Do You Fear Death?
By WriterfromWarDrobe
The Flying Dutchman surged upward through the deep blue underworld, unbidden by captain and crew, by a force greater than them. Ocean spray erupted into the air like a geyser. In this moment, as the ship reared its huge bulk into the fresh, salty air of the Caribbean, the crew realized that they could not and would never live underwater again.
Barnacles dropped from their faces and coins from their eyes. A feeling of humanity, lost to them by years of servitude, was rekindled like a determined flame on the end of a damp candle. For many, it was the first time that home and land were more than just faded dreams but places that they could navigate towards.
"How has this happened?" breathed one confused sailor as an elderly crew member strutted past.
Old Bill Turner grinned. "He's broke the Trident."
"Tha' mus' be's et," sighed another sailor dreamily.
Bill made his way to the captain's quarters with both triumph at his grandson's victory and worry for his son weighing down his heart. He hurriedly opened the door without pausing to knock and wait for his son's response. He had to know what state he would find his son.
Captain Will Turner was in something of a daze when his father entered. "Henry," he whispered, peeking up at Bill. "He's done it."
Bill made his way over to his son. "And you? Are you well?"
The Captain placed a hand on his chest, over his dully beating heart. "I feel…pain," he gasped, slumping into the chair behind his desk.
"I feared this." Bill rested a hand on his shoulder. "The curse is what saved you."
Will tilted his head toward his father. "Make for Jamaica. I will see my family one last time."
~0~
The crew of the Flying Dutchman survived on hope. Many years of servitude had unfortunately taken its toll on many of the sailors; with the curse broken, they were no longer bound to the ship and could at last move on to the next world. They were done cheating Death.
Captain Will Turner was standing at the beak of his ship as afternoon shadows lengthened over the cliffs and the lighthouse that his wife and son had made their home. Half of the crew was preparing a landing party, the other half were furling the sails and lowering the anchor. No one knew what would become of the ship once they disembarked. None wanted to come back aboard. Will knew he would never again walk the deck in mortal form. He knew it would not be long before he would be unable to hold back the door through which Death was attempting to enter.
As the longboat plowed toward shore, Will kept his focus on the lighthouse. A young man and woman were out of the sloping landscape, looking through a spyglass, watching the arrival of the Dutchman's crew. Will pushed himself up the beach toward these unknown people, pleading with himself to reach them, talk to them, learn of his family, give them a message to take to his family.
The young man put down the spyglass and walked toward the Captain. Will squinted at the youth's blonde hair and his smile. He yanked a cord from his neck and offered the familiar baubles out to the Captain. "Henry," Will whispered. But he would have known even without his old trinket to remind him; Henry was a beautiful blend of his mother and father.
"Yes, father," the youth responded.
Will grabbed Henry in an awkward hug. The pain in his chest thudded as if pieces of his heart were falling off. He staggered back, one hand on Henry's shoulder for balance, the other trying to find all the details of his boy's face. "Look at you." Will knew Henry could not see it, how much he resembled his father at that age in both appearance and spirit. Will had risked his life to save his father from a curse; Henry had done the same. Bill Turner had met his end on their way to Jamaica, but Will had gotten to spend over twenty years with him. Will would give the rest of his life to his son, but it would not be long enough.
"How did you do it?"
"Let me tell you a tale of the greatest treasure known to man," Henry beamed.
Will faltered on his footing, grabbing Henry for support. The young man seemed to interpret it as a friendly embrace. "That's a tale I should like to hear," Will said.
When Elizabeth crested the hill, all Will saw was her, blazing in a glow all her own, shining like the lighthouse beacon she kept burning to guide him home. Here was the angel he wanted to take him.
He wanted to run. She had already bunched up her skirts and was dashing across the expanse between them. There was joy and desperation in her eyes. Was she truly seeing her husband on land when he was not due to return for eight more years? Was his curse truly broken? Will knew that was what she was thinking, and he wanted to assure it was all true.
But he could not.
He collapsed on the ground, gripping his chest where Davy Jones had struck him all those years ago.
"Father!" Henry cried, dropping to his knees beside him. "What's happened? What's wrong?"
Will pulled back his hand, surprised to find it soaked. The old wound had returned to the surface, having slowly torn its way through the layers of healing that the curse had ironically provided.
At the sight of the blood, Henry shouted to the young woman with whom he had been standing. "Carina, fetch the doctor!"
The young woman took off, passing Elizabeth who was running as fast as she could to the fallen figure. The joy in her eyes had vanished behind fear. Her skirts pooled and billowed like heavenly bodies around him; they were the coral of sunset clouds.
"It was supposed to break the curse," Henry moaned.
"It did." Will's voice was shallow and raspy. "I am so proud of you."
Henry shook his head, fighting back tears of confusion. "It wasn't supposed to be this way."
"Will," Elizabeth whispered, fingers gently brushing his face, pushing his long hair out of his face. His eyes were full of longing. She should not have to be put through this all over again.
Will found himself straining to speak against the tears in his own throat and the wound that was sucking the life from his body. "I...have...you," he got out. His numb fingers reached out and were embraced in the strong, loving grasps of his wife and son.
How many times had he, doing his duty as Captain of the Flying Dutchman, asked the dying of the sea "Do you fear death?" They could either move on or choose to cheat it.
Do you fear death, Will Turner? he asked himself.
With his last bit of strength, Will gave the hands that held his a squeeze. He could not speak, just gaze up at the faces he had longed to see, faces that had been the hope to endure ten years without them, faces that had provided the memory and dream of what once was and what could have been, faces and love that he could not have departed without.
No, he answered.