The Blacksmith's Apprentice

by thisarylwren

Although Brown and Will only exchanged one line during the movie (and one of them was unconscious at the time!), there's something about that relationship that nags at me. This is an attempt to explore that relationship between them. [complete]

Title: The Blacksmith's Apprentice
Author: SilverDragon aka Elvish Whispers
Rating: PG
Summary: Although Brown and Will only exchanged one line during the movie (and one of them was unconscious at the time!), there's something about that relationship that nags at me.  An attempt to explore that relationship between them.

***

A breeze swept over Port Royal, sweeping away the heat of the sun, dancing lightly across the water and onto the streets.  Eighteen-year-old William Turner looked up at the clear sky and smiled, breathing in the cool air.  "Lovely day," he murmured under his breath.

"Lovely day, with work to do," he said with an afterthought.  Will turned and palmed open the door to the blacksmith shop, sighing when he saw Brown lying lazily in the chair, bottle of rum in his hand.  "Sir," he nodded.  "Will you be finishing the order today?"

Brown blinked at him under heavy eyelids, tussled and oily brown hair framing an aged face, lined with wrinkles.  His cheeks were red from the effects of alcohol and his eyes bloodshot.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then slumped over.

Will ran one hand though his shoulder-length brown hair in a sign of great exasperation before crossing the room to remove the bottle from his master's wasted, once hardy, hands.  Will carelessly tossed the bottle off to one side.  "I wish you wouldn't drink so," he said quietly, looking upon the man with worried eyes.

A low grunt was the response.  Will sighed and crossed over to his bench, where he took up the tools in his hands and began working.

***

It was approaching midnight when Will looked up from his bench and wiped the sweat from his brow.  He glanced outside casually then rose from his bench and began cleaning up.  He hung the tools back on their racks and swept the floor as best he could.  Then he began pinching out the candles, one by one, throwing the shop into darkness.

Yet his hand faltered over the last candle and he turned his head, as if suddenly remembering the presence of Brown.  Will left that candle burning.  Were Brown to waken during his absence, Will didn't want the man to be floundering in the dark.  Will also stripped off his overcoat and tucked it around Brown's shoulders before opening the door and stepping outside into the night.

His steps were measured and his boots rang on the cobblestone ground as he walked.  Absentmindedly, he took a coin from his pocket and began flipping it in the air.

"Well, out for another night stroll?"

Will pivoted.  "Lieutenant Norrington."

Norrington frowned at Will.  "Isn't it a bit late for you to be out?"

"Late hours are the norm, sir."

"I see.  There is a great need for blacksmiths now?"  One of Norrington's eyebrows twitched as he said this.  Will looked briefly surprised at Norrington's dry tone and for a moment their eyes met and clashed before Will nodded.

"I see you are busy as well, sir," Will said.

"Yes, a lieutenant of the Royal Navy is always busy," Norrington said, a slight patronizing smile gracing his handsome features.  The lieutenant was powerfully built and towered over Will; his muscles were bunched and he stood completely rigid, one hand supporting the rifle at his side.  Every cell in his body seemed to emanate his authority.

"Naturally," Will said.  He wasn't much shorter than Norrington, but he was much skinnier and not quite as sturdy. 

"Is Mr. Brown well?"

Will's smile tightened.  "Fair enough."

"Good," Norrington said.  "Pray tell, why has it taken him so long to complete the order I left with you four months ago?  I can be a patient man, but this may be stretching it too far."

"It is as you said.  There is a great need for blacksmiths now."

"Oh?"  One of Norrington's eyebrows shot up.

Will nodded, not sure what the man was expecting from him.  A terse silence fell between them until Will broke it, unable to stand it for much longer.  "Sir?"

"I expect my order to be completed by the end of this week," Norrington said evenly, "Or there shall be a comprehensive review of how Master Blacksmith Brown runs his shop!"

Will looked up, anger burning in his gaze.  "You can't!"

"And why is this?"

Because he's ill.  Because he's been ill for months, slaving under the tyranny of alcohol.  But Will could not voice this; it was his master's grave secret.  "There is much work," he said simply, knowing that Norrington would not be pleased with such a bland answer.

