SERAPHIC KISS
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Continuity: Before Norrington's promotion ceremony.
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"Freckles come when an angel bends low and kisses your cheek," his mother had said, before she passed beyond life, taken, perhaps, by her own heavenly being.
He never wondered what whim of God had saved him, nor what jest was planned that it was her face he would see first; freckles spattered across her strong face in silent testimony to days spent unladylike in the sun, brown hair striped gold for the same, and her eyes kept him still. His mother had eyes like hers, though different: a curious sort of self-willed power and confidence, but stronger and gentler than his mother's had been.
"I'm watching over you," she had offered, gently, and he set his head back, cold from seawater and warmed by her smile.
His mother had told him, once, of angels who watched over those brave men that rode the waves of the sea in their delicate ships of wood; even with her freckles, the girl looked the part, hair streaked with gold and shining like a halo of curls. Will had wanted her to be an angel, to know that he had been spared because of her earnest intervention; he needed to know someone cared.
His mother taken into the palm of the Lord; his father unseen, unfound, unheard of. The bearded man, Gibbs, glanced askance at him and wore charms against ill luck; the captain and Lieutenant Norrington rarely acknowledged his existence, offering dry tilts of eyebrows when he made that existence obvious. But when he knew she was nothing more than a girl, creeping together in unrivaled triumph to lean over the smooth rail, when she was no longer an angel, it did not hurt him too badly.
She was Elizabeth, she announced, her eyes piercing him like a cat's - and Elizabeth was not the name of an angel. She gave him one sweet, chaste kiss on his cheek when the ship had drawn to port, knowing what he did not: that he would not know her with the same intimacy of innocent childhood.
There were times, after the dreamy childhood that passed briefly on that ship, after he was apprenticed to Brown and forever made a blacksmith, wonderful wrenching times when he would see her and feel a stir along his spine, or a soft breath on his cheek; those times Elizabeth was an angel, and he could gather the courage to speak to her. Always polite, always proper, knowing his place as a blacksmith, and pleasing her father with his respectful demeanor. She was Miss Swann, then, the name of Elizabeth stolen away like that momentary youth at sea.
Will could hope that an angel would love him; he could not hope a nobleborn girl would.
But in those flickers, when she was not Miss Swann but Elizabeth who might have been a god-maiden, he would see that same tempered strength in her eyes, like metal in a forge. The gold remained in her hair, lighting it in a burnished haze of smoky light, and he would turn to find her still watching him, carefully, with sunlight shimmering around her strong face, the freckles of her angel-kissed youth faded and gone. Yet it was still Elizabeth the girl who was guide and friend at sea, warm hand and warm mouth giving him a friendly kiss on his cheek when they were children.
He wanted that kiss anew, wanted everything he knew he could not have again, and burned for the sake of an angel's brushing mouth.
--
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't hurt me. :D
Feedback: Encouraged.
-
Continuity: Before Norrington's promotion ceremony.
--
"Freckles come when an angel bends low and kisses your cheek," his mother had said, before she passed beyond life, taken, perhaps, by her own heavenly being.
He never wondered what whim of God had saved him, nor what jest was planned that it was her face he would see first; freckles spattered across her strong face in silent testimony to days spent unladylike in the sun, brown hair striped gold for the same, and her eyes kept him still. His mother had eyes like hers, though different: a curious sort of self-willed power and confidence, but stronger and gentler than his mother's had been.
"I'm watching over you," she had offered, gently, and he set his head back, cold from seawater and warmed by her smile.
His mother had told him, once, of angels who watched over those brave men that rode the waves of the sea in their delicate ships of wood; even with her freckles, the girl looked the part, hair streaked with gold and shining like a halo of curls. Will had wanted her to be an angel, to know that he had been spared because of her earnest intervention; he needed to know someone cared.
His mother taken into the palm of the Lord; his father unseen, unfound, unheard of. The bearded man, Gibbs, glanced askance at him and wore charms against ill luck; the captain and Lieutenant Norrington rarely acknowledged his existence, offering dry tilts of eyebrows when he made that existence obvious. But when he knew she was nothing more than a girl, creeping together in unrivaled triumph to lean over the smooth rail, when she was no longer an angel, it did not hurt him too badly.
She was Elizabeth, she announced, her eyes piercing him like a cat's - and Elizabeth was not the name of an angel. She gave him one sweet, chaste kiss on his cheek when the ship had drawn to port, knowing what he did not: that he would not know her with the same intimacy of innocent childhood.
There were times, after the dreamy childhood that passed briefly on that ship, after he was apprenticed to Brown and forever made a blacksmith, wonderful wrenching times when he would see her and feel a stir along his spine, or a soft breath on his cheek; those times Elizabeth was an angel, and he could gather the courage to speak to her. Always polite, always proper, knowing his place as a blacksmith, and pleasing her father with his respectful demeanor. She was Miss Swann, then, the name of Elizabeth stolen away like that momentary youth at sea.
Will could hope that an angel would love him; he could not hope a nobleborn girl would.
But in those flickers, when she was not Miss Swann but Elizabeth who might have been a god-maiden, he would see that same tempered strength in her eyes, like metal in a forge. The gold remained in her hair, lighting it in a burnished haze of smoky light, and he would turn to find her still watching him, carefully, with sunlight shimmering around her strong face, the freckles of her angel-kissed youth faded and gone. Yet it was still Elizabeth the girl who was guide and friend at sea, warm hand and warm mouth giving him a friendly kiss on his cheek when they were children.
He wanted that kiss anew, wanted everything he knew he could not have again, and burned for the sake of an angel's brushing mouth.
--
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, don't hurt me. :D
Feedback: Encouraged.