrap needs to do something.

Maybe it won't help at all. But, his father wonders, can it hurt? Can it make things worse? He won't know unless he tries.

So Bill find himself, once again, standing in front of the door to Will's quarters. All is in readiness for him to put his simple plan into effect. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he knocks. He shifts from foot to foot as he waits, listening carefully for any indication that Will is going to answer. After a few moments, he knocks again.

"Will," he calls in a low voice, "Will, I know you're in there, son."

Bootstrap strains to hear any sound. He is just getting ready to knock one more time when he hears the scraping of wood against wood. A few moments later, the door in front of him is unlocked and jerked open.

Will stands in the entrance to his cabin, one hand grasping the edge of the wood above his head, and his father breathes in deeply at the sight of his son in the light of the torches on the Dutchman's deck.

Will's hair is free of the neat bandana that Bootstrap has become used to seeing tied around his head. The curling strands frame a pale face that seems thinner than before, thin enough so that the cheekbones stand out more sharply. Will's jaw is clenched, his lips pressed tightly together. There are shadows under eyes that are so dark with pain that it hurts to look at them.

"What do you want, Da?" Will asks in a voice devoid of all emotion.

"I haven't seen you in almost a week," Bootstrap tells him, "neither has any of the crew."

"Maybe I haven't wanted to be seen," Will answers flatly, as he released his grip on the door and turns away. He walks back into his quarters, leaving the door wide open behind him. "Is there anything wrong with that?"

His father doesn't answer, not knowing what to say.

Will continues to move towards the back of the cabin, where the organ that Davy Jones used to play still takes up almost the entire wall. He stops in front of it, and runs his hand along the keys. The brush of his fingers is so light, the organ makes no sound.

"When I was hiding in here, waiting for the chance to steal the key, I watched for a long time as Jones sat and played," Will looks over his shoulder at his father. "There was so much rage in his music, so much bitterness." Turning his face away again with a harsh laugh, Will brings his hand down hard upon the keys, and the organ booms out the clashing, strident sound. "I think I finally know exactly how he felt."

Bill's heart plummets. He knew that Will was struggling; hell, who wouldn't be? But even he hasn't realized the true depths of Will's despair. Suddenly, he is second-guessing his plan, wondering if all it would do is make things worse. He is so lost in thought that he startles when Will impatiently asks him the same question once again.

"What is it you want, Da?"

"I wanted to see how you were getting along," Bill tells him. "I've been a little worried about you, being in here for so long."

"I'm fine," Will answers him briefly, still staring down at the organ. After a moment's silence, he turns away from the grotesque instrument with a muttered "I hate that bloody thing," as he rakes a hand through his hair.

Bootstrap gives a little snort in response. "I'm thinking you're not fine," he disagrees. "It's a hard thing, finding out that you've a son that's been born while you're away."

Will's face turns stormy at his father's words, and an old bitterness comes just that quickly to the surface.

"That's right, I remember mum telling me how I'd been born while you were at sea. I was a little over a year old before you were home again." He gives a harsh chuckle. "I guess maybe you would understand how I feel."

"No," Bootstrap answers in complete honesty. "I can't say that I truly would. To be sure, I hated knowing that Anne would be giving birth while I was at sea, but that's a choice that I made. You've made no such choice. Tis a different thing for you."

His eyes get far away at the memory of coming in to port and finding his Anne waiting for him, holding their son in her arms.

"I remember the first time I saw you. T'was a year old you were, maybe more. You were a little afraid of your da, I think."

He smiles at the thought of a slight little boy with serious dark eyes and round cheeks that were stained red by the heat of the summer sun, perched in Anne's embrace. He'd reached out to hold Will for the first time, and his boy had buried his face in his mother's collar, not wanting to go to this strange man.

"It took you awhile to warm up to me," Bill grins, "but soon you were following me everywhere. Especially the docks. You loved the docks, the tall ships, the excitement of it all."

Will gives a reluctant smile, hearing about this moment from his childhood that he had no memory of.

"I don't remember that," he says softly.

"It was a happy time. I was a father to a fine young son. And I wanted to celebrate. Went to the tavern down the road and shouted a round for everyone that was there," Bootstrap lifts his head to stare into his son's eyes. "That was quite a night, wetting your head. Anne almost boxed my ears when I finally came home, drunk as a lord," he chuckles. "Aye, a grand night indeed."

Bill takes a deep breath. It's time.

"Will," he says seriously, putting his hand on his son's shoulder, "I'm thinking we need to wet your baby's head."

Will stares for a moment, and then his eyes widen and he pulls back, angrily shrugging off his father's grasp with a wide sweep of his arm. He turns away from him, fists clenched at his sides.

"No!" he says in a low, fierce voice. "No! I can't do that! I've barely even realized that he's been born, Da! Yes, I knew all along that Elizabeth had to have given birth well before now. But ... but now I know, now I really know. And it's killing me that my wife and my new son are out there and I'm stuck here. No, that's the last thing I want to do."

After a moment, Bootstrap reaches out to clasp his son's shoulders in his hands, gently turning a stubbornly resistant Will around to face him. His eyes are filled with understanding and regret, but they are stern as well.

"Which is precisely why you should do this. Hell's teeth, boy!" his father gives Will's shoulders a slight shake. "Many a sailor's become a father while away at sea. Aye, the circumstances are terrible, but you've a fine son! And that's something that should be celebrated, no matter what the circumstances."

"I'm not ready, Da," Will's voice is strained as he pulls away once more.

His father watches Will's tense frame as he moves to stand by the window of the cabin. He sighs, his heart aching for his boy.