He was correct.  Norrington gave him a sharp glance.  "That is unacceptable," he said, "If there is so much work, why are you strolling the streets with such leisure?"

Touché.  Will didn't respond, but lowered his eyes slightly.

"I do not see why Governor Swann has such faith in you," Norrington said scathingly.

Will wasn't sure how to respond, so he fell back on the safest answer he could think of, "Yes, sir."

Norrington smiled cruelly.  "Good night, William Turner."

"Good night, sir," Will said quite insincerely, and then watched as Norrington spun about crisply and marched away.

***

Will returned to the shop.  He could think of nothing else to do.  The conversation with Norrington had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit.  How much longer would he be able to keep up this charade? he wondered.  Norrington already suspected something was awry.  If Norrington knew how little Brown managed to accomplish, if he knew how crazed Brown had become, doubtless he would shut down the shop.

There was a creak from behind him.  Will whirled about.

Brown groaned as he slowly came back into reality.  His fingers grasped at empty air and he turned an accusatory glance at Will.  "You – you – took it."

Will moved a few steps forward, never breaking eye contact.  "Yes," he said neutrally.

"Why?"

"You promised."

"I did not, I did not," Brown mumbled, sinking back into his chair.  "Why do you deny an old man his happiness, boy?"

"It is ruining you!" Will said.  "Too long have you allowed rum to rule you!  You must break away from the iron grip."

"The iron grip, perhaps, but an ever sweet one," said Brown.  His head lolled back and he smiled at the ceiling.  "With such a tangy bite, a cool demeanor – " he licked his lips longingly.

"No," Will said softly.  "Do not."

Brown raised his head and looked at Will with great effort.  "Have you finished the rapier for Mr. Granger?"

"It is done.  I shall deliver it tomorrow."

"Good boy," Brown mumbled, "What would I do without you?"  Then his head tilted back and he began snoring once more.

Will expelled a forceful sigh, his shoulders slumping.  It pained him every time he looked at what his master had become.  He remembered five years ago, when the Governor Swann had introduced him to Brown, and had told the master blacksmith to take Will on, give him food and housing.  Will remembered how much he had respected the man, who had been able to do everything!  He had worshipped Brown for his skill and in turn, Brown had mentored him, passed on the craft.  Will had considered Brown a sort of elder brother or even a surrogate father.

After all, Will hardly knew his father.  His mother had rarely spoken of her husband.  She had told Will that he was a merchant sailor, a good respectable man.  That was all she had revealed.  That and an old medallion were the only things Will had to create an image of the man his father was.  Except he no longer had the medallion.  He had lost it.  Brown was the only thing he really had that he could consider a father.

And I might lose him.

Will felt a great weariness began to sweep over his body and he decided to retire for the night.

***

The next several days were a haze of early hours and late nights.  Almost every evening, Will found himself sitting by the fire, pounding steel into shapes of swords: long swords, broad swords, great swords...

By the fourth day of his frantic working, he finished Norrington's order and held up a gleaming 42'' blade, complete with a brass guard and wood handle.  He tossed the sword from hand to hand, feeling the weight, noting how he had gotten the balance perfect.  Will laid the sword back on the table and wiped sweat off his brow, momentarily closing his eyes to rest them.  The week had been a draining one.

Brown hadn't been of much use, Will thought, wiping his hands on an old towel.  He had barely spoken to the older man, and that had only been to ask a question on what temperature to anneal the toolsteel.  He hadn't received a coherent answer yet.

Will sighed and began cleaning up his work area, then suddenly looked up, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling.  He saw Brown's eyes boring into his.  Will stared back uncomfortably.  There was something queer about Brown's gaze.  "Sir?  Is there a problem?"

Brown didn't respond, but shifted slightly, so that he was leaning forward.  His eyes never left Will's face.  With a half-hearted shrug, Will attempted at nonchalance, but after a few more minutes, he found himself looking up again, seriously unnerved.  "Do you require something?"

The words didn't seem to reach Brown.  He continued staring, his eyes not blinking.  Will got up, feeling distinctly alarmed.  When he was a foot away from Brown, the other man suddenly sprang into action, knocking him to the ground.

