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Birds of the same feather (flock together)
Summary: A sparrow and a swan walk into a bar…
Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, its quotes or its characters.
Italics are flashbacks. I keep shifting back and forth. Not a common writing style for me; just felt like experimenting. It seemed to suit the mood of the story.
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"What might you be doing in these bawdy harbours, mate?"
A man with dreadlocks leans heavily against the bar, deeply contemplative of the hooded specimen lounging against the tavern wall. He might doubt his eyes, aye (due to copious amounts of liquor consumed); but he has seen strange things… enough to know that the simplest things are often the strangest.
"Not that it's not nice to see you after so long, of course!" he lies cheerfully.
The Faithful Bride (a rather inept name for a whorehouse) is well-known as the heart of Tortuga and a place to meet people you'd forgotten (or wished to forget) ever existed; however, resurrection is one art they hadn't mastered yet.
Or so the optimistic man believed.
Yet right in front of him sits a ghost from his notorious past, smiling serenely at him from under an egregiously large hat.
He grimaces. His previous belief may require serious re-evaluation. Also, too many resurrected dead for his liking. (He conveniently ignores the fact that he too, was brought back from the dead once; or more accurately, the Locker).
He spares a thought that the current situation may be the work of someone known for the very same ability, but Tia Dalma had combusted into marine wildlife and did not seem keen on being bound to human form anytime soon.
"It's never not a good idea to sail to Tortuga. Your own words, Jack."
If they was doubt before, there is none now. The man would recognize that voice anywhere, though it has been a while since he has heard it.
Though not ten years. He would notice such a long gap, he thinks. (Well, most likely. Perhaps. If there was no treasure to chase after and if he were sober.)
Taking a long draught of his tankard, he concurs, "Aye, Tortuga is a place like no other. Though dangerous for a high-born lass like yourself."
His companion raises an amused eyebrow, downing her (for it is indeed her) drink with a scoff. She has sailed the seas with pirates and survived wars and otherworldly powers; Tortuga should fear her now.
"I think I'll manage", she remarks dryly.
Jack debates – to start the taboo topic, or not to? Well, he has always been one to jump first and think second; besides, he is curious. "And what brings you to the sweet, proliferous bouquet that is Tortuga? There are few attractions here to those who are blessed with matrimonial bliss."
It is intentional; the use of words spoken to another – a reminder of the quest which started it all, at least for her.
(And for him too, in a way; for before the search for the Pearl he was no more than an aimless wanderer – a pirate without a treasure to search for, a captain without a ship.)
She hums thoughtfully. "Matrimonial bliss…. I remember that. It was truly lovely."
…
The first few days after Will leaves her, she is too giddy with excitement to think much of anything. Fleeting thoughts brush the forefront of her consciousness – Will is alive! They are married! – but most of her time passes in a happy daze.
Elizabeth is perfectly content to stay at the island where they consummated their marriage, to build her home here and wait for Will till he comes back, no matter how long that might take. She could go to Port Royal if she wanted to, back to her childhood home with no one left to welcome her… or she could stay here, on this forsaken island which is theirs and only theirs.
(Property of the Pirate King and Captain of the Flying Dutchman, she thinks. She likes the grandeur of it. Jack would have approved.)
She spends her time on the beach, mostly idle, watching the horizon for a flash of green, carving hearts in the sand with their names in it.
After a while, the anticipation sets in. Hash marks run count of days beside dwindling hearts. Suddenly, ten years seem a long time.
…
Almost as if echoing her thoughts, Jack cocks his head in question. "I detect a past tense in that statement. My condolences. Awfully short time, isn't it, one day in ten years?"
There are limits to how far he can go with this line of questioning; he is determined to find them, regardless of consequences.
After all, what was the worst she could do? If she kills him (again), she would only be sending him straight to the doorstep of hubby dearest, who, in all likelihood, would promptly send Jack back to rescue the damsel in distress from her terrible life choices.
Nevertheless, Jack's palm is tingling where the mark marred his skin.
He needn't have worried.
If she is offended by Jack's attempts to provoke a response from her, she does not show it. Instead, she retorts with a casual shrug, "As you said, matrimony is a…. what, blessed existence? Gods are not too likely to bless the ferryman of the dead and his bride, now are they?"
"Gods are overrated" Jack grumbles. She nods, both thinking of Calypso.
"So, Jack… rumour tells me you have been busy."
He leers at her, giving nothing away. "Aye, that I have been. Doing all kinds of things."
…
She wishes she had thought to bring a book. Terribly impractical, considering that she hadn't touched a novel since leaving Port Royal. Her pirate life was too hectic for such luxuries. Besides, there were more exciting things to do – living the adventures instead of just reading about them.
Funny though, that she had never thought of a life after pirate-ering. It had always been a necessity, first for Will, then for their freedom. But never had she imagined it her way of life.
She rather thinks it was her calling, ever since she placed a golden pirate locket against her skin. She did a mighty fine job of it, even if she may say so herself.