"I know it hurts," Bootstrap says softly, "but there's a time for everything, Will, even celebrating." He moves to stand next to his son again. "Now there's nothing, nothing about this existence, about your being bound to this ship and its purpose, that is right. We both know that. But, in the world you've left behind, you'd be seeking out the nearest tavern to wet William's head, whether you'd been there for his birth or not. Maybe it would help, to do something here that you would have done there."

After a long stretch of silence, Will slants a pained, uncertain glance in his father's direction. "I don't know," he says quietly.

"You're a new father, man! I'm a grandfather," Bootstrap again puts his arm around Will's shoulders. "For one night, for this one night, forget about everything else. Forget about the Dutchman, Calypso, the ten years, the charge that you have ... and be a new father. Put it all aside," he urges. "Toast the arrival of your son."

"I can see that you're not going to take my no for your answer, are you?" Will sighs. After another long pause, he nods his head in reluctant agreement. "Maybe you're right," he concedes.

"I've been wrong many a time about many a thing," his father chuckles, "but I'm thinking I'm not wrong about this." He claps a hand on his son's back, urging him through the door. "Now, let's go find some rum. I believe there's some below, in the mess."

Will has never understood how it is that the Dutchman stays stocked with rum. He assumes that Calypso must be involved in some way, for there seems to be a never-ending supply of it. It's one of the few carry-overs, from the world of the living, allowed for a crew that has very little in the way of creature comforts as they sail the seas of the dead.

As they go below decks and draw near the mess, Will can hear the din of conversation. Opening the door, he stops in surprise when he sees almost his entire crew crowded around the table that dominates the small room. He hesitates, turning to his father with a question in his eyes.

"They know?" he asks in a low voice.

"Aye, they do," Bootstrap replies bracingly. "There's not much that will remain a secret aboard the Dutchman for long, especially when the news involves its captain. There's still the small crew that's taken tonight's watch."

After a moment, Will nods, and turns to enter the room. He walks quietly to stand at his place at the head of the table, while his father takes the spot at his right.

There is a mug in front of every man, and there are numerous bottles of rum at the ready.

Bootstrap calls for silence, and the conversation dies as the crew respectfully rise to their feet.

"As you all are aware, Captain Turner here has become a proud new father. His wife, Elizabeth, has safely delivered a fine son, and named him William, after his da." There are cheers and a few shouted congratulations from the men. Bootstrap waits for silence, and then begins again. "We've come together to wet the baby's head, and to help Captain Turner celebrate this new life," he reaches down and picks up his mug of rum. The other men do the same, and after a moment Will does as well.

Bill raises his mug, and turns to his son.

"To William Turner, the Third!"

The men raise their mugs, and the toasts come from every side.

"A long and happy life to 'im."

"May fortune smile upon him."

"Good health to 'im."

"May he always know fair winds and following seas."

"The Lord's fine blessings be upon him."

Will stands with his crew, his mug raised with theirs, his eyes filling with tears as the men toast his young son. He clenches his jaw, breathing harshly to keep them from falling, and his heart overflows at their good wishes. He swallows hard.

"To William," he says softly. He pauses for a moment before bringing the mug to his lips. He then tosses back the rum, slamming his mug down on the table; his father and the other men do as well.

He gives a deep sigh, his eyes unseeing for a moment while his thoughts are far away with his family, his loneliness and longing for Elizabeth and William as tight as a fist in his chest. But then he sees that his mug is being refilled, and he shakes off his reverie. Toasts are now raised to Elizabeth, for her health and happiness and well-being, both as Will's wife and as William's mother.

"To Elizabeth," his voice catches, as he again tosses back his rum and slams down his mug.

He and the men take their seats. The bottles are passed and drinks are replenished. Conversation begins to hum around the table again, and the rum flows freely. There is much in the way of shouting and laughter, for this is a celebration of life, a true rarity in this world.

At first, Will is quiet and doesn't really take part in what is going on around him. But, as the evening wears on, the high spirits and the rum do their work. He begins to relax as he becomes slightly inebriated, the rum loosening his tongue. And he starts to talk. He talks to the men nearest him about his hopes and dreams for his son. He talks especially to his father. He tells Bootstrap all about his adored Elizabeth - how they'd met, how they'd fallen in love, how they'd married aboard the Pearl, everything. He tells his father things about her that he'd never told him before. He talks to Bootstrap about William, about all the things he wants for him.

And, to his grateful surprise, he can feel the tightness in his chest ease, just a bit.

It is long into the night before the men finally leave, one or two at a time, after coming up to Will to congratulate him again on the birth of his son. Soon, only Will and his father are left sitting at the table. He gives Bootstrap a smile that is not much more than a slight upward quirk of his lips. But his da is pleased to see a certain amount of peace in Will's eyes. He doesn't know if it will last, but it is enough for now.

"Thank you," Will tells him simply. And with that, he rises to his feet, telling Bootstrap that he is going topside to relieve the watch.

As he takes the helm on this most quiet of nights, Will puts his hands to the wheel, feeling the familiar thrum of the Dutchman beating against his palms. He looks to the stars of the world he now lives in, brilliant points of light in a black velvet sky, and his thoughts fly to his wife and new son. He can almost see Elizabeth, holding William close as she rocks him to sleep in a room lit by a single candle, a warm Caribbean breeze blowing through the window. He can almost hear the lullaby that she croons.

And from the quiet darkness of his world he sends his love to Elizabeth, as he always does, and now to William as well ... bidding them keep a weather eye on the horizon.

A True Medium

2008-11-16T02:26:17Z

Characters: Will Turner
Rating: G
Warning(s): None
Disclaimer: I don't own them; the characters belong to Disney, et al.
Summary: Response to the blade drabble challenge ... 100 words.

He's a swordsmith, but there is so much more to it than that.

It isn't just the forming of the blade, although that is part of the whole. The artist in him finds fulfillment in the creation of a fine sword, in the sweat and toil of turning unformed elements into something beautiful and deadly.

