The orders issued, or at least the parts Will Turner had heard/understood, were quite simple; almost too simple at this stage in the game. The whole lot of them were to bunk in Tia Dalma's "palace" for the night, and get a good night's rest before they headed to the ends of the earth to recover what they could of Captain Jack Sparrow. As luck would have it, they weren't likely to have an opportunity to sleep again for quite some time. Supposedly, traveling to the ends of the Earth meant staying awake until the Earth ended too.
As each hazed moment tick-tocked away; and as each one of those singular minutes was slowly being devoured by the stale atmosphere laden upon the filth-trodden shelter, trust was becoming more and more difficult to muster. Waiting like this just felt pointless, despite the shared need for rest. However, despite the air of anxiety, Pintel and Regetti had no problem finding rest this night, they just didn't get restless as easy as the others. It was a wonder those two had made it this far alive.
With a furtive glance the blacksmith caught sight of the pair camped out on the joined wooden stools. For a brief moment a smile visited Will's pale features. Funny, those two had drifted off into dreamland well before Barbosa and Tia had finished their orders and house rules, they were just a pair of careless blokes, weren't they? Pintel and Regetti were leaning on each other, long gone in the passages of their dreams. Pintels's head rested on Regetti's lean shoulder, and in turn Regetti's head rested on the shorter man's head. Both parties snored, oblivious to their surroundings. The kracken itself could not wake them if it's life was on the line. Returning to the situation at hand Will's smile faded and he once again embraced reality. Those two were really something, but one can only live by the skin of his teeth for so long, it wouldn't make sense to be envious.
The remaining members of Jack's hardy crew, along with William Turner, and Elizabeth Swann, were bystanders in this critical juncture. Whether any other soul beside Mr. Turner had actually realized it, the title was now more fact than opinion at this point. As each precious moment was violently thrust into eternity, Jack was that one more minute's distance from his potential rescuers. With this knowledge thick upon each member's heart, all were expected to wait for signals from a witch with a crooked smile, and a technically "dead" Captain Barbosa, that didn't only hate Jack with a passion, but had betrayed them all once before. One time too many for the likes of Turner.
Hope, as well as their said "fearless" captain, were lost; just carelessly tossed into Davy Jones' Locker never to be recovered again. Or that's at least what Will had perceived. He didn't honestly trust Tia Dalma or Captain Barbosa near enough to believe their upcoming scheme would be a success. Then again, he didn't much care. No brighter circumstance could erupt from such a perilous plight, and well, how much grimmer could life really get after all that had occurred thus far?
It wasn't really the loss of Captain Jack Sparrow that bothered the young blacksmith, or even having to trust a pirate and witch nearly as deceptive as the mighty Sparrow himself. What really threw him into a chase after a man he didn't particularly care for, was in devotion to his betrothed, his one true love, Elizabeth. The consequences of such a venture were made crystal clear to Mr. Turner, yet nothing could deter the man from attempting to satisfy the woman he loved, even if it meant the satisfaction would not lie within himself. If Jack's well-being would liven her grief-stricken features, so be it, William would do everything within his power to make it so. His love was entitled to anything her heart desired, and Will was just determined to ensure such would occur.
Earlier, as Will Turner was fleeing the Pearl he caught a sight that both wretched the contents of his stomach and blistered his heart at the same time. Elizabeth was raptured in passion and ardor with his own betrayer. When Jack had returned to help, Will had thought he'd forgiven him. It felt as though the good outweighed the bad and the captain would see to his crew's survival. But, in that moment, every misdeed had resurfaced and put tremendous weight on his heart. At Mr. Gibbs's insistence, Turner tore his eyes away from the grotesque scene and sank into the small boat, stricken.
He no longer saw the mammoth wall of the Pearl, nor the anxious members of Captain Jack Sparrow's crew shifting nervously beside him. All William could see was that kiss swimming circles in his mind. Images of Elizabeth pressed willfully against Jack's rum-ridden form burned more than the blacksmith could stand. It felt as though he lay prostrate as an unmoving target and all the while Elizabeth and Jack gleefully thrust hot iron pokers at his body. The pain seared him from the inside out, and for the moment, all he could do was stare blankly at his calloused hands in disbelief.
Miss Swann descended into the tiny boat, placing herself opposite Will. He looked expectantly, waiting for the winsome captain to follow suit. Turner expected a smirk from the bloke, declaring a victory over the "said" eunuch, and a gloating wink. The blacksmith readied himself, determined not to punch the lights out of such filth, but when Jack had not appeared Will turned his hot gaze from the empty ladder to Elizabeth.
"Where's Jack?" Will inquired like a mere child. The blacksmith was one to wear his heart on his sleeve when around Elizabeth. As of now, his heart had been swollen to the brink with pure jealousy and hurt; it went without saying, Will's every gesture showed such feelings. It was a surprise Elizabeth had not picked up on the harsh tone, and in turn only replied as if she were a mile away from them all.
"He's elected to stay behind with the ship." She announced receiving piercing stares of disbelief, "Go!" Elizabeth looked out past Will towards the horizon. Elizabeth's words hung thick in the air, piercing all those with a loyalty to their doomed Captain. Tears welled in her delicate brown eyes and threatened to spill at the frailest of movements.
Mr. Gibbs quickly surveyed the situation and finally parted the silence, convincing the crew this was what Jack wanted. They removed their hats in a sign of humble respect and charged on. An uncanny silence resumed and settled over the band as they dove deeper into the forest. No one dared to break the silence, none were quite that strong. Instead, that thick silence descended heavier and heavier, daring to take the life right out of their bosoms, without the slightest permission.
Though young William was still willing to die for the life of Miss Swann after her actions, not near so much could be said towards the "self-less" captain who went down with his ship. True, the act appeared to be a very noteworthy and commendable deed to an outsider, or even one that didn't know Jack so well, but something just didn't sit well with the blacksmith. The act was seemingly unfinished and lacked a touch of character Will was certain Sparrow had yet to develop.
Barely a week had passed since the gold-toothed narcissist, tried to trick Will into a life of agonizing enslavement aboard the Flying Dutchman. Like the gullible being Jack had known him to be, he fell for it. Sparrow wasn't ready to give up his life then, why would he all of a sudden be ready to surrender his life to the Kracken? The ends were not matching up, something was out of place.
The blacksmith certainly couldn't tell anyone. Such a notion would only cause upset, and more than likely, an uproar as well. Will would be at the end of several well-poised blades in an instant. Sparrow was a god in their eyes, and not a one of them would allow thoughts otherwise. Jack Sparrow was a god in the eyes of many; cannibals claimed him a god, his crew worshiped the ground he walked on, and now it even seemed Elizabeth had fallen prey to the captain's winsome nature.
Will sat mum, his pummeled gaze focused on his hands. Every so often he would shift his vison to glance upon Miss Swann's grieved features. She still hadn't broken her blind gaze across the side of the boat; he doubted she would until they docked. Elizabeth looked right past him, as if he wasn't even present. A single tear ran down her cheek, and seared the blacksmith's very soul. Mr. Turner was oblivious to Elizabeth's real reasons for kissing him as passionately as she had; he took it for love, maybe even the beginning of an affair cut short.
Whatever the case, she was unhappy now and he couldn't stand for that. Swann's unhappiness disheveled him. The blacksmith could only be okay as long as she was content, and happy with her choices. He wasn't about to force or oblige his love to be with him if it didn't make her happy. His state of being was a minute factor and could afford to be lost. What did it matter anymore?