Will hit the ground hard and cried out in pain and surprise.  Brown stood over him, his eyes flashing with some sort of mad rage.  He kicked out with his foot, catching Will in the side.  Will doubled over in agony and tried to roll away, but Brown moved remarkably fast and roughly grabbed him, pulling him upright so their eyes met.  Will attempted to squirm away, but Brown's grip on his shoulder was like iron and he growled a chain of incoherent threats under his breath, shaking Will like a rag doll.

"Sir – " Will choked out, attempting to reason with the madness that had overtaken Brown.  But then Brown slapped him hard, leaving an angry red mark on his cheek.  Will's head rang with the force of the blow; a second blow to the stomach drew a ragged scream from him and Will tried to fight back, but Brown overpowered him easily and threw him bodily to the ground, before delivering a violent kick to Will's side.  Pain flared in his ribcage and he groaned, feebly holding his hands before him as if to stave off further attacks.

Brown seized a knife from one of the racks and began muttering something under his breath, advancing towards Will.  Will looked around desperately, his gaze falling on the sword that he had crafted.  He weakly scrambled to his feet and lunged at it, his fingers closing around the hilt.  Then Brown was on top of him, hitting him with such power that the sword slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the ground.  Will fell back, bruised and defeated, blood running freely from his split lip.  Brown slipped the knife underneath Will's chin.

Will froze.  Only his eyes darted back and forth, trying to find the humanity in Brown.  "It's me," he whispered, "William Turner."  His lips felt swollen and difficult to move.  "Sir, please.  You are not yourself."

Suddenly realization gleamed in Brown's eyes and the older man stepped backwards, horror in his face.  His hands trembled and lost grip on the knife.

Will tried to meet Brown's gaze, but Brown refused to look at him. 

Then Brown looked down at his own hands and began to shake rather violently.  He turned and kicked at an empty bottle on the ground, smashing it to bits.  His rage wasn't satiated yet and he grabbed another knife from the rack and began hacking at the air, feral sounds coming from deep within him.

Will shrank back against the wall despite himself until Brown had completely worn himself out and dropped to the floor, unconscious.  Only then did Will dare to stand and limp over to the fire to begin tending to his injuries.

***

When Will woke the following morning, he lay in bed for a long moment, feeling every muscle in his body begin to throb.  His ribs still hurt and Will knew that his lip was probably swollen beyond recognition.  Every movement hurt.  Even breathing required a certain amount of effort.

But he couldn't lie in bed.  He had to deliver the sword to Norrington.

Will groaned at the thought of it.  He was positive Norrington would have many questions on his current condition.  Yet Will had never been the type to shied away from his duty and so he got out of bed and gingerly dressed, mindful of the bruises on his body.

He came downstairs, his eyes flickering to the still form of Brown.  In the sunlight, Brown didn't resemble the frenzied drunk man who had attacked him.  He merely looked old and haunted, wasted, really.  Will also caught sight of two knives on the ground.  He shivered as he remembered how close Brown had been to slitting his throat.  Will quickly averted his eyes.

He wrapped Norrington's sword carefully, then hoisted the package over his shoulder, involuntarily wincing as he did so.

It was then Brown chose to wake.

Will stiffened automatically and took a defensive step backwards as Brown opened his eyes and looked around the small shop.  "Good morning, sir," he said quietly.

Brown's gaze fell on him, and this time it was kindly.  "What a queer place to have fallen asleep," Brown commented wryly, "Good morning, William.  Are you going out?"

"Delivering to Lieutenant Norrington," Will said.

"Ah," Brown nodded, then his eyes traveled over Will's split lip.  "Did you get in a fight?"

He doesn't remember last night, Will realized.  "A scuffle," he answered.

"Let me look at that lip," Brown said, moving towards him.  Involuntarily, Will shifted back.  Brown furrowed his brow, his expression perplexed.  "Why do you back away from me?" he asked not unkindly.

Will, too, was confused.  Brown didn't sound like the alcohol-driven man he had been for the past few months.  He sounded...like his old self.  He sounded like the man that Will had admired and worshipped.  But no matter how kindly Brown acted now, Will couldn't forget how terrifying Brown had been last night.  He couldn't forget the rage in Brown's eyes, the stench of alcohol on his lips...Will gave another involuntary shiver.