But it is a also weapon meant for use, and that calls forth a different kind of artistry. There's a part of his soul that only finds its expression in swordplay.

In this shining ribbon of iron and steel, he has found his true medium.

Forget Me Not

2008-11-16T02:21:38Z

Pairing: W/E
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, the characters belong to Disney, et al

Will pov -

There is nothing tangible he has to remember her by. No trinkets, no miniatures, no letters, not even a scrap of cloth that holds her lingering scent. The captain's cabin of the Dutchman is barren of mementos of his adored Elizabeth. All he has are his memories, and his dreams. It is there that he finds her, holds her, loves her; it is there that he will keep forgetfulness at bay. Everything else has been taken from him. He clings to his cherished remembrances; he fights to keep them unfaded by time and distance. And he waits for his dreams.

Elizabeth pov -

Returning to Port Royal, she gathers up every tangible piece of him that she can find. She goes to the smithy and collects his meager belongings, keeping them in her bedchamber with the chest that holds his heart. She takes comfort in touching his things, wraps herself in his shirts at night. She hoards every memory, and lives to find him in her dreams. The day she knows she is with child, she joyfully cradles her belly, this place now holding a living piece of her beloved Will. And she prays their son or daughter will look just like him.

Freedom

2008-11-16T02:19:37Z

Pairing: Elizabeth Turner
Rating: G
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, the characters belong to Disney, etal

Elizabeth pov, but again, it's all about Will.

You'd wonder, if you could see me, why I hold the chest in my arms so often at night.

I know you'd smile to see me caressing it with my fingers, as if I were caressing your beloved face. To hear me talk to it, to whisper my love and my innermost secrets, as if I were whispering in your ear. To watch me lay my head against it so that I can listen to the beating of your heart, as I used to lay my head against your chest with your arms tightly around me.

It's so very simple. It's as close as I can get to you, while you're away. While you're bound to the Flying Dutchman, bound to its purpose, bound to the lost souls that look to you for safe passage to the next world; souls like my father's.

Bound.

I hate that word. I hated it for me, and I hate it for you.

My life had been the life of every woman who'd been raised in society, and who'd grown up the daughter of the Governor of the colony. It was full of rules and strictures and propriety. I could go here, but I couldn't go there. Certain girls of Port Royal were encouraged to be my friends, others were not. I could entertain the idea of marrying James Norrington, a Commodore, a fine man, a smart match. But I should not entertain the idea of marrying Will Turner, a simple blacksmith, an equally fine man, but seemingly not a smart match.

I've always longed for a life of being able to do as I pleased. To have adventures. To be free.

And my freedom has always been so very important to you.

"Elizabeth goes free."

"Barbossa, you lying bastard! You swore she'd go free!"

"I'm to find Jack and convince him to return to Port Royal. In exchange, the charges against us will be dropped."

"She's not part of any bargain!'

"What?! Not done! No!"

There were so many times when you would have done anything for my freedom. Endured any pain. Gone to any lengths, even to the extent of giving me up.

You were willing to set me free when you'd believed I was in love with Jack.

You asked me, that day on the beach, if I would keep your heart safe, a true commitment to you. But you gave me a choice. And you told me that, whatever your fate, you didn't expect the world to stop turning. You were willing to set me free before you'd ever started your service aboard the Dutchman.

I've come to realize something else, something more. My greatest freedom ... beyond the physical and the emotional ... as a woman dependent on only herself, has also come from you.

You taught me how to handle a sword, to be as proficient as you. Many were the evenings that you went over the finer points of swordsmanship, time and again, until I got it right. You expected me to do it as well as you, never thinking that anything less was good enough because I was a woman. You demanded the best from me.

You refined my abilities with a musket. I knew how to load and shoot. All women in the colonies have those rudimentary skills. But you made me practice until I could hit a target better than anyone, except for maybe you.

You were the one who wanted me fighting by your side. In the Isla de Muerta's cave of treasure, we fought together. You never expected me to hide, never demanded that I wait and watch while you fought alone. No, it was the two of us.

You were the one with such faith in my abilities that you handed me the musket when we were fighting the Kraken, telling me not to miss. An entire shipload of pirates, and you trusted me with that most vital of tasks.

You were the one who believed in me as pirate king. I could see the pride in your eyes, the confidence you had in me, as we again fought side by side against Davy Jones and the East India Trading Company.

Every freedom that I have today, I have because of you. You've given me the skills that I need to go anywhere in the world and make my own way, either on land or sea. I believe in myself because you've always believed in me and what I can do. Rules, strictures, propriety don't exist for you when it comes to me and how you see me. I see myself in your eyes, and I see a free woman.

Yet, you are bound. Bound to a goddess, a purpose, a ship, a destiny. I hate that I am free in every sense of the word, and you are not. I hate that you must once again become the laborer of another. Mr. Brown, Calypso. They are both the same to me. He owned you, and now she does. I understand now how your desire for my freedom drove you to the lengths it did. I hate that there is nothing that I can do to gain your freedom; I want it so badly for you.

All I can do is wait. Wait because I love you. Wait because I believe in what we have together, and there is nothing I want more than a life with you, however long it takes.

Wait, because you've given me the freedom to choose.

This is the choice I freely make. I hold your chest in my arms, and I wait. For you.

A/N ... I know that, in the canon of the movies, we never saw Will tell Elizabeth that he didn't expect her to wait for him. I chose to put it in, and not only because it is in the novelization of the movie. I put it in because I can look at the man Will is, and how Elizabeth's freedom was always of supreme importance to him, and believe that he would have given her this choice as well.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little unsure about this one, lol, but it's how I see it.

