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damalurbackupTITLE: Ocean & Thorns, Chapter 1
CHARACTERS: Will/Elizabeth
NOTES: Repost from 2007.
SUMMARY: AU. What if Will wasn't found and brought to Port Royal?
OCEAN & THORNS - Chapter 1
When Elizabeth met the master of the Flying Dutchman, her heart stopped in her chest.
Captain Turner’s heart would have stopped, too.
-
Elizabeth wore the piece of eight every day, and every day she wondered to whom it might have belonged. She’d found it years and years ago, washed up on the beach; and every night she dreamt of the gold clutched in the hand of a boy. She had always dreamt of pirates, ever since her mother had first told her fantastic tales of tall ships and the high seas. Piracy was everything she could never have, and the coin itself was simultaneously a symbol of both freedom and longing.
So when the pirates came to Port Royal, she was more thrilled than afraid, and when they took her aboard the Black Pearl and tied her hands and ripped the coin from around her neck, she asked for parlay instead of cowering. The captain of the ship – she later learned his name was Barbossa – eyed her wickedly while circling at a stroll.
“Miss Turner – ” he leered, and Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
“My name,” she said, with all the condescension that an upper-class Englishwoman could muster, “is Elizabeth Swann. You’ve got the wrong person, you filthy mongrel.”
Barbossa’s sword was kissing her neck in an instant, his foul breath puffing into her face. “Then what reason have I to keep ye alive?”
She stared back at him. “I’ll serve aboard your ship. If you need another hand.”
He stepped away, amused, and the next day her back ached from scrubbing decks. The day after that her back ached more, and even more the day after that, until she accumulated weeks and weeks of deck-scrubbing in her spine. The pirates stared lasciviously at her, of course, but she cut the throat of the first one who tried to rape her, and they left her alone after that. When the ship danced between wind and water, she though it was a fair trade: her father for the ocean.
Then Jack Sparrow débuted into her tedious existence. She came across him crouching behind a pile of treasure in the cavern at Isla de la Muerta; he didn’t even hear her approach. He started, though, when her blade whispered against his neck.
“’M holding still!” he blurted, and then he saw her face and his eyes widened. “You’re that girl from that town that drowned. Drownedish.”
She shook her head and blinked rapidly, but he still made no sense. “What?”
“You’re on Barbossa’s crew now, are you?” His gaze shifted down to her hands, noting the telltale signs of swabbery. “How much do you care about that captain of yours?”
“Not at all, really,” she said, nonplussed.
Jack loomed closer. “If you help me get my ship back, I’ll let you serve on my crew – but I won’t make you swap decks. And,” he sweetened, “I’ll teach you how to fight with a sword.”
“How do you know I can’t fight already?” she retorted, equal parts angry at his presumption and distracted by his easy violation of her personal space.
He cocked a finger at her waist in a gesture that shouldn’t have seemed lascivious but was. “No sword, love. You’ve got a gun and a knife, but no sword.”
She sat back on her heels, considered, and finally stretched out a hand. “Deal.”
He took her hand, and so their alliance was formed.
Three days later they seized control of the Pearl, and immediately thereafter Jack began her lessons. She was soon able to match him in technique, if not application; he relied more on his wits than his weapon in battle.
On the whole Elizabeth was happy on Jack’s ship, as happy as she’d ever been. The crew was a haven; she connected with them in a way she’d never connected with anyone, and she and Jack took daily delight in each other’s cunning. For her entire life, there had been an empty ache in her chest. Now that she was at sea, she felt – not full, exactly, but not quite as hollow as she had been. And that was something, at least.
The novelty tarnished after a while, and she settled into a life no less routine but far more satisfying than her former existence. She fought. She drank. She swore. She unfurled sails and kept records of the stores and studied charts and sang bawdy ballads to the stars. Until…
Until.