A few weeks later, she relocates inwards, towards the forest. She is tired of the tide wiping away her day count.
She makes notches on a tree instead. At least she had thought to carry a dagger.
…
Jack tips his chair forward, leaning crookedly against the counter while chewing tobacco. "And what have you been doing?"
They are both playing a merry dance, alternating bold and coy, brash questions interspersed with idle chatter. Each question has hidden meanings and unspoken layers, the air electric with intensity and heavy with skirted issues.
…
It takes her two months of solitude before she caves in to her pirateering memories.
The small-boat she came in – her wedding carriage, so to speak - stays exactly where she left it, on the shore where they first alighted.
Where she cheerfully waved goodbye to Will for the next ten years.
"Ah. Love. A dreadful bond. And yet, so easily severed." She remembers Davy Jones' words as he loomed over Will's body; yet what she remembers now is not the fear for her beloved but the words themselves. They creep into her ears like a parasite, heavy with his bitterness.
She tells herself that they are different. Because Calypso wasn't there for Davy Jones like she will be there for Will. Always.
She understands how Calypso may have gotten bored, though.
It is with that morbid thought that she pushes the boat out into the water and settles herself in it. Rowing aimlessly for a while, she watches glittering fish and sunlight playing against azure waters.
The sights rejuvenate her, bring back a spark in life she never realised had faded. Suddenly excited after a long time, she strips off her clothes, plunging into the water for a swim. The sea is glorious, the salty tang in the air reminiscent of spicy foods in Singapore, of Gibb's tobacco and Will's Dutchman garb…
How long she has been in the water, she does not know. We she emerges, dusk has fallen and her skin is wrinkled like a crone's. Yet in her heart she feels light, and airy, and free.
Just because Will is water-bound and duty (curse)-bound does not mean the she is land-bound. It is an all the more startling observation because of how obvious it is.
(She could always sail home. She does not reject the idea as quickly as she should. Freedom is a painful thing… especially to forfeit.)
…
"Oh, this and that" she answers vaguely. "Sailing, and swimming."
Jack nods sagely. "Quite a long journey, I would say. Especially unaccompanied."
"What makes you think I was alone?"
Jack sits up straighter at that; all traces of humour vanishing as he scanned the drunken crowd for familiar faces. His beady eyes scrutinize everything, alert in complete contrast to his previous lackadaisical manner.
Seeing no threat, he relaxes back in his seat, displaying his teeth in a strained grin. "Heh, ye had me there for a moment, lass."
…
One does not appreciate the insanity that stems from absolute loneliness unless one has experienced it for themselves.
That her loneliness is self-imposed, makes it so much more cruel.
(It wasn't her idea, not really. Funny how the memories come to her mind so easily now…
She had volunteered to be part of the Dutchman's crew, she recalls. To man the ship and crew, wife standing beside her husband.
Will had refused her. She cannot recall the reason he gave.
It was better than his other reactions, though. When she suggested the Locker for herself, Will had been outright horrified – perhaps he wondered whether the woman he married was insane? Insane… ppft. Hilarious. She wasn't then, but she thinks she might be leaning towards it now. Jack would be so proud.
"That's not the way it works, Elizabeth." Will her told her sadly, but firmly, stroking her face gently and melting her with his earnest eyes. And she, ever the good wife, consented.)
…
"-beth? Elizabeth!"
"Don't say the name!" she hissed, jolted from her unpleasant memories. She doesn't know what it is that makes her so averse to ownership of that name. Was it the name's biblical nature that she, heathen sinner (unfaithful wife, her inner conscience reminds her), could not stomach it? Or was it the memory of the syllables on Will's tongue, spoken with such reverent love?
"Why not?" Jack asks, mock-innocently. Yet he is smirking as he raises his hands in an ironic don't shoot gesture.
"I am not that person anymore" she says shortly. It is not something she cares to explain; particularly when she has no valid reason to give.
Jack blinks, and with his trademark unpredictability, takes it in stride. "Very well then. If that is what you wish, then I'd like to formally acquaint myself with the person you are now." He grins, "Don't want no confusions later, aye?"
Adopting a serious tone (as serious as Jack can get anyway), he swings off his hat in an elaborate and theatrical flourish. "Me name is Jack Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl and the most swashbuckling Pirate Lord you will ever meet." Giving her a winsome wink, he leans forward, "And what's your name, lass?"
Once, to another pirate in another life, she called herself Elizabeth Turner. The name was a lie then; now it is the truth.
Cheerfully, she replies, "Lizzy Swann".
After the governor's demise (murder), the name holds no recognition. She spent so much time disobeying her father and ignoring his hopes for her; the name is her way of respecting him and how he raised her (even if she has forgotten all his lessons).
Her father… oh, how she misses him.
…
The boat tempts her to the point of insanity.
She has long lost count of days; sailing for hours at a stretch, rowing without direction and frequently getting lost. Sometimes on purpose, in hopes that he would come rescue her.