Poised on the Edge of the Future

2008-11-16T02:17:13Z

Pairing: Elizabeth Turner
Rating: G
Warning[s]: Spoilers thru AWE
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, they belong to Disney, etal.

A drabble-ish look at that moment between the end of ten long years and the start of a new life. It's an Elizabeth pov but, after all, it's all about Will.

She walks through the grasses that blanket the cliffs high above the sheltered bay; the tall, reedy stalks move with the wind, much like the waves of the sea that now fill her vision. The sun hangs low over the horizon, the last of its light a rich, golden hue, one that speaks to the remembrances of her heart. Many were the times that she'd come to these cliffs at sunset, looking out over the wide expanse of ocean, yearning for this one particular day.

She tries to calm the fluttering of the butterflies that have taken up residence in her belly. Her hands are trembling a bit with nervous anticipation, and she thrusts them into the pockets of her skirt. She moistens her lips and reminds herself to breathe. Just breathe.

Elizabeth smiles as she watches William skip on ahead of her, singing the shanty she'd taught him so long ago.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," the words float back to her on the cool breeze in his high, pure voice.

She moves to stand next to her son, who has come to a halt and is now watching the horizon intently. Her arm goes around him, pulling him to her, and he looks up at her and smiles, excitement dancing in the dark eyes that are so like his father's. He then turns his gaze back to await the last flicker of sunset.

Moments later, Elizabeth feels his thin shoulders tense at the flash of green, and a secret smile graces her face. This is the rarity that few have ever witnessed, the signal of a soul returning from the dead.

William's eyes widen at the sight of the Flying Dutchman as she sails into the quiet bay. With the appearance of the mythic ship, every story that Elizabeth has ever told him is confirmed. Seeing, after all, is believing. And those stories now move from being almost fables, told at bedtime, to the realm of pure, solid truth. She can feel his quick intake of breath, a slight gasp of awe, and he turns his face up to hers again, his smile bright and joyous.

There is a silent question in his eyes, and she knows what it is. Elizabeth nods her head in the direction of his father's ship.

"Go," she urges, and William is off like a shot out of a musket. He bounds through the tall grass, as graceful as a young deer, racing down the dirt path that leads to the shore.

Elizabeth continues to stand at the end of the cliffs, poised on the edge of her future. Her gaze sweeps over every inch of the Flying Dutchman, searching, straining for the first glimpse of the man she's waited ten years to see again. Her heart pounds furiously in her breast. When Elizabeth spots him, she's transfixed at the sight of her husband leaping onto the ship's rail to lean out as far as he can, hand tangled in the rigging. She can read his eagerness from here.

"Will," she whispers, as a shimmer of tears blurs her vision. Elizabeth pulls her hands from her pockets, and quickly brushes them away. And then she's running, holding her skirts high, skimming down the path, crying out his name.

When she reaches the beach, she can see Will already kneeling in the sand and hugging William close. Elizabeth skids to a stop within an arm's reach of them, breathing hard. The sudden rush of emotion at seeing her two men together for the first time has her raising her hands to her mouth, her eyes brimming, her chest tight. She doesn't know how her heart can contain her joy. Will lifts his head to gaze up at her, tears streaming down his face, and he holds out his arm in an unspoken plea.

Elizabeth takes that last step, and falls to her knees, burying herself in Will's embrace. She turns her face into the warmth of his throat, breathing in his scent, still familiar after all this time. She feels him shudder as her lips brush over the heated skin there, her first caress in a decade.

"Elizabeth," she hears him whisper raggedly. "I've missed you so."

This is the moment she's yearned for, waited for, and counted down years and days and hours and minutes for. She holds tightly to her husband and their son, and all of her life is at last resting in her arms. For the first time, everything is right. Will is home and, after ten years, she is finally fully content.

Drabble - Sand

2008-03-21T21:48:41Z

Pairing: W/E
Rating: M
Spoiler(s): Post AWE
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer: I don't own them, the characters belong to Disney, etal

Sand

Will pov

Sand

He thinks her as sultry as any fallen angel as she hovers over him, straddling his waist. The sinking sun behind Elizabeth casts a glow about her, momentarily hiding her face shadows. As she leans down to kiss him, he sees the wicked smile upon her lips before they close over his. He feels the glide of her hands over his stomach and his chest as she breaks the caress. Her fingers skim the heated skin of his throat. Elizabeth sets her rhythm, and his hands dig into the warm sand beneath him at the pleasure she creates.

Elizabeth pov

"I'm gonna need the other one," she hears Will say, and she perches her slender leg, encased in worn leather, on the rock next to him. It is their last moment of wantonness, and she knows he cannot resist her. She gazes down into his face as he gently pulls his boot off her, casting it aside. He caresses the back of her thigh as he slowly kisses his way up her knee. Her eyes close, enraptured at the caress, relishing the feel of warm, rough hands and the few coarse grains of sand that still cling to his fingers

The Things He Knows

2008-02-17T02:46:18Z

Will Turner; W/E
Rating: G to PG-13
Warning[s]: Spoilers thru AWE
Disclaimer: Don't own them; belong to Disney, etal

He knows the sea, now. He knows her in ways that he hadn't ever dreamt of, and hadn't ever wished to. The pulse of her waters is as familiar to him now as the rhythm of his own heart in his empty chest used to be. He is one with her, a servant to a capricious mistress. She can be still and gentle, wild and angry and cruel, and everything in between. She possesses many moods, and he knows them all. So completely attuned is he that he can sense her myriad changes long before the world ever becomes aware of them.