Until the morning Jack emerged from belowdeck with a forlorn expression and a suspicious rag wrapped around one palm. He spun in a circle and stabbed a finger at the air and ordered them to sail. She paused her swabbing – she did still have to swab the deck occasionally, but that was all right because the entire crew had to take turns – and scrutinized the immortal Captain. He flinched at her regard, even though his back was to her.
There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark, she thought, and watched him carefully over the next few days. They stuck to land religiously, and Jack continued to flutter about the ship while consuming odious amounts of rum.
The turning point was a storm.
Even an experienced seaman was hard-pressed to sail in a storm, and harder-pressed still to sail near land. It was beyond dangerous, and even Jack wasn’t foolish enough to stay near the coast in a tempest that roared about his ears and battered at the Pearl’s hull. They made fierce battle with nature for nearly an hour when, abruptly, the winds calmed and the hammering rain died to a drizzle. Jack closed one eye, peered out towards the horizon, and muttered, “Bugger.”
Elizabeth followed his gaze to a ship that bobbed not out on the horizon but mere yards from the Pearl. It was massive, huge beyond anything she’d seen before, even at Tortuga; huger than the ships she imaged at Shipwreck Cove. It polished, too - professional, even, but at the same time bloodchilling. There was nothing overtly frightening about it, no black sails or skulls lining the railing, nothing but dozens and dozens of scarlet strips dark on the hull near the waterline.
Jack grabbed at his sword and then thought better of it. Before he could turn heel a man materialized on the deck, a fierce man, a pirate. The first word that came to Elizabeth’s mind was dashing, followed instantly by dangerous. The man was all of these. He was also every inch a corsair captain, from his tattered coat to his gilt sword to his worn boots. A wicked scar cut across his bare chest, so raised and ragged that Elizabeth could feel it beneath her fingertips.
“Hello, Jack,” the man said.
“Captain Jack,” Jack said, with a weak voice and a crafty set to his eyes.
“Captain Jack, then.”
“I have every reason – ”
The man pinned Jack with his dark eyes. “I’m here to collect on your debt, Jack. That it was made to my predecessor makes it no less binding. You swore a hundred years to the Flying Dutchman, and she demands her service.”
Jack’s shoulders dropped. “So that’s how it’s to be, Captain Turner.” Turner was the man’s name, then, and he was captain of the monstrosity that hovered to their starboard. Elizabeth edged a little closer.
Turner folded his arms and raised a reflective eyebrow. “There might be a way out of it for you, though.”
“And how’s that?” Jack said.
“I have a service I need done, and you seem…uniquely qualified for the job.”
“And what job would that be?”
“I need the Brethren called to court. And there is something else that must be – recovered.”
Jack did a double take. “And how’s that?” he asked, suddenly wary instead of eager.
“Will you take the bargain?”
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Jack said. “It can’t be the equal of a hundred years before the mast, anyway, so I supposed I’m indebted to your – ” he grinned, flashing his teeth, and stretched the word out – “generosity.”
Elizabeth was suddenly aware that Captain Turner was being generous, extremely generous, that in fact he was giving Jack his very life. She knew it, and she could see that Jack knew it, was in fact painfully aware that he owed the other man a debt. Still, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, which meant he’d not only accept but do his best to exploit the agreement.
“You’ll need a skeleton crew,” said Turner. “Two or three should do it. Come to my ship and I’ll explain the situation.”
“Your ship? I don’t suppose we could, ah, discuss the details aboard my – ” Jack started, but Turner cocked his head and Jack acquiesced with a flourish. “Very well, we’ll be along in just a few minutes, then, shall we?” Turner didn’t say anything, just fixed Jack with a stern glare and swiveled on his heel; and in turning he faced Elizabeth head-on for the first time –
And froze.
She was too caught up in staring at him to notice that he was staring at her, too, but she noticed peripherally that the hollow ache in her chest had eased. His eyes were darker than she realized, and he was looking at her and she couldn’t breathe –
Then he jerked once, and twisted himself into nonexistence.
| >>
CHARACTERS: Will/Elizabeth
NOTES: Repost from 2007.