Brown studied him curiously, waiting for a reply.

"I already treated it," Will said weakly, "I really should be going.  Lieutenant Norrington doesn't like it when his orders are late."

"Oh the old bat can live without his sword for a moment," Brown said.  He placed one hand on Will's shoulder and Will flinched.  Brown saw the movement and pulled back his tunic, revealing an ugly bruise.  "Where did you get this?" he demanded, gently fingering it.

From you, Will thought.  "From the scuffle," he said.

"Who then?" Brown said sharply.

"I - I don't really know.  It was dark, sir," Will mumbled, but Brown was looking intently at his shoulder, at the marks there.  Slowly, Brown dragged his eyes up to look at Will.

"God," he whispered, stepping backwards.  "It was me, wasn't it?"

Will didn't respond and focused instead on looking at the floor.

Brown's eyes darted around the room, his eyes falling on the two knives and the broken bottle on the ground.  He began to tremble again, reminiscent of the previous night.  "Will, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," said Will, but he knew, and Brown knew, that it wasn't fine.  "I need to be going," Will said, then adjusted his tunic and brushed past Brown and out the door.

***

Brown watched as Will left the room and even then, he found himself rooted to the spot.  How could he have done such a thing?  How could he have lost control like that?  Now Will was afraid of him; Brown had seen that fear in Will's eyes.

There was a pain inside him, such a deep pain that Brown doubted it would ever dissipate. 

No.  There was a way he could drive away the pain. 

Brown crossed the room and picked up a bottle of alcohol from the ground.  He toyed with it for a moment, considering.  Then with a grim smile on his face, he opened it and took a swig of the comforting liquid.

***

Will rang on the doorbell of Norrington's house, then stepped back and stood respectfully, holding the package in his hands.

Then the door opened.

Will's mouth dropped open.  "Miss Swann!  What are you doing here?"

"Will!" she said, utterly delighted.  Then she grinned and grabbed his hand, ushering him inside rather forcibly.  "It is good to see you.  It has been a long time."

"It has.  But what are you doing at Lieutenant Norrington's?"

"Father insisted," Elizabeth said, "He said I'm eighteen now and should start learning how to be a proper lady."

"Ah," Will commented.  It didn't make sense to him, but perhaps it was some noble thing he had yet to learn.

"What are you doing here, Will?" Elizabeth asked, "And were you involved in some sort of fight on the way?"

"No," Will gingerly touched his split lip.  "I'm delivering an order to the Lieutenant."

She didn't notice his words though and instead looked seriously at his lip.  "You should have that checked up on," she said, "It looks serious."

"It looks worse than it is," Will said defensively.

"No, come with me," Elizabeth said, seizing his hand and dragging him into the bathroom.  "Sit down on the counter or something," she said, "You're so tall now, Will!  It's hardly fair."

Will grinned shyly at her.  It was true.  He had grown a lot since they had last seen one another.  He perched himself on the counter and watched as Elizabeth worked, her milk-white hands gently brushing across his injuries, cleaning them.  They were so close.  And for the first time, Will noticed that he couldn't tear his gaze away from her eyes.  They were such a beautiful and warm brown.

Elizabeth finished up and then smiled at him.  "Better now?"

"Better," Will said hoarsely.  Her smile was so radiant and it lit up every feature of her face and illuminated her beauty and grace.  She moved like an angel, Will thought.

"How did you get hurt?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

Will considered evading the question, but he wasn't a dishonest person by nature and besides, what harm could come from telling Elizabeth?  So he revealed the story.  When he was done, he was surprised to see anger flashing in Elizabeth's eyes.  "Why that awful man!" she said fiercely.

"He was drunk, you cannot blame him," Will said, feeling the sudden need to defend Brown.

"He should not have been drunk to start with!" Elizabeth said.  "Where else did he hurt you, Will?"  She reached out a hand and undid the buttons on his tunic, gasping when she saw the ugly bruise on his shoulder.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

If possible, she looked even more beautiful when angry, Will thought.  He started to respond and then the door burst open and Norrington strode in.

The man took in the scene quickly.  Will was sitting on the counter, his tunic unbuttoned.  Elizabeth's hand was on his chest.  Norrington reddened as he came to a conclusion.  "Mr. Turner, what in blazes do you think you're doing?"