He knows the dead and dying, now. The calling of their souls for safe passage is as irresistible to him as the fabled sirens of legend, cries impossible for him to ignore. He understands the turmoil that he feels from them, the grief and horror of leaving too soon a world that holds everything cherished, in exchange for the unguided unknown. After all, he'd traveled the path toward death himself, a dark, cold and tumultuous journey, with no one to lead him. And he remembers the feeling. Such is his empathy for these fearful souls that he wonders how it was that Davy Jones had ever managed to so thoroughly corrupt the purpose of the Flying Dutchman. Instead of being in the care of a strong and quiet ferryman, the souls under Davy Jones' watch had been left to aimlessly traverse the seas between the world of the living and the shores of the afterlife, adrift and lost and alone, while he took vengence for his own shattered love and dreams.

He knows his ship, now. As he is one with the sea, he is one with the Flying Dutchman as well. He is bound to what had been a cursed ship. It is an unnatural union, but a union nonetheless, brought about by the harvesting of his heart. It is a marriage of sorts, a vow he hadn't taken, given by proxy by Jack and his father, but just as binding. And he can feel the ship changing. The neglect under Davy Jones' command had made the Dutchman a barnacle-encrusted ghost ship, gray and tattered and decayed. But, with him at the helm, she is slowly and surely restoring herself. A living entity in her own right, the Dutchman is responding to the care of a good captain. He and his crew can see the once proud ship revealing herself again.

And he knows the depths of loneliness, now.

He is the new captain of the Flying Dutchman, successor to a man who had thoroughly corrupted his purpose, his ship and his crew. When he'd taken up his command, the men were no longer bound to service. Some of them had elected to leave, some of them had stayed, still not ready to move on. But he knows that the men are wary. After long years of abuse at the hands of Davy Jones, they are reticent with their new captain; their trust must be earned. There is also a natural division between a captain and his crew, his position of authority demanding respect and not allowing for easy familiarity. He hasn't felt this isolated since he'd boarded the ship leaving England, after his mother had died.

He is the son of a long-absent father. His memories of Bootstrap were clouded by time, distance and a simple deceiving of himself. Bill Turner hadn't been a merchant sailor, a good respectable man who'd obeyed the law. He'd been a pirate, a scalawag. He'd been a man who'd followed the dual siren calls of the sea and of treasure, leaving behind a wife and son to fend for themselves. The times that his da had made port were full of stories and trinkets, hugs and laughter, but they'd never lasted long before Bootstrap again heeded the pull of the sea, and left them behind once more.

To be with his father now aboard the Dutchman often leaves him in a turmoil of intense emotions - pain, anger, love, disappointment, hope, myriad others. They are so very confusing. But what has become clear is that he doesn't know his sire at all. In all the times of his life, the time with his da had been too little to forge any sort of real knowledge of the man. What he has are a small boy's fanciful remembrances, which are really nothing more than deceptions spun to fill an aching void of emptiness and loss.

His father has chosen to stay with him aboard the Dutchman, when he could have moved on. And he is so very grateful for that. He knows Bill Turner loves him. Yet he is loath to let his father too close so soon, unable to help the lack of trust. He simply desires, in the unspoken depths of his disillusioned heart, to protect himself from further hurt. This is a loneliness that he chooses, for now.

More than anything else, he is the absent husband of an adored new wife. After their long estrangement, everything had finally been stripped down to its most elemental level that day aboard the Pearl. And he and Elizabeth had made their choices. Unwilling to wait any longer, they'd married during a chaotic ceremony that was all the more satisfying because they had taken control. They were determined that their wedding would not be interrupted again.

Yet while it is true that even death at the hands of Davy Jones couldn't part them for long, a goddess, a ship and a purpose could. Destiny, it would seem, would not be interrupted either.

He aches for her, every moment, with a longing that is almost impossible for him to bear. He never forgets for an instant what they should have had. There should have been sunlit days filled with laughter and love, and sultry nights filled with passion. Without her, his days are long and his nights are longer still. His arms are empty, his bed is as well.

He misses her. He misses her fiercely independent nature, her quick mind, and her boundless love. He misses her kiss, and the familiar press of her slight body against his. He yearns for the chance to once again trace his hands over every inch of her warm skin as they joyously fulfill their love. He misses her smile, the music of her voice, and her scent. He longs to talk with her, to cross swords with her.

He clings ferociously to every memory of his wife; they are all he has now. He worries that the memories will fade over time. The clear picture he'd had of his own mother had faded; he struggles now to recall her face, her voice. Over ten long years, will the same thing happen with his memories of Elizabeth?

This loneliness hurts, unlike anything that he has ever known before. This is a loneliness that will destroy him, if he lets it.

But he knows himself. Everything in his life has led him to this moment. Being without his father, the death of his mother, crossing the ocean alone, apprenticeship at a young age, a spartan existence ... all these things taught him to live with loss, to know that his desires would seldom be fulfilled, and that the people he loves most can be taken from him at any time.

As the Dutchman sails over the seas of the dead, he knows what strength resides in his soul. He has the ability to endure loneliness and loss. He has done it before, and he can do it again. He knows how to do a job, day in and day out, and do it well. He has done it before, and he will do it again. He will mark the time by the souls he guides and the love he has for his beloved Elizabeth, counting down the days until he sees her again. For he knows that his love is strong enough to endure time and tide; and his will is as strong as steel.

A Love as Strong as Steel

2008-02-03T03:06:52Z

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean
Pairing: Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann
Theme set: Delta
Rating: G to PG-13
Warning[s]: Spoilers thru AWE

Response to the 1sentence challenge.

#01 - air

His hand clutches weakly at the sword embedded in his chest, lacking the strength to pull it free, and Elizabeth's face becomes his touchstone as he struggles against the panic of not being able to breathe.

#02 - apples

When they see Barbossa come down the stairs of Tia Dalma's hut, it isn't the maniacal laugh that makes him believe the pirate captain is back from the dead, ironically it's the green apple clutched in his hand.

#03 - beginning

There is a flash of incredulous recognition when he sees Davy Jones' sword; the instrument of his death had its beginnings in his very own hands.