(Will had always hesitated, though. During her betrothal to Norrington, ever after her courageous rescue…)
Perhaps, if she sailed long enough that she couldn't find her way back… perhaps if she was stuck in endless water without rations to keep her alive…. perhaps if she drowned…. then he would come, would sweep her away as he did before, and they could be together again.
Will would not be happy though. That is the only argument that stops her from suicide.
She does not see how it would be wrong. She could be Queen of the Seas by his side, free to sail to the ends of the world and beyond (quite literally).
This line of thinking is dangerous; but the sea air has cleared the fog from her brain and brought back a bit of the adventurous girl of old, the privileged and educated woman who followed her desires and refused to live her life as per her father's wishes.
"Daring and reckless – that's you, my dear", her father would so often tell her, endearingly exasperated. He'd reprimand her most strongly; yet his relief at her safety would shine through his eyes and betray him every time.
A honest man, her father was.
What would he say if he knew that his daughter became not just a pirate, but a wife of a pirate, and Lord of Pirates?
He would not stop loving her; that was for certain.
(What would Will do in such a case, she wonders. His reaction to her deception in Jack's death was enough to alienate them completely until the last desperate battle - to die married, rather than not. Beautiful, tragic, fated love. Thinking back, it startles her to remember a time when their love was a thing so fragile and uncertain.
She refuses to contemplate how strong their love is now.)
Her father would grumble and gripe; but in the end, he would want whatever made her happy.
If Will is captain of the Dutchman, can he not bring her father back?
It is this one thought that cements everything for her.
She returns to the island, and systematically erases her life story – a novel for her entertainment – scrawled across the sand.
(It is a whole stretch of beach, and the work takes her nearly two days; but the toil is a test of her fortitude and a challenge to herself – to wipe the slate and start afresh.)
She leaves by the same boat she came in, loaded with as much fruit and freshwater as she could carry. Gibbs (not Will, how unsurprising) had helpfully mapped out the way to Port Royal before leaving her to her current predicament. The parchment is old, but the drawings show the skill of a practiced eye.
She lands (more or less safely) in the town she grew up in, the idyllic place that had marked the boundaries of her world before she entered the world of pirates.
She does not – cannot – stay. It pains her physically and leaves her with nightmares and self-doubts so potent she almost turns back to the island, to wait blindly for Will like a proper Port Royal-bred girl (wife) would.
She leaves for Tortuga instead. She is a pirate at heart, all wild impulse and free-willed spirit.
(Though piracy ran in Will's blood, she was the one enthralled by the song, she who rallied men to fight to death for their pride as a pirate…. She had forgotten, really, that Will never wanted to be a pirate.)
"You oughta watch out, miss" the tavern-keeper warns her while she pays for her drinks. "Talk in the streets is that the Black Pearl has returned to this forsaken watering hole. You'd best be on your way, lass. Don't want to run into them, do you?"
He watches flabbergasted as she bursts into peals of laughter (God, how long has it been since she laughed like this?). Forsaking her as mad, he leaves her order on the table.
She takes a huge swig after her mirth subsides. Jack's special brand of humour feels very appealing to her now.
…
While she is lost in thought, Jack finds a (much more welcome) familiar face in the noisy tavern. "Ah Mister Gibbs. You've come at the perfect time. Also me to introduce you to the newest member of our crew. I do imagine you would like to talk to her."
Gibbs peers towards her inquisitively, his face brightening in recognition. She offers the older man a tender smile, old memories filling her with happiness.
Meanwhile, Jack bustles about cheerfully, ready to join the Tortuga clamour now that business (?) was concluded. "Right. Pack your things up; we leave on the morrow."
Her response is only a sardonic eyebrow. "I don't think you are in a position to give me orders, Captain. As I recall, I seem to outrank you."
Jack mumbles a curse to himself, for electing her as Brethren King. Soon enough, he recovers his natural charm, and grins craftily. "It seems to me that a new ship is in order. We shall have to start recruiting, then."
…
Days later, people at the Faithful Bride whisper of a ship that sails alongside the Black Pearl of legend, manned by a Pirate King rumoured to have tamed Davy Jones himself.
Lizzy rules over the seas of the living – merchants, companies, pirates. Dead, and undead, both are the same to her.
All the same, the Fountain of Youth has an interesting ring to it.
…
...
Elizabeth makes a better pirate than any of them. Look at the 'Hoist the Colours' speech.
Oh my god, there is so much backstory in the books I had no idea of. Did you know that Jack served in East India Trading Company for five years, under Beckett no less? I certainly didn't.
The PoTC wiki indicates that people sentenced to Davy Jones' Locker are neither dead nor alive; they are trapped in a limbo of punishment. This is why Tia Dalma could not bring Jack back like she brought Barbossa.
The physical manifestation of the Locker varies from person to person…. then why were Elizabeth and the lot able to see Jack's sandy-beach-version of the Locker as is? There is a lot of behind-the-curtain stuff going on with that locker, that's for sure.
Is the ending depressing?