"I – " Will started, surprised at Norrington's anger.  "I came to deliver the – "

"And then you chose to go off with the first lady you laid your eyes on?" Norrington fumed at him, "Get out!"

"No!" Elizabeth said quickly.  She turned a pleading gaze on Norrington.  "Please, do not take this the wrong way.  Will came by to deliver something.  I wanted to tend to his injuries and insisted he follow me to the bathroom."

"You?" Norrington swallowed.  It looked quite painful.  "You asked him to follow you?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said, "He was injured."

"I'm fine now," William said, buttoning his tunic hurriedly.  He stood up and reached for the package on the counter, handing it to Norrington.  "Your sword, sir.  42 inches, brass guard, wood handle.  Just as you requested."

Norrington nodded and accepted it.  "Thank you for your...speed," he said sarcastically.  "Shall I show you out?"

"Oh, let him stay for a bit," Elizabeth said, "Please."

Norrington turned a flat glare on Will before offering an extremely forced smile.  "Certainly," he said coolly and then left the bathroom.

Elizabeth smiled at him, the motioned him back up onto the counter.  Will complied with her orders.  She ran her hands over his chest again and Will felt an odd tingling sweep through him.  It felt nice.  "I have some cream to put on this," Elizabeth said, opening a drawer and taking out the cream. "I don't know if it'll help any, but it might."

Will closed his eyes as she rubbed the cool cream against his skin.  When he opened his eyes again, her face was close to his, so that their noses were almost touching.  Will searched her smooth face, his gaze landing on her lips.  Oh how he wanted to kiss her now!  But he couldn't.  It wouldn't be appropriate.

"Does it help?" Elizabeth whispered.

"It feels better, Miss Swann," Will replied, transfixed at how close they were.  Her breath blew softly on his nose and the urge to kiss her was harder to ignore now.  He quickly closed his eyes and looked in another direction.  "I should be going."

"One moment, Will," Elizabeth grabbed his hand. 

Trying very hard to hide the fact that her touch sent sparks of electricity through him, Will replied, "Yes?"

"I know a master swordsman who is friends with my father," Elizabeth said, "I want you to learn sword-fighting from him."

"Sword-fighting?" Will said blankly.

"So that he won't hurt you again," Elizabeth said quietly.  "I don't like seeing you hurt like this."

"He wouldn't teach a blacksmith's apprentice – "

"He will teach you because the daughter of the governor will insist upon it," Elizabeth said.  "Please agree to this, Will."  Her eyes beseeched him and Will found himself unable to resist.

"If that is your wish, Miss Swann," he said, "Then it shall be done."

***

The shop was quiet when Will stepped inside and hung up his overcoat.  He looked around, and was surprised to see Brown slumped over in his chair.  "Not again," he said, feeling dread overcome him.  Sure enough, a half-finished bottle of whiskey was in his hand.

Brown opened his eyes at the sound.  "Will," he mumbled.

"What is it, sir?" Will asked warily.

Brown took huge gulp of the whiskey and began coughing, hacking furiously.  Will looked at him worriedly, but then the coughing spell ended and Brown straightened again.  "Where have you been?"

"I delivered the sword to Lieutenant Norrington," said Will.

"Oh, good," Brown said and then yawned again and took another swig from the bottle, draining it.  "Do me a favor, boy, and throw this in the streets."

Will took the bottle from Brown and nodded at him.  "Yes, sir."  Then he stepped back outside into the streets, but didn't throw the bottle away.  Instead he glanced at it, at the monster that had taken Brown from him.

"How funny," he whispered quietly, "For years he was the one person I could turn to for protection.  And now Elizabeth wants me to learn how to protect myself from him."

Will played with the bottle, running his hands over the deceptively smooth and shiny surface.  "I certainly do not hate him nor do I blame him," Will said, "But I'll never feel at ease with him again.  I've seen what you can do to him.  I've seen what you can turn him into.  And now I've seen how quickly he will turn to you for comfort."

A tinge of sadness crossed Will's features.  "I still care for him.  But I don't think I can respect him," he said, then dropped the bottle onto the ground, letting the glass shatter.  Will didn't bother to clean it up.

The End