Title: A Tale of the Immortal Captain Sparrow
Author: Hildwyn
Rating: PG-13 for now, may be less, but it will not go higher.
Notes: Thank you everyone who has reviewed my past POTC fanfics. This will be my first multichaptered POTC story.
This has never come up, I don't expect it to, but if you ever want to archive one of my fics, go ahead, of course just credit me, and tell me where it is going up. :)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not now, not ever.
Chapter 1: A Story Begins . . .
Virginia Colony, 1736
'Inn of the Warring Indian'
About thirty miles inland from the Chesapeake Bay lies Littleton, which is, despite its name, an average-sized town, and within its populous and unkempt south section, lays a very popular inn- the Inn of the Warring Indian. It attracted all kinds of clientele- thieves, murderers, speculators, merchants- whatever disputes they may have in the world outside quickly dropped away once they entered the inn.
It was a safe haven, this inn, for those who profited from breaking the law- so long as they broke it elsewhere. And as long as it was brought from elsewhere the local merchants were more than willing to buy pirated and stolen goods, though this practice was becoming less and less common these days.
Every night, like clockwork the children would gather at the entrance of the inn, waiting for the storyteller, as they called him, to emerge from his days spent drowning himself in the local brews.
He had a weathered and creased face, with deep wrinkles, and a snarled mess of what was once hair but was now almost completely white. His clothing seemed to have faired no better in its lifetime, with little tears and holes eaten into the wool cloth by moths, and the boots were caked in mud.
This day was different though, the old man's appearance was the same, but his mood was more somber and subdued- a stark contrast to his normally flamboyant personality. The children, too young to care about more than hearing his stories, were oblivious to this change in their beloved storyteller.
He moved away from the entrance of the inn, taking his customary seat on an old barrel, and once he was seated, the children gathered around him, excitedly begging him to tell them their favorite tales.
"Another story," the man said in a raspy voice, and instantly the children quieted down, "some day I won't always be here to tell you these stories and that won't do."
He looked down seriously at each of them in turn.
"Today I shall do more than tell you a story, I will tell you how to tell one. Now, who among you knows the basics, save the old man here reciting them?"
The children looked down and at each other, none meeting the old man's gaze. They rustled slightly, betraying their ignorance of the art.
"Well, you don't know. Easily fixed. You all know what is good and what isn't when you hear it, so this, this should be easy. I will tale a real tale, of a real man and his life as the basis for this. And so, I will begin."
The man reached into his coat, and produced from an inner hidden pocket an old polished wooden box, with raised inscriptions on its cover. The children reacted immediately, leaning forward so that they may see what it was, or more importantly, what would be inside it.
The old man smiled, and opened the box, but then pulled it closely to him, to hide it from the children's' view.
"Now hold up. There is no need to spoil everything for yourselves. Patience is necessary for any storyteller, so that he can manipulate his audience, ride their emotions like a cresting wave, so that one can be careful of their story. You may not understand this now, but some day you will, you will look back on this story with adult comprehension, and truly understand what I tell you now. Stories are not just whimsical tales of knights and elf folk, or long ago battles. They are about life, and sometimes they take on a life of their own.
"A story like this will do what it will to its audience. Some of you, when you hear it, may wish to retell it- adding in your own bits and style to make it your own, but others . . ." he grinned to reveal a mouth full of teeth made of silver and gold, and a few made of whale bone, "a few brave others will set out on a journey of adventure to see if it is true."
The children started shifting impatiently, the man ramblings before the story was boring them, and they wanted to hear the action and adventure guaranteed in a story told by the old man.
And he smiled knowingly.
"Ah, forgive me, I tend to prattle on now, but rest assured, you will understand one day, but for now . . . now we shall start with our story."
During the last bit of his speech, another person had approached the crowd of children and the old man. The new arrival, barely visible under the cloak he wore, barely deserving of the name with the condition it was in, was careful to tread quietly as he came.
The old man heard the other approach and looked up to see the man, narrowed his eyes slightly, but shrugged and focused his attention back on the children.
The new arrival took a couple more steps forward until he was in earshot of the old man, and then settled himself on the ground, exposing a pair of buckled shoot made of fine soft black leather.
The old man pulled away the box he had been clutching to his chest and reached in to remove something, and then held it aloft for all the children to see.
It was a ring- silver with some tarnish on it, mostly on the inside of the band, and a green stone up on the top.
The children 'ahhed' as they looked upon it, eliciting a chuckle from the old man.
"So you like it do you? It isn't much, not that magnificent, certainly nothing that a royal prince would wear, but it did belong to a prince of sorts- a prince among thieves. His name was Captain Jack Sparrow. Now remember this name well, lads, for never was there a pirate better known than ol' Captain Jack sailing the Spanish Main- the whole ocean. He captained a swift ship by the name of the Black Pearl. The most magnificent ship to ever sail any sea.
"I don't know what your parents have told you about pirates- probably that they are nasty, dirty, and smelly people who rob ships at sea and are hung when they are caught, but no- not this Captain Jack. He may have been captured, but never did he hang long enough to die.
"Now Captain Jack shall be our hero. But what every hero needs is a goal. His goal shall be to survive. But that alone wouldn't make an interesting story, we need more. We need a conflict. Now our conflict will be that there are many people out to dispose of Captain Jack Sparrow, the Navy, other pirates, and supernatural ones.
"But right now, Captain Jack is only aware of some of the forces arrayed against him. However, a lone hero cannot stand against the tides of evil, he will need help, and he will need his allies. Though he has a crew, there are no two greater allies to Captain Jack Sparrow than two who live in Port Royal, blissfully unaware that he is about to land on their doorstep. These two are named Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann- soon to be Mrs. Elizabeth Turner, I might add. They met Captain Jack a long time ago, and count him as their friend, and always hoped, secretly to themselves, that he would come for their wedding.
"And now, Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl, stands waiting on their doorstep, knocking on the door, waiting for an answer- any answer at all."
The sun stood high in the sky, casting no shadows on the people who worked below it, people who were either covered in grime and mumbling about the unfairness of work, or those who did not have to, and who wisely sought shelter in the shade and crude comfort of their homes.
A man of average height donning a white shirt, leather vest, long pants, high boots, and a sash to tie it off, was rather glad that he did have a hat on, a nice tri-cornered hat, which, while it did not cast a lot of shade, cast enough for his tastes. The heat did affect him, you could see the sweat trailing down his face and starting to mix with the kohl around his eyes, but overall he was better at hiding the effects than others.
When he reached a modest home in a middle-class area, he quickly stepped up to the door and knocked. He was in a hurry after all. That and though he did not mind the heat as much as others did, he would have to be a bloody fool to actually welcome it.
He frowned when no one answered, and knocked a couple more times.
"Come on! Let's move in there! I'd very much like to be in there, mate!" He yelled, hoping that it might get the owners scampering.
"Captain Jack Sparrow doesn't like to be kept waiting all day, mate," he said to himself, hoping that the bloody occupants would hurry.
The door opened a fraction.
"About bloody time!" Jack said.
TBC