#04 - bugs

They've been in the Caribbean for many years, she's the most fearless woman he knows, but he still has to go to Elizabeth's aid when she finds a bug that needs killing.

#05 - coffee

While he has come to enjoy drinking coffee, Elizabeth will always and forever prefer tea.

#06 - dark

As his eyes adjust to the darkness of the dungeon, he sees Elizabeth kneeling in her cell, her hands clutching the bars and her eyes filled with hope; he knows he will do anything to get her out of there.

#07 - despair

As their one day moves inexorably toward sunset, their despair at their inevitable parting begins to grow.

#08 - doors

There isn't a door of any brig that will ever be able to hold him.

#09 - drink

They lift their mugs of grog in Tia Dalma's shack, and although the others offer their toasts to Jack, and Elizabeth salutes him as a good man, he can't bring himself to say anything.

#10 - duty

He knows that Elizabeth thinks he works far too hard, having taken over almost all the duties of the blacksmith shop from Mr. Brown.

#11 - earth

When he steps aboard the Flying Dutchman, he turns to gaze one last time at the small figure of Elizabeth standing on the land that is forbidden him, and his absent heart breaks completely.

#12 - end

Looking at her dirty, tear-stained face, he grimly wrestles his wayward heart into submission and offers the words that begin the ending of their relationship - "if there was anything could be done to bring him back."

#13 - fall

Every night he fights against falling asleep, for he always dreams of Elizabeth kissing Jack and sailing away with him on the Pearl.

#14 - fire

He slips in behind Elizabeth as she stands on the beach, wrapping his arms around her waist; the fire licking through his veins has him huskily whispering "there are no bars here, so you can have me already."

#15 - flexible

He doesn't like to think too closely about how his ideas of right and wrong have become more ... flexible.

#16 - flying

The rain is pounding, the deck is heaving, they are surrounded on every side by Company marines and barnacle-encrusted crew; but Elizabeth's hand is in his, they're saying their vows and he feels like he's flying.

#17 - food

When they arrive in the Caribbean, he stays at the Governor's residence until a proper situation can be found for him; the first time he sits down to supper with Elizabeth and her father, he thinks that there is more food on the table for one meal than he saw in a month back home in England.

#18 - foot

Their swordplay lessons are exuberant, and when Elizabeth effortlessly mirrors his footwork, he delightedly catches her close for a kiss that has their scandalized chaperone thunderously clearing her throat.

#19 - grave

Elizabeth loves to tease him, because he knows that she thinks he's too serious, but he swears it's also that she loves to see him flush.

#20 - green

He sees Port Royal for the first time as their ship comes in to dock; standing next to Elizabeth, he is amazed at how green everything is.

#21 - head

In his head he knows there was no choice, but his heart will never allow him to think himself anything but a murderer for breaking the curse and condemning his father to his final, horrific fate.

#22 - hollow

With Elizabeth estranged from him, he fills the emptiness that is his life with the search for a way to free his father.

#23 - honor

He knows that Elizabeth doesn't really understand his loyalty to the drunken mastersmith; it's his way of honoring the man that Mr. Brown was before the rum took over his life.

#24 - hope

There isn't much hope that they can defeat the kraken, but he grimly hands Elizabeth the gun and sets their defenses; he will not let them go down without a fight.

#25 - light

As the light of their one day fades, he begins to feel the insistent pull of the Dutchman and the souls of the dead for the first time.

#26 - lost

The image of Wyvern, being absorbed into the Dutchman's very essence, never leaves him; he will not lose his father in the same way.

#27 - metal

He can touch an ingot of steel and instinctively *know* what it is destined to be; if he were to touch Elizabeth now, he thinks that he won't know if they are destined to be at all.

#28 - new

As he revels in the newness of their betrothal, he knows that this is the happiest that he has ever been.

#29 - old

After 10 years of guiding those who have perished to the shores of the afterlife, and pulling the lost ones from the cold waters of the seas of the dead, he wonders how Elizabeth will ever understand that he feels old in his soul now.

#30 - peace

His heart breaking for the weeping Elizabeth he holds in his arms, he quietly begs Tia Dalma to tell him of a way to still save her father; hearing that he is at peace is a small consolation, one he knows that, for now at least, doesn't help.

#31 - poison

He worries that his helpless rage at being separated from Elizabeth, and his resentment toward the goddess who commands him now, will spread its poison in his soul.

#32 - pretty

When he opens his eyes, cold and confused and more than a little afraid, he is comforted when the prettiest girl he's ever seen tells him that she is watching over him.

#33 - rain

It seems fitting to him, after the rain of their interrupted wedding day, that it is raining as Barbossa marries them on the deck of the Pearl.

#34 - regret

He has many regrets in his life, but getting on a ship and leaving England will never be one of them.

#35 - roses

He holds Elizabeth's wedding dress in his hands, lifting it to his face for a moment to breathe in the scent of roses that still clings to it; he is amused, but never surprised, to learn that she'd managed to find passage to Tortuga as a stowaway.

#36 - secret

It's something he's never told her, but he loves the saltiness of the sea that he can often taste on her skin.

#37 - snakes

He's learned that there are many snakes in the Caribbean, both reptile and human; he finds that he prefers the former.

#38 - snow

He aches with loss as he watches Elizabeth shiver, huddled under blankets with flecks of snow in her hair; he thinks her so beautiful despite her sad, pinched features and pink little nose.

#039 - solid

His skill as a blacksmith is such that he can fold and refold steel and iron into the finest of swords; the love he and Elizabeth share was forged the exact same way.

#40 - spring

While he doesn't miss the cold and snows of England, he knows that Elizabeth sometimes misses the changing of the seasons, and the advent of spring after a long, dark winter.