SUMMARY: AU. What if Will wasn't found and brought to Port Royal?
OCEAN & THORNS - Chapter 1
When Elizabeth met the master of the Flying Dutchman, her heart stopped in her chest.
Captain Turner’s heart would have stopped, too.
-
Elizabeth wore the piece of eight every day, and every day she wondered to whom it might have belonged. She’d found it years and years ago, washed up on the beach; and every night she dreamt of the gold clutched in the hand of a boy. She had always dreamt of pirates, ever since her mother had first told her fantastic tales of tall ships and the high seas. Piracy was everything she could never have, and the coin itself was simultaneously a symbol of both freedom and longing.
So when the pirates came to Port Royal, she was more thrilled than afraid, and when they took her aboard the Black Pearl and tied her hands and ripped the coin from around her neck, she asked for parlay instead of cowering. The captain of the ship – she later learned his name was Barbossa – eyed her wickedly while circling at a stroll.
“Miss Turner – ” he leered, and Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
“My name,” she said, with all the condescension that an upper-class Englishwoman could muster, “is Elizabeth Swann. You’ve got the wrong person, you filthy mongrel.”
Barbossa’s sword was kissing her neck in an instant, his foul breath puffing into her face. “Then what reason have I to keep ye alive?”
She stared back at him. “I’ll serve aboard your ship. If you need another hand.”
He stepped away, amused, and the next day her back ached from scrubbing decks. The day after that her back ached more, and even more the day after that, until she accumulated weeks and weeks of deck-scrubbing in her spine. The pirates stared lasciviously at her, of course, but she cut the throat of the first one who tried to rape her, and they left her alone after that. When the ship danced between wind and water, she though it was a fair trade: her father for the ocean.
Then Jack Sparrow débuted into her tedious existence. She came across him crouching behind a pile of treasure in the cavern at Isla de la Muerta; he didn’t even hear her approach. He started, though, when her blade whispered against his neck.
“’M holding still!” he blurted, and then he saw her face and his eyes widened. “You’re that girl from that town that drowned. Drownedish.”
She shook her head and blinked rapidly, but he still made no sense. “What?”
“You’re on Barbossa’s crew now, are you?” His gaze shifted down to her hands, noting the telltale signs of swabbery. “How much do you care about that captain of yours?”
“Not at all, really,” she said, nonplussed.
Jack loomed closer. “If you help me get my ship back, I’ll let you serve on my crew – but I won’t make you swap decks. And,” he sweetened, “I’ll teach you how to fight with a sword.”
“How do you know I can’t fight already?” she retorted, equal parts angry at his presumption and distracted by his easy violation of her personal space.
He cocked a finger at her waist in a gesture that shouldn’t have seemed lascivious but was. “No sword, love. You’ve got a gun and a knife, but no sword.”
She sat back on her heels, considered, and finally stretched out a hand. “Deal.”
He took her hand, and so their alliance was formed.
Three days later they seized control of the Pearl, and immediately thereafter Jack began her lessons. She was soon able to match him in technique, if not application; he relied more on his wits than his weapon in battle.
On the whole Elizabeth was happy on Jack’s ship, as happy as she’d ever been. The crew was a haven; she connected with them in a way she’d never connected with anyone, and she and Jack took daily delight in each other’s cunning. For her entire life, there had been an empty ache in her chest. Now that she was at sea, she felt – not full, exactly, but not quite as hollow as she had been. And that was something, at least.
The novelty tarnished after a while, and she settled into a life no less routine but far more satisfying than her former existence. She fought. She drank. She swore. She unfurled sails and kept records of the stores and studied charts and sang bawdy ballads to the stars. Until…
Until.
Until the morning Jack emerged from belowdeck with a forlorn expression and a suspicious rag wrapped around one palm. He spun in a circle and stabbed a finger at the air and ordered them to sail. She paused her swabbing – she did still have to swab the deck occasionally, but that was all right because the entire crew had to take turns – and scrutinized the immortal Captain. He flinched at her regard, even though his back was to her.
