A/N: First of all, we're completely ignoring the fact that elves don't grow beards until the third cycle of their lives. Creative license, man. Even though this isn't ours. If it were, we wouldn't be writing on a fanfiction site, would we?

All the spelling errors related to speech are there on purpose. We don't know pirate speak, but we've made a (terrible) attempt at it.

This is an account of true events gathered through witnesses. All the persons involved in these happenings have kept their true names. Before we begin, I would like to thank Hector Barbossa, Jack Sparrow, "William Turner" (we all know who you really are), Joshamee Gibbs, and Elizabeth Swann, as well as the crew of the Black Pearl, for your aid in completing this history.

~F/M J.N.

On the Black Pearl, they still called him a lad. Even though he was supposedly in his forties, he was the baby of the ship. Because of his young face, he was knocked about and given all the menial tasks. That was when the captain wasn't keeping an eye on him. But when Jack was there, things were different. Jack was his friend, his mentor even, and he treated Bill Turner as a colleague.

When Barbossa betrayed Jack, everything changed. No longer was he welcome on the ship. No longer did he consider the Black Pearl his home. His time as a pirate was over (for now). It was time to leave.

He would not go without exacting his revenge, though. He knew the consequences – of course he knew them. He remembered Cortes' terrible curse. He just didn't care, and he thought he could handle the repercussions of taking one of the Aztec medallions. He didn't think he would have to hide from the moonlight for the next two years. So he made his plan. When they docked at Tortuga, he would make off with a medallion. He would lay low and find a ship to carry him as far from the Caribbean as he could get. They would never find him.

And so he set off. But he miscalculated. Barbossa had seen him skulk away with a piece of gold, his gold, at the Isla de Muerta. He had also hatched a plan. Another treacherous plan.

It was a regular day, just like any other. Bill rose, he worked, and he spied, looking for land or a ship. It wasn't until mid afternoon that things turned for the worse.

Barbossa stalked across the deck, pompous as a peacock, towards him. Turner whipped around when he heard the boots stop behind him.

"Ahoy, Turner! How be you on this mighty fine day?" he said.

"I'm fine, sir. And you?"

"I am… malcontented," he declared. "Want t' know why?"

Bill did not like the sound of that. Barbossa liked showing off his vast lexicon, especially when he was angry, frustrated, disappointed… dissatisfied, as it were.

"Why, sir?" Bill gulped. He had a feeling he knew what this was about.

"I caught myself a thief. A pirate who steals from pirates," the hypocrite said, "Ya see, I saw this dog make off with my bone instead o' keepin' his greedy paws t' hisself."

Damn. He thought no one noticed. He had stolen things years and years before Barbossa even existed - how did he make a blunder such as this?

"And now I'm thinking 'It does not make a wink o' sense. Why did he not escape at Tortuga?' But I realize why now. Yer stupid, filthy robbin' scum, William Turner!"

By now, he had drawn the attention of the rest of the crew. Some had gathered around, the filthy smirks on their faces growing as the Captain continued.

"Now, the only question is what t' do with ya... What d'ya think, men?"

There was a lot of shouting and unintelligible babbling after those words, but Bill could just make out things like "Slit 'is throat", "Shoot 'im", and "chop 'im up and feed 'im to the sharks!" But the one that caught Barbossa's heart was this: "Tie a cannon to 'is bootstraps and walk 'im off the plank!"

Before anyone could do anything, though, the lookout was off, weaving through flailing hands and treading lightly and quickly. He flew across the deck, heading towards the main mast to climb up and into the sky, where he had the advantage. After all, he was raised with trees. He knew his way around them and better yet, he was at home at the tops of them - and of the ship - from which he swore he could never fall.

He had almost made it out of arm's reach when a hand grabbed his foot and ripped him down, causing him to crash onto the hard wooden deck below. Then a hand was in his hair, clasping the faux black strands and yanking until Bill was face to face with his attacker - with his supposed captain. The man smiled a shark like smile and said, "Now I think ya better apologize for that, young'un."