#41 - stable

He is the blacksmith, considered steady and reliable by all who know him; Elizabeth and Jack are the only ones who seem to understand the pirate blood that runs through his veins, blood he struggles to square with.

#42 - strange

He hurries to stop Mr. Gibbs from shooting at the souls drifting on the dark seas of the dead; it isn't until later that he uneasily wonders how it is that he knew the lost ones were no threat.

#43 - summer

At her father's discreet suggestion, his Christmas gift to Elizabeth, during their betrothal, is a book of sonnets by Shakespeare; when she reads aloud to him "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," he knows that the way she looks at that moment, carefree and drenched in sunlight, will be forever imprinted on his memory.

#44 - taboo

There is something about Tia Dalma that is wild and reckless, something that reeks to him of the forbidden.

#45 - ugly

He has so many scars now, on his back, his hand ... his chest; he wonders sometimes if Elizabeth finds them as ugly as he does.

#46 - war

When he'd taught Elizabeth marksmanship, and how to handle a sword, it was so that she could protect herself; he never dreamed that she'd need those skills so that they could go to war.

#47 - water

He cannot help the anxiety he feels when Sao Feng's men pull him up, gasping, from the well and he sees Elizabeth standing in front of him.

#48 - welcome

As he stands on the rail of the Dutchman, clinging to the rigging and anxiously leaning out as far as he can, he sees Elizabeth in the distance and wonders who it is that is with her.

#49 - winter

The trip to world's end is the coldest he has ever been; not even winter back home in England was this cold.

#50 - wood

When he sees Davy Jones towering over his unconscious wife, a killing rage sends him flying across the soaking deck of the Dutchman; no one threatens Elizabeth Turner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N - This is a companion to a set of words I did from an Elizabeth pov, A Love Strong Enough to Weather Time and Tide, which can be found here:

http://community.livejournal.com/willelizabeth/62727.html#cutid1

Expecting William - A Moment of a Mother-to-be

2008-01-14T23:05:39Z

Title: Expecting William - A Moment of a Mother-to-be
Pairing: Elizabeth Turner, W/E (here and there)
Timeline: Post-AWE
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or any of the characters. They are solely owned by Disney, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.

Not much stirred in Port Royal during the heat of the afternoon. Most of its citizens did their best to do as little as possible during that uncomfortable time, trying to do the majority of their work during the relatively cool hours of the morning. The streets were nearly empty, as the unforgiving Caribbean sun blazed down on the sweltering town.

In front of a large, sprawling mansion, a horse and carriage were waiting. The horse's tail twitched continually at the flies that buzzed around it, waiting placidly for its master to return from his call, occasionally taking a drink from the water trough that was conveniently placed next to the hitching post.

Inside the home her father had left to her upon his death, in the airy second story suite of rooms, Elizabeth Turner drew in a small, shaken breath as she watched the door close quietly. Doctor Grey had given her a brief nod and a smile, assuring her that he would see himself out. Her appointment with him was over.

From her chair in the sitting room, she turned her head to stare dazedly out of the large, open window, not seeing the tall swaying palm trees of Port Royal, nor feeling the heated breeze from the ocean on her skin. For a long time she sat; her only movement was the raising of her hand to wipe at tears that sometimes brimmed in her eyes, or the slight shaking of her head in disbelieving wonder.

Her gaze focused again when she heard her maid scratch at her door. Elizabeth hastily looked away, making another brush at her eyes, before telling Estrella to enter in an uneven voice. Coming quickly to her feet, she moved toward the balcony, slipping through the open doors and going over to place her hands on the railing. Her fingers closed tightly over the black wrought iron.

"Is there anything you be needin', ma'am?" her maid asked as she moved about the rooms, tidying up. "Some lemonade, perhaps? It being such a hot day and all."

Elizabeth cleared her throat against it's continued thickness. "Lemonade would be lovely."

Her maid turned to do her bidding, hesitated for a moment, and then turned back again.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am, but is everything alright?" Estrella traded on the familiarity of her long relationship with Elizabeth to inquire anxiously. Her naturally suspicious disposition, and disdain for physicians in general, had her muttering under her breath. "Bloody doctors," she said darkly, "always bringin' bad news."

Elizabeth looked back at her maid over her shoulder. "Everything is fine, Estrella," she answered in a low voice, "just fine," before turning back to her unseeing contemplation of the view before her. Elizabeth was scarcely aware of the woman leaving to fetch her the cool refreshment, and was completely unaware of when she returned, so lost in thought was she.

Her maid put a stone mug of lemonade on the small table next to Elizabeth's favorite chair, placing it next to a beautiful conch shell. "Is there anything else, ma'am? Would you like me to lace up your dress again?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No," she gave a little laugh, "I'm going to take this off, I think, and take a nap. It's too hot to do anything else, and I am a little tired." She slanted her maid a quick look. "And, no, I'm not feeling poorly. Don't worry so much, Estrella," she said. "I'm really fine."

"If you be sayin' so, ma'am," her maid nodded.

With nothing else for her to do, Estrella left the room. Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief when the door shut behind her. She left her place by the railing and walked through the french doors, back into her room. With a wrinkle of her nose at how sticky she was feeling in the oppressive heat, she began to take her dress off, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it pool at her feet. Stepping out of it, she kicked it to the side, before picking up the mug of lemonade and taking a sip. It was cool and tart, just the way she liked it.

Putting the cup back on the table, Elizabeth walked into her bedchamber and over to her dresser. Standing in only her shift, she pulled open one of the drawers. There, lying right on top, were two of the only shirts Will had ever owned.

One of the first things that Elizabeth had done when she got back to Port Royal was go to the blacksmith shop. Once there, she met with Mr. Brown and told him that she was Will's wife, that he had gone to sea and wouldn't be back, and that she would be taking his things.