There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark, she thought, and watched him carefully over the next few days. They stuck to land religiously, and Jack continued to flutter about the ship while consuming odious amounts of rum.
The turning point was a storm.
Even an experienced seaman was hard-pressed to sail in a storm, and harder-pressed still to sail near land. It was beyond dangerous, and even Jack wasn’t foolish enough to stay near the coast in a tempest that roared about his ears and battered at the Pearl’s hull. They made fierce battle with nature for nearly an hour when, abruptly, the winds calmed and the hammering rain died to a drizzle. Jack closed one eye, peered out towards the horizon, and muttered, “Bugger.”
Elizabeth followed his gaze to a ship that bobbed not out on the horizon but mere yards from the Pearl. It was massive, huge beyond anything she’d seen before, even at Tortuga; huger than the ships she imaged at Shipwreck Cove. It polished, too - professional, even, but at the same time bloodchilling. There was nothing overtly frightening about it, no black sails or skulls lining the railing, nothing but dozens and dozens of scarlet strips dark on the hull near the waterline.
Jack grabbed at his sword and then thought better of it. Before he could turn heel a man materialized on the deck, a fierce man, a pirate. The first word that came to Elizabeth’s mind was dashing, followed instantly by dangerous. The man was all of these. He was also every inch a corsair captain, from his tattered coat to his gilt sword to his worn boots. A wicked scar cut across his bare chest, so raised and ragged that Elizabeth could feel it beneath her fingertips.
“Hello, Jack,” the man said.
“Captain Jack,” Jack said, with a weak voice and a crafty set to his eyes.
“Captain Jack, then.”
“I have every reason – ”
The man pinned Jack with his dark eyes. “I’m here to collect on your debt, Jack. That it was made to my predecessor makes it no less binding. You swore a hundred years to the Flying Dutchman, and she demands her service.”
Jack’s shoulders dropped. “So that’s how it’s to be, Captain Turner.” Turner was the man’s name, then, and he was captain of the monstrosity that hovered to their starboard. Elizabeth edged a little closer.
Turner folded his arms and raised a reflective eyebrow. “There might be a way out of it for you, though.”
“And how’s that?” Jack said.
“I have a service I need done, and you seem…uniquely qualified for the job.”
“And what job would that be?”
“I need the Brethren called to court. And there is something else that must be – recovered.”
Jack did a double take. “And how’s that?” he asked, suddenly wary instead of eager.
“Will you take the bargain?”
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Jack said. “It can’t be the equal of a hundred years before the mast, anyway, so I supposed I’m indebted to your – ” he grinned, flashing his teeth, and stretched the word out – “generosity.”
Elizabeth was suddenly aware that Captain Turner was being generous, extremely generous, that in fact he was giving Jack his very life. She knew it, and she could see that Jack knew it, was in fact painfully aware that he owed the other man a debt. Still, he was Captain Jack Sparrow, which meant he’d not only accept but do his best to exploit the agreement.
“You’ll need a skeleton crew,” said Turner. “Two or three should do it. Come to my ship and I’ll explain the situation.”
“Your ship? I don’t suppose we could, ah, discuss the details aboard my – ” Jack started, but Turner cocked his head and Jack acquiesced with a flourish. “Very well, we’ll be along in just a few minutes, then, shall we?” Turner didn’t say anything, just fixed Jack with a stern glare and swiveled on his heel; and in turning he faced Elizabeth head-on for the first time –
And froze.
She was too caught up in staring at him to notice that he was staring at her, too, but she noticed peripherally that the hollow ache in her chest had eased. His eyes were darker than she realized, and he was looking at her and she couldn’t breathe –
Then he jerked once, and twisted himself into nonexistence.
| >>
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Date: 2009-02-20 05:39 am (UTC)