Now, there's something you need to understand about Bill. He may stoop to levels below the furthest reaches of the sea to get what he wants, but by no means does that allude to the fact that he's not prideful. In fact, it's quite the opposite. It may be his years of experience in the world or the way he was raised that made him a bit egotistical, thinking that his qualities were better than all on this ship combined - whether that's true or not isn't relevant. But when a man or woman tries to shame him, he retaliates, no matter what damage it will cause him later.

So obviously he had to spit in the traitor's face.

His harasser growled with rage. How dare this bilge rat degrade him so? He would pay for this!

Barbossa dragged the deceptively young man by the hair to the side of the ship and threw him on the ground. The "exit" lay menacingly in front of him. But Bill wasn't out for the count yet. He still had his sword, which he drew to chop off the long hair he loved so much. Now the hair that flowed down to his lower back would only just reach past his chin (fortunately, though, it was still covering his ears).

He wasted no time and shot up, trying to get any place on the ship where he'd be safe, of which there was none, for nameless crew members (Bill Turner had never been considered the most social of creatures) gathered and shoved him back towards Barbossa.

"I think I'll do what Pintel suggested, Bootstrap Bill," he barked. "Someone fetch me a cannon!" The rest of the crew laughed.

Several men scurried off to the gun deck to hoist one up. Meanwhile, the others converged on the poor, isolated pirate.

"Search 'im, lads!"

Bill knew that if they searched him, they would find the trinket and an ancient and priceless elvish dagger tucked away in his right boot. He struggled and kicked and bit at the assaulters accosting him.

"It's too late!" he said. "The medallion is gone!" he was just making this up, but he hoped they bought it. However unlikely it was, it was worth a shot.

Barbossa stepped towards him and all movement ceased. "What d'ya mean, 'gone'?"

Mr. Turner smirked. "You should have kept a better eye on me in Tortuga, sir. I paid the piece of gold to a lovely young barmaid."

Barbossa drew a pistol from his belt, placed the barrel on Bill's forehead. "Methinks ye be wanting to tell who this barmaid be." Bill eyed the bastard, then shook his head.

"Why? Do you actually believe in the curse now?"

The captain might have gulped for a second, but it really wasn't clear. But then he sneered and cocked the gun. "Tell me now!"

"I'd never tell a lying rotten scumbag like yourself the weather, never mind this! You deserve to be cursed! And stay cursed! Curse you to Davy Jones' Locker!"

"I believe it's you who'll be going there." Before Bill could react, the captain slammed the gun on his head, knocking him to the ground.

"Well," he sighed as he slid the pistol back. "No matter; I've still had enough of yer griping about Jack Sparrow as if you were better than us. None of the crew can stand you! not even Pintel and Ragetti! You only hinder us! This just means there be one less mouth to feed."

'Bootstrap's' stomach dropped to his boots. So Barbossa would carry out the plan - he wasn't just bluffing to scare Bill.

The young looking "man" may have been strong, but not even he could fight a whole boatload of armed and dangerous sailors at once. If only he had his bow.

And then he was being pulled this way and that until he was press-ganged all the way back to where his hair lay scattered on the deck. The long, inviting plank stared at him.

Pirates don't waste time and so the twelve pound cannon was already waiting for its unwilling companion.

Bill quickly found himself being pulled by the ankles to the edge, but before he was thrown onto the plank, a tall, dark man with long dreadlocks did as Barbossa ordered, clutching Bill's feet and roping a cord through his bootstraps. Then, he was lifted onto his feet. Barbossa unsheathed his sword and pointed it at him.

"Now walk the plank like a good gent, and I shant gut ya like a fish!" said the former first mate.

Bill's feet betrayed him and he slowly turned around. He padded out and across the small, wobbly board. What always was such a small, trivial thing now seemed a mile long. And that mile would be filled with anguish and terror of what would happen next.

As soon as he reached the edge of the board, he turned back, only to see that the crew had already heaved the heavy cannon to the edge of the boat. So this is how it ends, he thought. After all these years, I didn't expect to be killed by pirates, least of all Barbossa.

Barbossa eyed him for the last time in nearly three years as he pushed the cannon. "Goodbye, Bootstrap Bill Turner."

And then he was falling.