"Not comin' back? Whadda ye mean, he's not comin' back?" Mr. Brown slurred, outraged. He swayed back and forth a bit as he stood in front of Elizabeth, glaring at her. "He's my 'prentice, an' he's got two," he held up two wavering fingers in front of her face, "two more years o' workin' for me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Brown," Elizabeth responded firmly, resisting the urge to hold her nose at his rum-soaked breath, "but he's gone."

"Damn fool boy," he spat, "there'll be 'ell to pay when he gets back, mark my words." Mr. Brown stood up straighter, brightening at the sudden thought that flitted through his addled brain. "I'm 'llowed to add five," he again held up his hand, fingers and thumb splayed this time, "five years to his 'prenticeship now, what with him being a runaway an' all." He frowned. "But what'm I gonna do in the meantime?"

'I could hardly care less,' Elizabeth thought sardonically.

The blacksmith continued to rant, which she listened to with barely concealed impatience. Elizabeth cynically watched Mr. Brown slowly coming to the realization that he had lost the one person who had run the place and had helped him maintain his reputation. Having heard more than enough of his idle threats and drunken slurs against Will, she insisted that he show her Will's quarters, and followed him as he weaved his way to the back of the shop, stopping in front of a closed door. He turned to face her.

"This be it" he said, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Gotta go find me some rum," he told her in a distracted voice. With a barely restrained belch, he added "Wait 'ere," before stumbling away.

"Arse," Elizabeth muttered, before pulling open the door and entering Will's room.

The spartan quarters made her heart catch, they were so small and cramped. The floor was covered with a rag rug, the walls were whitewashed and peeling in places, and there was one tiny window with some worn, clean curtains that barely moved with the breeze. There was a neatly made bed and a small table, which held a wash basin, a chipped china pitcher and a little oil lamp. There were also a few personal things on it ... a wooden comb, some leather hair ties, a rather used and tattered book. And, in the place of honor, there was a conch shell that she remembered giving to him when they were younger.

As part of his apprenticeship, Will had been allowed one half day off a month, where he was free to do whatever he liked. They'd always spent it together as much as possible, before she grew old enough that her father had put a stop to such outings, citing her age and reputation as reasons for calling a halt to them. She'd found the shell during one of their walks on the beach. Impulsively, a young Elizabeth had given it to him, because she'd thought it was pretty and she'd wanted him to have it.

Elizabeth bit her lip as she picked it up, holding it carefully. She stepped over to the corner where a chest lay on the floor. Opening it, she found the rest of Will's belongings, including his clothes. Elizabeth took all Will's personal effects off the table and put them into the chest, being sure to wrap the shell in one of his shirts. She then directed her footman, who had been with her the whole time and had been standing deferentially behind her, to take the chest to her carriage. She took one more look around the room before closing the door behind her and going back to the forge.

Mr. Brown seemed to have either forgotten her, or he was having trouble finding more rum, because he hadn't come back. Elizabeth took the opportunity to wander idly around the shop one last time. She ran her fingers over the anvil. She lifted one of the many tools, a hammer, and tested it's weight, remembering it always being in Will's hand.

Putting it down again, she walked over to the weapons, all of which she knew he'd made. Most of them were the more utilitarian cutlasses, but there were a few finely made swords. The craftsmanship of one especially caught her eye, and she took it up, making a few passes with it. Once in her hand, she found that she couldn't put it down. It was a beautiful sword.

Mr. Brown finally returned, a half-empty rum bottle clutched in his fist. Elizabeth quickly took her leave, but not before paying him for the sword. She wanted it. She wanted it because Will had made it. When she got back home, all of his things went into her room.

Slowly, she took up one of his shirts. The homespun material had originally been rather coarse, but it had softened with wearing and many washings. Holding it in her hands, she raised it to her face, closing her eyes for a moment as she buried her nose in the folds.

His scent still clung to the fabric. She breathed in deeply, and the gnawing hunger of longing and desire for him came to her, sharp and hard, twisting in her belly. Elizabeth bit her lip, refusing to cry. She'd told herself that she was done with crying. After Will had gone back to the Flying Dutchman, for days she'd wept lonely, anguished tears from a place inside of her that never seemed to run dry.

But not today. Opening her eyes and mentally shaking herself, Elizabeth moved to place Will's shirt on her bed. Reaching for the hem of her shift, she whisked it over her head and threw it to the side. Then, picking up his shirt again, she put it on. She pulled her hair free from the neck before lacing it, rolling up the sleeves as she'd seen him do countless times.

Fisting the collar, she pulled it up, turning her nose into it, and his scent was once more all around her. After a moment, Elizabeth let the collar go. Tilting her head back, her eyes falling closed, she allowed her hands wander, feeling the soft fabric like a caress against her palms as they moved down her body. She lifted one hand to skim her fingers over the line of her throat, following a natural path to find the slight swell of her breast. She remembered how she'd guided his hand in the exact same way as they'd sat in the heated darkness of the Interceptor's hold. She remembered the warmth of his touch on her moist skin, and she shivered at the memory.

"Sorry. Blacksmith's hands - I know they're rough."

"Will," she breathed.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and then, still lost in the moment, walked to the open doors that led to her balcony. She stopped just inside the archway and leaned back against the doorjamb.

She turned her head to look out over Port Royal. Her eyes were soft and luminous as they became fixed on the horizon of the ocean. Elizabeth's hands swept lightly down the length of her body one more time, following the gentle flare of her hips, before her fingers finally came to rest on her stomach. She cradled it tenderly. Her face became entranced, and her smile was glowing as she reveled in her secret.

"A baby, Will," she whispered to the seas, and to the man who sailed them. "We're going to have a baby."

And she prayed that their son or daughter would look just like him.